Eat Pray Love. Shit.
My girlfriend and I don’t go to the movies all that often. I think she sees it as a waste of a night out, when we could be in a restaurant somewhere, connecting. On a deeply emotional level. Or whatever. But I have a feeling I will get to see Eat Pray Love at the theatre and I can tell you right off the top– that’s a point for the Apocalypse.
Now, that may not seem fair, since I have not actually (yet) been dragged off to see it. But you have to factor in decades of anguish from all the other chick movies I have watched with her. Like The Bridges of Madison County.
When I saw the listing on TV, I thought, “Okay, how bad can it be? I mean, it has Clint Eastwood, right?” WRONG. It does NOT have Clint Eastwood. Clint Eastwood has a .44 Magnum:
Clint Eastwood inspires the butch-leaning dyke to sit on the couch in her boxers swilling beer and adjusting her imaginary testicles. Clint Eastwood is not supposed to inspire a two-hour conversation about facing her commitment issues.
Bridges of Madison County is the most recent, and perhaps the worst of these cinematic experiences. But in the 20 years we have known each other, I have sat through a string of these movies to impress my girlfriend, including but not limited to:
- Sleepless in Seattle. Man overcomes crippling grief over the death of his wife by falling in love with the first bimbo he meets at the Empire State Building.
- Four Weddings and a Funeral. Woman finds true love in a narcissistic man-boy with bad hair, and everybody except the dead guy’s boyfriend gets married at the end.
- Love Story. From which we learn important life lessons, like “love means never having to say you’re sorry” and “it helps if you die young of cancer.”
- Beaches. Again underlying the importance of dying young of cancer.
- Terms of Endearment. An hour in and the movie has no discernible plot, so let’s throw in the cancer.
- Boys on the Side. Mary-Louise Parker’s character has to die, but at least it’s not cancer.
- When Harry Met Sally. Meg Ryan. Why couldn’t her character get cancer?
(Okay that was too mean, even for me. But I’ve lost loved ones to this disease and I hate the way it’s used as a shortcut to drama.)
The point is, ever since I directed my girlfriend to the (brilliant and funny) TED talk on genius, she has had what she thinks is a secret crush on Elizabeth Gilbert. She reads me passages of the book out loud– in bed– and she is not going to rest until I am dragged off to the movie. And if I have to suffer, then so does Humanity.
The Apocalypse: 16.5