In a nutshell: I hate them. I really, really hate them.
When I was in middle school, Titanic came out. A classmate came in one day and raved about it: “Oh my God, I’ve seen it like four times already, and it’s sooooooo good.” Why, says I? He dies. A lot of people die. It’s four hours long. What’s the point? She looked at me, shocked. “It’s for the romance.” But so many people suffer, I said. “Yeah, that’s the point.”
Clearly, I didn’t get it. I have seen Titanic and I still don’t get it (no offense, Leo, but you never did it for me), but it’s the heart-wringing and tear-shedding and nose-honking and mucous-dripping that I can’t stand. I mean, why put yourself through all of that when it doesn’t even end happily?
