Brought to You by the Letter "I"

I *still* haven’t seen Into the Wild. (I had an opportunity when it was in the theater when I pounced upon some poor lad eating a knish outside Sunshine Cinema while I was working on my Yonah Schimmel story…but it was early in the school year and we were having “objectivity” shoved down our throats, so when he asked if I wanted to see the movie with him, I felt I had some moral obligation to decline.)

But I’ve *wanted* to see it. I’ve heard such good things about it. And when I was in Denali after graduation, we drove by a river and our tour guide said, “Remember the river that the guy in Into the Wild couldn’t get across? That’s it.”

So…I sort of bookmarked it in my head and finally got around to seeing it during unemployment.

And I was sooo excited at the very beginning of the film with the guy writing a postcard from Fairbanks…and all the initial shots — the Big I! Soapy Smith’s!…but then, as the majority of discs from Netflix are wont to do these days…it ground to a halt. And even after wiping the stupid thing with a damp cloth, it was *still* unplayable. (Same thing with the copy of “La Vie en Rose” they sent me. Shame on you, Netflix. If this happens again, you may get an angry missive not unlike the one I sent to FreshDirect when it forgot my hamburger buns. Woe betide!)

But it was still exciting to see familiar landmarks for a brief, shining moment. The Big I is right across from my mom’s office. (It is also, coincidentally, a country station in New Mexico.) And she’s retiring soon! So soon it will be right across from just another office building…

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