Don't Forget the City

This evening, I set aside some quality time that I could throw away at the movie theater seeing Sex & the City. I went to see this 2 AND A HALF HOUR film with my work buddy, Stacey, and her mom. And we all walked out thinking the same thing: it was better than we expected.

Now I'm sure that if I had watched more than 2 AND A HALF HOURS of collective Sex & the City episodes, I would have been more giggly and bouncy while exiting the theater, but having little to no history with the characters actually did not matter. It's kind of sad that you can recap 6 seasons of a television show in 5-minutes, but it was done pretty well.

Charlotte was, bar none, my favorite of the four characters. She's all bubbly and giggly and then BAM! she unleashes a torrent of hate at Big that rivals that of the nuns from my high school. That and I feel bad that she pooed her pants. (Yes, I'm one of those people that can't use the accepted terms and instead uses words like "dookie" and "wizzle." And no, I will never grow out of it.)

Tomorrow, I've got plans to see Speed Racer with a few people from work. I know what you're thinking:

"But Kate, you willingly watched an episode of COPS, visited Martha Stewart's blog, borrowed an electronic jazz remix album from the library, saw Sex & the City, AND now you're going to see Speed Racer? In theaters? And will pay!? How can I believe you have any good taste in you whatsoever?"

But you see, I have a philosophy when it comes to the arts. If all you look at or take in is good film, good television, good design, then everything you ever see is the best and you have no adequate rating system. Plus, people love to hate things. I think people bond more over collectively hating something than loving it. It's like, "Oh, you hated No Country for Old Men? Me too! You're cool with me."

What am I saying? I'm going to Speed Racer because I'm kind of hoping someone has a seizure while watching the movie.