whatever

Hungry, Horny, Tired

Well, I finally made it to Eat, Pray, Love last night and though I really, truly wanted to enjoy it, I did not. The tell tale sign that I’m not digging a flick (at least here in LA) is when I start thinking about earthquakes and looking for the exit. Let me tell you, I was braced for the big one and, yes, I have a bit of a paranoia. Anyway, I don’t really have anything horrendous to say about it except that it was so very blah. I think they could have cut at least half of it and while I enjoy me a nice heaping bowl of pasta, the “Italy food montage” was just too freaking much. I don’t need to see Julia slurping spaghetti, crunching asparagus, spooning gelato, ordering mountains of stuffed artichokes, noshing pizza and buying fat jeans to convey that she’s learning to love herself through food. Enough already. And sadly I did not feel Julia’s connection (or failing connection) with any one of her three suitors.

Oh well. I think my note to the screenwriters is that while in many books-to-movies we wish they’d stayed closer to the original story, in this case I wish they’d taken more liberties. Make that a chain saw. Apparently reading about pizza is infinitely more interesting than watching someone stuff their face, even if it is Julia Roberts.

Anyway, time to head out for some sushi with a girlfriend for I fear this is becoming grumpy blog. In honor of my friend K who also disliked Eat, Pray I shall name it: Hungry, Horny, Tired–the title of her unwritten memoir.

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