My Favorite Place

On a high from watching the Missouri and Texas games, and because she behaved herself, mostly, during Vicky Christina Barcelona, I agreed to go see a movie with my roommate, the movie talker. She did well: nary a peep, save the occasional "hahaaa." 
We went to see Elegy, a film based on a Philip Roth story. Kingsley and Cruz have an awkward chemistry: individually they played their roles brilliantly, yet never seemed to connect as a couple. But, what the film sometimes lacks in direction, (the first scene between Peter Sarsgaard and Kingsley is so clumsy, it's like watching the shy kid get picked last, again, on the kickball team), it makes up for in cutting, unapologetic sincerity. This probably means I should have read the book.

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Last week, I went to dinner with two friends who dated each other in college. They broke up when she graduated and in the years that followed, had only sporadic communication. Now, 10 years later, they are best friends and also totally platonic roommates. Because I'm nosey curious, I asked them about how they broke up also how they got "back together."

Apparently, this was the first time they had really talked about what happened. The break-up and time apart left different impressions on each of them, which you might expect. Me, though? I wound up in a Philosophy 101 tailspin -- the same events, remembered differently, and BOTH are true?! Whoa. Distance had provided them perspective and clarity. I was taken in by their story, and when they, both writers, said "hey - maybe we should write a play about this," I agreed.