A pair of disappointing events. Or... How I watched the Watchmen.

Yo readers.

For the second time in two months, a horrible theater experience has left a bad taste in my mouth for a film. I'm not exactly sure how this works out, but somehow it's my doing... perhaps some kind of fate. I have no idea.

In celebration of seeing Watchmen, let me spin this tale for you in celebration of Dr. Manhattan's wonderful time-bending monologue. Enjoy this short biographical story about my experiences with two of my most anticipated films of 2009.

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It is midnight on Friday, February 13th, 2009.

I'm walking into the movie theatre with Jon, Jenn and Michael, and my anticipation is at an all-time high. The dark tunnel of the theater's entrance suddenly gives way to a billboard of an insane-looking, cartoon Coca-Cola commercial paired with the collective semi-whispers of hundreds of people. They're stacked in here like a produce department's Golden Delicious apple display.

The people are rushing in like a water through a broken dam, and I've just gone against my friends' ideas to walk further up the stairs. It's midnight on Friday, March 6, 2009, and I'm searching for a seat to view Watchmen. There's four of us, and no four empty chairs are in sight.

It's Wednesday, November 12, 2008, and I'm sitting at my computer at work. The Watchmen full-length first trailer has just been thrown into the internets, and I'm anxious to see it.

Woah, I've just watched it four times, and this movie looks amazing.

They use a Muse song at the end of the trailer, which suddenly strikes me as being weird... but then it settles in and I begin to love it. I think I'll watch it again. For the 5th time.

I see two seats together on the end of a row, just below two more empty seats below. It wasn't four seats together, but it was four seats close by. Rather than look for other options, the rushing crowd is scaring the hell out of me, so I'm going to sit down in this first-opportunity seat. Watchmen should begin within 10 minutes. I'm pretty excited.

I see four seats together right in the middle section... in the front... just behind the metal rail. I think I'll rush over and grab those seats right now, because I love to put my feet up on the rail while watching the movie. It's way more comfortable than being jammed in behind somebody, right? I can practically hear Jason breathing now. T-minus four minutes to go-time.

The mask is terrifying, but it's so interesting. I can't take my eyes off this murderer, knowing that I probably shouldn't even be watching this. It's 1992, I'm 13 years old and this is the first time I've seen a Friday the 13th film. I think this is part six, but it's hard to tell. There's a paintball game going. Jason is in the woods with them. Oh man, this should be crazy.

The first thing I notice is the smell. I'm snuggling into my new seat on the end of the row, right next to an extremely large woman. Any minute now I should be hearing Rorschach's voice. Oh wait, is that even a woman? I lean over and now I'm seeing the faint hint of a mustache. That doesn't mean anything, though, women can have those too, right? The smell. What is that smell? She suddenly coughs once, and I jump, startled. Man, this chick has a loud cough. But wait... beyond the long hair, could this be a dude? I probably need to say something.

"Hey there, how's it going?"

My feet are propped up on the rail and the lights begin to dim. Man, this is crazy exciting. I'm about to see a film that I never thought would be made. Jason Voorhees is alive on screen again. There are kids behind me talking right now during this trailer. They're pretty loud. I'm sure they'll stop when the movie starts up. I can't wait for this.

"Sup man," she says in a man's voice. My God, this is a dude after all. Another insane cough. Damn, this cough literally sounds like a Sepultura song. The pure impact on this guy's throat from these coughs must be like a sledge hammer against a headstone. Smash. ... Again.

Smash.

One of the dudes behind me starts thoroughly explaining the ending of Friday the 13th part 1 to the guy beside him. Their volume hasn't gotten any softer. Son of a bitch, these guys are seriously just having a full-on conversation over the beginning of this film. I decide to look over my shoulder and see what these guys look like. My God, there's seven of them. And yeah... none of them look like small dudes. Oh man, this is going to suck.

It's 8:45 on Saturday, March 7, 2009. I'm at home writing this blog. Just thinking about those events is making me angry. I've got to seriously stop myself from getting frustrated at this and go grab a peanut butter sandwich.

What is that smell? It seems to be this mixture of sweat, a moldy car seat and a rat's nest in my Grandaddy's barn. The cough is unbelievable. I say to him, "Wow man, are you gonna make it?"

"I certainly hope so," he says.

"So do I," I reply. I'm not feeling good about this seat at all, but the literal sea of anxiously bobbing heads tells me that at this point, I have no choice. Might as well make the most of it. Now that I think about it... it's more of an old attic full of soggy shoes. That's the smell. That's exactly it.

One of the guys stops talking and apparently he's getting up to leave. He's a big guy, which makes me sad that I can't bitch slap him and drive his nose up into his brain, leaving him in a hospital bed for the rest of his life. I wouldn't do that. ... But right now I'm so annoyed that it certainly is fun to think about. Just like that scene with Bruce Willis in "The Last Boy Scout."

Here he comes back. His friends actually talk to him out loud as he passes them. Wait a minute, how long has this damn movie been going now? Have I not been paying attention to the first 30 minutes? What even happened? All I can remember is that God-forsaken surfer-accented fraternity voice explaining how Jason took an axe to the head in part 3. I am absolutely miserable. Maybe I should say something? God, there's so many of them, though. Plus, they're not small. These crazy frat-looking dicks would probably be the kind of kids to wait for me behind the theatre. I guess I'll just be a pussy and deal with it. Maybe they'll just shut the hell up soon.

I'm absolutely terrified. Rather than enjoying the opening credits right now, I'm counting the minutes in between the next coughing fit. Every time they come... they come with this ravenous, shocking, thunderous surprise. I keep jumping every time. Just a second ago, I saw this brilliant shot of Dollar Bill lying dead on the ground, surrounded by photographers and policemen. Just as I got into the scene (and just when Dylan's melodic voice has calmed me down---Damn this song is awesome with these credits), there's another catastrophic coughing fit. This one is particularly intense. Is this fucker going to die right now? Judging from his smell—I actually think he's already dead.

MY GOD. He just coughed so hard and so violently I thought he was going to vomit. I scoot over as far as I can. The smell. God, those old shoes. Is that what that is?? Definitely. The guy in front of him also imagined vomit coming, because he just now jumped nearly out of his seat from fear. Why the hell didn't he stay his ass at home?

Jason just threw an axe right into the back of the token black kid. My God that must hurt. Just look at him... wait... did that guy behind me just say that Kane Hodder was the best Jason? Did I just seriously hear that? Dude, that's some shit you talk about over waffles or at the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday's. You don't have a full-volume conversation about it during the film. On opening night. At a midnight show. My God I hate these kids.

This could be one of the best peanut butter sandwiches I've ever had. Probably not, but it tastes fantastic. This blog looks like it's going to shape up to be a pretty long post. It's 9:00 p.m. now, which means I've been writing it for more than 15 minutes. Maybe 20. I need more water.

"Seriously, dude, you going to be okay?"

"Sorry," he says with a pathetic whimper.

My friend Logan has had enough. Not only has this fat idiot wrecked the entire first half of this movie for everyone around him, but he's officially given me a full-on dose of paranoia. A little piece of spit just landed on my hand. What the hell do I do about this??? I guess I'll make some noise to demonstrate how pissed off I am. "Aw man, damn." I say out loud.

He only replies with another coughing fit... and I cover myself with my hoodie. Logan just got up and left the theatre, rampaging down the stairs like a man on a mission. I don't think he's going to pee. Where the hell IS he going?

"Excuse me, guys, seriously, I'm not trying to be a dick, but could you please STOP TALKING." Michael says. He apparently got sick of it too. My God, I can't believe they've actually stopped talking. For the first time in the entire movie, they've shut the hell... wait. Dude. Come on, don't tell me you're... ... damn, now they're doing the 'loud whisper' maneuver. How much longer is even left of this movie? I kind of just want to leave.

"WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING???" My mom walks by the TV in my room and catches a glimpse of Tommy Jarvis fighting a very pissed off Jason Voorhees on a boat in a flaming lake. "What is this??"

Luckily, it's edited for television. I guess she can't say much to me... considering a commercial break for Dairy Queen just eased the tension. I wonder if Tommy is going to be able to tie that big ass chain around him? Mom just shook her head at me. I can't wait for this stupid commercial break to be over.

I see Logan coming back. Oh shit, what's that in his hand?

"DUDE. DRINK THIS," he says in this extremely loud voice. "THERE'S A WATER MACHINE RIGHT OUTSIDE. GO DRINK MORE WATER. LEAVE THE THEATRE. PLEASE STOP COUGHING."

The moldy shoe kid... woah... how old IS this kid? Now that I look at him, I think he's like 18. Damn, he looked 40 before. Well, at any rate, he's terrified of Logan (I'd be too, this guy is pissed off and big) and he's chugging the water.

...As Rorschach's mask is removed... his screams are not interrupted by sledge hammer scraping and pounding against a brick wall. I can hear what he's saying right now. This looks so incred... what the hell? What's this kid DOING?? He's standing up and squeezing by me. My GOD this smell is inhuman. Did this kid seriously drive over here in a car made of gym bags?

There he goes, wondering down the stairs. It would be awesome if he were going to shower.

Jason is almost dead. Could he be? These filmmakers are going to be crazy ballsy if they just seriously dramatically kill him. Oh my God, it looks like his head is going to be completely ground up like lean beef in this wood chipper. Surely they won't do this. Not this hard core.

How long has that walking junkyard been gone now? I suddenly realize that my thoughts through this entire film haven't been focused on Dr. Manhattan's monologues at all... hell... not even his penis. I've been terrified of germs... plotting the many ways I could ninja flip my ass out of this seat if the choking sound of barf comes rumbling out of his chest like a cement mixer. I've counted minutes in between coughs. So far he's up to an impressive 4 minutes between hacks. In those little 4-minute intervals, I'm really enjoying this movie. He's gone now, so at least I can start to absorb the story more. Maybe he'll stay gone.

It's January 30, 2009, and I've just emailed Jon a series of new Watchmen portraits, photographed and illustrated by Clay Enos. My God this guy's work is amazing. This movie can't get here fast enough!!! I'm definitely going to buy a midnight ticket for this picture. It's so weird and simultaneously amazing how much these characters look like Dave Gibbons' art. I guess I need to get back to work. The way I figure it, though... if you're going to waste some time while working... why not waste it on some Watchmen goods? March is way off. I can't wait.

He's coming back. The son of a bitch is coming back. Here he comes, waddling up the stairs like an old man who's angry that he never had that in-home elevator installed. Apparently, he did not shower.

"I just CAN NOT tune that shit out!" I scream sternly at Jon and Jennifer. We're standing outside the theatre and I'm weaving in and out between discussing my frustrations with the film and the complete dicks sitting behind us. I just have this awful, wasted feeling like I've waited so long for this movie, and just three minutes ago I finally saw it. But instead of being elated right now, I'm more interested in thinking of newer and better ways to follow those guys home, hide in a bush outside their door and break their legs with a crowbar when they leave for school or work in the morning. I hope I just get over this soon, let the frustration go, and breathe in the coolness of how the hockey mask looked in the dim light of the shower scene.

Now that I think about it, I never got over my frustrations. Even though it's been nearly a month, I'd still like to sit in those bushes with my crowbar. It's 9:20 on Saturday night, and I think the blog is going well. It seems to be pretty interesting, but I have no clue if anybody will find this thing entertaining. I guess I'm just spilling out my frustrations for the day. I wonder if that crowbar line seemed too harsh. Eh, who cares. I feel harsh right now.

Dr. Manhattan's giant blue hand has just crashed through the glass ceiling, and as he says, "You disappoint me..." the extra-large sweaty gym-towel monster beside me starts leaping up and down in his chair like a maniac. This appears to be either his very first orgasm, or his favorite line in the entire graphic novel. His excitement would have been almost cute, if it would have been anyone but him. By now my hate has grown exponentially. His building excitement must have been too much for his lungs, because now he's in the middle of another round of thunderous, earthquake-inducing coughing fits.

I just want to go home and wash my entire body. To hell with Watchmen.

I turn off the television and immediately grab a piece of white copy paper and my handy 0.5 mm lead pencil. That had to have been the coolest horror movie I've ever seen. I can't quite get the angle right on the holes in the mask, but the machete is looking pretty solid. I pop in my over-viewed VHS-recorded copy of John McTiernan's "PREDATOR" and I'm slightly worried about the tracking problem. That's so weird. I wonder if this is because this tape is just busted and old, or if it's my VCR. The sound is okay, I guess. Back to my drawing.

I think we've all been talking about the coughing kid for a full 10 minutes on the sidewalk behind the theatre. Logan and I are about to hop in the truck and head home. It's nearly 3:00 a.m. Jon tells me that he was so invested in the film that he never even noticed the coughs. He's got to be bullshitting me. No way in hell could any human in a 50 foot radius NOT notice those rumbling volcanic spit-eruptions.

Jon makes a great point about the film.

Logan has brought the conversation back to the coughing kid, but I'm still dwelling on Jon's observation. He just said that fans of the book could be completely satisfied with the film, but someone who has no idea about the source material would be completely buried in the deep, complex story and have a very hard time keeping up or even liking it. Especially the ending. It's not exactly your "let's run through the daisies while children sing and twirl around flags like the end of Paul W.S. Anderson's beyond hilarious Mortal Kombat" movie. No, the ending that I just saw 15 minutes ago could really wreck somebody's perceptions. Or just piss 'em off royally.

I'm driving home upset. It's 2:30 a.m. on Friday, February 13th. What a lame experience.

I'm driving home agitated and conflicted. It's 3:00 a.m. on Friday, March 6th. I really wish that kid would have just stayed at home. I would have never gone to a packed theatre if I was coughing like that. What a damn idiot. What a dick. Ugh.

I've just finished an extremely cool portrait of Jason Voorhees, and there was just a commercial on TV that said "Jason Lives: Friday the 13th part 6" would be re-airing tomorrow night. I've already got my eye on a blank VHS tape. The next time will be way better... I'll be able to fast-forward through commercials.

The guy just scanned in my Fandango printed paper, and I'm anxiously walking towards the theatre. Woah, Watchmen is actually playing on two different theaters tonight! That's insane... I bet this movie will be absolutely huge across the nation. I can't believe I'm here right now seeing a movie adapted from one of my all-time favorite pieces of literature ever published.

This is going to be one of the best nights of my life.