30 Day Movie Challenge: Day 13: Favourite chick flick

26 06 2011

Does every romantic comedy equal a chick flick?  Is that really the only thing that qualifies a film as geared towards women?  I guess Titanic could also be considered a chick flick and in that case, would every romance movie a chick flick?

So if we’re going by those standards, then I picked from my favourite romantic comedies and came up with When Harry Met Sally, a romantic comedy that is actually romantic and funny, unlike a lot of rom-coms today. What I really like about this film that stands out to me more than typical rom-coms is that for the majority of the film, the two leads (SPOILER ALERT!) don’t get together.  It’s an exploration of friendship and love, and what happens when sex does and doesn’t get in the way.  That in itself is more relevant to people’s lives than any re-hashed Adam Sandler movie today.

Here’s the diner scene in the film:


29 01 2010

Thanks to elvin for helping me write this simply by being… there.  I had you in mind as the Prince when I wrote this so it’s only fair that I dedicate this to you.


You always wanted a poem about you,
So here it is.
You want to know it’s about you, my man,
Instead of an ambiguous second person
Or yet another boring, overdramatic guy-and-girl thing.
So here’s to him, ‘cause the world really does have to know this is about two homos.

Prince Charming, in his underwear,
My breathy breeze blowing across his legs,
Rustling the meadow of hair.
As my hand hovers above, the electricity between our bodies so powerful
Every blade of grass stretches and yearns for my hand, the sun.
His skin is a thousand moths’ wings, velvet and delicate.
I feel everything.
The fine treasure trail disappearing beneath the pure fabric
To a treasure I always love to discover.
Gentle movements of his belly like a newborn,
The fluttering of his eyes as he dreams (hopefully of me),
His natural scent of baby powder and day-old deodorant.
A tuft of hair near his heart, beating a steady symphony,
An ever-so slightly curved smile on his face, like he is aware of my quiet observation,
Studying him, a sculpture in a prestigious museum where I’m the only guest.
Time is stagnant, a still pond, as I sit cross-legged,
Enveloped in the white sheets I swear I didn’t hog.
Envious sunlight trying to peek through the blinds at his royalty,
This vulnerable, perfectly flawed knight with a trickling creek of saliva on his chin.

Soon we’ll take our thrones on the couch, watching Lifetime or something with Meg Ryan.
But like Martha Stewart’s Pear-Raspberry Heart Pie,
These words are pre-made, displayed for an audience,
waiting for you,  my Prince, wherever you are,
to taste and savour them.