I thought that was accurate. It has a nice cast of actors--Lindsay Lohan, the actress who played the daughter, Anna, was talented and cool, and her teen-love interest, Chad Murray as Ryan, was yummy. (Ack, he was on Dawson's Creek! But, whew, he was also on Gilmore Girls. Also, the pic of him in IMDb sucks. He is way hotter than that.) But I, being a pervert, got the biggest kick out of the part of the movie where Ryan crushed on Anna while she was played by JLC--so he thinks he's crushing on someone old enough to be his mom, and they're talking about alternative music while everyone in the coffee shop is staring and listening in with fascination at their effusively blossoming May-September romance. It was so cute! *g* I'd have watched *that* movie, I'm telling you.
The music was good too--there was a whole subplot with Anna's band, and their sound could have been tossed off and crappy but it wasn't. In fact I think I want the soundtrack. Yes, I have a little soundtrack addiction problem.
Also, they didn't do the horrible thing at the climax of the movie that I thought they'd do, and I was shocked--shocked!--that someone had instead made a good dramatic choice. (It involved guitar playing, in case you're planning to go see this.)
And during the wedding toast I cried like a bitch.
So that was kind of relaxing, also because I had a drink at a bar just before the movie started. I took a taxi ride home afterward and let the balmy air flow across my face and thought about going to the liquor store and drinking more but didn't.
I feel restless and a bit on edge, but that's because I totally do not deserve to be paid for my presence at the office today, and I need to scrub away my guilty angst with some hard work. I am currently riding the crest of a wave of ennui. Or something. I need to surf onto the beach and get back on the job.
I have questions and ambivalencies about the intersection of addiction and character--where does one's responsibility to oneself begin and end? When do you just have to say to yourself: "I'm going to coast for a bit." And when do you slap yourself and say, "Bitch, you can't excuse your behavior on grounds of personal angst." It's not even Grand High Angst I'm having right now. It's so mundane. I'm not a rape victim trying to recover, I'm not struggling with cancer, I'm not clinically depressed to the point of zombiehood and suicide attempts. I'm not staggering out of gutters at six a.m. I'm just lonely and wan in the most ordinary of ways. I've got writer's block. I'm...me.