This week's sign that the apocalypse is upon us

This week I ran out of new things to read, so I grabbed an old standby, Charles Baxter's The Feast of Love, from my shelf. This book is possibly my favorite of all time--it's that good. (Seriously. If you haven't read it, go get it. I'll wait.)

I finished it yesterday and was basking in the glow of having read a damn good book, both well written and with a reasonably happy ending. This book makes me feel good every time I read it. I can't say enough about it. I picked up the Trib and was scanning the movie page when I noticed an upcoming release called Feast of Love. Cause for concern. I made a mental note to check IMDB and make sure that it was something different.

Before I had the opportunity, however, the TV show I was watching cut to a commercial and I heard the generic movie announcer voice say "Bradley Smith couldn't catch a break..." And I seriously almost threw up.

I'll probably have to see the damn thing, because I'm sadistic in that way. It looks like it might be a cute enough romantic comedy, if it wasn't based on a damn good work of literary fiction. It's got fucking Greg Kinnear in it, for god's sake. And Morgan Freeman, which is fascinating, because there are no older black male characters in the entire book. I have a feeling he's supposed to be the older Jewish neighbor, Harry Ginsburg--yeah, according to IMDB, his name is Harry Scott. And don't even get me started on the fact that Selma Blair is playing Kathryn. Or that some fucking blond kid is Oscar. Or that they used the dog story, which is one of the best parts of the book, as the cute part of the trailer.

Read the book. Share in my misery. I thought better of Charles Baxter. I'm feeling very disillusioned right now. If they make a movie of The Paper Anniversary (the other in my top two) I may well jump off a bridge.