a history of me

Legal Disclaimer: Any illegal activities in the framework of this story may be entirely fictional.

The story of tonight's/last night's adventure must be told immediately. Right now it's three-something in the morning. I'm going to start typing now while I'm still "coming down," so to speak, and I'll finish and then publish this post later today.

The story begins with another Craigslist personals advertisement. I saw an intriguing post which was titled "we are the music makers. we are the dreamers of dreams." Most of you should recognize that sentence from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, a wonderfully bizarre movie that helped shape (or should I say warp) the lives of millions of children born in the last thirty years. A new version of the film (or the book, depending on who you believe) titled Charlie and the Chocolate Factory hit theaters last night. The personal ad in question was from a young lady (let's call her "J") looking to see the movie with a new friend. The twist was she was looking to see the movie "high" at the Magic Johnson Theater. In case you haven't figured it out yet, that's in Harlem.

I first responded to the ad on Tuesday night. The conversation hit an odd lull and I assumed that I said the wrong thing and she must have found a better offer. She had said in her initial response that she was looking for someone "adventurous enough" to come to Harlem and go to the movies. I had scoffed at this in my reply; I said, "I never thought of going to the movies as an adventure before." That may have put her off a little but then she replied two days later on Thursday night while I was out. Once I woke up yesterday we exchanged e-mails throughout the afternoon to arrange to meet near the Empire State Building at 8:30 and then take the subway to her neighborhood in West Harlem. She told me to visit her page on Friendster, a site I hadn't visited in at least two years. I logged in to my account and discovered that we were already connected; she has a friend who is friends with a friend of mine! How's that for coincidences? I took this as a sign that she was not going to murder me.

As the evening approached I walked over there in nasty, humid weather and easily undid every attempt I had made to look presentable; I was dripping with sweat to the point where I could feel it running down my back. I had used a ton of deodorant (both solid and spray) so I hope I didn't smell. We met at the arranged time and took a short walk over to the subway. Our initial conversation went pretty well; I managed to make her laugh a few times which puts me at ease. We rode up to 125th St where the Magic Johnson Theater is and I bought two tickets for the 10:30 show. The box office is on the first floor (nowhere near the lobby) so at first glance it looked like every multiplex I've ever been to. I had no idea what I was in store for (we'll get back to that later). Tickets in hand, we took a relatively short walk over to her place.

Her apartment was very nice and well-kept; her CDs were in alphabetical order even. We put on the soundtrack album for Grosse Point Blank and she broke out the four foot bong. It wasn't until I saw it that I realized I hadn't fully considered the logistics of using it. With a pipe that long, each hit would be positively huge. It was also a two-person operation; few humans have long enough arms to comfortably light such a device and remove the slide to inhale all the smoke. We only took two hits apiece, and that was probably for the best. After all, we were planning on going out in public in less than an hour. The conversation got a little strained because she got very talkative and I tend to clam up when I'm high, so all of a sudden she's telling me all kinds of stories and I'm just sitting there.

We left the apartment around 10 and walked to the theater. The humidity felt even more grimy in our new mental state. We were worried about being able to comfortably make it from her place to the theater (even contemplating a taxi) but once we hit the street we made the trip easily. Entering the theater, we enjoyed the welcome rush of air conditioning as we went up two flights via escalators to the lobby. I was very confused by this arrangement; the intermittent floors appeared to have nothing but grey walls and locked metal doors (not theater exits). What on Earth were they for? No matter; I didn't want to get distracted investigating trivial matters.

On the third floor I got the first taste of the theater's design. We walked down a hallway with lots of photos of black celebrities. Pretty much anyone you would expect; I can remember seeing MLK and X. I'm sure that tool Spike Lee was up there somewhere. Some I knew but many I did not. Not everyone was black, actually, but at this point I don't clearly remember who was up there. The point is I was beginning to experience unexpected stimuli and I was high.

The hallway led into the lobby. Oh my God. The lobby has a giant mural of Magic Johnson!! One side is just a huge portrait, the other shows Magic having fun with some kids. It was real megalomaniac action, the kind of thing you'd expect to see in Pyongyang. I don't care how much money Magic may have invested in the theater, there's no plausible excuse for that kind of extravagance. I mean, everyone jokes about Donald Trump's ego but he doesn't plaster his face all over the lobby, just his name. I tried to talk to J about this but she "shushed" me, apparently nervous about upsetting the other customers. I guess she was right but I was a little disappointed that she didn't want to talk now that I had something to say. We bought a few refreshments went inside. I got some Diet cola, she got some Peanut M&Ms and a very large drink.

The theater itself was a normal, stadium-seating arrangement with a traditional "flat" section in front. Rather than sit up in the back we opted to sit in the "flat" area, a good idea considering the "spectacle" nature of this film. At her encouragement I had a few M&Ms, my first chocolate in quite some time. Now that I think about it, that was also my first cola in a while. J actually jumped out during the trailers (which were all for kiddie films, oddly enough) to get some popcorn. I hope I didn't eat too much of her snacks; given the circumstances, I was trying pretty hard to control myself.

I'm not going to try and explain the movie experience right now; it deserves far too much attention that I can give it in this post. I will say that throughout the entire movie, some guy was sleeping in our row and snoring, loudly at times. Nobody was willing to try and wake him. That was just a drop in the bucket though; rest assured, I'll get back to that later.

After the film was over we walked back to her street (I had no designs on trying to go inside) where I got a crosstown bus over to the east side so I could transfer to a downtown subway that stopped in my neighborhood. Weekend construction meant I had a painfully long wait underground. Once back in my area I was still pretty high so I ate some pizza. I know, that's not good for me but I'm still mindful of what I should be eating: I had one slice with chicken and broccoli on it. Those who know my eating habits would be shocked; I used to avoid broccoli as if it was manure.

Bottom line: it was, as promised, an adventure and I had a great time. I still can't believe I met someone over the Internet, went back to her place in Harlem, got high and went to the movies, all without losing a kidney.