Chick flicks are from Venus

This weekend marks the opening of the much-anticipated “Sex and the City” movie, so it’s a perfect time to talk about “chick flicks.” All over America, men are being given a choice today: either go to the movie with their significant others, or sleep on the couch for an indefinite period. Tough call.

Actually, it’s not that simple. In addition to actually paying (wasting) good money for a ticket and physically occupying a seat in the theater, you have to pretend to care. Will Carrie and Mr. Big finally get married? (Personally, I’d like to know how Gloria Steinem and the N.O.W. would feel about a TV/movie character whose official name was “Super Jugs,” but we can discuss that another time.) Will Samantha ever be able to settle down with one man? (Yeah, what we’re really thinking is, how much longer can her luck hold out before she gets every possible STD?)

Will Charlotte’s new baby finally give her happiness? And will, uh, the red-haired one, um, Miranda? Is that it? Whatever her name is, will she, um, oh, who cares. Hey, I remembered all the names, isn’t that enough? Do I really have to follow the storyline too?

No, you don’t. Forcing a man to go to a chick flick is unfair and borders on cruel and unusual punishment. This is a perfect opportunity for her to go to this lame movie with her girlfriends. They can dress up in their Jimmy Choo shoes (which cost roughly the same as a mortgage payment) and their best streetwalker miniskirt/bustier combination and make it a girls’ night out at the movie. They could even top off the night with cosmopolitans at the trendiest club in town and come back home to their men with a good buzz on. It’s a win-win situation.

It’s a double standard with women and chick flicks. Why should we men be subjected to two hours of the exact same predictable plot with the same half dozen actors and actresses every time? I’m sorry, but every time I see Julia Roberts, all I can think about is how she stole another woman’s husband away when she was obviously rich enough to buy a guy who was single. She must be a really good actress to pull off the "respectable lady." And I can’t even look at “Charles Award” winner Hugh Grant without laughing. Seriously, don’t even try.

Chick flicks are almost always about relationships, and everyone knows that men do not want to talk about relationships, do not want to hear about relationships, and do not want to see other people talk about or hear about relationships. We want to see Sly Stallone or Will Smith shoot some Commies or aliens and walk out of the theater chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!” To us, a “relationship” is the method James Bond uses to get information out of the hot Russian spy.

Face it, ladies. The surest way for a guy to lose interest is to start talking about “feelings.” We’re not talkers; we’re doers. We like to stay in our comfort zone when it comes to movies, and the tried-and-true formula for us never changes: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds guy who took the girl and blasts him into next week, boy gets girl back. (Note: the successful formula requires that girl is scantily-clad throughout most of the movie.)

The way I look at it, if you want the guys to go to your movies, you have to give a little back too. I’ve told my wife that I’ll be happy to go to a chick flick with her as soon as she watches a Bears game or a NASCAR race with me. And by “watch” I mean that she has to pay attention, she cannot use her laptop or Blackberry, and she cannot read a book during the entire game/race. I haven’t been to a chick flick since, and I’m not expecting to go to one anytime soon.