In my apartment, I don’t have cable. There are other luxuries I value more to spend $125 a month on cable, therefore I have an internet ready Blu-ray with Netflix. A doesn’t have cable, he doesn’t even have a TV. He did, at first, then he returned it. Then his friend got divorced, had to vacate his tiny Brooklyn apartment and gave A his 64 inch TV, then he took it back, Indian Giver, rather Pakistani giver?
There comes a time, about 10 pm, when A and I have eaten and talked a while and want to lay in bed and watch a movie on his laptop. We use my Netflix, this is when the pain sets in. I like movies. I don’t see every movie because I am very particular. I grew up in a house where movies were important. Acting was importing. Writing was important. We were critical about everything that was absolute junk and if it was good, well, we watched it again and again. I prefer a good, critically acclaimed drama, or a silly comedy. A, on the other hand, likes romance movies. Yes, my boyfriend watches chick flicks. Its terrible, we fought for two weeks over his desire to watch Ghost. So when it comes time to pick a movie we get to take turns. But my picks usually get turned off in 10 minutes and his movies, well, I just fall asleep. A likes to peruse the “steamy romance” section for an unholy amount of time. He recently made me watch Basic Instinct 2! I fear this will be a lifelong struggle!
