Cinematic

Wasn’t it in the eighties that the basic romantic film formula was: hot but unpopular girl longs for hot, popular asshole who never noticed her while said girl ignores her caring, nerdy guy friend? And by the end of the movie said girl realizes it’s actually her friend she’s in love with and blah blah yay they end up happy? You can pretty much tell this was written by a guy who failed miserably in romance in high school and had to express the pain in the form of a movie script.

Now the formula seems to be as follows: blatantly hot girl longs for blatantly hot guy who for some fucking reason is “out of her league?” so she turns to her equally hot but totally egotistical, hyper-masculine womanizing, um, friend? who for some weird reason helps her understand the greasy male id in order to make herself more ideal for the man she desires. The twist of course is she falls in love with handsome scumbag and somehow turns him into an almost likable, decent fellow.

Very clearly, this was written by a woman who failed miserably at love, likely by always wanting that very unavailable yet-oh-so-appealing man who slept with her but obviously never actually called back.

Yes I’m generalizing. I can do that. It’s fun. Particularly because the films themselves are terrible, sweeping generalizations yet so many people go see them and in turn seem to think it has some sort of real life application. Like this lady I work with says she has no interest in wasting her time on unrealistic, fantasy-type films but absolutely loves “Sex In the City.”

Yes that fine, full-bodied taste with a hint of cashews and cinnamon is indeed the flavor of epic irony.

She didn’t like when I pointed out that Kim Catrall looks like a wizard, beard and all, in subdued lighting. And despite my protests, they will not let me wear a kilt (a dress kilt even) for professional dress days. I’m tempted to site cultural bias and file some sort of complaint, if I get bored enough.