Jan 03

Potential

I think about potential often. Probably most people do, which is why Scrödinger’s Cat is so fascinating a subject. The idea that until potential is realized, something, anything, everything is two mutually exclusive possibilities. Fascinating subject overall.

In that respect, I think about other Schrödinger’s as well. Other potentials. I think about another famous exercise in potentiality: Schrödinger’s Rapist, a post by Phaedra Starling that anyone reading this blog has probably already read before. If you haven’t, go read it now. I will wait.

I also think about my own personal Schrödinger’s ______. Well maybe not strictly my own, but one that affects everyone who does the same job as me. I established in my last post that I deliver things to people homes. I actually work for a national chain who delivers stuff to people’s homes. I know this business of delivering well. I have done it for years and have colleagues in local business as well as in competing national businesses.

Something we all have in common is Schrödinger’s Customer. None of us call it that. Truthfully, most of us don’t think about it until a collusion of events occurs, mostly because we are pretty numb to the process. Only when a collusion of eventuals appears to be leading us to possible potentials, does the average driver seriously consider, “what if.”

But our national chain considers the potentials. In fact, every competing national chain considers the potentials as well. You might think you are a good customer.  You might think there is no reason to fear you. You might even ask me inside to set your delivery on the table, or get out of the rain, or wait for you to get your money.

But you have potential.

You actually have a plethora of potentials, but like Schrodinger’s Cat my company only has (or cares about) two. Will you harm a driver or not harm a driver? It’s no wonder that you see yourself in the camp of not hurting a driver. I see myself the same way.

But you are both. I am both. If the cat teaches us anything, it is that the potentials are both true until the lid is opened. My national company knows this. I am not allowed in any home, hotel room, or condo by company policy, a rule I only break on special circumstances. A rule I shouldn’t break for even those circumstances, and I slightly panic inside every time I do.

But you have asked me in. I refused. I was polite, and you gather your money while I act as a barrier to your escape-artist child or pet. Were you angry that I refused your potential politeness? That I preferred to stand in the snow while you searched for your wallet? No. you might be perplexed in your certainty that you are “the good person who doesn’t harm drivers.” You aren’t angry at me though. Nor are you angry at the company policy that tells me to wait outside. You go about your business as customer, and I go about mine as driver.

We both continue to remain potentials.

Lately I have been thinking about both Schrödinger’s Rapist and Schrödinger’s Customer. I remember back around a certain elevator incident and I first read Schrödinger’s Rapist. I remember the cries of misandry. The shock. The horror that “so-called feminists” were engaged in the assumption of potentiality as it applies to men and whether they could (or might) rape them. I remember the indignation. The special pleading. The backlash.

And then there the fact that few people ever even question my refusal to enter their home. Few people would ever wonder if national chain is engaging in anti-customer hate by having such a policy. That there are no cries of “I’m a good customer.” There is no movement to start delivery companies who walk in your home just to show they really care about their customers.

Despite the fact that the probability of a customer harming a driver is extremely low. Despite the fact that I have never been harmed by a customer. I don’t go into customer homes.

I am confused. Surely I am missing something here. Surely you will tell me how an one exercise in potentiality is more anti-men than the other is anti-customer. Or is it pretty much the same? Aren’t we all just pushing/preventing potentials when we ask for a date or refuse an advance?

When we think about you as a Schrödinger’s Cat/Customer/Rapist, you are all possibilities at once. You are the good person you imagine you are. You are the guy who is trying to get famous starting a new Creepshots Reddit. You are a rapist. You are a someone with a simple question. You will make me laugh.

You are potential. And sometimes, even often, we refuse to open the lid, leaving all those wonderful potentials unrealized on the off chance one might be harmful.

Dismissals of certain potentials may end up being a loss for us. You may have ended up “the best thing ever to enter my life.” Then again, I may have ended up being the “worst thing ever to enter your life” if I accepted your potential. Either way,  not opening the lid in this type of situation shouldn’t be considered wrong or right. Overall it is just good business for us to be picky about which lids we open and close.

 

Jan 01

Shit customers say

I deliver stuff to people’s homes, sometimes their hotels and condos. I am not unattractive but neither am I expressly attractive. The only thing I really have going for me is tits and ass for days, so it’s not surprising I get what customer’s view as “compliments” from time to time.

“Nice legs.”

“Nice ass.”

“Want to come back later?”

“Want to have a beer, play a game of poker, hangout, etc?”

“You look dirty. Are you dirty?”

“Want to go out on a date sometime?”

“Here have a drink.”

“We will be here all night. You can come back when you get off.”

“Are you married?”

“Shake that ass.”

“Want to sit on my lap? Are you sure you don’t want to sit on my lap?”

It’s a sampling of my everyday, and thankfully, it hasn’t gotten worse than that. However, there are times where I can’t wait to get away from a house. It isn’t the words. It is how they are said. The dirty comment made me feel sick and cry and I vowed to never go back. It is scarier when there are lots of people. When they laugh at your embarrassment. When they join in. When they don’t stop at my polite refusal.

The worst though is that I can’t say what I think. Like ever. I can refuse to go back, but in the moment that they violate me, I represent my company. I cannot, as much as I would like to, school them on how fucking rude their behavior is.

I want to though. So do me a favor. If your friend, lover, asshole neighbor says this shit to their delivery person, shut them down for me. My polite dismissal doesn’t mean I like what it happening. It means I am tolerating it. Don’t ignore it. Don’t laugh it off. Don’t join in.

Dec 31

A poem

FemMe

The eyes critique me for some semblance of a smile
A hip sway
A flirt
To justify their existence, but I am not their god
Not present to appease their fears
The realization, sudden in them, cliche in me, sets off a fury
Words hurl like icicles
“Who did you think you were anyway, Cunt?”
As if the mistake in my identity was my own.
My reply, lost in the pale sickliness of complete silence:
“I thought I was just me” rattled like an exhausted echo
As the ghost of their prayers were killed not by my words
But rather the swift beat of heels on pavement
And their raucous derision
As I walk away

……

So I wrote that in October with the full intention of posting then. I rarely write poetry anymore and never write political poetry. I mostly try to write strange takes on the sonnet forms. This one obviously wasn’t in a form just had the theme and lines in my head and wrote them down. It’s nice if you like it, and not a big deal if you don’t. Let me know your thoughts good or bad. I am really interested to hear honest responses.

Dec 29

Consent Culture

The question itself was foreplay. His hesitation. Her breaths of anticipation. Their mutual curiosity. How would it happen? Would he ask first, as was tradition? Fuck tradition, said Carla. She leaned in and asked. Breath warm, Henry’s blood rushed as well as his answer. “Yes.”

And then the kiss. They were eager and still their lips touched lightly, exploring the newness of their partner. He wondered if she would ask for more tonight. She doesn’t, but her casual breathlessness opens his courage. “Can I touch you more.” he whispered amidst the kisses. A soft refusal left her lips and he was almost certain she wanted to say yes but for some reason was not ready too. “One more kiss then?” and she answers with gusto.

___________

I have been considering that scene for some weeks now, wondering what consent culture would look like in a movie and lamenting how pervasive rape culture (or non consent culture) actually is. Would asking really not just ruin the moment? Could the question itself act as the catalyst? Would consent culture work in movies/books/music?

Simply, I believe the answer is yes. Just as happens in cultures that require extensive moderation of bodies in public where people develop attraction to ankles and what bits of flesh become exposed, the same can happen with consent. We have to make it that way though. That takes changing minds and creating stories where consent is part of the discovery just as much as the first kiss.

Dec 28

Suicide is always an option

I will let the title act as a trigger warning. Today’s post will be frank and a bit heavy. Proceed with caution.

I am not sure the age I was when suicide first entered my brain. At least before I was raped by my stepfather, I had no concept of it. I distinctly remember thinking the lyrics of “Seven Spanish Angels” were such that “the rifles fired again” was her own rifle, not suicide by enemy. That was pre rape. I also remember my most major attempt at suicide. I was fifteen. The day after my first PIV sex. It was consensual. I met him that night. We fucked in the van for troubled teens who live at a ranch to modify their behavior. He was a “troubled teen.” I swallowed two bottles of pills the next day.

It was in front of my friends which is essentially the same as calling my parents myself. Never mind if I really wanted to die, or if I just wanted the attention. I literally took two bottles of pills having no idea what they are, hoping they would somehow break me.

But that wasn’t the first time I thought about it. I know I started cutting at least a year or so before. I remember a few times holding the knife precariously at my wrist vein. I remember dragging a sharp rock across making tiny cuts into bigger cuts until I was too scared to continue. I remember lying to my parents that I fell on some rocks that caused the scratches. So it wasn’t the first time.

Nor the last. Jarreg could tell you better about the time on the bridge. He held me back. Who knows if I would have jumped if he wasn’t there. Something always seemed to hold me back. Fear. Friends. Something.

But that’s not what I want to talk about.

“I think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won’t ”

Susanna Kaysen in Girl Interrupted

I was college age when I read the above quote and book. Fuck, did it hit home. I knew this debate well. I played the cat and mouse game practically my whole life. With out knowing the words every action seemed to be centered around a crucial question: Will I manage it this time? Will I fall, jump, shoot, swallow, cut? Will I die?

I call it a game. The sides of me competing make it seem like a game at times. Especially when the sides stand so much to lose. Every telephone pole on every road becomes a question, an option. “If I could just turn this wheel.” And the images start. Crumpled metal. Sounds. Tears. Phone calls. Gurneys. Death.

Then my husband. My kids. Who will pick them up from school today? Will they have to wait. They never have to wait. They won’t understand why I am not there. Will someone call Jarreg to get them? Will he have to leave work? How will bills get paid then?  Silly thing. Worrying about who will pick the kids up and how bills will get paid if I drive into a pole. Silly, tiny piece of doubt that keeps my wheel straight and me alive.

Obviously, I haven’t killed myself yet but sometimes the “yet” is what breaks me. Knowing suicide is always there, an option, a crutch, a perpetual dare makes me want it over. Makes me want to die just to end the part of myself that wants to die.
Is that meta?

Sometimes suicide is my friend. Kind of ashamed to admit that knowing suicide is always an option, keeps me in control of my destiny. I know how petty and selfish it is. You don’t have to tell me that sitting in the bathroom with a knife while kids laugh and play isn’t selfish. I know.

I have never been able to imagine properly people who don’t share this dance with me. I know they exist. I just don’t know how. How is it not a question for them as well? Do they just not know that suicide is always an option for them too? How can I forget it is an option for me? Something I am still trying to figure out. I guess, when I do, the debate will finally be over.

Oct 27

CSICon

I apologize to any of our readers unfortunate enough to have wanted, I don’t know, a post from either of us in the last month or two. As life often goes, things have been hectic and complicated. I have been working full-time and going to school full-time. WilloNyx has been taking up some of my inevitable slack in addition to keeping up with all her regular responsibilities. We have been at CSICon in Nashville for the last couple of days and it’s been amazing. I’m still unbelievably sleep deprived but feel energized. I have gotten to meet and listen to so many people I respect and admire. It’s been a blast. The perpetual bus has just carted off a number of conference goers and left me alone in the hotel lobby. It seemed a perfect time to throw a short post out into the ether.

It turns out that the people in the skeptical and atheist communities I have met these past days are wonderful people. Every damn one of them. Who knew? They don’t just play awesome people on the internet after all. This is the first con we have ever attended. It may be the last for some time, at least until we can afford another one. The experience has been wonderful, though. I am grateful for the organizers, speakers and attendees here. I have been disillusioned in recent weeks about many events taking place in what one might call “the movement.” More than anything, more than sleep deprivation or school or work, this disillusionment has been responsible for my absence. I had intended to hit various attendees up for interviews during the conference but my motivation waned. Sure, I could blame my schedule. There isn’t much room for these things after all. Even my grades are slipping. Children, work, school, occasionally sleep, all these conspire against me but in the end I’m responsible.

A friend wanted me to ask PZ Myers how he makes time to do all the things he does. I asked him. He asked why I haven’t done more. I think he has a valid point. So here I am. Forgive me if this post lacks refinement or contains errors. I’m tired but I’m here. If all goes well I’ll be here tomorrow too. For now, though, goodnight internet. With luck I will see you tomorrow.

 

Aug 13

Treading water

Yesterday Jarreg and I were talking in the car. Today’s post is borne out of that conversation, and I apologize if the the ideas feel a little rough. I haven’t fleshed them out as much as I want too. Nonetheless, we amble carelessly into some shaky territory to discuss this movement.

There is something I have been feeling lately about the atheism movement. Jarreg’s felt it too.

Disappointment.

Truly the best word for how I feel because I thought we were better than this. I thought I could walk along in this movement with my head held high. When I encounter stories like this though:

The story so far: Thunderf00t/Phil Mason was invited to join our blog network last month. All he wrote during the short week he was here was incoherent, unprofessional rages against feminism and the whole network he was on; we could not understand why he even accepted the offer to join us if he hated us so much, and his inane rants certainly weren’t going to persuade us that we were wrong, so we kicked him off. And ever since he has been obsessed with howling about our perfidy.

The latest development is that it turns out that almost as soon as he’d been evicted, he snuck back onto our mailing list and has been reading all the confidential discussions we’ve been having. He has leaked these to third parties as well. When we shut down the security hole last week, he then tried to hack back in, to no avail. We have logs of all of this computer activity on his part.

I just feel shame. These are the fucking people I have chosen to associate with. Thunderf00t is petty in a way that I can’t imagine “rational,” “thinking,” adults could be. I said on Twitter, I might have read private emails myself. Not saying for sure that I would have, but given certain circumstances I might find it prudent to exploit a loophole just to make sure that nothing dangerous was going on.  I would not be so stupid to expose that I had done so, especially if the “dirt” I uncovered was no more substantial than water cooler gossip. That is shitty middle school behavior. Not only petty but stupid.

I am not getting into the whole story about Thunderf00t’s behavior as it’s clear I find him utterly contemptible. I do want to say that if and when he chooses to “doc drop” private communication, I won’t be able to forgive that behavior. On a core level I believe that if someone chooses to interact under a pseudonym, threatening or exposing their real name is a serious wrong not to be undertaken lightly.

Beyond seething at the possibility that Tunderf00t may choose to out someone’s real name for petty gain, I am mostly just disappointed in him and those like him.

And the really frustrating part is there are a lot of atheists like Thunderf00t. Elevatorgate might have opened the stupid, petty asshole floodgates, but ever since we have had a steady stream of disappointment in people I thought should be better than the other side.

I was wrong. We aren’t better.

And the truth is, atheism means so little to me. I could spend the rest of my life pretending like I believe if it put me in a community that treated people fairly.

Let that sink in.

I would rather be with believers who treat people well than with racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic atheists. Why? Because I am many things. Atheist is one small part. Nonbelief is insignificant because god isn’t real. People on the other hand, people are real. Feelings are real. Humanity is real, even if we haven’t yet fully defined it. Those tangible things I can hold onto, those fellow humans will always be more important to me than a silly little thing like whether god exists.

Atheism I can quit. I can’t give up on humanity.

We are treading water with history, my fellow atheists. We can choose to take the stand that social justice is important or we can fight against it tooth and nail. I made my choice. It’s time to make yours.

Aug 08

Abortion, two stories

I didn’t want to talk about this today. After all, I am supposed to be easing into this routine again. However, I read this piece called I Wish My Mother Had Aborted Me, and felt the need to get two stories out. Neither are terribly long, but hopefully they will give some background for the follow up thoughts on abortion.

When my mother was pregnant with her second child by a second father, she considered abortion. She was scared. She wasn’t married. The first father never even met his child. Mom was terrified and she sought counsel in her sister who had previously aborted a fetus. My aunt advised her against abortion, and months later I was born healthy and happy in the arms of a sick mother.

Maybe she wasn’t sick at first or maybe I was too young to know. Nonetheless her mental illness was brought wholly to the surface after trauma I won’t go into detail about here. Everyone tried to hide it from me with no success. I was seven when I watched her try to burn her face. Begging her to stop.  I remember her sitting with a bottle of aspirin talking one at a time till “god’s hand stopped her.” She had moments where it wasn’t so bad. She had moments where she was too drunk to care. She had moments where she was back to how I remember her in those first several years. She had moments that reminded me she loved us.The good memories kept me going.

Then she gave me up. Stuck to the man who both kept her alive and raped her daughter, she gave me to one of her sisters. I knew why she gave me up. I didn’t blame her for the weakness inside her. No, I loved her, called regularly and visited in the mental ward those times my stepfather wasn’t enough to keep her alive.

Those are some of the effects choosing not to abort had on my mother. There is no way to say whether choosing an abortion would have been better for her or not because truthfully I have also been a source of good for her much of the time.

There is no way to know if her choosing an abortion would have been better for me either. There is no well balanced scale of beauty versus bad in which to weight the moments of my life.

Time for the second story which will be significantly shorter.

I had an abortion. I didn’t want one. I was fighting like hell to have my first child. I miscarried my first pregnancy and my second moment of pleasant surprise was marred by the fact that the fetus was probably in my fallopian tube. Amidst excruciating pain and the new information that I was pregnant, I had to decide to take the shot that would help fully terminate my pregnancy. And truthfully, it wasn’t a super hard decision to make. Yes it sucked I was losing another pregnancy but there was no possible way I could carry one in my tube and to try would likely kill me.

So I did it and I went on with my life calling it a miscarriage because for the most part that is what the experience was. I call it an abortion now because there are some who will claim that I killed my baby by not letting nature take its course. I will take that all too often dirty word “abortion” and accept it without shame.

My mother and I have very different experiences with abortion. Really no experience with abortion is exactly the same. Some are easier. Some are harder. Some are thrust upon us with no good options.

Sometimes abortion is the selfish choice.

Sometimes abortion is the noble choice.

Sometimes abortion isn’t even a choice at all.

None of it makes the choice to end a clump of cells or a fetus with the potential for life good or bad, moral or immoral because none of it excuses for all the variables in the choice to abort. Morality is only so well defined for children.

I could make arguments all day about why abortion should be legal. I could make arguments about how bodily autonomy is as fundamental right, or how access to abortion helps income stratification. These are all argument about the relative morality of abortion as an implementable system of access. Today I have been talking about choices. I am talking about whether it is moral/immoral for a pregnant woman to have an abortion Which is an impossible question to answer. Morality is easier defined on the scales of systems.

On the scale of people though, on the individual choices we make with our own bodies morality is/can only be defined by ourselves. We are the only ones with enough knowledge to examine how good or bad our choice to abort is. It isn’t a simple choice for us to make but it is our choice to make it.

Aug 07

100 Songs

Today’s list won’t be short. There won’t be an explanation, just songs I love. Feel free to tell me how I enjoy a bunch of crap because I will merely laugh at the music snobbery. I will try to note where I prefer a cover version to a original.

  1. A Better Place to Be by Harry Chapin
  2. Wishlist by Pearl Jam
  3. Everybody Knows by Leonard Choen
  4. Tomorrow Wendy by Concrete Blonde
  5. The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel
  6. Let it Be by the Beatles
  7. He went to Paris by Jimmy Buffett
  8. Purple Rain by Prince
  9. Both Hands by Ani DiFranco
  10. Seven Spanish Angels by Ray Charles and Willie Nelson
  11. Stars by Hum
  12. Tyler by The Toadies
  13. Pale Blue Eyes by Velvet Underground
  14. My Name is Mud by Primus
  15. Kyoto Song by The Cure
  16. Angry Johnny by Poe
  17. A Little Help From my Friends covered by Joe Cocker
  18. Cake and Sodomy by Marilyn Manson
  19. Time cover by Tori Amos
  20. Jolene by Dolly Parton
  21. I Can’t Stand the Rain by Missy Elliot
  22. Opiate by Tool
  23. Für Elise by Beethoven
  24. Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival
  25. Institutionalized by Suicidal Tendencies
  26. In the Pines cover by Nirvana
  27. American Pie by Don Mclean
  28. Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy
  29. It’s Good to be King by Tom Petty
  30. On the Turning Away by Pink Floyd
  31. Spoiled by Joss Stone
  32. Stanley by eminem
  33. Be Without You by Mary J Blige
  34. Interstate Love Song by Stone Temple Pilots
  35. Angel of the Morning cover by Merrilee Rush
  36. Country Death Song by Violent Femmes
  37. Lucky Ball and Chain by They Might be Giants
  38. Liz Phair Flower
  39. Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk
  40. Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinéad O’Connor
  41. You and Me and Rainbows by Legendary Pink Dots
  42. Young Blood by Naked and Famous
  43. Look Across America by Blur
  44. 99 Red Balloons by Nena
  45. Last Summer by Garth Brooks
  46. It’s so Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boys II Men
  47. She’s Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze
  48. You Can’t Always Get What You Want by Rolling Stones
  49. Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad by Meatloaf
  50. Tainted Love cover by Soft Cell
  51. Hero by Maria Carey
  52. Ain’t no Sunshine When She’s Gone by Bill Withers
  53. Disarm by Smashing Pumpkins
  54. In Search of My Rose by Tear Garden
  55. Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
  56. Losing My Religion by REM
  57. Sweet Baby James by James Taylor
  58. People are Strange by The Doors
  59. Burden in My Hand by Soundgarden
  60. Killing Me Softly covered by The Fugees
  61. Curtis Lowe by Lynyrd Skynyrd
  62. Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac
  63. Gin and Juice by Dr Dre and Snoop
  64. Heard it Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye
  65. You Don’t Own Me covered by The Blow Monkeys
  66. What Deaner Was Talking About by Ween
  67. Wave of Mutilation by The Pixies
  68. She Has a Girlfriend Now by Reel Big Fish
  69. Falling Away From Me by Korn
  70. Homesick by Soul Asylum
  71. Around Here by Counting Crows
  72. Creep by Radiohead
  73. Bad Romance by Lady Gaga
  74. Longview by Green Day
  75. Uninvited by Alanis Morissette
  76. One by U2
  77. Do Ya Think I’m Sexy by Revolting Cocks
  78. Unchained Melody by Righteous Brothers
  79. Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum
  80. Who Knew by Pink
  81. Fools Rush In by Elvis Presley
  82. Smooth Criminal covered by Alien Ant Farm
  83. Piano Man by Billy Joel
  84. Feeling Good by Nina Simone
  85. Santeria by Sublime
  86. Bring Me to Life by Evanescence
  87. Foolish Games by Jewel
  88. Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie
  89. Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper
  90. If I Were a Boy by Beyonce
  91. In too Deep by Phil Collins
  92. Push it by Salt-N-Pepa
  93. Hard to Handle covered by The Black Crows
  94. Loser by Beck
  95. Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple
  96. Five String Serenade by Mazzy Star
  97. Linger by The Cranberries
  98. The Rose by Bette Midler
  99. Take it Easy by The Eagles
  100. Cashmere by Led Zeppelin

Aug 06

Favorite movies

I know I have been absent for a few weeks but I thought I might ease back into this bloggy thing. Funny enough IdioPrag wasn’t started for me but kind of became mine with regular use. I like the outlet, but sometimes life can get overwhelming. When I am overwhelmed I tend to take a break from all unnecessary things, Unfortunately for my regular readers blogging is one of those unnecessary things for me. It’s cathartic, yes, but time consuming and stressful in its own way. I am back though and as mentioned above we are going to ease back into this slowly with a week about the various artistic things I love.

Today is movies. I tend to be a sucker for most movies in that while watching even lackluster plots I get pretty involved. For me to critique a movie, I have to wait a short period after to come down from the experience before I start raving/ranting about the best/worst movie ever. The movies I list here today are my favorites cut arbitrarily into a short list of five with a brief explanation of why I love them. I won’t fill up your whole list with tearjerkers but will try to take a favorite from various genre’s to give a rounded picture of what I consider a good movie.

  1. Se7en: Most of these won’t be in order but Se7en definitely belongs in first place. I loved this movie from the moment Detective Mills (Pitt) killed John Doe (Spacey), and I probably would’ve hated it if he didn’t kill Doe. Strange for a movie to hinge on a single moment, but rarely does the antagonist win. In all the ways horrible and great, Doe completes his cycle by virtue of Mill’s vengeance.
  2. The Goonies: A holdover from my youth, the adventures taken on by the goonies in this fantastic movie are timeless. Probably the only Corey Feldman movie I am not ashamed to admit I love and not only cause he plays Mouth awesomely. Goonies is fun movie, more fun than most movies. That is why it belongs here.
  3. Pan’s Labyrinth: This is definitely in my top two foreign films no no question. The cinematography, directing, and writing are killer, but the costuming goes above and beyond.  The protagonist’s, Ofelia’s, story is weaved through her brutal reality and imaginary escapes. Even if you “don’t like subtitles” this movie is a must see. Go learn Spanish if you have to. Just watch.
  4. What Dreams May Come: I have a long list of favorite tearjerkers and while this one isn’t at the top it is somewhere close. My other favorites are probably too obvious whereas this Robin Williams film is less known. Dreams is one of the most beautiful movies I have ever seen and definitely my favorite reinterpretation of Dante’s decent into hell. You may not cry as much in this one as in Terms of Endearment but you will definitely cry.
  5. Clerks/Dogma: Don’t make me choose my favorite Kevin Smith comedy. I love them all. I love Clerks for it’s rawness. I love Dogma for it’s brilliant commentary on catholic dogma. Smith to this day is probably my favorite director and it was hard not to make this list completely filled with his works (including a few of his Q&A’s).

So yeah, I guess the list kind of turned into six and I didn’t even include a war movie but you will be left guessing what my favorite war movie is cause I ain’t sayin.

I missed this place. Glad to be back.

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