up until today, i was not trying to hear the b-word. in my little fantasy world, i had pictured myself watching hotel rwanda at the berlinale. it was a small bubble of a dream that had been popped mercilessly.
i restrained myself from seeing the film in new york, so convinced I was of my little berlinale dream. when i got back, i sent out spies who dutifully reported that crazy people were indeed camping out at potsdamer platz hours before the ticket office opened. seeing as there was no way i was going out in the cold and waiting for hours for the possibility of not even getting a ticket, i cursed all the intrepid campers and vowed never to utter the b-word again. i was even too late for a corporate connection to hook me up. it wasn’t like i wanted to sit next to don cheadle. i felt like whining.
i decided to drown my sorrows in oysters at galeries lafayette. the 2 for a dolla special is back on, through the 26th. i watched a documentary about max schmeling and joe louis on arte. way better than the b-word. i read some b-word blogs that made the whole thing sound utterly boring and i chortled at the opener being booed.
amazingly, the bitterness disappeared when a man with elegantly clear pronunciation called me to ask if i had any plans tonight. i did but i lied and said no. he was from galeries lafayette; i won 2 tickets to a showing tonight at berlinale. as i left galeries lafayette the other day, i’d halfheartedly entered a raffle for tickets. i’d completely forgotten about it.
so…change of plans. i love berlinale! who doesn’t? but if this movie sucks, i’ll be booing like i waited in line 4 hours, along with the people who really did.