Sunday, June 08, 2008

Sex in the Suburbs

Jen's mad delight on and about Sex in the City: the Movie +
Her shepherd-meister herding skills =
Almost all the OC Girls in the Morristown Clearview Theatre Friday night for the 7:30 showing. Despite the veritable fiesta platter of Labels and Love, Melissa could not be deterred from going down the shore.

"Labels and Love." That's the Carrie-proclaimed theme of the movie. A sensitive exploration into the inner lives of brutal shopaholics. As the movie trundled on, I myself decided to slip into something more comfortable. Like a coma.

For the sake of accurate reporting, which I have never purported any aspiration to achieve, my review of the movie would contain the following three points:
  • All the loose ends from the TV show have been tied up nicely enough for Saks 5th Avenue.
  • A tiny meaty nut of plot is embedded inside an enormous foo foo fruit of cashmere, silk and blue peacock feathers
  • You would think that such smart and independently successful women would be a little less into tartan hotpants and a little more into ten-pin bowling, current events, the solar system, low-carb diets, high-def TV, the Yankees payroll, hybrid cars, delft china, the Olympics, aromatherapy, hartke bass amps, or anything... anything else that exists - past, present and future, in all discovered and undiscovered dimensions.
We knew what we signed up for when we bought the movie tickets. After the credits rolled, we hustled ourselves over to Pazzo Pazzo to fulfill our duty and drink a round of cosmos. Unfortunately, the cosmos at Pazzo Pazzo were unlike any cosmo in the cosmos. Undrinkable to the sensitive pallet. After a smallish brawl with the bartender, we wound up with margaritas on the rocks. Speedwell Avenue is maybe a half step down from Greenwich Avenue.

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