  I did not go to the movie theatre again last night. I did not go to the movie theatre with the sole intention of seeing, "Win a Date With Tad Hamilton". I did not squeal like some sort of estrogen-pumped teenager when the Topher Grace removed his shirt. And I absolutely did not cry at the end when the boy got the girl and they danced in the rain. Because if I did these things, it would mean that I fell for another big-budget, poorly written, vapid, shallow, glossy romantic comedy. It would mean I have no sense of shame or any hint cinematic taste. Urrrrgh! Damn you, Leigh, and your contagious girlie notions of cinema! Affectionately... Anna 
