Popular culture or neo-paganism

Not only have I seen beautiful cities and rural vistas in Italy, but I've seen five recent movies (transatlantic flight) and read one recent novel, "Nineteen minutes" (Jodi Picoult, 2007). It's a long flight, our destination was 5 hours ahead on the clock, so I was awake all night and saw "27 dresses," "Definitely, Maybe," "Dan in Real Life," "La Mome," and "Bucket List."

If you don't see many movies, don't watch much TV (just saw my first "Sex and the City" last night--season 3, chlamydia episode where Miranda makes a list of 42 guys she's slept with--ah, romance), and read primarily non-fiction, you do get out of touch with just how morally impoverished, spiritually starved and values-empty our popular culture is. Or maybe it was the recent visit to the ruins of Pompeii that put it all in perspective.

It's not that these movies showed a lot of skin, or people romping through bedroom scenes, no, that's for the 1970s and 1980s films. It was more disturbing than that. Sex meant nothing at all. Wasn't at all erotic. It was like any bodily function, from eating to defecating. Only cuter. For instance, the "Definitely, Maybe" storyline is a complicated twisted series of flashbacks as Daddy attempts to explain to a 10 year old which of his three squeezes in his younger days (a Clinton campaign worker) was her mother. All the adults in this film are promiscuous, but it's critiqued as sophisticated, sweet, simple, smart, fresh, rewarding and non-formulaic, depending on the reviewer. Except for one, much smarter than the rest. I tried to pick up the extended review, but the computer froze (out of shock?), so I have no idea what came later--and it seemed an odd source, The Portland Oregonian.

"The flashback itself is a romantic dramedy that's far smarter than junk like "27 Dresses." Unfortunately, to enjoy that flashback, you have to ignore two gargantuan idiocies: No sane father would twist his daughter into knots by telling this story. It's full of booze, cigarettes, infidelity and sex with women who aren't Mom."

Using cigarettes in a movie will get you far more criticism than bedroom follies, so that is mentioned in several reviews. It's no wonder that Miranda had chlamydia and 42 lovers by the third season.

On a happier note: a little girl across the aisle was singing while we watched the movie. She started with B-I-N-G-O (Mom was trying to sleep), then moved on to Jingle Bells, but kept forgetting the words. Soon it morphed into Bingle Jells. She has such a brief time to be a little girl.