Post-Girlhood

In a perfect world, a man would write me poetry every night.

Since that isn't the case, I take it where I can get it.

Tonight, that began at the Criterion with a fellow film fan and a whole lot of buttered popcorn.

In many ways, the striking new film "Boyhood" was poetic, shot over the course of 12 years and a 2 3/4 hour (watch out, millennials, you'll need a full attention span for this one) plea to look more closely at your own life.

Will do. Happily.

The always fascinating Richard Linklater spent the past dozen years shooting scenes for a film where a young boy ages in real time. It's a marvel to watch.

As those of us who have done it know all too well, growing up is hard to do.

Make no mistake, this is not a traditional story with an arc and a fuzzy resolution; this is life as it unfolds, messy at times, often confusing and always riveting.

Adorable young kid becomes pimply adolescent and eventually, soul-searching college student. It's completely believable because we've all lived it.

And lest you be put off by the concept of a nearly three hour movie, let me assure you it passes so quickly you'll feel like a teenager at your first party when your parents show up.

What, already?

Believe me, you've never seen anything like this tour-de-force chronicling the life of a boy as he navigates a sister who sings Britney Spears to him, an alcoholic stepfather, being bullied, first love and leaving home for college.

Watching so much happen as a real kid ages is nothing short of amazing.

So what do you do once you've been bowled over by a landmark film?

Eat, drink and discuss it ad nauseum, natch.

After the movie and a bathroom break, we landed at Lucy's for dinner, finding a favorite bartender behind the bar.

"So, is it a Rose evening or more of a tequila night?" he inquired earnestly. Some people know me so well.

Rose in hand, I moved on to Bibb lettuce wraps of sour cream shrimp salad, a light and savory dinner to balance out the bucket o' popcorn I'd inhaled earlier.

Music was varied - lots of Simon & Garfunckel, CSNY and Cat Stevens - as we got into a discussion of the bartender's talent for haikus.

Naturally, I had to try to convince him to show up for Balliceaux's haiku nights rather than just blasting his haikus to the (as he called it) "Twitters-phere."

Why waste such poetic talent on the ignorant masses when you can have a small but fascinated live haiku audience?

My date offered me a bite of his outstanding pork loin with mustard jus and sugar snap peas as we listened to "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" and discussed wine, the eastern shore and looked at maps of Chapel Island.

The chef eventually came out, regaling us with tales from the tomato dinner a few weeks ago (veal stock that never simmered, oh, my!) and why catering-style plating is best.

Late in the evening, the bartender handed both me and my date a haiku, each written about us.

Woman about town
Bon vivant extraordinaire
The Karen Newton

I won't say that can't be topped, but it's been a while since anyone tried.

Here's hoping someone gets the ball rolling again.