Occasionally, the Movie Is Better Than the Book
Case in point: Dear John.
Jana and I took the girls to see the movie Saturday night. The book, by Nicholas Sparks was, in my estimation, meh. And, by meh, I mean; oh look, another Nicholas Sparks novel that ends in tears. The movie, while hanky-worthy, was far less depressing and, not just because Channing Tatum is ridiculously good looking, although; Channing Tatum is ridiculously good looking.
Our weekend was pretty busy; besides going to the movies, we attended The Teenager’s volleyball tournament on Sunday. The girls played really well, and, while they didn’t place in the top three this time, they had fun and, we got to leave the gym before the sun set. In fact, we got home early enough to watch some movies from our Netflix list as well as to make fun of Hugh for incorrectly identifying a gothic kid in one of the shows as “emu” rather than emo. For the record, The Teenager had to excuse herself to use the bathroom, she was laughing so hard at her father’s gaffe and, also for the record; we both fully intend to tease him about it for the remainder of his life.
We're sweet like that.
Tonight, I am headed to my first meeting of a book club that I have been invited to join. This month's selection was a collection by Maya Angelou and, if I'm being completely honest; it wasn't one of my favorites. Also, I'm guessing; it wouldn't make a very good movie.
Even if it starred Channing Tatum; there are just some things that pretty can't fix.