Sex and the Story

Yesterday, when I went to the local movie theatre for an afternoon matinee of Sex and the City a reporter approached me wanting to know why I came to the movies. Why, given the high price of gas and comestibles, were movies still a priority in my life? Well, beyond the purely girly interest in gal pals, Manhattan, and Chris Noth's nose, it's because I can't live without story.

It doesn't matter to me if gasoline reaches $5.00 per gallon, which I'm sure it will shortly, movies are in my life to stay. Storied matinees with friends form a weekly ritual. They are my fun for the week, eye candy. But stories on the big screen also offer me a place to find myself, live vicariously, stretch my emotions. Even the story of Sex and the City made me see the necessity of forgiveness in friendships and love relationships.

Walt Disney was no dummy when he hooked the Baby Boom generation not only on the power of story, but the power of possibility where even orphans and writers like Carrie Bradshaw, can grow up to be a princess: get the job, the man, and that fabulous penthouse apartment on 5th Avenue. Believe me stories aren't going anywhere. And besides, the movie theater was less than a gallon from my house.