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My advice to the writers and producers of the Sex and The City sequel, because I think I am that important.

Not too long ago, one weekend afternoon I was faced with a mountain of laundry (plus other random chores) and a quiet house (husband was out with the kids).  That's quite a rare occurrence. The raining made it a cozy, stay-at-home afternoon...also rare.

So, I flicked on the TV and checked out the movies I could order from our cable company (again, a rarity). I wanted something mindless as I was going to be in and out of the room and didn't want to be bothered with a plot (I am so deep).

Sex and the City it was!

Despite the fact that I did occasionally watch the TV show, and admittedly sometimes even enjoyed it, I had no desire to go to the theater with my friends to endure watch the movie without being able to openly mock it. I mean, two-plus hours of Samantha's rasping double-entendres in her roller coaster delivery? In fact, double-entendres from all four of them? Hard to take. 

(As an aside, my husband and I often entertain ourselves by lapsing into Samantha's vernacular to make anything sounds dirty, "Oh, you're go-ING to make an OM-elette, are you? Let me HELP you with the SPAT-u-LAH.")

Anyway, this movie fit the bill mindless visual and auditory entertainment.  Sadly, though, after a while I found myself thinking...and remember, I was trying to avoid thinking; it was supposed to be a No Thinking Afternoon of mindless entertainment and laundry folding.

The movie predictably starts (well, after an odd montage from the TV show to bring unfamiliar viewers up to date on it's complex character arcs and plot points) with a voice-over from Carrie, which went something like this, "Year after year, twenty-something women come to New York city in search of the two L's...labels and love,"

Really?  

Really?

Twenty-something women don't move to New York City because that is where their career takes them?  Nor for access to museums and world-class restaurants and Broadway and kick-ass pizza by the slice, and the sheer excitement of living in one of the world's most diverse, fast-paced metropolises...and, and, and?

I shook that thought off, and as I watched the movie I was dumbfounded by that Carrie was so freaking obsessed with labels.  Sure, designer apparel was also revered in the series, but at least Carrie brought her own Molly Ringwald "Pretty in Pink" irony to her wardrobe.  None of that in the movie...it was slathering over labels for label's sake, even to the detriment of the other "L" (Opps!  Sorry!  Guess I should have warned to about the quasi-spoiler there!).

As the movie continued, I was struck by the fact that despite being released less than a year ago, it is horribly dated.  The conspicuous consumption rampant in this movie, I thought to myself, just wouldn't be relevant in this post-October 2008 economy.

Yeah, and then the next day I found out they are filming a sequel.

One of the funniest things I've seen in a long, loooooooong time.

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.