To all those who say they hate Ashton Kutcher

Fuck you.

Once upon a time the guy found a script and decided to produce and star in the film. That film, The Butterfly Effect (which was based on this novel), flew under my radar for a long time—I saw the trailers and kind of blew it off. Then, when I found the DVD kicking around at my parents house, I went to watch it. To my chagrin, the disc was cracked. It wasn't until just now that I caught it on Encore.

Holy fuck.

I defy you to watch that film and not be affected in some quintessential manner. Every time the curve shifted, my heart broke a little more. And the end! Fuck!

(I cried. I won't lie. If you think that that's a little extreme, I guess you can blame it on the fact that I slipped my meds for a couple days. But me, I'm going to blame it on the fact that I'm generally pretty unhappy about my love life right now. I was once in love, you see, and if I could change my life to make that love line up, I would; hands down, no matter the loss, I think I'd try to make it happen. Every time I've tried to find a love like it, it doesn't work. I guess that's what we get, right? The Chasing Amy conundrum. Fuck it.)

I'm in love with the film, actually; I think I'd probably buy it again and only really watch it during times when I needed to put things back into perspective. No more faking it, no more forcing it; I'm going to be happy one way or another, and that means no more fucking around—no more long relationships where I don't feel, no more petty crushes I can't flesh out.

And for that?

Thanks Ashton.