Raiders of the Last Snark

It began Friday evening with Ken and light snacks at the old Famous and Barr, new home of the Artists' Guild. Arlene arrived 'round about the third Marilyn Merlot.

Ken loved the portrait of a woman. Arlene loved the camel head. I loved both, but Ken and I had to leave for the Sheldon.

We were a minute late for wine but not for food, if that's what cheese and veggies are. But wait . . . Ken uncovered a VIP room with a stash of roast beef sandwiches and a tray of horse do-overs. I got caught by the hall monitor when I went in for seconds; Ken hid his plate with his hand.

Call it TWA (taking and walking away) in a NDA (now denied area) with a KA (known associate). 

Searching for the new and the next, we tread cautiously out of the Sheldon, down the avenue past the Pulitzer to CAM (Contemporary Art Mausoleum). 

Nothing escapes us.

While I was taking my sweet time in there with the white coats, Ken  scored wine and nuts at the Pulitzer.

Calls were flowing in. Arlene:
Uh, hello, I guess you knew there was nothing going on at the Tavern because there's nothing here going on.

Kim:
Hey Charlie. It's Kim. Arlene and I are at the William Shearburn here on Skinker at 665 Skinker. So I'm going to the Tavern of Fine Arts. Will you and Ken be there so I'm not there by myself?

Arlene clued us to the hoarding disorder there:
This mess is a place. Beautiful. Amazing. You can't pick one thing from another. It's your garage.

Ken and I never made it. We were already stuffed like pigeons, immersed in Calders. Time kept on slippin' so we skipped Bruno's which Arlene hates.

In retrospect, we could have arrived at White Flag Projects much later or not at all for the mystery movie, a 
threadbare Raiders of the Lost Ark* made by three 12-year-old geniuses in their backyard and smuggled out of 
in Mississippi. 

The so-called remake was disguised as a shot-by-shot re-creation (not), and it shows every bit of ityou wouldn't recognize any of it. I was having TIAs (transient ischemic attacks) and wanted to puke out the Bud Light. Somebody should have stepped in and aborted it, for Christ sake.

It wasn't all bad: there were lots of things that were too stupid not to laugh at (like the dog playing the part of a monkey), but the not-wanting-to-be-there attitude of the kids wasn't far from Harrison Ford's airs.

A wasted childhood

Some moviegators sat on rocks smoking weed. They beat-off to stuff like this down in Texas. Nothing is new under the sun.

Then Jones shoots the Arab in the head and Kim comes through the grapevine:
Charlie, it's Kim. There was absolutely nothing going on at the Tavern of the Fine Arts. So I don't know what they [mean when they] talk about the art opening. There was no food. You had to buy your own drinks. It wasn't worth going to. So, are you going to be at the White Flag there on Manchester in the Grove? If not, I'll just go back home. And I missed a dinner party because of this. I don't want to miss a dinner party because of this. It was nothing. So, just call me back and let me know if we're going to get together and hang out. If not, I missed a dinner party over this. That's not fair to me.

She was retreating to her private Idaho, hungry, in a foul mood (no shit).
Sorry Kim, we're building memories.

Wait a minute. Did she miss a dinner party?

We’re losing control, dagnabit.

Arlene picked that moment to book straight-away to Nathalie's:
I'm not gonna watch a stupid wall movie.

Both Ken and I felt she was not in full possession of the facts until the raiders were sealed into the pit by the Nazis. Should we go or should we stay? I can never make up my mind about anything until it's too late, but this was the abominable snowman without the snow . . . or the man. It was time to break out of the cheap aluminum seats for Nathalie's.

And not a moment too soon. Guess who was bursting down the front steps, earrings flashing in the pale glow of the porch light?

Arlene.

Had I come to see her or because the movie sucked? What was the real reason behind the real reason?

We talked Arlene back up the steps. Of course, she knew everyone there (living or dead) and their cousins and 5th cousins four times removed. It sure looked new to me, but then

Oh my God, I was upstairs at a magic show in a previous life.

For the next hour and a half, the three of us sat at the bar, sometimes intelligently, sometimes not, sometimes listening to the house band (“we all work here”).

The possibilities were endless.

Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaption (1989) 

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