Oh old theater, we miss you already

The Varsity Theater closed its doors last week after 80 years of business in downtown Chapel Hill. A few thoughts . . .

Old theaters charged little for admission and hoped that customers would buy some Milk Duds and a large popcorn after finding parking in an undersized lot. They had thick, worn carpet, dusty curtains and squeaky seats. Arcades and trailer posters new and old enlivened the inside walls with oversized light bulbs. The bathrooms were short of supplies, but nobody complained. The guy behind the counter inevitably visited with a friend while serving the patrons.

Old theaters thrived on the business of telling stories, and business was generally good. They did not record history like a good book but instead let it pass through its doors unbothered. We sensed the past when we walked in but acknowledged that we could not actually know it. The same screen that showed "Gone with the Wind" and "Singing in the Rain" to our forebears showed "Milk" and "Slumdog Millionaire" to our friends last year. Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Katherine Hepburn, Gene Kelly, Bob Hope. Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Ann-Margret, Kevin Costner, Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks. Heath Ledger, Ann Hathaway, Michelle Williams, Will Smith. In childhood I frequented The Liberty Theater and wondered at the signed picture of Lucille Ball. I imagined Marlon Brando accepting bills under the window as I handed them over a half century later.

In earlier times movie goers were shorter. Our stature changed along with our culture. But we still piled into the rows and hugged our knees and felt that what we did for two hours inside these nearly spiritual structures was considered "American." We imagined our parents going on their first date as nervous as we were on ours.

"Thank you," she probably said as he fumbled with his wallet. They hesitated to choose seats just like us and rolled their raffle tickets to tiny cylinders in their hands until the lights dimmed and the show was on. Then he reached over to hold her hand, hoping to feel a squeeze back. Sound familiar?

No other building maintained its function like our old movie theater. Old university buildings served as residence, lecture and dining halls, administrative offices and libraries during their tenure. The theater was there for us to escape, and we did for nearly a century. We remember seeing that moderately funny film that our company thought was outrageous. We laughed with them and subconsciously knew them better than we did when we bought the tickets. We scorned cell phone rings. Our parents scorned rude conversation. We revered the films that left us sitting in silence while the credits rolled. But mostly we remember the people with whom we laughed, cried, cringed and jumped in the safe cover of darkness while our history poured out of a visual faucet before dedicated eyes.

We understand that all things change but wish that some things were insured against time. We watched Hector's, Schoolkids and the Rathskellar disappear. And yet all we can do is what that modest marquee seemed to suggest whenever I walked under it; remember the past and hope for the future.

Weekend update

The wax eater could not hang out for the last couple months because he was studying for a major medical school exam that he took Friday. We celebrated. I celebrated more than anyone else because I really like the guy. I got home around 2 a.m. and found an e-mail from the Tar Heel Tournament director that said "You're in." I drank eight glasses of water.

I made it to the course on time and felt ready to play. When I tried to pay my non-member fee, the director said I was still on the wait list. Shoot. I waited until another wait list guy registered and finally handed over my money. The director gave me a goody bag of discs and disc markers. I sat and waited for about 30 minutes until the players finally picked up their scorecards and trudged to their designated holes in the building heat. The problem was that I did not have a designated hole. The director did not have a spot for me after all. He let me keep a free disc from the goody bag. I could not be upset with what seemed to be an honest mistake. I know I have made similar mistakes with my clients.

I took a nap. Then I went to Lowe's with my girlfriend to buy a piece of plywood that will become a two-sided replica of Carolina's football field and basketball court. The finished product will be a surface on which I will play dominoes and grade papers. Can't wait.

I also constructed a Web site for next school year. Tell me if you have suggestions.

Rabid foxes attacked three different people last week in Chapel Hill. Stay safe out there. Godspeed.

Disc talk and the Tar Heel Tournament

I disc golfed with my girlfriend this morning. One of my tee shots faded farther right than I wanted.

"Make it do the work!" I shouted so half the course could hear. The statement made no sense in any context, and I did not know I said it until I walked to the ladies' tee for my girlfriend's shot. She was doubled over with laughter.

"Do you shout at your discs when you golf by yourself?" she asked between sharp inhales. Throw your disc, my body language said.

She wound up and threw. "Take it to the cleaners!" she shouted. I finally started to chuckle. We then compiled the following list of disc drive demands.

Give me the money!
Pull the string!
Swing away!
Mow the lawn!
Maneja el autobus de la ciudad!
Negotiate with protruding trees.
Kiss the hole!
Eat chain!
Call the doctor!
Make her whinny!

I was so excited about tying my personal course record that I registered for this weekend's Tar Heel Tournament, the only Professional Disc Golf Association tournament in the Chapel Hill-Carrboro area despite the many courses. I called my girlfriend to tell her I felt like Tiger Woods. I sent messages to a couple golf buddies about the opportunity for early registration. My friend Jesse prepared to come back to Chapel Hill from Washington to play the tournament.

Then I got this e-mail from the tournament director.

~
J.,

Right now you are 10 on the waiting list. The tourney filled last week. I'll keep you updated as others drop out. If you do not get in, you will receive a full refund.
~

I am crushed.

A quiet night

My mom is in town, and tonight I did some work downstairs while she watched television. I faced away from the set so I had no visual distraction. The shows she watched sounded funnier without the visual cues. Take, for example, "The View."

The chatter immediately reminded me of old Saturday Night Live parodies with each of the five women trying to drown out the other four. The effect was that the viewer could not understand anything until Tracy Morgan, one of the men with whom I hope to play poker in heaven, shouted something marginally obscene over the din and qualified the statement with "I am a lawyer." I cannot find this on YouTube anywhere.

The other upstairs poker buddies will be Kevin James, Ray Romano, Roy Williams, John Bunting, Dr. Horne, Chuck Beach, Barack Obama and Dad. That's just off the top of my head. KJ will eat all the food. Roy will call me youngster. John Bunting will tell me he loves me after losing a pot. Dr. Horne will laugh hard and sweat. Dad will take forever to act. Beach will leave early. Obama will win. Did you know he occasionally smokes? I guess we'll have to take a break when we color up.