• credit: Netflix
    movie reviews

    Rebel Moon (2023) **

    Plodding, static, and so derivative that Zack Snyder rips himself off repeatedly, Rebel Moon is a glorious piece of garbage fine-tuned to please the director’s boner for shredded people moving in slow motion. There can be no doubt Zack Snyder gets extremely bonerific over sexy hot fascism; it’s basically the elevator pitch for 300. The nice part here is that he seems to realize fascism is actually problematic while giving himself a boner about it. That wasn’t obvious watching 300. I’m pretty sure we call that personal growth!

    Notoriously, Rebel Moon was supposed to be a Star Wars movie, but that didn’t work out for reasons I can’t possibly imagine. Netflix decided to let Zack Snyder have at it anyway. They gave him a budget and let him loose. I feel like saying “let loose” gives too lofty an impression of this flick’s aspirations. Snyder’s idea of creative liberation is to liberally rip off visuals and vibes from every other SFF property under the sun, including his own. I honestly can’t tell you how it all feels like ripping off instead of homages or well-worn tropes. It’s really like looking at a mosaic of formative cinema moments that gave teenage Zack Snyder a boner, peppered in with a few fascist bondage machines.

    It feels mostly like Star Wars. The spirit is in the right place: little guys deserve not to be brutalized by the big fascist empire. Okay. We’ve given the traditional Hero Cycle to a woman, whose extraordinary power is self-awareness so she can monologue exposition like, “I’m a war orphan. I don’t feel like I deserve love.” Not a direct quote, mind you. It takes a few pages of script to get the same point across.

    Sofia Boutella gets a SFF bingo by appearing in a Star Wars-like property, having already earned nerd boners through an excellent performance in my favorite of the NuTrek movies, the James Bond-like Kingsman property, and Tom Cruise’s inferior version of The Mummy. Honestly, someone give this woman a good screenplay. She’s so hot and she deserves it. Her earnest attempts to redeem Snyder & Co’s clunky dialogue is worth a slow clap. Imagine what she could do with real material.

    Boutella’s Fascist Dyke haircut runs away with the movie. Every time they flash back to her Vico Ortiz-like undercut, I am reduced to zoo animal sounds.

    Djimon Hounsou shows up as General Titus, the Tit-tastic Chunk of Rippling Man Meat who has gotten ripped as hell in his gray years. Zack Snyder said “I need Daddy Hotness” and Hounsou ripped off his shirt to soar to his rescue. I didn’t even recognize him at first because he’s so tanked and dusty in this movie. But once they oil him up, I’m like, omg it’s Djimon Hounsou. I want to motorboat his mitties.

    Speaking of motorboatable mitties, this was my introduction to Staz Nair, whose primary role in Rebel Moon was featuring in the James Cameron’s Avatar portion. He befriends a hippogriff named Buckbeak in order to prove he shouldn’t be enslaved on Tattooine anymore, and flies away to have an exciting, tribally coded adventure connecting him with Buckbeak. The sequence concluded with Buckbeak slaughtering the slaver, so like I said, Snyder’s heart is in the right boner. I mean, right place. Did I mention Staz Nair earns a shirt with his freedom, but actually it’s some blanket thing he tosses around his shoulders to ensure his nipples always have a view of the action? C’mon Zack Snyder, we all see what you’re doing.

    Meanwhile, Michiel Huisman is not Diego Luna from Rogue One; Ed Skrein in Nazi gear is not Domnhall Gleeson as Hux. The little town of horny Irish people is not on Tattooine. All the slow motion action scene jumps aren’t revisiting the glistening mantitties of 300. That spider lady is not a Drow. The scrappy team does not travel to the Prancing Pony. Hux’s rebirth is not The Matrix. Anthony Hopkins is not an assassin droid from The Mandalorian doing a Scavenger’s Reign subplot. The climactic battle on the floating structures is neither the end of Emperor Strikes Back nor the end of Disney’s Atlantis. Charlie Hunnam is not signing up for a two-movie contract. Etcetera.

    It’s kind of a disaster of overlong clunky dialogue that actors *try* to make work, and when we all realize that it won’t, it can’t, it never will, you just have to sit back and muse on how many opportunities Zack Snyder created for a bunch of really hot people to be in sexy action/sexy torture situations. And then you have to love the bad aging makeup for the villain at the end. You have to! If you don’t love it, you don’t love fun. I bet you don’t even like it in k-dramas where they flash back to high school and put fully adult actors in a wig and school uniform.

    I hope my tone makes it clear that I enjoyed the hell out of this, and I think it’s the kind of bad where it loops around to good and then back to bad, where it remains, simply terribly *bad*. My sibling and I had so much fun yelling at the movie. My husband felt like his time was *so* very wasted. I noticed in the trailer for the second movie that the Fascist Dyke Haircut is coming back so I’m definitely planning on watching it.

    (image credit: Netflix)

  • image credit: Disney
    movie reviews

    Home Alone (1990) ****

    I’m about to get real lecturey about a movie I love. I think that “it doesn’t have to be that deep” fully applies to Home Alone and a lot of flicks like it. My emotional review of Home Alone is mostly a lot of charmed gushing about a smartly written screenplay, the Extremely Adorable Brothers Culkin, and loving the random monologues from John Candy as the polka guy.

    It’s still one of my favorite Christmas movies, so I’ve really taken it for granted these last thirty-four years. It’s fun for me to take a look with fresher eyes from the perspective of the more jaded adult I’ve become. But while I write this stuff out, it doesn’t change the fact I’ve grown up with Home Alone, and it’s absolutely iconic in my heart.

    ~

    Back when Sara was a sweet little two-year-old sprog with more interest in the taste of carpet fluff than story analysis, John Hughes and Chris Columbus gave us a Christmas classic in Home Alone. Young Kevin McCallister’s family takes a vacation, accidentally leaving him behind, which means he’s the only one available to defend the house against invasion when a pair of robbers attack.

    Recently, The New York Times did an analysis of the McCallisters’ wealth. It’s a fun read which concludes, rather neutrally, that this family belongs to the 1%. There’s a lot of speculation about the jobs of the parents, and the novelization reportedly lists them as a fashion designer and Business Guy.

    Because the original screenwriters didn’t intend to look at the McCallister parents in this way, any speculation about criminality as a source of their wealth is just a mischievous reinterpretation of the story. It’s trying to tap into the unreality of the scenario (robbers like The Sticky Bandits aren’t really a thing) to come up with a plausible excuse and acknowledging that a lotta people get rich through criminal means, whether it’s Business Guy-flavored or Sticky Bandit flavored. I support this reading.

    That said, I don’t think it’s possible the McCallisters could ever be criminal; the movie is too much a fantasy from the perspective of affluent white America, which constantly thinks it’s playing cops and robbers.

    Kevin’s preparation shows how he can outsmart any trouble, and we know that a certain type of guy loves the fantasy of power from prepping. Prepping has taken hold in more communities during 21st century turmoil, but in the 90s, it was really only *one* kind of guy. Though Kevin is a child, he’s written by adult men, and it’s significant that Kevin regards himself as the Man of the House. He’s in control and prepared for disaster. Like home invasion.

    If you google statistics about home invasion, you’ll see some alarmingly-tinted information from home security companies and insurance companies. We turn to the Bureau of Justice, with all its own biases, which shared in 2010 that fully 65% of home invasions happens between people who know each other previously. The most vulnerable people are single moms, those living in smaller apartment units, and rentals, especially occupied by nonwhite people. Places are it’s often targeted because a prior relationship let the burglar know there are guns or drugs there. Affluent family homes are among the least vulnerable.

    Burglary statistics paint a rather expected picture of the economic situation in America. Property crime springs from hardship, and it’s something the lower class is mostly dealing with. Regardless of profession, the McCallisters are certainly not one of the more vulnerable targets.

    Yet there is a certain attraction to this fear of home invasions among the affluent. You see it pop up in movies a lot, like The Strangers (the classic example), Panic Room, Hush, The Purge…

    Actually, let’s talk The Purge. For every guy who understands its intent as a grim satire about the reality we live in, like WH40k, you get a guy who enjoys the fantasy of permissible brutality, like WH40k. The Purge is an appealing aesthetic to people who may also enjoy the whole zombie shooter genre, where the visuals of mass harm against human people is divested of genuine impact. You could compare 80s action movies stripping away the consequences of violence (like John McClane getting to fight ~terrorists~ in Die Hard) to the permissible violence of The Purge.

    This is an awfully intense direction to go with analysis of a kids’ Christmas movie, especially when the violence is intended to be cartoony and goofy. But the traps that Kevin places to protect himself from burglars, and the matter of asymmetric power, makes Kevin’s plight pretty similar to John McClane’s. Not to mention that Kevin commits some real brutality against these guys: in reality, the first fall or two would have probably killed them.

    I’m not taking the side of The Sticky Bandits here, even playfully. Kevin’s adorable. Team Kevin. But The Sticky Bandits don’t really have any sort of real-life analog. There isn’t a disaffected bear and his post-twink death twink rolling around in a van casing your local 1% neighborhood, especially since everyone and their mother now has a Ring camera. We don’t have a sense that these Bandits have any motive beyond Money and Pride, which is simply not where “crime” comes from in reality.

    Really, “crime” comes from the places that police decide to police. As Slate noted, The McCallisters committed ample crimes without any risk of prosecution. The fantasy of their crimes is acceptable compared to the crimes committed by fantasy villains, who are simply caricatures of the lower class, and the lower class is much more acceptably labeled criminal.

    (Let’s not discuss the incredibly shallow misunderstanding of poverty when they attempt to address it in Home Alone 2.)

    Yes, Home Alone is a very particular kind of rich person fantasy, where you have an opportunity for justified violence without consequence, whether it is the severe brain damage either Bandit could have realistically suffered or the pursuit of the justice system.

    The McCallisters are absolutely not criminals; this would not serve the fantasy.

    But this movie may serve as a primer for a toxic fantasy that can grow out of control into something eldritch in certain populations, if you look at it sideways. It pumps its fist at a certain kind of paranoid power fantasy.

    ~

    It’s interesting to note that John Hughes didn’t think of the McCallisters as really *rich,* even while writing a rich guy’s fantasy. The mansion setting was chosen by Chris Columbus because it created more space for the elaborate traps, and once you’ve put a family in a mansion, they’ve inherited a history of generational wealth that is preferentially given to white people as a caste in America. It’s simply how America works.

    The set design of the mansion and composition of the family are meant to evoke Norman Rockwell, a painter born in 1894 who depicted an America which has changed notably since his peak. Rockwell is truly an embodiment of Americana for some. Nostalgia is often preyed upon in white nationalism and other extreme right-wing stances that benefit wealth inequality.

    What I’m saying here is that someone who isn’t a rich white guy would simply have a different kind of fantasy than this one — it’s inseparable from his orientation in our world. Only a man of his perspective could imagine a neutral, nostalgic, pleasant American family that looked exactly like this, in this setting, with this pursuit of American fantasy-justice against a specter of criminality that shows cluelessness to the real structural inequity of the country which benefits him.

    Chris Columbus and John Hughes aren’t the enemy; this isn’t a condemnation by any means. Hughes in particular comes from a working class background in an America where a one-income white family could live in suburbia (with all the associated real estate wealth). For his era and position, he came up as Just Some Guy.

    His movies often did address class sensitively, and in favor of “the little guy.” Someone can be enfranchised and privileged and a beneficiary of a lot of dreadful things, but also a thoughtful and talented artist with good intentions who did his best with what he had. I think this is true of many great artists coming out of the higher caste in a caste system. We can only have our own perspective, and all of us are damaged and limited by hierarchy in different ways.

    Still, we’ve had Home Alone for more than thirty years, and I think it’s interesting to come back to really see it. It’s easy to take an iconic classic for granted and label it a great without wondering who it’s great for.

    ~

    The question I always ask about fantasy wish fulfillment movies is, “Who does the fantasy benefit?”

    The fantasy of Home Alone is meant to be a small child getting one over on grownups, and it works so well on that level, it really can be that simple.

    But the way that the child gets one over on grownups, the way the grownups are chosen and depicted, is specific to the perspective of wealthy whiteness–and a paranoid perspective.

    I don’t feel prepared to evaluate the impact of this very narrow fantasy on culture. I’ll leave you, instead, with a story about a very young Sara who enjoyed this movie when she was younger than Kevin McCallister.

    I remember lying on the floor of my family’s apartment with a piece of construction paper, trying to draw the layout of our home. The complex probably had fifty units across five buildings (or something like that). The carpet was twenty years old and smelled like it. We had always rented, and always would. When I drew the apartment, I blew up the scale really big and imagined each room thrice its size to make more room for traps.

    There simply wasn’t much to trap: in about nine hundred square feet, the bedrooms were clustered around the end of a short hall, and the kitchen and living room bracketed the opposite end. But also, The Sticky Bandits would never want to attack us, my mom reassured me. We didn’t have anything worth stealing. That’s the kind of thing you should tell a child, not that she is statistically much more vulnerable than the kid in the movie.

    I wanted to break Adult Guy feet on toys and bash their heads with bans of green beans and burn their hands with my doorknobs. Blissful, paranoid Christmas fantasy in the middle of a small town apartment complex. I still love watching it. Does that need to mean anything at all?

    (image credit: Disney)

  • sara reads the feed

    Robot murder, Museum of Prince, Taters is our King

    We got this little robot bird off Amazon as a cat toy. I actually quite like holding it in my hand. The way it flaps its wings and the frailty of its mechanics inside an unstuffed cloth body actually feels a lot like a bird. The downside is that it screams constantly, in that shrieky “I am a bird that is dying” sort of way, and everyone in my family finds it intolerably obnoxious.

    Of course that means it is the best cat toy we have ever bought. The cats are obsessed. Why shouldn’t they be? It lets them authentically roleplay murder. It’s extremely unsettling seeing my tiny fluffy babies that I give all the widdle kisses suddenly convert to their panther instincts.

    They go straight for the neck on this toy. Just try to snap its neck straight off, with these sharp, sudden little viper-bites. They don’t do this move with the myriad crocheted cat toys I make for them, so they’re recognizing the robot as actual prey.

    I’m amazed on a few levels. One, because I managed to find a robot my cats like, and it’s like…AR outdoor cat life for indoor fatties. Two, because it’s an amazing robot honestly, simple as it is. Just a brilliant design that genuinely understands cat. Three, I’m amazed to remember my stupid little lazy babies are just pretending for my benefit. Only *pretending* to be babies until there’s a neck to snap.

    I adore them. I wish I could befriend every cat in the world. They’re so perfect. The bird robot is cool.

    ~

    Christmas was quite low-key. I think the cats got the best presents honestly. It was really nice to just have a warmly special, different from normal day without the stress.

    ~

    It’s been a few days since I posted links, so some of these are almost a week old now. I’ll try to just post stuff that remains evergreen.

    ~

    Nargis in Kabul posted on Psyche about losing her right to work under Taliban rule. It’s a compelling read, more unsettling than overtly violent. I found it really easy to imagine myself in her position.

    ~

    The USA promises to land astronauts on the moon. (Ars Technica) They’re saying it will be an international astronaut; my vote is Japan. Japan has special rights over the moon on account of Kaguya Hime being primo a+++ myth.

    ~

    ABC News pulled a piece out of the archives. In 2015, they covered the creepy American cult tradition of purity balls; current House Speaker Mike Johnson was featured in this story with his daughter.

    I really don’t like how this man interferes in his kids’ sex lives. Johnson is the same dude whose son will get a notification if he looks at porn on his phone. Imagine the amount of shame these kids have to navigate. Imagine having to think about your dad every time sex comes up. MY GOD.

    ~

    I adored this article about Newark students reluctantly curating a Museum of Prince (the music artist) for a school assignment. (NYT)

    ~

    NPR summarizes Congress’s accomplishments for the year in a thousand words.

    ~

    I hate how I just “discovered” Last Holiday and was just warming up to the idea of a love square with Queen Latifah and several men, including Gerard Depardieu, only to come across news about a long history of assault allegations against Depardieu. Bah! (Variety) I continue to be resentful when abusive public figures taint projects I love.

    Variety has also reported on allegations of assault against Vin Diesel. He’s one of those actors I’ve mostly heard about in terms of his benign nerdiness behind the scenes and something about a beef with another large bald man, so I really was surprised by this one. Social media comments made it clear I should not have been surprised.

    (On this blog, we acknowledge it costs $0 to believe abuse survivors.)

    ~

    The Reuters analysis of Tesla’s ongoing behavior, which feels rather like a grift to me, makes me *so* happy my family veered off and got a Nissan Leaf last-minute. We really almost got a Model S. Phew.

    I know others have had issues with Nissan, but for us, the Leaf has been a no-drama car.

    ~

    Variety’s interview with the cowriter of Rebel Moon reminds me that a lotta working writers simply do not have the same “rules” around constructing story that I do. This is a completely neutral observation; I’m sincerely not snarking.

    ~

    On NPR, a conversation between adult children who have lost their last parent and become orphans. I am very close to my two siblings so I just always appreciate sibling stuff tbh. I relate to the way they piece together an image of their parents, a unified theory of parents. Even now my siblings and I will do this in conversation. Death is not the only boundary that can distance us from firsthand accounts of wtf is going on with these people who made us, so real humans must become myth. In so many ways, children are the keepers of a most arcane history nobody else can know about the generation prior.

    ~

    Reykjavik’s child-eating Yule cat is now the only Christmas-adjacent holiday figure I accept. (NPR)

    ~

    Great news for Sara hate-fans! If you’ve been waiting to lurk and judge my every thought derisively on BlueSky as you once did so easily on Twitter, you can now do so. (Engadget)

    ~

    Ars Technica reminds us again that humans aren’t actually super-special in our cognition; we are just a little bit more complex and develop further than the asshole crow who poops on your car deliberately.

    ~

    I keep thinking about this New Yorker article about a more informal variation of therapy (it should really be compared to life coaching imo) based on talking about philosophy. The article itself shares how this can be really good, really dreadful, or anywhere in between, so the concept is perhaps more interesting than the current execution.

    I often think that I need a philosophical counselor who can also do therapy, more than just a therapist, so it was interesting seeing this come up. I always seem to be on society’s brainwave.

    ~

    Glorious orange cat Taters was a deep space ambassador for NASA. (Engadget)

    ~

    Emptywheel has a great piece about how political the Christmas story is.

    ~

    Kidnappings are on the rise in Colombia again, but factions are working on a deal to stop this practice. (AJE)

    ~

    This XKCD has strong Scavenger’s Reign vibes.

  • Diaries,  essays

    You might be overlooking sources of cope close at hand

    When I was almost 30, I spent a hundred hours in a mental hospital on suicide watch, though I wasn’t suicidal. I had been switched to a new antidepressant by my general practitioner. I had a strongly negative reaction, flooded by serotonin, and could feel myself going crazy every time I took it. One time I took it and had a meltdown. I went to the hospital trying to relay what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t do it effectively, and I ended up on suicide watch with weird markers on my chart that nobody else had.

    I was fine once I came off that antidepressant. Even so, they gave me strong, strong sedatives in the hospital and I remember nodding off sitting up at random times. This hospital has since been condemned; it was sinking while I was there. With nothing else to do, I organized activities for the bored younger people in the ward. The cafeteria served great food so I obsessed about eating as much as possible while there. There was plenty of time to read books. I herded young women around because we were not in a segregated ward and old men sexually harassed them. I only got to see the sunlight when I was walked outside in a group by a student therapist. I think we went outside once while I was there.

    Basically it was miserable, but I made the best of it, and aside from the enormous trauma I did learn things.

    During that one time we sat outside, I think we had the most productive (for me) group therapy session.

    Group therapy is my favorite. Other humans are so compassionate in this setting, when we are vulnerable about the things that hurt us most deeply. I shared some of the thoughts I hadn’t been sharing with anyone, and the kindness of others really helped me see that I was having some basic issues of rationality.

    Primarily: Why hadn’t anyone in my family known something was increasingly wrong with me?

    The medication alone was not the only problem. I was swallowing poison-bombs of stress constantly, to the point where I did pop a massively bleeding ulcer the prior year. I internalized everything in my body. I was hurting myself without ever hurting myself, just by turning myself into this crazy, bolted-down, feverish ball of I CAN’T COPE. When I did cope, it was maladaptive, like controlling my diet so my body shrunk to its smallest size ever, drinking way too much alcohol, and other things you expect an almost-30 femme to do to herself. I never felt good. Ever. I could never relax.

    But I had a genuinely loving family standing around me who really didn’t know the severity of the problem. They saw me hiding myself away to over-work, but I didn’t have any way to explain what was going on. I didn’t know. I was locked up.

    I had to learn radical new ways to cope in order to change into the person I am now.

    These days, I am happy and relaxed and only productive in ways that feel constructive.

    The changes were radical in effect, but they were super duper easy in practice. It turns out that coping well is something that fills up your cup and makes everything better, and you shouldn’t run away from it into the arms of toxicity (or just self-destruct quietly on your own).

    My four radical coping mechanisms:

    1. Talking to loved ones
    2. Conscious time with loved ones
    3. Food (ideally eaten/prepared with loved ones)
    4. Seek perspective on the role of personal responsibility in a hierarchical world

    ~

    Talking to loved ones kind of has to be the first step. It means saying all the messy stuff, even the hurtful things, the stuff that sounds bad no matter how you put it. It means vulnerability.

    This isn’t safe with everyone you know. Your family may not be your loved ones. If you’re already resisting the natural human impulse to talk to your loved ones, you’ve probably been exposed to derision when you were vulnerable at *some* point.

    But the wonderful thing is that *most* people *are* safe to be vulnerable with. Yes, I’m including random strangers here. Most humans are kind in response to vulnerability. It’s a human quality. If you feel like everyone is going to judge you, you’re just wrong! The world is not made up entirely of people who are derisive and cruel. That is an experience you had with some particular folks, and I’m really sorry.

    If “people will usually be nice to you” doesn’t ring true, consider: Humans form social groups (families, cliques, whatever) that have develop personalities unto themselves. A social group in itself may foster toxicity. And it may foster toxicity *selectively*. People perceived as lower in the social hierarchy of this group will be the subject of abuse from people higher in the social hierarchy as a bonding mechanism. If you’ve been picked as a punching bag by a group, they might even be good people to each other, or to others outside the group, but uniformly awful to you. It feels like The Whole World is awful. That’s not the case. You’ve been chosen as a punching bag. Your role will be different in different social units.

    You can find people to treat you kindly anywhere, as long as you don’t wait around expecting toxic people you know to change.

    Talk with loved ones.

    “I don’t want to be a burden,” sayeth your mind.

    Doesn’t it feel good when you help people work through things? People will feel good helping you too. Give them the opportunity.

    You have to try to say the things that are hardest to say. Whatever is stuck deep in there, get it out. Don’t hold any grudges. You can’t fix what you won’t address. Say things quickly, when they come to mind, so you’re not building up pressure to explode everything out. State your intentions with your loved ones clearly: “I feel really embarrassed talking about this but I need help because I’m too scared to do xyz.”

    Solutions can happen quicker than you think, if you don’t simmer on stuff. And for the things that can’t be solved, or don’t need it, loved ones can then be a big emotional hug of validation.

    For me, my loved ones are my spouse and sibling foremost. But I really don’t stop there with expressing my emotions. I’m a whole fountain of it. The more I talk openly about what I’m dealing with, the more I find other people I’m dealing with, and they become loved ones (at least on this subject).

    If people react negatively to you, they’re not your people. Move on. It doesn’t reflect on you.

    Therapy actually can fill in a lot of this, and some folks do need therapists for specific causes, but you can get a lotta emotional work done just in your community like this because it’s so natural to humans. Before therapists, we had hair dressers, neighbors on an adjoining stoop, the other guy sharpening spear heads beside the fire. Use your community.

    (FWIW, I’m under the care of a psychiatrist and on multiple psychiatric meds. I’m so happy I did many many years of therapy and plan to return. I absolutely believe in handling the medical side of things in a medical way. I just don’t talk about it much here because it’s not always very accessible to folks.)

    ~

    Conscious time with loved ones actually isn’t the same as talking. Think of it this way: We talk shit out the way that we demolish rooms of a house. Then we spend time with people to sweep it all away and clear the space.

    I used my family as a way to get away from life. I gave them my kids and pets and house and said, “Take care of this while I have my bildung,” and then I traveled alone. Does that sound like a healthful use of family? Maybe sometimes, honestly. But not exclusively.

    If you’re with your family and you spend the whole time visiting with internet friends via your phone, are you actually with your family?

    Do stuff with your loved ones. Bonus points if you get casual physical contact. Make stuff, cook things, play games. Engage with them in a way that is just fun and doesn’t involve any kind of emotional burden.

    Having a cleaner mind and a happy heart makes room for so much abundance. It’s just as important to create happiness as it is to process unhappiness.

    Anxiety, grief, stress, et al can also steal us away from perfectly pleasant moments. I have some really nice memories surrounding funerals because we were sad, but it was still nice to just be together. Making someone laugh with a remark can be your cope when the greater context sucks. Be in your nice moment, whatever the context.

    ~

    Having food with loved ones is a really important one that I neglected personally. I had come to see food foremost as a medical thing. I counted my macronutrients to make sure I had the ratio where I wanted, and I ate whatever I was eating — always prepared separately from the family.

    Although my food problems were a thing unto myself, this can also develop over time if food has to be functional for another reason. I think diabetics can really fall into seeing food as medical sometimes. A method of delivering the correct amount of carbohydrates to one’s body. It’s true but not *entirely* so.

    I would have thought of food as a coping method derisively. Maybe you would think of food as a coping method sadly, like, “I can’t eat for fun because xyz food intolerance/concern.”

    But I want to put forth the idea that food should be cope and social bonding *first*. It is so important to us because of its role in fueling our bodies, but humans have always oriented their cultures around eating in a more meaningful way. Whether it’s coming together for feast holidays or regularly doing food preparation in a group, food is really a whole activity that can refill your cup…if you let it.

    The simple act of eating whatever else my family is eating is a bonding thing. We are sharing a culture. It’s healing.

    Let’s say that you can’t eat with loved ones, though. I’m gonna tell you that’s even better. You’ve never met a method of cope like eating distraction-free. Full attention on a balanced meal, tasting every bite, is an amazing cup-refiller. It doesn’t necessarily have to be gourmet food. Consider what you’re eating. What does it remind you of? Can something simple like french fries from the burger place transport you to the nicest memory of your adolescence, every time you eat them?

    The taste can be good, the textures, the memories, the peace and solitude. Try putting everything away and really eating. For reals, it’s awesome.

    ~

    Getting perspective on personal responsibility is such a difficult one, but I really needed it.

    Anxiety can make people feel like they need to control things so that bad outcomes don’t happen. The not-so-secret truth is that we don’t control things. Like, almost nothing.

    I know that’s a horrible thought, but isn’t it a little liberating, too? Stuff happens to us. Shitty stuff happens to us. We often couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.

    Something shitty we’re all living with is a society that isn’t designed for everyone. In fact, it’s intended to enrich an increasingly narrow portion of “everyone.” It’s never been a secret that governments suck. Hippies knew what was going on. You’ve always seen folks going Walden off the grid to try to escape it, it’s so shitty.

    There are better and worse ways to cope with the shitty uncontrollability of reality, but one of the better ways is to simply accept it *is*. So much of what is stressing you out isn’t your fault, at all. Period.

    A lot of things you are holding yourself responsible for are simply not your fault, and a lot of your future’s path isn’t up to you.

    On this thought, some idealogies are better than others for fostering a pro-cope environment. If you find yourself getting caught up in any sort of idealogy that preys on your anxiety and an outsized sense of personal accountability about something systemic, the long-term impact is going to be negative more than positive.

    Capitalism likes you to think that bootstrapping is the moral ideal; fad fitness trends want you to think you can willpower your way through having a human body; radical politics wants you to think the pains of living as the proletariat under the bourgeoisie are your fault. This stuff really doesn’t serve you personally. Even if you are someone benefited by inequity — you are the socially preferred race, gender, religion, whatever — the environment fostered by haves and have-nots can leave you lingering in terror of losing your status and helps you cultivate a personality of superiority over your fellow human.

    Like, it’s just not good for you, my dude. You gotta let go of all that stuff. Take a quick breath in and let it out slow and blow out all your sense of responsibility for the huge systemic games humans think they’re playing. The games are playing the humans. You can’t opt out entirely, but you can remind yourself of your size.

    You’re just a person. One person, like anybody else. Exactly the same. You are not great or terrible. You are a person. Isn’t that kind of a relief? You might be a person having a shit life. It’s not your fault. You might have even done some shitty things. Everyone does shitty things. You’re normal. Let it go. <3

    Sweep away the junk and make room for better things to grow in the future.

    ~

    There are many other ways of coping that I’ve found helpful, and which you’ll hear suggested elsewhere. Letter writing, for instance. Journaling. Gardening. Crochet. Obviously I enjoy all of these things too. But personally, I found I couldn’t make use of those things as coping methods reliably until I took care of the big ones above. I had to reorganize my life into something where I fell into the embrace of my loved ones more easily before anything else really took root.

    Whatever coping methods you use, just make sure they serve *you*. You’ll know it’s healthy when it helps connect you to more humans and doesn’t isolate you. It’s also good when it helps you express yourself and process everything you’re going through.

    Resist the allure of coping methods that “turn off” your feelings regularly, isolate you, or cause any kind of damage to yourself or community. I am a huge fan of destructive coping, so I get the idea might be offensive, but but trust me on this one. You don’t have to feel like this.

  • sara reads the feed

    In brief, some links; eyes open for goat pics

    I do most of the haircuts in the family, which is generally fine, but catching me In The Mood is sometimes a challenge (I struggle to put down projects when I’m working on them; try to catch me in between crocheted cat toys??).

    So my spouse will also do some haircutting. Usually he’ll start on himself or the kids, and I’ll come in to clean it up after. Yesterday he cut his bangs, and it was a little long/sloppy which seemed unusual for him, but I promised to redo his hair this morning.

    So this morning comes, I’m trimming his hair, and I start saying, “It’s weird how many random skills I have. I don’t even give myself credit for cutting hair but I’ve been doing it for years.”
    While I’m saying this, I cut my hand open with the scissors. Bit a big-ass chunk out of them.
    While I was cry-laughing with my hand in the sink (the comic timing was too good), my husband showed me his palm. Yesterday he, too, stopped cutting his hair because he bit a chunk out of his palm with the incorrect shears we were using. (Usually I am actually stocked with appropriate hair cutting supplies) That’s why he didn’t get very far.

    Now the two of us have very sore hands and matching bandages and I love my disaster husband. I feel so much less stupid when both of us did the same stupid thing. Both of us should have known not to use the wrong shears. We did it anyway. Matching bandaids. VERY cute. Anyway. Have a great Thursday! lmao

    ~

    Yesterday I wrote a blog talking about the importance of rest, and then I wrote and posted three movie reviews. Okay, but I drank a lot of black tea and my plants can’t drink black tea to perk up in the winter. (Wait…could they? Ooh.)

    I’m not going to get too deep in commentary today; I’ll mostly list articles that I thought were interesting and relevant reads.

    ~

    The rest of my links in this post are relatively lightweight, so I gotta put this one at the top, with apologies and trigger warnings. The Independent reports on the Democratic party perpetuating horrors against immigrants that will make it possible for Trump to hurt them even worse if he wins the election.

    I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to vote for the lesser of evils when the evil is just plain evil.

    ~

    Congo is working on their own democracy. Voting day was Wednesday. Good luck, neighbors. (NPR)

    ~

    Fast fashion is always bad for us; affordable fashion (with certain fibers) is bad too. Cheap cashmere destroys the environment and harms adorable goats. There are adorable goat pictures in this article. (NPR)

    ~

    Wildfire ash has known carcinogens in it. We kinda knew this, but it’s really confirming how much we need to wear PPE during wildfire season. (NPR)

    ~

    The sixth season of What We Do in the Shadows is the end. (tor.com) Nooooooo. I think it’s probably in a good narrative place for that, but I could watch these stupid trashbag vampires forever.

    ~

    I’m really disturbed by how many parents want full control over their kids’ lives. BookRiot talks about how many parents wanna know what their kids are checking out at the library, among other things.

    I have a good relationship with my kids, and I can’t imagine being all up in their business like that. I don’t need to be notified of what they’re reading. I ask them, they tell me (probably). But we’re not parents where the kids have to be afraid of getting in trouble for seeking “inappropriate” information.

    I grew up in a family where I could get abused for checking out books my dad didn’t like, and I think we, societally, need to accept that a lotta kids are safer if they can just take care of their own needs. We’re trying to make kids safe with this. But. We can’t make kids have safe adults at home by notifying all the adults, you know?

    ~

    A rising tide raises all ships, and this is true globally of the labor movement. Tesla is learning about labor rights in Sweden. (ABC News)

    About 130 mechanics at 10 Tesla garages across Sweden walked off the job on Oct. 27 over the company’s refusal to sign a collective bargaining agreement. Tesla doesn’t have a factory in Sweden, but does have a network of service centers.

    Since the mechanics with the powerful Swedish metalworkers’ union IF Metall went on strike, other workers around the country have joined in sympathy, withholding their services to pressure the company.

    ~

    If you’re waiting for the technological marvel of Death’s Stranding to arrive on your iPhone, you’ll be waiting a minute longer. (Engadget) I know I’m a stupid apple cultist but the fact this app will be running only on iPhone 15+ does, in fact, mean I will be upgrading to the newest iPhone when I get around to it. As if I haven’t already played the goddamn game on my computer too.

    ~

    If Taraji P. Henson can’t get respected, then what the fuck even is this industry about? (Variety)

    ~

    This article about the loss of Greyhound infrastructure in America is grim. (CNN)

    ~

    It’s a 2019 post, but I relate to this post from Being Charis about how her chronic disease makes her a lazy faker.

    ~

    New York City Council votes to ban most instances of solitary confinement. (NPR) I want this practice gone entirely so this is good.

    ~

    In Australia, Indigenous people are addressing the challenges of colonization and holding government to account. (AJE)

    ~

    Variety notes that Celine Dion’s Stiff-Person Syndrome is advancing. 🙁

    ~

    Vulture reports that Kesha is free of Doctor Luke!

  • credit: Netflix
    movie reviews

    The Royal Treatment (2022) *****

    IN A WORLD where nobody on Letterboxd appreciates two hot people with good chemistry (an average of 1.9 stars on this one!),

    where the Netflix royal families all somehow ended up around Aldovia because of The Silk Road,

    an extremely hot Italian-American hairdresser bullies the extremely hot prince of Lavania into loving her midriff as much as I do.

    Yet again, a producer pulled off the coup of convincing a production company to pay for a vacation to New Zealand, where two super hot young people have vastly superior chemistry to any other Netflix romcom couple. Honestly, I sometimes think location shoots are like summer camp for frisky young actors, and GOOD FOR THEM. I believe the chemistry so much that I feel I might have been violating their privacy. Good. For. Them. Need a middle aged nutbag to be your unicorn? *phone hand gesture* Call me.

    Mena Massoud has been on my “makes me insensate and babbling” shortlist of actors since I saw the live action adaptation of Aladdin for the first time. When I lost two hours to the haze of thirsty fantasies about Mena Massoud for the first time, I was convinced Aladdin was actually a good remake. Then I tried watching the movie again and realized it wasn’t actually good. No, Mena Massoud is just incredibly hot. He’d probably have chemistry with a pillar. Or the concept of Kantian philosophy. Like he just exists and he’s got chemistry with existence.

    I’m so happy that someone saw his hotness and thought “let’s make a movie where it’s more like he’s Princess Jasmine falling in love with a commoner.” I just want him doing romcoms with other beautiful people for the rest of his career, if that’s okay with him. I understand if that isn’t his ambition. BUT! If that’s what he wants to do, I’m here for it! I will watch it. I flew out of my chair when the two of them finally made out. I was monster-growling “just fuck already” at them about halfway through the movie.

    Our heroine had so much personality, warmth, and charm, and she came along with a hilarious set of friends whose job was to mostly have sizzling lesbian chemistry with the caricature of a mean French lady. I laughed a lot.

    The woman the prince is supposed to marry is perfect, and I’m so happy the credits animation showed her fulfilling her dream of opening a store with Purses for Dogs.

    11/10 no notes, had a great time with the whole thing.

    (image credit: Netflix)

  • movie reviews

    When Harry Met Sally

    Harry and Sally love the hell out of each other, but it takes a while to kick in. It’s not love at first sight. It’s total bafflement.

    Their lives are unrecognizable to one another. Harry is a cynical romantic who hits on his girlfriend’s best friend the day they meet; Sally takes it for granted there are no Sunday underwear because of God. Her earnestness is only matched by her specificity. When Sally sweetly lists out exactly how she wants her food prepared, she somehow isn’t annoying, and you can tell that people have loved to accommodate Sally her whole life. Harry should be immune, but he’s not, and he’s self-aware enough to find Sally’s effect on him queer. His gaze says “How the hell am I so attracted to this naive nutball?”

    Harry tries to put this complicated charming woman into a box he knows how to handle — like a one night stand — and she resists. Sally is so offended that he isn’t constrained to the same boundaries she respects.

    “Why can’t we just be friends?” asks Sally, to paraphrase.

    “Men and women can’t be friends without involving sex,” replies Harry, to state the main question of the movie.

    When they move on from that strange road trip, it’s years before they see each other again, but they do not forget.

    ~

    Sally and Harry meet again when both of them are in committed relationships. Harry is married happily, sort of. He’s still a cynic, but he has decided to engage with life in good faith, and Sally admires that about him.

    Despite his bluster and bark, Harry is such a good guy that he’s not taking any serious look at Sally yet. They’re a pleasant chance meeting on a flight from one place to another. They’re just traveling between places again, and they brush up against each other, and it couldn’t possibly turn into anything. They determine that means they can be friends. Just friends. At long last.

    But they’ve also been wondering that about one another for years. What would have happened if they had hooked up that night? Could it have changed the trajectories of their lives?

    ~

    Friendship love is my favorite love. The Greeks had a bunch of words for all the different kinds, but philia is the kind held between equals; it is brotherhood, it is your pinkie-locked bestie skipping beside you at the mall. Imagine spending a whole lifetime with your childhood best friend. If those endless summer days where the two wasted time, like, crawling around in a ditch, and playing hopscotch, and throwing rocks at fences could really last forever, what would that be like? Wouldn’t it be better if the two of you could also kiss sometimes? And make babies and a family and have a life together?

    ~

    Harry and Sally get close to one another after major breakups. Both of them thought they had forever. The next step should have been houses, kids, dogs, paying for college, grandkids…

    Instead, they find themselves facing their thirties mutually single. Harry and Sally aren’t traveling anymore, either. They’re both in New York City.

    At this point, they’ve bickered over the offensive idea of a relationship between the two of them so much, it almost feels like a challenge to stay platonic. And they really *like* the friendship. They don’t want to lose it.

    It seems impossible to conceive of the friendship coexisting with a romantic relationship. They’ve both been hurt by love. Harry’s wife left him for an accountant; Sally’s long-term guy married his secretary shortly after their breakup. As far as either of them are concerned, relationships are where love goes to die.

    Still. They have been enjoying their friendship enormously. Their conversations are play. They’re always walking together, confiding in one another, and sharing experiences.

    When Sally tells Harry she’s going to date someone else, she wants him to have a problem with it.

    When Harry tells her it’s okay, it’s obviously not.

    “We’re just friends,” sayeth Harry. Because that is something men and women can do now.

    ~

    Is there anything more satisfying than seeing a couple of idiots realize they’re in love?

    Harry and Sally can’t be with each other until they reconcile all their weird relationship ideas. They have to see their friends, General Leia and Bruno Kirby, have a relationship where they enjoy one another *and* have the love bits. They have to lose the friendship and realize that’s what they wanted from love all along, not so much the sexier bits or the romantic bits.

    How many heterosexual romances are so openly uneasy with the perceived cultural demands of heterosexual romance? Sally’s a Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus type, and if Harry were 35 (ish?) in the modern era, I’m scared to think about what his podcast subscriptions would look like. They’ve been told that whole parts of their selves should belong to friends, not lovers. Lovers are the people you try to escape before they wake up in the morning. Lovers are the people you take skiing trips with. Lovers are the ones you fake orgasms for.

    These adorable fools are all heart, no matter how many walls they put up. Harry is sickeningly in love with Sally. All of her, especially the quirks. He thinks that it would be great to be friends who make out and have a family. Of course he does! Sally is Meg Goddamn Ryan.

    And imagine. Once these two finally get their shit together, they get to spend the rest of their lives with their best friends.

    ~

    He and I met in 2006. I was starting at my new job as a computer operator; he was already working there as a student worker. It was so naughty for a full-time employee like me to date a student worker, even though I’m several months younger than him. When I walked away from him, he chased; when he caught me, I was the one who said, “Ah ha, I’ve got you.”

    It must have been inevitable. We were the only two young people working in that building. There was no reason for the two of us to be such a perfect fit. I wasn’t a perfect fit anywhere, sticking out like a sore thumb. He blended in anywhere, but wasn’t a fit inside of himself. I helped him be naughtier. He tied a weight around my ankles so I wouldn’t float into the clouds as often. But we had so much fun. We ran around like children getting into trouble–we were children–and he loved me so hard, I eventually forgot to hate myself.

    ~

    In my eyes, When Harry Met Sally eclipses and predominates the whole of its genre. The story is very dear to me, but When Harry Met Sally is also just a really well-written screenplay in the hands of a great director. Rob Reiner is a genius. Nora Ephron is at her vibey best.

    Then we have a flawless Billy Crystal, who gives a performance with pining eyes that rival Colin Firth’s. That’s right. You wouldn’t necessarily expect that from the guy who wrote America’s Sweethearts, a black comedy take on romcoms. He manages to bring so much charisma to a character who should be nothing but caustic. The way he plays Harry’s cynicism softening for Sally should be cinematic legend if it isn’t.

    I couldn’t sing Meg Ryan’s praises enough. Apparently her character’s picky qualities came from Nora Ephron. There’s a lot of fondness in the screenplay for the kind of woman who knows what she wants, and I’m not sure Meg Ryan is capable of playing someone I wouldn’t want to hang out with. She’s just so cute. And it’s fun seeing her in this movie, because she looks a whole lot like her son Jack Quaid wearing a wig. They have the same smile.

    You should also remember that Rob Reiner is the cowriter and director of This Is Spinal Tap. The comedy is *outstanding*. The dialogue snaps along, and it still makes me laugh every time.

    Since I’ve been watching so many new-to-me movies and enjoying the heck out of them, I wondered if I wouldn’t like my “old classics” as much. Like, would having a broader view of the genre change my extremely intense feelings about this? And the answer is no. When Harry Met Sally remains the perfect movie for watching any time in the period between autumn and New Year’s Eve, and it makes me love these two neurotic weirdos even more every time.