As the credits rolled on “3:10 to Yuma,” I was left scratching my head. My cousin asked me… As the credits rolled on “3:10 to Yuma,” I was left scratching my head. My cousin asked me what I thought, and with the confidence of a germaphobe in a frat house, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “It was OK, I guess.” I didn’t dislike the movie – I just wasn’t sure if I liked it either.

But in the days following my trip to the movies, something strange has been happening. Whether I’m in class, at work or out with friends, I can’t get “Yuma” out of my head. The ending had a great twist, the soundtrack fit the scenes perfectly and Russell Crowe actually managed to conjure up thoughts of John Wayne in his prime. The more I think about it, the more I like it.

How did this happen? How did one movie go from “OK” in my head to the top of my “Best Movie I’ve Seen in a While” list in less than a week? Even if it is only replacing “Rush Hour 3” at the top, how did my opinion change so quickly?

And this isn’t the first time this has happened. I was unimpressed when I first saw “Talladega Nights,” “The Departed” and “Saving Silverman” too. However, after playing and replaying the films over in my head, I have grown to love each one. So how is it that these movies seem so much better weeks after seeing them?

The answer is nostalgia. My theory is that everything seems better in memories. It works with movies, meals, parties and so much more. Stories sound funnier. Old acquaintances become more attractive. Even the scenery can look brighter. Forget plastic surgery – flashbacks are like life’s Botox.

The question is was it really all that much better “back then”? Was the grass greener? Was the joke better timed? Did he really say that to the cop, or did we all just hear what we wanted to hear?

The truth is that 90 percent of all stories, just like 87 percent of all statistics, are made up. It’s not good enough that we enjoyed our past, there has to be a story that makes others wish that they were there too. When two competing stories go head to head, the lies grow faster than Al Gore’s electric bill. You caught a five-foot bass? Mine was six. You ate 25 wings? I ate 37. They’re putting you away for 50 years? Well, I got life.

What I don’t understand is why we try so hard to live in the past. We wear throwback jerseys while watching classic television and sharing stories that happened so long ago that the tale being told and the actual event are about as similar as Hillary Duff and Big Pun.

It’s like that guy at the party who can’t stop talking about all the crazy stuff he did in high school. OK, so he played a senior prank on his gym teacher or streaked across the field during the homecoming game. But does the fact that he started a food fight six years ago make him any better of a person now? Is he closer to reaching his goals? Does he have any better chance of getting that girl? For my own sanity, I hope not.

Looking around, the present isn’t so bad. Times have been better. Times have been worse. What’s so wrong about accepting what’s going on now instead of yearning to go back to a time of bliss and happiness that probably never really happened? If we spent more time enjoying the present and less time trying to recreate a fictional past, the actual events on which our stories are loosely based would probably be more fun.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t have memories. Memories, both happy and sad, have important places in all of our lives, and learning from mistakes is the best way to improve oneself. But cluttering up your brain with snapshots and sound bytes only keeps you from the period of time that you have the most effect on – now.

So next time you hear your friends complaining about how much better it used to be, politely remind them that no matter how good it was, it’s nothing compared to the present. Then, if you have nothing better to do, go watch a movie.

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