INDY'S WEEKLY ALTERNATIVE NEWSPAPER HIGHLIGHTING ARTS, ENTERTAINMENT AND SOCIAL JUSTICE

Downtown Diary

[this is satire]

Rocky the Diabolical Cat™, Ms. O and I were driving to The Abbey for an espresso after a screening of Lost In Translation at Key Cinemas. “I thought it was a decent film. A bit over-rated perhaps, and indeed not without its conceptual problems, but a good, cute film,” I commented as we sat at the stoplight.

Ms. O yawned and said, “Yes, it was cute, but really, how many more of these improbable old guy-young woman films do we need?”

“Frankly,” I countered, “it breathes new life into any guy over 40 when he sees Bill Murray, who is looking like no one if not Wile E. Coyote these days, hanging out with a smart, beautiful, young woman.”

“On a movie screen. Get real, J!” Ms. O laughed.

Rocky rolled down the passenger window and spat on an Ashcroft Youth who was goose-stepping down the sidewalk.

“Seriously, Ms. O,” I continued, “according to my calculations, by Hollywood standards generally and this film specifically, a man my age should be hanging out with a 16.4-year-old girl. Let us ratchet things up to, say, 19, just to preserve credulity. Wouldn’t you likewise want a 19-year-old plaything for yourself?”

“Never! Never! Only you could imagine that a mature, beautiful woman of my age would want to spend time with some vapid child! What would we even talk about?” she protested.

“Nobody’s talking about talking here, Ms. O,” Rocky interjected.

“Aha, but the film was about talking. There wasn’t much physicality ... it was sort of a meeting of two searching souls, if you will,” Ms. O said philosophically.

“Ugh, I think you give Francis’ daughter a bit too much credit,” I groaned.

We drove along in silence. “Get your hand off my thigh, J,” Ms. O demanded.

“My hand is not on your thigh,” I said.

“Rocky!” Ms. O exclaimed.

“It’s OK, baby,” the feline said, “I’m only 10 in cat years but I’m much, much older in human years.”