Speaking of Trite

I'm not above watching bad movies. I actually like some bad movies. Luisa and I refer to those as Good Bad Movies. You know the kind I'm talking about? The kind that you run across while channel flipping and think you'll watch for "just a few minutes" but then you find yourself curled up in a ball on the couch watching until the very end. The kind that, sometimes, you won't even admit to watching let alone enjoying. I'm feeling confessional so I will admit that "Miss Congeniality" is one of my Good Bad Movies. I've watched it enough that I can quote it and, on those glorious occasions when I do, I laugh and laugh and laugh. It is in this confessional spirit that I am going to tell you that I put "The Women" on our Netflix list. I would like to blame it on Luisa but she would never do such a thing. She adds things like "Sweet Land" and "Volver" and "The Last King of Scotland". You see, I am the yin to her yang, the crap to her quality. I don't remember why I put this on the list. Maybe because I thought something like, "HEY! I like women! I like things with lots of women in it! Yay women!" Or maybe I just wanted to see Jada Pinkett Smith play a lesbo. Whatever the reason, it was on the list and it arrived this weekend. Luisa was like, "What is this?" I said, "It could very well be a Good Bad Movie! It's got Bette Midler, Carrie Fisher and Candace Bergen in it!" I said this though I knew deep down in my soul that it was bad. I had read the reviews when it first came out. Clearly, I had had some sort of lapse in Netflix judgment. Well, we watched it. Kinda. With one eye. While we goofed around on our laptops. I'll save you from the horror of watching it yourself and tell you that it is not a Good Bad Movie. It is simply a Bad Bad Movie proving once again that a good cast can't always transcend bad writing (see also: "The L Word"). 

But wait. There is something worse than renting a bad movie, watching the bad movie and then admitting to watching the bad movie, however. It is watching the bad movie and crying. That's right - I cried during this effin' mess of a movie! Cried! I cried for Made to Look Frumpy Meg Ryan. I cried for her lost little soul. I cried for her inability to relate to her daughter. I cried for myself because we are exactly the same except for the fact that we are nothing alike. THIS IS WHAT IT HAS COME TO PEOPLE! I'm identifying with Meg Ryan! Surely now, I've hit bottom. Right? It can't get any worse. Life can only get better from here.