An exception to every rule

Time for some good buttered popcorn by bulldog1, on Flickr

We are a movie-going family. Hubby and I met in “The Industry”: I worked for what was then Columbia Pictures (now Sony Pictures Studio) and he worked for what was then Cineplex Odeon, a movie theatre chain in the western US and Canada. We met at an industry screening. Our first date was to see “Casablanca” at an art house. We subscribe to Entertainment Weekly, and track film grosses. Hubby consistently wins Oscar contests for his amazing ability to predict the whim of the Academy. We could namedrop some serious star power, and hubby is a second degree of Kevin Bacon.

All that to say, yes, we go to the movies. We see good films in first-run, less good films on DVD, but we see 70-80% of the new theatrical releases in any given year. Being from “The Industry,” we know that those outrageous ticket prices are not where the money is made. Up to 90% of that total (less a very modest allowance for keeping the lights on) is handed directly over to the studios to trickle down to various cast, crew and production people. A theatre’s operating budget is made in concessions: your overpriced popcorn, soda and candy. Being “patrons of the art” obliges us to purchase from the snack bar. If I expect the lobby swept, functioning restrooms and the AC running in summer, I need to support the theatre financially.

All THAT to say, it is becoming difficult with our healthier diet to find things to purchase at the snack bar. That sure ain’t air-popped corn or sea salt, and what Steven King lovingly refers to as “monkey sweat” (the butter-flavored oil they pour on it) is just a little too mysterious as to its contents. The candy? Full of GMO sugar and the cheapest possible ingredients, chocolate that is not fairly traded and more chemicals than foodstuffs. And the soda? Oh, please, let’s not even go there.

Our favorite house offers some Minute Maid juice drinks, but we know those aren’t really better than the soda. There are little ice cream chunks called “Dibs,” but what passes for milk in those gives me more chills than “Cloverfield.” There are soft pretzels, grease-dripping pizza and something they call nachos to which I can only say, “not.” What’s left?

I am philosophically opposed to paying for water. It irks me. You want me to buy something that falls from the sky at God’s good pleasure that you have filtered, purified (probably with chemicals) and poured into a BPA-laden container? FOR MONEY?? But, at the snack bar, it is the most benign choice, and a way to support something I dearly love. So, we buy the water, a bottle for each of us, and a box of candy to “donate” to the trash can on the way out. Yes, it’s poor economics. Yes, it’s a negative dollar-vote. But it keeps the gum off the bottom of the seats and I’m all for that.

This post is part of the No-GMO Blog Carnival.