Sunday, November 09, 2003

Matrix 3

Saturday night I went to dinner with this guy Phil, who is actually working for another company that is doing some consulting for us, and some of his buddies. Phil told me this funny story about how when he first started working on site at our company, he caused quite a stir among the group of gay guys working around him, who were bitterly disappointed to find out that he was in fact not gay (he found out about this from a hot lesbian girl he was hoping to date. I can't believe I never realized that there are so many homosexuals working at this company, but then again I only interact with 4 people on a day-to-day basis). I told him that I was also unsure about his sexuality initially because no hetero guy I know has ever called me "Mr. Gary" and speak with such deliberacy (I don't ever remember hearing anyone using the word "apropos" in a conversation with me). Then he told me about going to a gay bar with a couple of gay guys because he thought their hot, straight female friend was going as well. The bad news was that she didn't go. The good news was that he actually made out with a straight girl in the bar. Some guys just have a way with women I guess.

Anyways, the movie. I came. I saw. I left. That's all there is to it. I think I like it better than the second one, mainly because all the bad reviews had drastically tempered my expectations. It could have been so much more. But that was not to be. I have to admit that seeing the progressive deterioration of the Matrix trilogy is akin to watching the most brilliant, promising, perfect prodigy one has ever seen grow up to be a raging alcoholic, heroin addict, manwhore who shoots himself to end the misery that has become his life. Maybe I'm being too harsh, but then again here's Phil's analogy: it's like watching a goldfish swimming in an aquarium with a trail of shit behind it; the goldfish is the first movie while the shit is the rest of the trilogy.

Afterwards we went out to a bar, had some drinks and watched Phil make a fool of himself singing "New York New York" on Karaoke. When I left at 1:30 feeling tipsy from my White Russian and one other drink (Stoli Vanilla with Diet Coke I think ), he was talking to a cute girl who apparently enjoyed his singing.

It felt good just hanging out with a group of guys, even if I didn't really know two of them all that well. It was so much less taxing than having dinner one-on-one with a girl friend. I should do this more often. It's a good thing that Phil lives only 10 blocks away.