The Third Deadly Sin

I cannot deny that I resent my more successful peers. Maybe I’m petty, maybe I’m lacking in self-confidence, and maybe I’m just mean. Whatever the case may be, I was apoplectic all weekend.

Allow me to set the scene. It’s a Friday night, and despite my agoraphobic tendencies I find myself at a Japanese restaurant on the Upper West Side. With me are two friends from high school and one of their boyfriends, who is fortunate enough to not be an alumnus of the same shithole of a learning institution as the rest of us. We’ve just finished eating – against my better judgment, I ordered something called “Vegetarian Sushi Platter,” which turned out to comprise mostly unidentifiable vegetables in charming shades of grey – and are trying to agree on what to do with the remainder of our evening. Someone suggests a movie, specifically the spectacularly unappealing “No Strings Attached.”

I couldn’t ridicule this proposition fast enough; although singularly untalented at the art of money management, I know better than to hand over my hard-earned cash for the privilege of gazing upon that queer douchebag, Ashton Kutcher. I elucidated my stance on the matter for the benefit of my companions, who explained that, although they felt similarly, there were extenuating circumstances: this piece of shit movie’s screenplay was written by a former high school classmate, Liz Meriwether. Yes, I’m fearlessly naming names.

I may be rushing to judgment here since I didn’t actually see the movie; the four of us opted for a game of Trivial Pursuit instead. I am, however, pretty confident that this film is irredeemably bad given that it’s a romantic comedy. As Hollywood’s most cynical genre, these movies aren’t worth the celluloid they’re printed on. Romantic comedies are churned out because they’re cheap to make and sure to attract low-IQ women and the men who want to fuck them – as long as these films continue to line the pockets of Hollywood players, the joke’s on us.
If you value comedy, you weren’t eagerly anticipating the release of “When Harry Re-met Sally Again: Part 6.” The tagline for “No Strings Attached” is “Can sex friends be best friends?” If they could, there wouldn’t be a movie. Here’s a recap: two people who are distractingly attractive have awkward sex, enjoy it, keep it up, much hilarity ensues, they wind up together, the end. Hang on to your $13.00 and your dignity; you might need them someday.

How much of my rage has to do with the fact that I myself have done nothing with my life? Probably the vast majority. Liz was far more popular than I was in high school, but although we were never friends, she always struck me as a decent enough person. She certainly never tormented or humiliated me, which counts for something. It’s just that I really got through high school only by believing that in the real world I would find greater success and be the recipient of more accolades than my well-liked classmates. Instead, I’m a directionless wage-slave in a no-status job without hope of advancement. I’m lucky to have this much given the state of the economy, but it’s depressing to see that the girls who in high school had boyfriends and went to parties and weren’t considered heinously ugly have continued to outshine me.

I’ve therefore decided to write a screenplay. Any suggestions would be welcome…