I’ve been trying to think up names for better versions of those movies like “I Heart New York,” and “Paris, Te J’aime,” where a whole bunch of lame filmmakers recount clichéd tales about these overly-romanticized places about which we should damn-well know by now that there is nothing interesting left to say.
The only two I’ve been able to come up with so far are
“My relationship with Atlanta is eerily similar to the one I have with my father, and I think I’m OK with that,” and
“Portland, I need you to shave. Like, right fucking now — and don’t give me that hipster scowl.”
See? Aren’t you just a little bit more intrigued to hear the stories in these fine films than in a movie whose title include a heart symbol?
You guys want to take a crack at it? Prize for the top two titles will be this legal-enough herbal-ecstacy bullshit, which it turns out they sell in a strip mall off the highway to Beaverton. God Bless America.
You can play more than once. You have until Sunday at midnight. Best of Luck.
Happy New Year, too, now that I think about it.