The beauty of previews is that they enhance your movie experience, allowing you to see, say, four additional movies for the price of your ticket, without the obligation of sitting through the entirety of any of them. In a 45-second sound bite, you get the heart-pounding, pulsating music; the explosions; the car chases; and just enough of the bedroom titillation to satisfy or sate.
At the Norwegian Artist’s receptions and opening nights, I appear in something that exists all its own on the planet — no twin at Wal-Mart or Nordstrom’s — what I’m wearing is as unique, unusual, and imperfect as I am.
Needless to say, when you elevate the subject of rye bread with sesame seeds and pumpkin chips to the level of transcendent sensuality, people make a point of finding out who you are.
Cocooned in my baby-of-the-family world, I assumed for years that I was the only one who wept upon returning from school and smelling that peculiar acrid smell, but at a family gathering once I mentioned the “German Meal” and was surprised to hear all four sibling groan.
This continued for the entire 20 minutes that it took me to drink 465 calories, and when I left, she and her boyfriend/girlfriend/best friend/husband/customer-service-representative-of-some-cell-phone-provider were still at it, shouting at one another in 140-character bytes.