Big Hollywood Ending (Phooey.)

It was brought to my attention recently that there are lots of movies that "everybody" has seen that I haven't.

In some cases, the omission was intentional. The previews didn't appeal, or I was too broke at the time, or I got so sick of hearing about whatever the latest thing was that I obstinately refused to pay ten dollars to go see it. In other cases, it just slipped under my radar until it was out of the theaters, and then - well, I don't rent movies.

So when The Notebook (which I didn't see because everyone was talking about it) showed up on TV just as I was sitting down to look for something to watch, I thought, okay, let's see what all the fuss was about.

I nearly gave up on the project in the first five minutes because the credits were so damned sappy - I mean, really, a guy rowing a boat at sunset while soggy music swells around him?

But I hung in there, and soon there was a pretty boy to look at, and that was okay. Three hours later, after having used up the remainder of my Kleenex, I realize why I don't watch movies like that anymore.

Because no matter what your current circumstances, you're bound to feel that your life doesn't measure up. A love story so profound that the two main characters manage to die in synch, holding hands in her Alzheimer's bed? Gimme a fucking break.

Yes, all very touching and it made me weep at all the moments where I'm certain the director had little red arrows printed: "Audience will weep here; add pause and swelling music to allow for them to reach for more Kleenex."

But Jeezus. When the damn thing was over, I actually spent the next few minutes feeling utterly sad and inadequate. No, I've never had a Great Love, and ack! Look how old I am! I'm never going to have one! My life is meaningless! Boohooooooooo!

(Lizbon's director notes: pause here for audience to fall on floor and piss themselves laughing. Add appropriate music, maybe some ragtime or one of those songs from Sesame Street. Manamanah. Yeah, that one.)

And the ironic thing is, just an hour before the damn movie started I had been scoffing at an on-air promo showing 5 seconds of a prototypical TV marriage proposal: guy says "will you marry me?" and girl opens mouth in shock and transport of rapture. Fuck that.

The subtext of that ad - and indeed of much of pop culture - is that being asked to marry someone is pretty much the apex of female experience. Which begs the question, why'd she be so shocked to be asked in the first place? Presumably she's been maneuvering this guy into that chessboard square for months.

So, if this is what I honestly think about that kind of crap, then how does one sappy-ass movie (with two admittedly very beautiful young stars) turn me, in the space of two hours plus another hour of commercials, into a weepy mess who feels that her life is empty?

I guess the answer is:

a) It doesn't. I recovered within five minutes.
and b) I really would like to meet someone I like (and who likes me).
but c) I don't want them to ask me to marry them.
and d) I don't want to live in a small rural town in Virginia, or wherever the fuck that book/movie was set.

While we're at it, I also:
e) NEVER want to have ANY children.

Okay. Just so we're clear.

Now then, I must just also say this:

I love my bikes. I love my bikes. I love my bikes.

Any potential suitor who doesn't understand this, or has some kind of a problem with this, can go find himself a simple, pink-icing kind of girl. And fuck himself.

Just so we're clear.