P.S. I Love You

OK. To have a cerebral understanding of the game of football that I have. To have an awareness of all things manly and athletic, such that I have been blessed. I would have to say I find it odd that I have just completed an entire Chick Flick.

Total chick flick. Complete Chick Flick. Having said this, I am in love with Kathy Bates. She is absolutely one of my favorite actors. I thought Harry Connick Jr. was simply divine in his role in this movie. Hillary Swank, who gets nominated for everything, was her usual resplendent self.

Did I cry? No? Crossed my mind. Still. No tears. But I would say this movie moved me. I really appreciate a film that captures the human spirit with passion, and guts. A film which embraces the bittersweet reality of true emotion. Pain and loss, experienced in a way that can only be healed with love and humor. The awkwardness of people trying to wrangle their way through life wrestling with these emotions, is awesome to me. Awe inspiring even.

There really is something to be said for a good "Chick Flick". I say this with full authority and a sense of pride. I shout this with no fear of losing my man card. No lurking issues of homophobia cropping up. I, being a man without an iron, or hairbrush for that matter. A man who cannot cook without the coals of a grill, to whit it would require said coals on my feet to make me dance. No dear, friends. This is not a freeing from a closet full of footballs, wooden tennis rackets, and sweat pants beyond reproach. This is simply one man, stepping out of his cave, to appreciate a film that somehow, while reaching for the fairer sex, stumbled across the radar of the hairier sex. I am satiated. Now I can sleep.