A History of Sadness on CD

In terms of starting a new relationship, we are all beginners.

That's the crux of the movie "Beginners" at the Westhampton Theater, which is how a girlfriend and I began our evening.

Her new husband is away (motorcycling cross-country...in this heat...sleeping in a tent) and they never go to the movies, so she is busy doing fun stuff while he is away.

The kind of stuff he doesn't do. I'm just her willing accomplice.

The movie is not for those with short attention spans or a need to see things blown up. This is a smart movie.

It unfolds organically, telling the story of a 75-year old man who comes out after his wife dies.

His 38-year old son, meanwhile, is a serial failure at relationships (as are plenty of us) but finds himself inspired by his father's new-found enthusiasm for life and love.

But as those of us eager for a relationship but without one know well, wanting and achieving successful love are two vastly different things.

The son is an illustrator working on CD art for a band which, rather than the desired pictures of the band, ends up being a "History of Sadness" and what band wants that?

Okay, maybe an emo band, but not the band in the movie. Jonathan Vassar sings mostly sad songs and I don't even think he'd want it.

The arc of him learning to trust love and not be sad is the counterpoint to the newly-outed father going to clubs (and discovering house music), finding a handsome (younger) lover and eventually dying of cancer.

It's a lot like life, but I know not everyone wants reality in their movies.

I found the slice-of-life story moving, even when it ended on the uncertainty of two people in love and one of them unsure about moving forward.

Cinema verite, baby. The kind of movie I can relate to.

Walking out of the theater with cramped legs from the inadequate spacing of the rows (clearly people were shorter when the theater was built in 1938), we were faced with the obvious choice.

Blue Goat or Blue Goat? We chose Blue Goat, sliding into the bar and trying not to stand out too much amongst the West Enders.

We failed miserably, but found a  friendly face in the bartender.

Looking at the cocktail menu, my friend ordered Bulleit bourbon, to which the bartender responded, "I love you!"

They'd just gotten Bulleit in today and she was a fan.

So she instead poured Bulleit Rye for us both to taste, commenting on its smoothness on the sides of the tongue, but absence in the center.

The vintage-looking brown bottle was a thing of beauty, like something dug up in a J-Ward backyard excavation.

My friend got Bulleit rye and I got Hornitos. Neither of us could imagine drinking the other's poison.

We had a small window during which to order before the kitchen closed, so we got two simple dishes, a salad (Manakintowne arugula, apple, avocado, Hanover tomato, house-made goat cheese, lemon herbed vinaigrette) and forest mushroom ragout with mascarpone polenta.

As we ate, the Rico Suave middle-aged guy next to us moved outside to work his magic on a table of girls, eventually succeeding.

The guy who replaced him next to us commented favorably on the choice of Bulleit. That was about as close as we came to fitting in there.

But as beginners, we fit in perfectly.

Despite our colorful life experiences (also a topic of much merriment and conversation tonight), we agreed that it can be scary to go forward with someone you love.

It's just that the alternative is completely unacceptable.

In the Venn diagram of life, it appears that beginners may overlap with hopeless romantics.