So the roommate and I are having a lounge day of healing the ankle for real and watching as many chick flicks as we can stomach. We both agreed that Nights in Rodanthe is perhaps one of the worst films ever made (you’re saying…well, what were we expecting? It was a Nicholas Sparks novel. And we say, um, touche?) but JESUS I could watch Love Actually a hundred times over and never get sick of it. Each time, I sob with joy at the end. If you don’t agree with me, I say you don’t have a soul. I will argue with you about this. I mean, look at Karl (aka Rodrigo Santoro):
If nothing else, you should love Love Actually for Karl.
And wise observation of the day, courtesy of the roomie: Every Nicholas Sparks movie can end with a person walking on the beach wearing a cable-knit sweater.
[Posted by Mallory]