After sitting for most of the flight in a silence that was totally okay by me, the very OC woman reading a religious fiction novel next to me leans over into my bubble. Her: What are you reading? Me: Sorry? Her: Whats that? Me: Oh, its The Disaster Artist. Its a book about the worst movie ever made. Her: Ah. [A silence that is now awkward] Her: In whose opinion? Me: Sorry? Her: In whose opinion? Me: Oh. Um. Everyones, I guess. Her: Oh. Me: Its called The Room? Her: No. Me: ...yeah, I mean, its one of those so-bad-its-brilliant sort of things. Her: Oh. Me: Yeah Her: Whos in it? Me: No one really famous. Except for being in it. Her: Oh. Me: Yeah. [Ssiiiiilennce.] Me: Im in a group thats doing a play version of it. Her: Huh. Me: Yeah. Theyll be doing something kinda unique with it. Her: Oh? Me: Yeah. Im not in it, but I know the guys doing it and its gonna be cool. And the movies great. Her: Huh. Me: Like the so-bad-its-great thing. Her: I dont know that thing. Me: Oh. [Silence.] Me: Do you watch a lot of Nicolas Cage movies? Her: No. [She returns to her novel and I immediately take out my phone to write down as much of this conversation as I can remember, wishing desperately that I knew when to stop talking.]
Posted on: Thu, 01 Jan 2015 00:43:29 +0000
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