I should get out more

WhIMG_0991ile blogging, I missed the future.

For the past year or so, I’d avoided Merrifield, what neighbors have termed “the armpit” of Fairfax, NoVA, because of all the construction and congestion between Dunn Loring metro and the Beltway entrance at Route 50. Not to mention the old Lee Highway cineplex known for random shootings and zero cup holders. So when Hubba-Hubby suggested we check out the Angelika Film Center & Cafe, which opened Sept. 21, for our traditional Thanksgiving-holiday release, I was skeptical. Reserved seating? And if I want to move away from annoying people who narrate previews? What then?

IMG_0993Turning down Strawberry Lane, which used to be just “the stoplight at the Silver Diner,” a four-story Target sprung up like a rose-tinted Emerald City, anchoring the new Mosaic District.

So many upscale shops — Artisan Confections, which I used to have to GPS to Clarendon for its sculpted-painted non-preservative chocolates; Dawn Price Baby (if you have to ask, you can’t afford it, but it specializes in items for those under age 6); Anthropologie (no apology for the prices or raping of the Earth); Paper Source (stiffer than Papyrus and billed as a “Launch Pad for Creativity”); Freshbikes; fresher MOM’s Organic Market; South Moon Under; Ginger; sweetgreen; Amethyst; Ah Love Oil & Vinegar — it all sparkled and smelled like Christmas. Even the FREE parking garage hinted of potpourri.

IMG_0985We knew we couldn’t afford either the Sea Pearl seafood restaurant — murky from the outside, it was the kind of place that served museum-ready morsels — and I wasn’t up for the Vietnamese Four Sisters deal recommended by our hair stylist, even if it does advertise gluten-free and MSG-free dishes (translation: TRENDY, TRENDY, TRENDY!). So we went back to the old Merrifield oasis of Sweetwater, Chevy’s and Chicago UNO, knowing we’d be splurging on the space-age theater experience later.

What I didn’t know was Chicago UNO had also blasted into the future, possibly fueled by neighboring competition. At each table was a mini-iPad-looking device called a Ziosk, which not only offered free USA TODAY headlines (I could peruse the stories I’d edited the night before and check for typos, a fun-enough game). But for just 99 cents, we could dabble in games like Scrabble and Clever Frog. I thought that was all REALLY cool until I realized news and games are available for free on our smartphones.The bonus of the Ziosk is you can communicate with the wait staff — order drinks, side dishes and dessert on the touchscreen — and, niftiest of all, it is a swipe machine where you can PAY YOUR BILL and get a receipt without having to wait. I have been waiting all my life for such an opportunity, because it seems the wait staff always scoots right when you want to.

But on to Angelika. I don’t care how much people rave about this place … at $13, my reserved chair had better be clean at least (foreshadowing … suspense).

We arrived an hour early, just like at an airport, and it’s a good thing or we would have missed our flight.

Greeting us at the door. Somehow saw a contradiction between the winged-helmet logo and the hellish lines of lethargy.

The layout was counterintuitive — the DMV has a more pleasant reception area. We waited in this mass of people pressed up against the front doors only to learn there were just two clerks at the end of it, sandwiched like bank tellers between high-ceilinged artwork and chandeliers. (There was wood paneling even on the sidewalk OUTDOORS.) Directed to the electronic seating chart, we saw there were only six seats remaining for the 7:30 p.m. showing of “Lincoln.” Three in the front row, far-left aisle, two in the front row far-right aisle, and one lone spot somewhere in the middle. We chose and pointed to two in the front-row left side, because we figured at least then we’d an empty space on either side where we wouldn’t have to wrestle for the arm rest or do the cup holder pas de deux with a stranger. (This is why we rarely leave our 60-inch LED TV home-screening room with the Wall-E double-wide recliners.)

Not only was the trash pit in the narrow gangway to the theater overflowing, there were popcorn crumbs, a half-empty supergulp cup, a bag of kernels and crinkled-up napkins invading our reserved seats, plus trash strewn on the floor directing us there. It was disgusting. After we cleaned up, we realized the mammoth screen in front of us was gonna kill our necks, the chair-backs being so low they didn’t provide neck support. But we figured, what the heck, it was a new experience, and we wanted to see the movie.

Then two people came along and said we were in their seats. WHAT? These are reserved seats! They had to bring a psuedo-usher in to contest it. We checked our stubs, and sure enough the clerk had sold us the wrong side — not what we’d requested. But the young couple, seeing we were settled in (and unaware we had done custodial work to claim custody), agreed to take the seats on the right-hand side, seeing as how the view was equally bad. They went over, sat down and within a minute got up and left. I guess they’d already had enough. Ten minutes later, a different couple took their resold seats.

The clerk had told us it’s “50-50″ in terms of folks buying tickets online vs. at the door. But what a silly system. If you buy online, you have to visit the second-floor concierge to trade in your printed receipts for real tickets — I guess that’s to eliminate no-shows and resell unclaimed seats. Who does that? Anyway, the second floor is also where you get into a snaking line for concessions (strangely diagonal and a waste of space, of which there is little to spare; the couple in front of us spent their ample time redesigning the flow). At the top of the escalator, we were confused. One tiny usher whom we could barely see through the crowd was calling for people to come to her line, so we moved, only to learn we had just left the concession line in favor of the concierge and had to begin again from the escalator.

The huddle of masses waiting for concessions, the concierge and the slim gangway to the theaters. Upper deck is the lounge. I felt we were on a cruise ship with not enough life rafts.

Waiting in that concession line, where, again, only two surly clerks were working (did the management give everyone the holiday weekend off, forgetting that Thanksgiving weekend at the movies is busier than Black Friday at Walmart?), seemed endless, especially looking at the mouth-watering menu that included something called “The Junk” — basically every kind of junk food you can imagine drizzled in chocolate, like what giggly girls at a slumber party dream up. The $10 price tag, though, dissuaded me. There was also a $44 bottle of wine we declined, and a four-bottle bucket of beer, which was a better price than $8 gourmet-draft singles. I wanted just water, but they had no normal bottled water — just “smart” water and flavored junk. So I purchased a cup and was directed to the space-station dispensers, which were also out of soda.

Took me a minute to figure out the touch-sensitive machines, but at least there were free refills.

One thing I’ll say for Angelika: They don’t bow to showing ads or those stupid TV-show preview reels before the actual previews, but that’s probably because they don’t need the money given the exorbitant cost of everything else. They were showing some kind of public-interest documentary, though, with the sound practically on mute — the giant 40-foot-tall heads were whispering. My husband’s understatement: “Gee, I hope the sound improves.”

I dashed to the bathroom, and though spiffily decorated, it was another trash pit, so I snapped a photo. In general, I apologize for the bad quality of photos, because I hadn’t intended to write a review — I was motivated only by the sour experience.

What a waste of potential.

The narrow door into theater No. 1 had room only for one-way traffic of typical obese-American width.

Just as the old Lincoln-assassination punch line goes: “Yes, but Mrs. Lincoln, what did you think of the play?” … I will say I loved the movie. Still, at one point, given its subject matter and knowing how it would end, I realized we were sitting in the seats that would have been closest to the emergency exit used by the Joker assassin in the Aurora, Colo., Batman movie massacre. Looking in the direction he might have emerged, I realized there was no emergency exit. I felt a vague panic, recalling there had been no on-screen instructions on finding emergency exits, and I could see none — just that narrow, claustrophobic gangway entrance, which couldn’t accommodate two-way traffic, let alone a one-way panic.

No doubt our visit was a fluke, considering all the positive comments I’ve heard about this place (although one friend said on an attempt to see “Argo” there were “projector issues” and they gave up and left). Before declaring “never again,” I will probably go back and see a non-popular movie at a non-peak price … find the emergency exits, maybe indulge in a before-noon brew (coffee, not beer) and taste-test The Junk. Comfort food, surely, is the best way to survive the stress of a hellish Angelika adventure and lure me from the comforts of my home.

Or from Cinema Arts — how we love you.

‘T’ is for ‘tacky': 5 T-shirts whose time has not come

As Americans strip down for T-shirt weather, here’s something you shouldn’t reveal: exactly how idiotic you are to buy lame T-shirts.

Introducing the 5 most ridiculous shirts I’ve seen this season, sure to end up being sported witlessly in Zambia, where all of our discarded, misfit T-shirts go.

1. The 3-headed monster

Are these guys triplets? Mom must be proud.

I doubt anyone in Zambia could fill this super-sized toga, and what I mean by that is, not even three normal-sized Africans could. It’d take a village. I’m trying to imagine what the actual personalization might look like — Larry-Moe-Curly springs to mind, or Nina-Pinta-Santa Maria — maybe just Titanic, in pieces? Woody Allen, Mia Farrow and Soon-Yi (Eighties reference). Sybil (Seventies). Who’s the target consumer here, besides the broad side of a barn? The ad suggests it’s for sports fans or “best friends” or … “meetings” … whoa, is that what that says? Maybe only Mad Men-style meetings.

2. Pre-shrunk: A new spin on an old classic

This was probably the first “funny” T-shirt ever conceived, circa the Pleistocene epoch. But I’m plain offended by this updated, depraved abomination. IT’S MISSING ITS APOSTROPHE!!!!!! (I’m also confused. Is this for loser expectant mothers or fallen politicians?)

3. Disease du jour

I’m all for autism awareness. (Seems an oxymoron?) No, seriously, T-shirts are for showing pride, and I feel compassion for and fully support anyone with autism, and their families. Just tell me, what misguided, sadistic parent would dress their kid in this? Wrong on so many levels, including the price.

4. X-tremely politically incorrect

I figured I needed to include something political, given that T-shirts = freedom of expression, plus it’s an election year.

Foulmouthshirts.com (do NOT go there) is your ticket to equal-opportunity skewering — and I don’t mean or even want to do an ad for it. After browsing their selection, I felt the need to shower in Dawn detergent.

Funny thing, though, there’s a button on the site to click for its G-rated version. Spoiler alert: It berates you with an ear-douche of expletives for your schoolgirl naivete that they’d even have a G-rated version — and that’s putting it mildly.

So, let me give a blanket blankety-blank thumbs down to every shirt on the entire site. This one in particular … a puzzler:

I'm sorry. ... WHAT!?

5. His ‘n’ hers

Finally, it’s spring. Romance in the air. A whole industry seems to be springing up around the notion of informal bridal wear.

Yet, am I crazy? I thought this message was what the ring was for. And the guy’s version … really, a wife-beater?

Hers. (Also available in black.)

His. (Available in New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, New Hampshire, Washington, Maryland, the District of Columbia and maybe to be restocked soon in California.)