@thefrontrowe

My friend really likes the Howard Stern Show. So, some comic was in town that is a regular on the show. We went and saw him. Great fun. Then we went to Fell’s Point, to Max’s. He asked me what I wanted as I was off to the restroom. “Whatever you’re getting,” I replied.

Max’s is a beer bar. There’s 1.4 million beers to choose from, roughly. And I return to a Red Bull and vodka. Seriously? How does that happen? Of all the delicious beers to choose from I get a RBV?  It lead me down a path of destruction. Thankfully, for the most part, my call and text log is clear of any embarrassing outbound messages.

I tap this out on my iPhone as I wing my way back to Baltimore on a Monday morning. I was in Boston visiting my brother as he is in the dire last moments of not being a father. Our father was in town from California and rare is it that the three of us are in the same place at the same time with the luxury of just being the three of us in the same place at the same time.

So, what do we do? We see movies. Not movie. Movies. We departed my brother’s overly pregnant wife both Saturday and Sunday, venturing out into Boston for some lunch, followed quickly by a trip to the AMC Boston Commons Movie Theater. This is something we haven’t done in quite a long time. But when we did, it was done bi-weekly, in Baltimore or New Jersey, with perfect predictability.

It took me until the second movie, Henry Poole Is Here, to even realize what we had recaptured. Matt and I were obviously younger the last time we practiced our tradition and not yet set on the paths of each of our lives. Matt paid for the tickets and I picked up the snacks. Looking like champs, we still let Dad pick up the big tabs during the weekend.

There was significance in where we found ourselves, in such a familiar space. Matt is days if not hours (Editor’s Note: It was hours.) from being a father himself. In a couple years he’d be introducing his son to our tradition. Fitting. Poetic. Almost scripted.

As we operate three separate lives in three different cities, it is a challenge to find a movie that we all haven’t seen. Luckily, no one escaped mid-week to see Tropic Thunder after its Wednesday release. I was leery about what was left for Sunday (Oh god, not Traveling Pants), but for the moment we had Ben Stiller’s latest.

Tropic Thunder

This one had been coming for a long time. It seems like I had seen Robert Downey Jr. in blackface 6 months ago. It’s one of those things that by the time it got here, I couldn’t really be entertained anymore. But, to Ironman’s credit, he managed to push through and get a few laughs. It probably wasn’t as funny as it could have been without the enormous buzz and preamble. Still, it was quality gag.

The movie wasn’t spectacular. For the summer comedies, it is slightly better than Step Brothers and not nearly as hilarious as Pineapple Express. It wasn’t worth the price of admission to the theater, but a good one to watch at home, perhaps. Netflix, Blockbuster, OnDemand, however you consumer cinema in the home. It certainly warrants shelling out some of hour hard-earned money. Just not a whole lot.

Most of the laughs came from Tom Cruise’s portrayal of a ball-crushing studio exec. It was a display that was up there with his Frank T.J. Mackey performance in Magnolia. He chewed up every inch of screen. He was ferocious and over the top and brilliant. You find yourselves trudging through the jungle with Stiller, Black and RDJr., just waiting for the sweet relief of Cruise. He boosted the movie several notches. It’s a credit to his ability as an actor. Say what you will for his private life (really I don’t know why you’d be saying anything at all), but Cruise is a top-notch actor. Don’t let his foibles in the media poison your enjoyment of his films. You’re only doing yourself a disservice.

Tropic Thunder was fine for what it was for us, a late summer romp that required little to no personal investment. It was a movie that my father, brother and I hadn’t seen. If you have choices (Pineapple Express), I’d pick something else and wait for this one on DVD.

I finally tracked down a legit Dark and Stormy made with the right components (Goslings Black Seal Rum and Ginger Beer). I wanted it to be some fantastic and wonderful explosion of drink deliciousness. I had waited for so long. I had romanticized it. In my head it would transform me into some rakish swashbuckler that laughs in the face of danger. I would do that thing where I’d jump into the main sail of a pirate ship, stab it with a knife and slide down to the deck. Yelling, “Ah-HA!” as I hit the deck. Pulling my sword and unarming the particular foe I would be facing.

None of that happened. It didn’t taste much different than a Jack and Ginger, a drink with which I was all too familiar. There was no piratry conjured.

I was back, slouched on a bar stool, at Captain Larry’s listening to some member of the state legislature trying to convince me that we’d met before. “Ok, ok. I believe you. Have another Guinness, Senator. Um… You… You have a bubble of spit on your lip. Yeah… Kinda gross.”

So, the quest for my next drink continues. I want something new and exciting. I’m bored with vodka and beer and jack and coke and ginger ale and tonic and club soda and jager and tequila. I want to be excited about drinking again. I want a new adventure in a glass.