Once

Do you have plans for this weekend yet? Because I'm here to tell you that you should go see a little movie called Once. It's sweet and simple and the soundtrack is really lovely. Yes, soundtrack... I purchased a CD for the first time in I don't know how long. Actually, I only bought it because I couldn't Limewire any of the songs.

Speaking of, is it just me or do all of your Limewire searches inexplicably retrieve an audio file called "How to land a girl"? Are they trying to tell me something? Because, well, I don't mean to brag, but I'm hardly hurting in that department. What's up, ladies?

Anyway: Once. It's a love story, sort of, but not overtly so, and I agree with the reviewer who said that if it had been made by Americans it would've sucked. We would've taken whatever delicate bud of potential existed there and turned it into a revoltingly sappy pandering sobfest where someone died in a plane crash while Maroon 5 played in the background. But even though it's not American, it takes place in Ireland which means they speak English, which means no subtitles, which is also good because in addition to Celine Dioning your movies, Americans are lazy and devoid of culture.

And if my recommendation for how you should spend your weekend doesn't work for you, you could always come watch the Sox play WhoCaresIt'sTheNationalLeague with me in Harvard Square. I'll buy you a margarita at the Cactus Club and we can mock Ringo Starr's art exhibit. Because... why? Why does that exist?