Don't trust him.

So I decided after a steady diet of Netflix that it was about time I went out and saw a movie in its natural environment.  My selection was The Green Hornet because enough people I trusted said it was fun.  They were right and this post isn't about The Green Hornet.  It's about when I was waiting in line for The Green Hornet.
There were three girls waiting in front of me and my associate, all seeing Black Swan and all probably paying in pennies at the pace it took them to get a ticket.  That alone wasn't a big deal because I was early.  However, the unfortunate side effect to this was that I had to listen to the idiots behind me.  There was a heterosexual couple, 18 or older, also looking forward to a little cinematic escapism.  I found out they were seeing The Dilemma when the female member of the couple pointed to the little poster rectangle of it above its show times and said "Wait, I thought this was the movie with the two girls!"  The XY portion of this couple stated "Don't worry, it'll be funny."  This didn't calm the girl.  She protested by saying "But that thing has two guys on it!"  Unshaken in his determination to see this cinematic masterpiece the guy once more put his foot down and cooly said "Trust me, it'll be funny."  This seemed to do the trick for the time being.  After the girls in front of me had gathered another sixty cents in pennies the girl asked "So what's this movie about?"  Oh, but the guy would have no questioning of his profound trust in this film.  With an attitude of relaxation that would have made a Mr. Matthew McConaughey proud, the guy ended the discussion by saying "Trust me.  It'll be funny."  And that was that.
Now, this has been stuck in my head because it raises some questions:
1. Who's to say there aren't "two girls" in this movie, based on the poster?  I've unfortunately seen the trailer and know both the main characters have a steady relationship.  So I can only guess those were the "two girls" that the girl behind me spoke of.  Does she really think the poster represents the entire movie?  Did she think there's no sets, just a white background?  Is there a major plot point revolving around Vince Vaughn putting his hands on his head?  It's bad enough that the poster is awful.  It gives no indication of plot whatsoever.  It literally just says "Hey, we have these two guys.  You like them, right?"  So it's especially bad when someone who actually plans on seeing the movie bases their opinion on the poster.
2. Why in the world was the guy so darn sure that The Dilemma was going to be funny?  He sounded like he'd seen it before.  He voice had the tone one uses when telling someone who hasn't seen Young Frankenstein that they're in for a treat.  He didn't sound like someone who had seen a movie that got up to a whopping 21% on Rotten Tomatoes.  God help us all, maybe he did see it and had to share it with his beloved.  BUT, let's say he didn't.  Was he really sold by the trailer?  Maybe just sold by the poster?  If he's going by the poster alone that might explain why he didn't describe the plot: because he had no clue what it was.  I think the most likely scenario is he saw the commercial for it and decided it would be more fun that seeing Black Swan.  I mean, hey, it's got a wacky premise and two established comedians.  That's something to go on, right?  But why was he so sure?  That's what I really can't wrap my mind around.  This guy was absolutely sold on this movie and frankly I'm scared that the awful advertising alone might have been responsible.

The Nines

The first grade sticks out in my mind as the grade where the educational system started to fail me.  That alone is a scary thought considering it was my second public school grade and also considering I was educated in Massachusetts.  The one thing I may never forget about first grade was that my class was constantly being assigned the task of writing every number from 1 to 100.  This was a task that was never difficult for me mentally but extremely tedious.  We used these sheets of paper that were about half the size of a standard piece of paper.  These sheets were made of recycled paper and so they were this dull grade color that did a great job of reflecting just how unenthusiastic I was about the prospect of covering them with numbers.  There were no lines, just imperfect specs all over.
Being the good little schoolboy I was, I filled these sheets with 1, 46, 78, 100 and all the exciting numbers in-between.  Since I mastered this task early on I of course began to wonder what came next?  Sure, I should have been able to figure out the formula but 100 was a triple digit.  Perhaps the rules changed when it was three numbers?  And keep in mind my class was assigned only these 100 numbers constantly.  Surely what came after 100 was so complex that our tiny brains could scarcely comprehend this post-centennial numeral.  And so, since my first grade teacher clearly had no interest in furthering my education, I turned to a magical being whose knowledge knew no bounds: my mommy.
I approached my mother, anxious to finally uncover these forbidden numbers that were to never be put upon my delicate gray rectangle of recycled paper.  I asked the loving woman who gave birth to me what came next after 100.  I remember distinctly exactly what my mom told me.  She said "There's a lot of nines."
A lot of nines?  I'd already covered nine.  It comes back?  Multiple times?  Without further questioning I just immediately assumed that the sequence went as follows: 98, 99, 100, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9 and so forth for an undetermined amount of nines until I got to the number of dalmatians that Pongo and Perdita parented.  Surely I couldn't memorize the number of nines that came after 100.  I wasn't ready to deal with repeating numbers yet.  I became a bit more satisfied with my educational limits but no less bored with the tedium of sequencing all the numbers I knew.

I don't remember finding out 101 came after 100 but I remember years later remembering that my mother's original answer made no sense and my assumption based on her answer was nonsensical as well.  So of course I asked my mother what in the world she meant by telling me a lot of nines came after one hundred.  But by then it was too late.  She had completely forgotten why she gave me that answer.