Crazy Stupid Love
So I saw Crazy Stupid Love with The Girl (look, I can do code names too!) (and, yes, all of you who are amazed–there is now a The Girl. She is made of awesome and laughter and I don’t deserve her–but don’t tell her that!). It’s a good movie, but calling it a romantic comedy may be a bit much. I laughed–quite a bit–but I also cringed. Because while they got a lot right, they also got a lot wrong.
The short-short version: nice guy’s wife gets bored, has affair, wants divorce. (I know, right? But come, if I can take it you can.) Nice guy move into shitbox apartment (The heavens are aligning here, aren’t they?) and tries to move on/survive/not kill self while wife discovers single life 1.) has consequences and 2.) involves shitty dating and 3.) oh look I still love my husband, I just don’t want his dick. (At this point, dear readers, Jason’s mind just shut down and he giggled a lot. A man can only take so much.)
Enter Ryan Gosling (obligatory shout to The Girl–yes, honey. I know you’re doing the it-can’t-be-real sigh when I say his name. It’s okay. I know all his moves). He is the obligatory player in the movie–the young, fit, rich, mumbling rake all single men (and especially freshly-emasculated divorced men) will trade a testicle-to-be-named later to become. After one too many evenings of listening to Steve Carrell’s nice guy (he put in an awesome performance, btw–so good I wanted to research and find out who the cunt who cuckolded him was, because he played it right) The Rake takes The Loser under his wing.
Begin obligatory “be better than the Gap” montage of sexy sexy clothes (OMG the clothes) and the shoes (seriously, I’m straight–ask The Girl) and the haircuts (meh) and the casual sex. Which begins with best-reason-to-get-older-ever Marisa Tomei. Ohmigod.
What follows is the obvious; the schlub wins back his wife, the whore wife realizes she’s a whore and doesn’t like it, and the rake meets the girl of his dreams. You’ve seen this movie.
The issue with the whole thing is tone; if we dissect it into three acts, Act I is “love is dead and stupid.” Act II is “love will give you the creeping death” and Act III is “Love is roses and ponies and little star-shaped candies on your pillow.” All of those are fine ideas, on their own. But they don’t mix well. There was something about the way the movie ended that didn’t sit right with me. I can’t put my finger on it, exactly, and that bothers me a little–I’m sure I”ll figure it out eventually.
But not today.
Wicked Thoughts…
So, I’ve just spent a weekend with my family. No, that is not the reason for my wicked thoughts. Shut up.
I’ve just done some grading. And no, that is not the reason for the wicked thoughts. Really. Shut up.
Across this weekend of familial bonding and paper grading and such, one or two nice things have happened (some family-related and some not) and I feel a lot more relaxed than I have lately. I owe the gub’mint a buttload of cash but I’m confident I have that under control. I got a job straightened out, and I suspect I’ll have some cool-as-shit news to unleash sooner or later.
Also, I turned one of those corners you occasionally turn in your brain. You know, the one that leads you around the forty-seventh left turn in years, and you realize that many left turns has you going in a circle? That’s where the wicked thoughts come from.
I’m going to throw a bunch of shit out tomorrow. Also, I’m going to get a lot of exercise done and seekrit projekt work done.
Because some of the wicked thoughts are about myself. Wicked, wicked me.
But also, because I just spent a few minutes browing Match.com. I’m telling you, kids–if you ever need a motivational booster, go browsing online dating sites. I know, I know, they’re a lot more respectable than they used to be and yes, I know several couples who’ve met online and had great success. But I think we all need to remember that, for the most part, meeting online is just as fortuitous as meeting in person–and most of the peope around us (whether online or in person) just aren’t suitable.
Some of them (in person or online) are downright scary.
Which is where a lot of the wicked thoughts come in. Muwhahahahahaha.
It is occasionally quite goddam fun being a prick.
What Men Want
So, Stephanie Klein wants to know what men are looking for on a date. I don’t feel the urge to comment there, but it’s an interesting question, especially to me, as I’ve been spending far too much time trying to figure what I want out of a woman on a date. In case you’re too lazy to follow the link, she asks “Here’s my question: what do women say or do on dates to impress men and to show men they’re not clingy or needy?”
The short answer? Be on the date. That means (obviously) show up; it means, while you’re there concentrate on being there, not wondering where you’re going later or where you’ll be tomorrow or whether or not he’s the guy to father (or raise) your children. If you’re having dinner, have dinner. Make dinner conversation. Don’t interrogate us about our life’s plans or how we treat our mother or whether or not we like it on top or bottom. If dinner goes well chances are you’ll get to learn all of that later. That’s couch conversation, or late-night coffee conversation.
And above all, if you’re not having a good time, say so and GET OUT. Most men prefer to spend time with women who enjoy spending time with them–so if you don’t, don’t pretend.
Motivation
To the guys:
When in need of motivation to work out, I’ve discovered the following motivation: ask a beautiful woman out on a date. Then, whilst waiting for her to call (or for the right moment to call her), exercise. Because one of two things will be motivating you during that time:
- You’ll be thinking “I’ve got to be in shape so I don’t blow this.”
- You’ll be thinking “After I’ve blown this, I’ll want to be in shape for the next one!”
There it is, folks… the secret to weight-loss. Always have a pending date. It’s scientifically proven–100% of participants* report a loss of four pounds in seven days with a combination of diet and exercise.
(*-number of participants = 1 (me))
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