KILLING ME SOFTLY WITH ROM-COMS

Curse you, Meg Ryan/John Cusack/Renée Zellweger/Marisa Tomei/Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

You’ve misled me.

You made me believe I could exchange a flurry of written communications (then, letters; now, emails) and then meet my pen pal atop the Empire State Building to begin a life that will undoubtedly be wedded bliss. I could hold a blast a love song on a boom box outside Mr. Right’s home and not only avoid neighbour/police intervention, but also win his heart. I could have a weight problem, a few addictions and constantly embarrass myself and still end up with Colin Firth!

Oh, how you taunt.

I know it’s all a ruse and yet I fall under your deceptive spell over and over again. As recently as last night, in fact. Yep, I rented Love Actually. Third time—and that’s not a charm, it’s a strikeout. Watching you, I learned that love is all around. Whether you’re a porn actor, a person who cannot speak the same language as people in your environment or an eleven-year-old kid, love is right in front of you. Just take it! It’s yours!

Curses, curses, curses. (Portuguese translation for Colin Firth’s character: #%!*, ^$#*, */!#.)

I resolve to go a whole month without watching a romantic comedy. I shall chuck my Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally and About Last Night tapes behind the stacks of boxes in the closet in the basement. May mice poop all over you! I shall resist seeing any movie starring Jennifer Aniston. I shall not sit through even five minutes of ABC’s “Bachelor Pad”. (Okay, that part is easy. It’s like swearing off fruitcake when starting a diet.)

In a week or two, I will feel my life changing. I will no longer pivot after passing a beautiful man, expecting to see him looking back with longing. (That whiplash issue involving my neck will be resolved, saving me hundreds of dollars in chiropractic bills.) I will not expect Prince Charming to shelter me under his umbrella during an unexpected downpour. And I will come to accept that the adorable, brainy guy behind the counter at the bakery will never memorize my complex drink order (large of the dark blend), much less learn my name and chat me up about the poetry of Emily Dickinson, Anita Baker’s best songs or Vancouver’s “bummer summer”.

Yes, I shall be free. Free at last!

At least until mid-September.

LOOKING FORWARD TO “LOVE HAPPENs”-ing

My cousin has been talking about the new Jennifer Aniston-Aaron Eckhart movie, “Love Happens” for weeks. Like me, she’s a romantic dreamer, but she is ten years younger and hasn’t gotten jaded from years of disappointment. I used to be a sucker for every Meg Ryan romantic comedy that came out. I still like the genre, but now I view the movies as light entertainment, bearing little semblance to reality.

One of the promos for “Love Happens” caught my attention. Yes, it has a sexy shot of a shirtless Eckhart, but I might never have glanced up to see that had his character not said it had been three years since he’d had a date. Not exactly inspiration, but certainly a statement worth commiseration. And utterly refreshing for Hollywood where characters have little trouble getting it. Since it first aired, the title character on “Ugly Betty” has had a far greater dating record than I have. What does that make me, Far Uglier Gay Guy? I remember an episode of “Friends” where Ross rues going six months (or weeks?) without sex. He and the Central Perk gang regarded the drought as the equivalent to the apocalypse. As much as I loved “Sex and the City”, I never related to the women’s rapid Rolodex of sexual liaisons.

A line in last night’s episode of “Glee” was both funny and more realistic than the way sex is typically portrayed. As Terri desperately tried to make her false pregnancy become real, she stepped things up in the bedroom. Her husband, glee club sponsor Will, boasted that the couple was going at it once a week now. Ah, how refreshing from the two or three times a day we’re hit with in typical showbiz depictions of horny couples. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love a healthy, active sex life; I just don’t need Hollywood rubbing its fictionalized glory in my face.

I’m not sure if I’ll go see “Love Happens”. I don’t want the rest of the plot to dilute the potency of the line in the preview. Still, if an Aaron Eckhart character can go dateless in three years, I don’t feel quite as pathetic. Sometimes love doesn’t happen; at least, not for a long time.