There is very little wiggle room in our entertainment budget these days, but I decided that my share of the whopping $30 a month (this includes gas money to get to wherever we are to be "entertained") would be a basic subscription to Netflix.
I'll admit that I really didn't get the concept of Netflix when it first came out and, to be honest, my public library has a huge selection of DVDs -- not this year's (or even last year's) releases but, if you're patient, you eventually get to see what you want. And, naturally, we have video rental places, but even those are pretty much out of the budget range, not so much because we can't afford the rental, but because a per-night rental fee is really not cost-effective.
Anyway, I signed us up for a trial period and was pleased to see how accommodating Netflix is about enabling you to cancel after the trial period (which I'm not going to do). We signed for the absolute lowest cost, which enables us to receive only one movie at a time, return it, then wait for them to receive the return and send us another. What this means is that for approximately $9 a month, we receive two movies a week, plus all the online stuff we want.
How pathetic is my life that this entire arrangement makes me so exceedingly happy that I feel the urge to post about it? When I say all this out loud to people, it sounds really lame. Saturday, when I came home from work and found myself completely alone, I watched all 3-1/2 hours of the Ken Burns documentary on Mark Twain on the Netflix website. I haven't been so happy in a long time (exclamation point excluded due to overuse).
Tonight we're watching Cold Comfort Farm, which I've seen several times (originally at the recommendation of John Boy -- go figure) and has become one of my favorite movies.
Honestly, I do try to keep Dirtman's interests in mind as I add to my Netflix queue, but after a while, I can't help myself. I start clicking on all the Myrna Loy movies, all the Spencer Tracy movies, Cary Grants, Katherine Hepburns, all the pretty-costumes-that-might-possibly-translate-into-everyday-wear movies, all the "I think that too" movies and, most of all, all the "I want to click my heels three times and be inside of this" movies.
Dirtman doesn't stand a chance. He doesn't try.
Dirtman has seen about 15 minutes of each movie picked and promptly falls asleep in his chair -- even the movies he's personally chosen. So I have absolutely no remorse in chirping "Tonight we're watching Henry V!" (Sorry-- I figured I'd have to use the exclamation point with a verb like 'chirping').
I might add that most nights I'm here all by myself, so a steady stream of Thin Man movies isn't going to bother anyone. And -- I might add -- I live with a man who watches Dog, the Bounty Hunter (the mention of which made me throw up a little in my mouth).
I rest my case.