Date night is a bit overblown for what we do. If what you're doing is more accurately described by "grabbing chow" instead of "going out for dinner," consider throwing the moniker 'date night' out the window.
On our way to Jason's Deli for sandwiches and salad bars, Jeff mentioned Stephenie's tweet. We weren't the only people we knew heading to see Benjamin Button that night.
The Monaco has tapped into something that was missing here in Huntsville: stylish, art deco, with the kind of plushy amenities you never really realized you were missing in your theater. Go up the staircase to the 21-and-up section, get the boozahol of your choice, and settle into the leather rocker recliners with armrests big enough for both you and your neighbor's arms.
Stephenie and Caleb were in chairs outside the bar, enjoying the unseasonable 70s of a late-December night. Conversation passed the time as we watched the people around us, and then it was time to elbow our way through the bar and up the staircase to get to the 21-and-up section.
Noting the crush of people, Stephenie muttered "Recession? What recession?" as we walked.
I found it intensely disquieting to walk through a rather posh movie theater, full of laughter and drinks and the sounds of commercial enterprise, and to weigh it against everything being said on the news. Recession. Foreclosures. Fear.
Jeff reminds me that this recession hasn't hit Huntsville nearly as hard as it has much of the rest of the country. While I see for-sale signs in various places on my way to work, and know most of those properties have been on the market for some time now, I don't see foreclosure signs. I know of people who have lost a lot in the stock market, but I haven't heard local instances of doom and gloom like the ones pervasive throughout the rest of the country. Just because it isn't happening to your family and your co-workers yet doesn't mean it isn't happening, though.
It made the bustling atrium all the more surreal; made me wonder if we were dancing belligerently against the oncoming dark. Are we immune, are we pretending, or has the postman just not rung our doorbell yet?