Performer: U2
Songwriters: Bono, The
Edge, Adam Clayton, Larry Mullen Jr.
Original
Release:
Batman Forever: Original Music from the Motion Picture
Year: 1995
Definitive
Version:
The studio version.
When
I go to movies, I almost never indicate what I think of the movie while in the
theater. For one thing, no one else in the audience wants to hear my opinion.
For another, I want to distance myself a bit before discussing it.
One
of the rare indications was when I saw Pulp Fiction. As I mentioned (good ol.
No. 637), at the end, I burst into applause, along with most other
people in the theater.
Another
was Batman Forever. I had heard this song on the radio once or twice before
Debbie and I saw the movie, and I loved it. At the time, I could’ve heard it
100 times in a row before I got tired of it, so I couldn’t wait to hear it
again.
I
knew Hold Me, Thrill Me played over the end credits, and it turns out they
could’ve just skipped the first two hours. As the final shot of Batman and
Robin running toward the audience faded to black, I turned to Debbie and said
loudly enough for anyone in our general vicinity to hear, “Now comes our reward
for sitting through that complete piece of poo: U2’s new song.”
That
might have been one two-hour period of our lives that Debbie and I wished we had back, but that was about the only one of those in the summer of
1995. 1995 was the first year we celebrated my birthday together. (My birthday
in 1994 was pre-hookup.)
Debbie
went all out for my birthday in 1995. I got a decorative ice cream cone from
Baskin Robbins, which we shared when I stayed at her place, and her, which was
a much better treat.
Unimpressive,
you say? Well, my actual celebration was the next weekend. Debbie treated me to
a weekend in Cincinnati—a Reds game Sunday and dinner the night before at The
Maisonette, which long had been regarded as among the best restaurants in the
country. We stayed overnight at a swanky downtown hotel. It was by far the fanciest
birthday celebration I had in my life up to that point, by, like a factor of
10.
The
game was great. I don’t remember whom the Reds played or whether they won. I
was just happy to be seeing a Reds game in person again after the winter of my
discontent due to The Strike. The memorable thing came after the game when
Debbie and I hiked over to Fountain Square to take a few pictures.
I
was taking a picture of Debbie by the fountain when a guy came up and asked if
we wanted him to take both our pictures. Sure. I handed over my camera.
I
don’t know whether he was a professional photographer or what, but it turned
into a model shoot. He must have shot about a dozen pictures of us, from
different angles and with us posed in different positions. Then he asked if I
would take a few of he and his girlfriend. Well, I wasn’t as elaborate a
photographer. I snapped a few, and I hope they were happy with the results.
Unfortunately, The Maisonette was a disaster. The restaurant was elegant, and the service was
impeccable—it more than lived up to its reputation. But I had difficulty finding something on the menu. Finally, I chose
soft-shelled crabs.
I
had had a soft-shell crab sandwich in New Jersey, and it was good, so that’s
what I had in mind, when I saw soft-shell crabs on the menu at the Maisonette.
Well, the sandwich featured a crab that had been deep-fried. Practically
anything deep-fried is good. At the Maisonette, the crabs were sautéed with a
sauce.
For
some reason, I started thinking about eating parts of the crab you don’t
normally eat, and that was a mistake. After a few bites I had made myself
queasy to the point where I couldn’t eat any more. I wouldn’t order anything
else. I mean, it was my choice; it wasn’t the restaurant’s fault. I just got
the wrong thing.
It
got so bad that Debbie made me trade plates with her—I think she had lamb—so I
would eat something. It was better, I had to admit, although I felt guilty that
I took her dinner. Debbie didn’t eat much of mine.
She
was really disappointed that she had made such a big deal about the dinner—not
to mention paid so much for it—only for it to turn out so wrong. Fortunately,
we were fine by the next day.
It
turns out the problem was I just wasn’t ready for haute cuisine. Three years later, on Debbie’s birthday, we tried
The Maisonette again, and this time I was ready. I ordered a spectacular (and
expensive) bottle of wine, and the dinner—I didn’t get soft-shell crabs—was the
best one I’d ever had up to that point.
We
ate so much that night that the walk back to our hotel room was painful, and we
didn’t celebrate her birthday the way we had mine three years before.
Fortunately, we lived together, so made up for that the next night when our
stomachs weren’t so full.
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