By Gina Angostura
Columnist

A new romantic movie was just released called “The Lake House.” I’m not going to go see it. I don’t care how great it is, or that it stars Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, who made making out on a city bus seem hot in “Speed.”

Know why? Because it’s about people who meet through some hole in the space-time continuum or something. I hate that. And I hate even more that I know the phrase “space-time continuum.” Stupid “Back to the Future,” making me add words to my vocabulary I don’t need. I have to use all the word-storage space in my brain for things like the difference in meaning between “nerd” and “geek” (look it up on Wikipedia!), which of course, proves that I’m an enormous one or the other.

Time travel movies drive me crazy. Someone once explained to me the reason those films are so difficult for me: You have to keep the whole framework of the time travel plot device in your head for the entire movie. When I come out of one of them, my brain is still trying to make things make sense. Not easy for a person who has no grasp of any kind of physics whatsoever. So instead of enjoying the movie, I leave mentally exhausted.

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I’m weird, I know. I’m also afraid of the Titanic. But let’s not get into that.

The term “romantic time-travel movie” is an oxymoron, much like “conservative Deadhead,” one of which I actually spotted last week. And by spotted, I mean sat across the table and ate scallops with. Interesting specimen.

On the other hand, there is one aspect of combining time travel and romance that’s pretty appealing. I’d love to go back in time to visit all my exes. Think of the advantages you’d have if you could.

The first and most obvious one ­ ammo. If you can’t actually change what happens to you by going back in time ­ or maybe you can; I don’t really get that part ­ you can at least find out stuff to use later. Think of the power of knowing that your ex used to sing “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” every day in the shower when he was 14. Priceless!

Even if you don’t use it in a fight, you at least can smile quietly to yourself when he criticizes your Coldplay CD.

And wouldn’t it be great to go back in time to find out the exact point your ex-girlfriend became a crazy-eyed neurotic wack job?

Of course, often that doesn’t happen until after the wedding. But a quick survey of men I know shows that all ex-girlfriends are psycho, just by virtue of being an ex. Men are a little sensitive about being dumped, methinks.

That’s the attraction of time travel, though, isn’t it? We would all love to go back, knowing what we know now, make different choices, be braver, smarter. Tell that cute guy in chemistry class that he’s hot and we want to make out with him.

Wait, is there some time-travel plot where I could go back to that era and avoid my high school curly hair, no-such-thing-as-a-flatiron problems? Somebody write that movie. That, I’ll go see. Until then, “Snakes on a Plane” will be close enough.

The Single Cynic alternates weeks with the Married Cynic.