Nondate Movie of the Year

Once a week, Susan goes out to Queens to visit Grandma--over the river (or under it, depending on the train) and through the hood and all that noise. Tonight, that weekly trip left me with the opportunity to see a certain movie. I'd been hearing about this movie for months and was looking forward to seeing it. I'd heard it was best seen with a group, so I e-mailed a few of the guys: one claimed he was out wine tasting (he already knows what Franzia tastes like), another had some excuse about a sick wife and two babies, and the other simply didn't respond to my email.

Such is life. But I'm always up for a movie alone. I don't have to wait on tend-to-be-late jerkwads or a certain girlfriend who likes to sneak in half of Duane Reade because she refuses to pay for the jacked-up snack prices.

At any rate, tonight I saw Snakes on a Plane. Best. Movie. Of. The. Summer. My only complaint is that it was a little too gory at parts, but otherwise it delivered about six cases of cheese-whiz PLUS two of those 2-gallon sacks of yellow goo the movie theater pours on its nachos. My other decent summer flick experience this year was, of all things, The Devil Wears Prada, which was entertaining and delivered exactly what promised.

Snakes on a Plane was the exact same thing. It delivered snakes, a plane, some muthafuckin cursin by muthafuckin Samuel L. Jackson, and gratuitous nudity and gore. Hell, I'da paid $15 to see that movie.

And, double hell, it might actually make a good date movie because your girl will be all screaming and clutching your arm and jumping up in your lap and such.

A definite must-see.