Suffering for my Art

I mean, really suffering.  Unfortunately, I do know what possessed me to watch Never Been Kissed - we're on a chick flick kick, it was on teevee, and it's got Michael Vartan in it.

Words cannot express how much I love Michael Vartan.  I just wish they'd cast him in an actual decent movie.  This movie was decent by a strict definition - as in, not pornographic.  As for having a good script or much of anything else to recommend it (outside of Michael Vartan), not so much.

I have, fortunately, survived this experience.  But I'm left wondering just why the fuck that got played Valentine's week, while a movie that, by all reports (thank you, dear readers), is one of the greatest chick flicks of all times isn't being played on teevee anywhere.  These idiots are going to force me to extract my butt from my house and go rent the fucking thing.

Next time I purchase a computer, I'm getting one that will actually hook up to the teevee so I can get a Netflix account and not have to wait for movies to arrive by mail.  Argh.

Tomorrow night, thankee gods, we have Solaris.  I know it's not a chick flick.  I'm fucking grateful it's not a chick flick.  I can't wait to watch something that's not a chick flick.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go watch a scene or two from Alias to try to get my inspiration back.  That is, after all, the reason for the endless chick flicks and other movies. 

The things a writer must suffer in order to get the Muse babbling.  I'm starting to wonder if it's really worth it.