Why Rap is terrible

"Forever" by Drake lyrics

It may not mean nothing to y’all,
but understand nothing was done for me,
so i don’t plan on stopping at all,
I want this sh-t forever man, ever man, ever man,
I’m shutting sh-t down in the mall,
and telling every girl she the one for me,
and i aint even planning to call,
i want this sh-t forever man, ever man, ever man,

[Drake]
Last name ever,
first name greatest,
like a sprained ankle boy I ain’t nuttin to play with,
it started off local but thanks to all the haters,
i know G4 pilots on a first name basis,
and your city faded off to brown, Nino,
she insists she got more class, we know!
swimming in the money come and find me, Nemo,
if i was at the club you know I ball’d, chemo,
drop the mixtape that sh-t sounded like an album
who’d have thought a country wide tour would be the outcome
labels want my name beside the X like Malcolm
everybody got a deal, I did it without one,
yeah n-gga i’m about my business,
killing all these rappers you would swear I had a hit list,
everyone who doubted me is asking for forgiveness,
if you aint been a part of it at least you got to witness,
b-tches,

[Chorus]

[Kanye West]
Ever ever, Mr West is in the Building,
Aint no question who about to kill em,
I used to have hood dreams,
big fame, big chains,
i stuck my d-ck inside this life until that b-tch came,
I went hard all fall like the ball teams,
just so I can make it rain all spring,
y’all seen my story my glory,
i had raped the game young,
you can call it statutory,
when a n-gga blow up they gon build statues for me
old money Benjamin Button, whaat, nuttin,
now superbad chicks giving me mcLovin,
you would think I ran the world like Michelle’s husband,
you would think these n-ggas would know me when they really doesn’t
like they was down with the old me no you f-cking wasn’t,
your’e such a f-cking loser,
he didn’t even go to class Bueller,
trade the Grammy plaques just to have my granny back,
lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com
remember she had that bad hip like a fanny pack,
chasing that stardom would turn you into a maniac,
all the way in Hollywood and I can’t even act,
they pull their cameras out and God damn they snap,
I used to want this thing forever y’all can have it back,

[Chorus]

[Lil Wayne]

Ok, hello its da martian,
space jam Jordan’s,
I want this sh-t forever wake up and smell the Garden,
fresher than the harvest
step up to the target,
if i had one guess than I guess im just New Orleans,
and I will never stop like i’m running from the cops,
hop up in my car and told my chauffeur “to the top”,
life is such a f-cking roller coaster then it drops,
but what should I scream for this is my theme park,
my minds shine even when my thoughts seem dark,
pistol on my side you don’t wanna hear that thing talk,
let the king talk check the price and pay attention,
Lil Wayne thats what they got to say or mention,
lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com
Im like Nevada in the middle of the summer,
i’m resting in the lead I need a pillow and a cover,
shhh, my foots sleeping on the gas,
no brake pads no such thing as last,

[Chorus]

[Eminem]
There they go back in stadiums
as Shady spits his flow,
nuts they go, macadamia they go so ballistic whoa,
we can make them look like boso’s,
he’s wondering if he should spit this slow,
f-ck no go for broke,
his cup just runneth over oh no
he aint had a buzz like this since the last time that he overdosed,
they’ve been waiting patiently for Pinnochio to poke his nose,
back into the game and they know,
rap will never be the same as before,
bashing in the brains of these hoes,
and establishing a name as he goes,
the passion and the flame is ignited,
you can’t put it out once we light it,
this sh-t is exactly what the f-ck that i’m talking about when we riot,
you dealin with a few true villians
who stand inside of the booth truth spillin,
lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com
and spit true feelings, until our tooth fillings come flying up out of our mouths
now rewind it
payback muthaf-cka for the way that you doubted me so how’s it taste?
when I slap the taste out your mouth with the bass so loud that it shakes the place,
i’m hannibal lecter so just in case your thinking of saving face,
you aint gonna have no face to save by the time Im through with this place,
so Drake….

[Chorus]
[End]

Vacilando

Today, I got it. At about 10:30am, somewhere north of Bryan on Highway 6. The skies were overcast, my windows were down, and I was jammin' on some Menomena when it happened. Some people tend to think it is a convoluted and mysterious process but I believe it is instantaneous. It is possible that some people might mistake it for gas, but I am not some people. Nay, I am but myself, and I always know the exact second it hits. It starts in and around the mouth area, where once there was an expression of boredom (maybe due to hours of dutiful watch on the road ahead, or maybe due to one's awareness of the misconception of rugged individualism (in our time, on the open road)) there emerges a tell-tale curvature of the lips, in my case mostly on the left side, indicating an immodest change in the course of one's mental wanderings. From there, it roughly translates to an anxious nausea, a not too unpleasant, somewhat mischievous tingling somewhere in one's insides. Other symptoms include: 1) A tightening of one's grip upon the steering wheel 2) A sudden and robust gain in stereo volume 3) A healthy disdain for the posted speed limit and the safety and comfort of nearby drivers 4) Laughter, happiness, joy, sometimes dizziness, and occasionally blindness.

When it happens it's not so much a deadline that has to be met, or a scheme perfectly conceived, or even a condition to be met. It is more of an inevitability. Meaning that, in some form or fashion, someday soon, whenever soon may be, I am going to escape. To somewhere. Soon. Whenever soon may be. Not permanently, but for long enough. It's inevitable.

Miscommunication

Best Customer Interaction thus far:

Me: "Pretty ominous skies out there, huh?"
Her: *looks down road* Oh my God that's so racist!"
Me: "Uh, I'm sorry, what?"
Her: "You just said those guys looked ominous."
Me: "No, I said the skies looked ominous."
Her: "Oh yeah, it's gonna rain."
Me: "Yeah."

"Plus those guys are white."
Her: "Ok, now that was racist."
Me: "..."
Her: "..."
Me: "Hey, you wanna buy some VIA?"

Runner up:
Me: "Hey how's it going?!"
Dudebro: "You got any beer?"
Me: "No, do you?"
Dudebro: "No, I'm a recovering alcoholic."
Me: "Really?"
Dudebro: "Hah! No!"
Me: "That was harsh."
Dudebro: "Yeah, I'm pretty awesome."

A response to a Facebook thread about openness.

I'm going to take a crack at this. Partly because of some interesting conversations I've had recently, one with Roman Walley on a hill in the pitch black of East Texas, and the other with old friends and new friends at a Prom party for Amanda Rawlings, where I drank too much and kind of danced. But mostly because Brianne said 'hell'.

Two months ago I was done. Done with everything. There have been times before in my life where I thought to myself that I had reached rock bottom, the end of my rope, or whatever tired cliche best expresses desperation in that context, but I had not yet been as lonely as I was now, in Houston, Texas, suffocated by glass and steel, working a part-time job, struggling to exist. I felt betrayed by my friends, let down by the teachers and institutions that prepared me for life, and ignored by my God. I was acutely aware of how little I had, and how exhausting it is to apply for jobs and never hear a single word back in return, day after day after day, for over nine months. This was not what life was supposed to be. I felt angry at everyone who lied to me up until that point, telling me everything was going to be easy and fine. Things were not easy and I did not feel fine in the slightest.

I was weary of constantly trying to hold my head above water. Still I had some twisted sense of accomplishment from failing on my own accord. Time moves surprisingly fast when you stop caring. I stopped going to Community Group. Stopped talking to friends. Stopped twitttering, blogging, and speaking unless necessary. I was shut off from everything and everyone, occupying some existence on the edge of reality.

In general, most of us like to think of life as laid out in milestones and landmarks. We continue in one direction until some great event, moving speech, convicting sermon, or epic game of Pictionary alters our course. I am frequently reminded life, or more importantly God, doesn't work that way. Again, I feel the need to take control of my own life so I go out and try to provide opportunities for God to work. I drive around the now familiar loops of this city, usually in the rain (for clearly God prefers to work in the rain), waiting for... something. Some violent correction of my heart's condition, hopefully by means of lightning strike so I have a cool story to tell later. Remarkably, I did not end up on my knees in a field screaming at the sky.

The process of coming to understand one's own idolatry is not convenient or pleasant by any means. I have no clue how or why I eventually came to understand what I did other that I have been praying for in incessantly for months and months. There is a certain point there though, a sort of decisive moment, where one becomes aware that he has elevated himself to a position above all others in his own world, including his Creator. I was foolish in my striving to save my own skin when I am wholly incapable of doing such. Grossly arrogant in my assumption that I had nothing at all when I had been given everything. And selfish in my attempts to deprive God and His people from helping me to understand my own sin.

As I began typing this there was a knock at the door. It seems my rent check did not clear, and I owed near $200 in penalties because my bank account was $18 short at the moment the complex tried to cash the check. I now have less than $50 to my name, with payday 10 days away. My oil needs to be changed, my inspection is expired, and Comcast just sent me my second notice.

Yet I find myself, for the first time in such a long time, so very happy to be alive. The world views me as poor, though I am rich. Rich beyond measure. I don't mean to say that I do not have goals. I think there is a good chance that one day I will find a woman who loves me, and I hope I am capable of loving her back. I plan on raising a few genius yet underachieving children. I plan to one day own a monkey. But for now I will not be discontent with the petty issues that strive to occupy my energy, and I will instead spend my few remaining dollars on a Chipotle burrito and maybe give the tortilla girl a wink, and I will come home and rejoice in the insignificance of my money, my reputation, my potential, and my failures, and be grateful for the bounty of what I have been given and all that I have the capacity to give.

Also I will have a beer, methinks.

Indie Anonymous

People at work mostly hate my music. We have an mp3 dock in the back room so we can jam while doing dishes, taking one of our awesome 30 minute lunches, or putting away the plant order on Saturday morning (my favorite, having stacks and stacks of things to organize while sipping a latte and kickin' some mellow tunes really excites my indie-OCD-inner-child). Frequently, iPhone is perched up there over-looking that hectic work environment enlightening all the partners, whether they realize or not. It's good for them, I think. Aside from the one time shuffle happened to blast a certain off-color song by Peaches (you know the one, Lost in Translation ring any bells?) during a visit from the district-manager, my library is extremely indie heavy, and I am OK with that. It's the music that I like, the music that I seek out, and the music I can identify with. I don't think it makes me cool, which is obvious at work, where it definitely doesn't make anyone think I'm cool, just "weird" or "lame".

Most people think that the genre is only around so people can be pretentious and elitist, but I'm in love the the music. Hello, my name is pauleroid and I am addicted to Indie Music.

Yesterday, Derek Webb was in Houston for the weekend. It is now confirmed that the original members of Caedmon's Call will be reforming and releasing a new album in 2010. Derek played an impromptu show at Taft St. Coffee (Ecclessia) which was promoted via Twitter roughly 10 hours before showtime, and still filled up the auditorium. Too many Houstonians are avid tweeps and DWebb fans I guess. Myself included. I won a free vinyl because I don't do anything but check my iPhone every 5 minutes when I get this tingly twitter sensation that something important is being tweeted. It's like like a pleasant nausea. Derek's set ranged from Caedmon's Self-Titled to his new release Stockholm Syndrome, just him and a six-string, and it was a great evening just listening to music from over the span of... nearly two decades now. I heard 40 Acres when I was 12, making Caedmon's Call the first band I followed and sought out, even attending the extremely miserable KLTY shows at Southfork Ranch in July just to see them. I'd probably have to credit them with forming many of my musical sensibilities, and therefore, my Indie obsession. seeing DWebb always reminds me of where I've come from, songs and events and feelings are forever linked and only gain individual significance as time goes on. Everyone needs a band, I think. It's like a time capsule that only keeps getting better.

That said: I have new Musicz!!!! Breakdown...

I got tired of freakin' Roman never getting me the new Grizzly Bear, so I went ahead and bought Veckatimest. Though I'm a bigger fan of Yellow House, Veckatimest delivers the more fully developed, richer G-Bear sound of recent while still retaining the hazy atmospheric melodies that characterize their sound. The single, Two Weeks, is a great catchy tune that hearkens back to Pet Sounds pop tastiness.

My first Great Lake Swimmers album, Lost Channels (the most recent release, was a bit of a let down for me, but what I felt it lost, Ongiara capitalizes on. The vocals and melodies stand out instead of fading into an ambient mush. Been spinning this one pretty constantly, usually during an afternoon storm with a mug of coffee.

Anathallo, a band I'd never heard of until very recently, but apparently has been on the radar for the last 3 years recently released Canopy Glow, and I was very pleasantly surprised. It's indie-pop with a curious experimental-art album tinge that keeps me coming back for more. I feel like people of a spectrum of tastes would probably enjoy this album. Interesting contrast of levity and sincerity.

Other newsies (again, to me) worthy of a look include: Ra Ra Riot - The Rhumb Line, Lightning Dust - Infinite Light, Passion Pit - Chunk of Change, Blind Pilot - 3 Rounds and a Sound, St. Vincent - Actor, The Acorn - Glory Hope Mountain, and Bowerbirds - Upper Air.

Disappointing: Frightened Rabbit - The Midnight Organ Fight, Gasoline Heart - Cucumber Riot, and especially Fol Chen - Part 1: John Shade, Your Fortune's Made.

Remember Derek Webb's new album, Stockholm Syndrome, drops Tuesday. Go out and buy 8 copies.

A Gentleman's Disagreement (cont.)

Two days after I aired my grievances with Quentin Tarantino, my good friend Rustin posted a blog in response to mine entitled "A Gentle Rebuttal", wherein he takes issues with some of my ideas. In due fashion I feel compelled to respond, and to start by saying...

"Who in the hell do you think you are?!"

That said, I'd like to clarify a few things, make some concessions, and stand my ground.

Firstly, to clarify and to better your enjoyment of this blog, when I write, either for myself or for this blog, I am not concerned with being offensive. It is for mainly this reason that my commentary is usually rife with sarcasm, back-handed compliments and tongue-in-cheek humor. I generalize and exaggerate things for comedic effect to the same or greater extent than I am trying to make any kind of cohesive point. To that end I am frequently self-deprecating as I am my largest critic. When I make a ridiculous joke at someone's expense that has no weight behind it, I expect that it will be taken for what it is and I will leave it at that. If I make a blanket statement that can't possibly be believed, I expect that no one will believe it. I draw attention to what I see, pathetic arguments and melodrama have little sympathy in my heart, especially when written in text, where words are cold and calculated, not emotional outbursts.

Now, to the issue of violence and sex in film. The point I apparently failed to communicate was that I believe it is not the content of a film that makes it objectionable, but its intent. I used the term pornography because I think it best represents this concept. Pornography has no end other than to arouse sexual desire in the audience. There is no amount of intelligent dialogue, artistic direction, or emotional depth that can redeem porno if the intent is sexual stimulation and gratification. I once heard a professor describe pornography and the like as "unnecessary details". It is quite simply, worthless.

When the content is violence, I believe the same rules apply. There is no "tipping point" that can be measured on a scale, but rather a judgment of intent. Clearly that is not as simple as checking for an "intent" field on IMDB, which is why this conclusion has been a long time coming. For the sake of the proverbial record, I'll run-down my thought process over the last several years.

Watched Kill Bill movies. Was upset by my eager consumption of so much violence.
Watched Hostel. Was extremely uncomfortable and vaguely aware of the uselessness of the film.
Watched Planet Terror. Didn't enjoy it. I thought it to be stupid in the most harsh sense of the word.
Saw preview for Inglorious Basterds. Decided I was done.

It is a personal conviction for me. For my mental, and spiritual well-being I believe there is nothing to be gained from these films, intellectually, emotionally, recreational-ly, and many other -ly's I can't think of right now. I accept that I could be wrong, past experiences indicate that I probably am not.

As far as the difference between reality and "make-believe" in film, I still don't see a distinction there. Whether you know it is fake or not is irrelevant. When I watch a movie, I don't think that is fake blood, I think it is real. I don't think that is a fake explosion, I think it is real. That is why the movie exists, to make you think that something that isn't real is. If a film is trying to make you believe something, yet fails, it is useless. Some films draw attention to the fact that they are in fact all a charade, as an intellectual exercise, causing you to question what the heck reality even is anymore, but not many. If you didn't believe the things happening in a horror movie, you wouldn't be scared, you wouldn't be entertained, you would just get up and walk out. People don't cry at a movie because Leonardo did a good job of pretending to drown, they cry because that character died. Your stomach doesn't get upset in Saving Private Ryan because a bunch of actors are hanging out on a movie set. In the reality of that film, a person died. In that film's reality, someone's brother, sister, parent or child was just killed. We accept this reality, otherwise we wouldn't give a crap about it. I watched a film with Rustin entitled "The Bridge", which talks about and shows the actual footage of men and women taking their own life by jumping off of the Golden Gate Bridge. It's a horrifyingly violent film. But, if it were a work of fiction, would our understanding of it change?? How so, other than knowing that a real life had been lost, or believing a life had been lost.

I believe there is a difference between seeing, watching, and, well, sinning. Sight is passive. If your eye is open... and there's light.... you're going to see something. From there, you then have the choice of what to put in front of your eyes. What to look at. Looking is active. Whether it's a movie screen or a real life person, when you look, you see, and then there is another step. You have a choice of what to do with that image. Ignore it, embrace it, store it for later, make a macaroni picture... The point I am making is that it is an insult to me that seeing and desiring are synonymous. Scripture says I am dead to sin. I am no longer bound to it. Why then, do men (of the Christian sub-culture or Christian culture or whatever the heck you want to call it) accept that seeing is believing, so to speak.

I am not encouraging anyone at all to go seek out naked people and stare at them and try not to desire them. I have never said or implied that. I do not encourage anyone to test the boundaries of their faith, as that is dangerous, and not glorifying to God. BUT, I refuse to accept that nudity is a sin outside of marriage, which is really what this whole debate boils down to. I don't advocate nudity. I am not preaching nakedness. I don't mean to say that men DON'T have issues because everyone knows that they do. But building up a hedge of protection around an issue because of what it might or might not cause is asinine. That doesn't mean that it doesn't need to be dealt with cautiously. That doesn't mean that there aren't objectified women out there with disappointed fathers. It doesn't mean a lot of things. What it does mean is that if you start out with a mindset of failure it does not surprise me at all that so many people fail.

I'd like to speak from personal experience. Not to toot my own horn, but to speak as someone condemned by Piper and so many others, and as an exception to "the rule" that only husbands, fathers, morticians, and doctors should be "permitted" to view a woman naked. (this walks a very fine line between trying to respect women and things much less sincere).

As an art student, one of many, to take drawing classes, I drew from a live model for three and a half hours a day, twice a week, for two semesters. For those of you who don't want to do the math, that's over nine 24-hour days taking a very intense visual inventory of a nude body. Speaking from experience, seeing does not translate to desiring in and of itself. In that environment, you have a clear and simple choice. It was easy for me to draw, not to sin. A good deal of that may have been the atmosphere, it was a safe environment, where the model frequently had conversations with his/her... erm... artists. If someone were to burst into the room and cover her, tell her she should be ashamed, and that everyone else in the room should be ashamed, I think it is that person that needs to examine his/her heart.

Lastly, I made blatantly sarcastic remark about Piper(which I felt was propperly emphasized with a parenthetical BURN!):

"...the most major point of contention being the premise that men (and women, Piper seems forever preoccupied with the weakness of men and rarely attempts to comprehend the concept that men and women might share the same thoughts and struggles, that is, when they're not "being a leader" or baking cakes) can't do anything but read the Bible to gain understanding or insight on life, which might be the reason he lacks understanding and insight in so many aspects. (BURN, Piper!) I encourage you to read it in its entirety..."

Countered by:

"What are you basing your accusation that Piper lacks understanding and insight on? That statement is entirely without reason and absurdly irrelevant. Furthermore, the statement itself is borderline agnostic. When compared to the inspired word of God, what else would you argue insight and understanding is gained from? As a believer, any answer to that question other than "nothing" is dangerous."

A) You missed the joke. My bad. I will try to veil it less thinly next time. Then I won't be as absurdly irrelevant.
B) So, I am borderline agnostic because I believe that I not only gain insight and understanding from scripture but from applying scripture to my life and interacting with people and culture? That clears a few things up I guess.

Inglorious Basterds, or Why I Don't Care About Quentin Tarantino

The Internets and TeeVees are all a-buzz with QT's latest ultra-violent thriller, Inglorious Basterds. I could care less. More than that, it's not that this movie doesn't interest me, because honestly I am interested in it, but I have decided to shy away from this genre of movie. This vein of cinema seems to be intensely popular in the mainstream (The Departed) as well as sub-culturally (Boondock Saints).

I'll start by saying that I'm not going to lump of of these movies into the category of "bad", because that's simply not the case, not at all. Many of the films in the ultra-violent horror/action/drama arena (I feel like a term is needed for this categorization, which makes me feel all modern and analytical and icky, so we'll use a ridiculous term to make me feel better about myself... "lolviolenz") have great themes and ideas as well as visual imagery and artistry. For instance, I would lump No Country For Old Men in with some of these other movies (in some ways it actually far surpasses the violence of most of Tarantino's work) but I love that film to death and have no qualms watching it repeatedly, that is, if Colin Hoch hadn't stolen my copy, which was a gift thankyouverymuch. Violence in that film is one of the main characters, the best antagonist there is, really. The movie simply has no function (or form) without it. So I'm not condemning violence depicted in cinema. Aite?

What I am having trouble with is the "pornography of violence" that saturates today's mainstream market and which Tarantino's films seem to embody. I fully accept that I might be missing the point of his work and that I am ignorant to his point of view, but that is irrelevant given my interpretaion that graphic violence; stylized, idealized, and elevated to a "righteous" status, for the purpose of the viewer's personal gratification, is porn. In other words, seeing a well-done movie about a guy going around beating the shit out of other "deserving" people makes me feel good about myself and my violent desires. Though production values and plot lines may be greatly improved, this is porn. It is designed to satisfy you. We all lust for violence, whether that is evident to others or we hide it well, it is true for everyone. I believe that lolviolenz films that promote this agenda are completely and totally not worth my time, my money, my consideration, and I think the same for everyone else.

Also, as both a fully-fledged, card carrying member, and vehement critic of the Christian sub-culture, I feel like I need to draw attention to some blatant hypocrisy here. I read an article by John Piper recently entitled "Why I Don't Have A Television And Don't Go To Movies", which of course I don't agree with at all, the most major point of contention being the premise that men (and women, Piper seems forever preoccupied with the weakness of men and rarely attempts to comprehend the concept that men and women might share the same thoughts and struggles, that is, when they're not "being a leader" or baking cakes) can't do anything but read the Bible to gain understanding or insight on life, which might be the reason he lacks understanding and insight in so many aspects. (BURN, Piper!) I encourage you to read it in its entirety, but this is the paragraph I take issue with, in this context:

"I have a high tolerance for violence, high tolerance for bad language, and zero tolerance for nudity. There is a reason for these differences. The violence is make-believe. They don’t really mean those bad words. But that lady is really naked, and I am really watching. And somewhere she has a brokenhearted father."

What?

Firstly, let's just disregard that last sentence in its entirety... Maybe feel guilty or laugh, depending on your state of mind. Secondly, Piper's distinction between the depiction of reality and "make-believe" in film is dead wrong. Movies function on the presumption of "suspended disbelief", meaning in order to properly view, understand, and enjoy any film, you must immerse yourself in its reality. Your brain accepts that this alternate existance is real, even though you might factually "know" it isn't. For example, I "know" that kid didn't get cut in half with a chainsaw because I've seen him in films since then, BUT, I still witnessed the act itself. I see no distinction there, whatsoever. I feel I am not wrong in this.

Yet, it is a commonly accepted practice in Christian circles to passively accept violence, vulgarity and the like, but draw the line at a naked woman. This plays off of a deep-rooted and Piper/Eldridge endorsed mentality that men (again, sorry women, you get left out a lot) are incapable of seeing boobs without dropping to the ground in a lustful, sobbing, drooling pile. As a man, I take grave offense to this notion, as it implies that I cannot control my thoughts and actions. I have read countless books and articles, and sat through many a sermon that promotes this cowardly cop-out. I believe Christian leaders and men use this school of thought to justify their sin. Yep. It's as simple as that. Nudity is what it is, you are responsible for your own reaction, don't blame it on the human body that God Himself made.

To sum up, I am not condemning movies that depict violence. Not at all. We deal with sex and violence on a daily basis. They are very real things, and to pretend that they do not exist is naive. But I do believe it is important to ask "What purpose does this serve?" "What is communicated to me in this?" And, no, I didn't mean to say that nudity is totally acceptable. Not at all. I feel like you need to ask yourself the same questions in those instances, to investigate what you are watching, why you are watching it, and the effect it has on you. So, maybe you don't "get off" on movies like Inglorious Basterds and watching it would have no ill effect on you. Honestly, I'd like to hear why and how, because I'd like to understand. We are all individuals and react differently. (I know feel as though I have compensated for my earlier categorizations.)

Movies are stories. The expand our understanding and appreciation for things by communicating visually pleasing, intellectually interesting, emotionally challenging stories. So, QT, sorry, but I'm sitting this one out. Maybe I might hear something good and need to check it out for myself at a later time, but if past experience serves as accurate, I wouldn't count on it.

(Luv ya Piper)