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We started with coffee at the local coffeehouse, followed by Rent. Surprisingly, a film based on a Broadway musical about Manhattanite artists with AIDS wasn't in much demand in west-central Missouri. I think there were three other people in the theater with us.

The theater did add a nice bit of ambiance, though, by keeping it so fucking cold that I could really feel those heroin-withdrawl chills. I'm a warm-natured sweaty fat girl, and I have never been so thrilled to find last year's gloves in my coat pocket in my life.

As I mentioned last week, I'm not a big movie buff. This is just an odd spell where a slew of movies I'd like to see are being released. But I had myself a bit of a moment tonight.

We were driving to the movie theater, which was built long after I moved from Sedalia. I'd never been there. On the way, we drove past the old four-screen theater near the fairgrounds, the one that opened twenty years ago. I was in seventh grade, and going to the movies was just about the only thing a middle schooler could do for Friday and Saturday night entertainment. I was there nearly every weekend. Didn't matter what movie was playing. All that mattered was that I was with my friends and that my bangs were tall enough to block the view of the person unfortunate enough to have the seat behind me. Last time we drove past it, on Easter weekend, it was still open. But not anymore. And it made me a lot sadder than I ever expected, considering it's been a good ten years since I set foot in it.

The movie? Surprisingly good. I had low expectations, and they were far exceeded. I was hyper-critical during the first twenty minutes or so, before I told myself, "Okay, Dumbass. There's no way watching a movie is going to be like seeing the play from the third row, center, like you did five years ago. Get over it. Same story, different medium." I was just fine after that.

And yes, I felt mightily reaffirmed after the movie in the choice I made to follow my own artsy-fartsy path. I need that reminder occasionally, too.

After the movie we stood outside in the 40-degree chill to warm up from the meat locker before heading to dinner. How much do I love the fact that, parked next to us at the restaurant was a truck with not one, but two bumper stickers proclaiming the truck owners' love of mules? Mules rule! You just don't get that in the city. Nor do you get a dinner for two - fried chicken livers, catfish, homemade potato chips, slow-cooked green beans, salad, a burger, soup and beer for $30 after tip. In the city we also wouldn't have encountered an old high school friend of mine, Dizzy Dez, who plunked herself at our table, got in my face and declared, "I know who you are. It's you. I know it. You're Robin, aren't you?" Yep, still dizzy after all these years, and her hair's the biggest of them all.