Red screen, blue screen

Most young'uns today don't understand the quintessentially American experience that is the drive-in movie theatre. But how many of you my age and older have fond memories of coppin' your first feel in the back seat at the drive-in? And sometimes, there might've even been somebody in the back seat with you!

My first drive-in experience, by the way, involved no feel coppin'. It was at the much-missed M-104 drive-in with Squirl, and we saw Alien. Yeah, it was a few years ago.

I was talkin' to Jess the other night, and when I mentioned that Jim and I were goin' to the drive-in, she seemed genuinely surprised that we had not one, but two drive-ins within easy driving distance. Truth is, we're the exception to the rule around here: we've got one drive-in that's less than a mile from our place, and another that can't even be ten miles out. As the other drive-ins in the country disappear one by one, I cross my fingers that at least one of mine will survive, for just another year.

We understand what a rare commodity this is, and we try to go at least once a summer. Hey, that's pretty good for two people who rarely see a movie before it comes to cable.

One of my most treasured memories is from a balmy summer evening we spent at the US-23 Drive-In, it had to be over ten years ago, maybe more like 15 years ago. I don't remember what the double feature was, but I do remember vividly that we had Little Caesar's pizza and a cooler full of ice and Classic Coke. Hell, no, I don't drink beer at the drive-in. Not because it's against the rules, since I laugh in the face of silly silly rules - rules are for mere mortals - but because I don't wanna have to make sixteen trips to the questionably cleaned restrooms in the dark and in the middle of a movie to which I may or may not be payin' attention.

It was such a beautiful evening, and the mosquitos were even polite and non-swarmy enough that we could sit with all the windows open, relax, and enjoy our night. I had just started on a fresh slice of pizza when Jim asked if I would get him a Coke. So, I gripped the pizza in my teeth, leaned over the seat, and commenced to fishin' around in the cooler for a Coke.

Something about my posture inspired my body to release the hounds, so to speak, and the loudest, longest, rudest, most impressive belch suddenly issued forth from my dainty mouth, right around the slice of pizza, and was so mighty and booming that it reverbrated all 'round the parking lot with an authority I scarcely knew I possessed. Jim and I froze in stunned silence for a moment, then I turned to him, Coke in hand and pizza slice still lodged firmly betwixt my teeth, and said, somewhat muffled but in my own defense: "Pizza pizza!"

That's when he really knew what a dainty and charming little filly I am.

Just this last Saturday night, Jim and I took a trip out to the Miracle Twin drive-in to catch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. As we waited in line for the box office to open, I was riveted by some smokin' hot rods that were in line for the Red Screen, and weren't mingling with us Blue Screen riff raff. Then Jim pointed out the truck immediately ahead of us in line, and I could just kick myself for not havin' the camera along, because under its trailer hitch, this truck had a nice, neat little nutsack hangin' down. I'm pretty sure it was made of nylon, and probably wasn't an actual severed nutsack, but it was still worth about five minutes of gigglin' in our car. Makes me wonder where I can get one o' those, or a female equivalent. Could I put rubber labia around the tailpipe of my Cruiser? I'll have to get back to you on that one.

Once we got over the nutsack hilarity, we got our tickets and found a spot where we could see the screen, but weren't surrounded by hordes of children. Hey, nothin' against kids, but if I wanted 'em swarmin' me at the movies, I'd've had my own beastly little offspring. As it was, Jim and I were set up in our own little kingdom out there, with our cooler full of ice and pop, and that bucket of greasy greasy KFC. What more couldja want on a perfect Saturday night?

We were there exceptionally early, so we had plenty of time to fart around before the movie started. For the first 45 minutes or so, we turned on the stereo in the car and stood outside, groovin' to a funk mix and tryin' not to drop the slippery chicken (now if that doesn't sound like a euphemism, I don't know what does..."We tried not to drop the slippery chicken, but the rabbit done died..."). Then the theatre started to broadcast music through the sea of obsolete but still functional speakers. Yes, kids, once upon a time, we had to hang speakers from our car windows to hear the audio from the movie; you little fucks have it so easy, just tunin' your radio to the theatre frequency. Hmmmph! In my day, we hung speakers on our doors, forgot they were there, and drove off with 'em. And we liked it.

I should mention that the station that was being played was Cars 108, which for me is pure mellow torture most of the time. How can you expect me to listen to a radio station that advertises that there will be no embarassing lyrics to explain to your kids, and not have me bleed from the ears? Fortunately, the theatre tuned the schlockmeister bastards in during an oldies show, which was a little more lively than the normal dull fare. Jim and I were talkin' about the songs, and about Herman's Hermits and such, and how much pussy Peter Noone must've gotten back in the day, and then the familiar strains of an Al Green tune floated from the speakers.

Al Green, in case you didn't know, has magical mojo properties in his songs. Before I knew what was goin' on, Jim had grabbed me - I was so surprised I still had a Diet Rite can in my hand - and started slow dancin' with me in the drive-in gravel. It was unexpected but very sweet and welcome. Can now cross "Slow dance at drive-in" off my list of life goals. And, it should warm your heart to know, neither of us danced into the speaker stand or the car. No fresh bruises were acquired in the course of seeing this movie.

Now, the double feature for the night was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Bad News Bears. Silly me, I just figured the Billy Bob Thornton movie would be the second (more adult) feature; nothin' against the Bears, but I was fixin' to watch Charlie and then get the fuck outta there. Shit doesn't even start 'til after 9:30, and I'm a big fuckin' wuss about stayin' up late these days. So, imagine my fit of pique when they fired up the first movie and it was the goddamn Bad News Bears.

In its defense, Jim and I had a few genuine laugh-out-loud moments during the movie, and even one or two couldn't stop laughin', tears streamin' down the face incidents. And as a fan of the original Bears, I don't think this one stomped on its legacy at all - in fact, the kid they got to play Tanner looks just fucking like the kid that played Tanner in the original. Of course, Billy Bob Thornton will always be worth a watch. I'd recommend it as worth a DVD or cable watch, at least.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was just what I thought it would be - a totally trippy, psychedelic, surreal experience that leaves the urine surprisingly drug-free. And there was plenty of impromptu dancin' in this movie, too, that made me wonder if I was gettin' a contact buzz from the screen. Johnny Depp is in top form as the bizarre, somewhat awkward Willie Wonka. No offense to Gene Wilder and his version of events, but this movie was a lot more like I remember the book. I recommend a big-screen viewing of this flick, just for the visual wonders presented therein.

Sadly, it's Monday and I'm still a little out of it from my big, late night on Saturday. How the hell did I ever gig on Friday nights after I got up at 5:30 am? I am officially OLD.

But not too old to slow dance and/or make out at the drive-in.