Microcinema

When I think about "microcinema", I don't think about people dressed in formal evening attire sitting on velvet love seats, biting the ends of long, plastic cigarette filters saying things like "indubitably" or "enigma." Instead I recall a very fond memory of my early high school experience. My freshman and sophomore year, I had a best friend named British Aab. She was the first quintessential hipster I had ever encountered. Falling under her mentorship, I found myself hanging out downtown late at night, listening to local musicians scream above the drone of washing machines in the Soapbox Lounge, drinking fancy coffee drinks, reading "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" and pretending like I understood whatever Milan Kundera was talking about at the time. A few key lines regarding sexual odors still linger in my mind. One of the influential individuals Bri introduced me to was Fred Champion, former owner of CD Alley. Every Thursday night he hosted a regular movie night in which he would invite all of the other long-haired, thick-framed, downtown intellectuals over to his apartment above what used to be Mugsy's Pub. It smelled of stale marijuana and patchouli. His viewing room was separate from his living quarters, which made it feel a lot more formal, yet still exclusive-- there was an array of old couches, movie theater seats, park benches, etc. This was the first place I ever saw someone carve a bowl out of an apple. It was quite impressive. I would lie to my parents every Thursday night so I could see the b or c-list movies with Bri at Fred's place, trying to pass off as too mature for our own good. I remember the only rule was that no one could enter or talk after the film began-- we all had a universal understanding of respect for the ridiculous artform we were about to witness. I hope to recreate this feeling or experience on Thursday.