The Big Single

BY: JASON RAYNER

The face of a chronically single but nice gay boy.

It has been four and a half years since my last relationship.

Four and a half years. 

It would be powerful to say that this was a self imposed sabbatical - because, in a lot of ways it was. It just wasn’t an intentional self imposed sabbatical. 

I should also note that I’m being very generous when referring to anything in my dating history as a relationship. Throughout my 20s I found myself going from three month stint to three month stint, usually following the same cycle. I’d always start off high on the concept of connection, obsess over intensity, and then have it fall flat before it was ever really able to stand on its own. 

I’ve never been in a long term relationship. In fact, the last relationship I was in was my longest at four months. .

Exhausted from the cycle of my 20s, dating and relationships in my 30s became something I started to procrastinate. Any time I thought about the prospects of a relationship, I’d also question if I really needed one. After all, I happen to be a fairly independent person, and I actually like spending time alone. When Kelly Clarkson sang “Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone” I felt that. So why would I put pressure on myself to find someone to be with when I could hang out solo with a glass of wine, face mask, and Jennifer Lopez movie? Plus, I was getting very comfortable being the witty single friend who regales people at gatherings with hilarious and sometimes salacious Grindr hookup stories, or tales of disastrous dates with men who look like a mature Tom Holland that turn out to be priests (I say this as if this has happened more than once, it hasn’t. But it is also a true and tremendous story for another time). 

Well it turns out the unintentional self imposed sabbatical has ended. Because, after four and a half years, I’m finally ready to come out and say it. 

I want to fall in love. I want a relationship. I want a boyfriend. 

Even while writing those very sentences I could feel my heart tighten and my brain wanting to intervene and turn what I’ve written into a punchline that would to cover up my exposed vulnerability.

In all honesty, for all of my cynicism and the self deprecation I’m a hopeless romantic. I grew up obsessed with the deep pining love songs of No Doubt and Gwen Stefani and my teen years were influenced by Carrie Bradshaw and basically any rom com from Bridget Jones to Notting Hill or When Harry Met Sally. My favourite movie and book is Call Me By Your Name. The problem is, most of these stories make love seem like a struggle. Almost all of them involve a sequence where the couple is torn apart by a major obstacle that leads to breaking up until the end of the third act when they realize that actually, they were meant to be together. Or in the case of Call Me By Your Name, circumstance gets in the way (and sadly, in the vast majority of queer films, that circumstance is AIDS and/or death. But I digress), and love is just too damn precious to hang on to. 

As a result, I seemed to only crave relationships that felt difficult. And for years, I blamed those influences for giving me unrealistic expectations of love. 

It wasn’t until recently when I started replaying the limited romantic interactions that I’ve had over the last four and a half years that I realized I never was Bridget Jones (although I am clumsy AF, swear too much, and embarrass myself constantly), but maybe was more like the gay version of Hugh Grant (which in a way would also mean I get to be a Paddington villian. Although if I was in the Paddington universe I would never want to pretend to hate that lovely little bear. Wait. I’m getting off topic and referencing Paddington Bear again, aren’t I?). 

Of those men I did get involved with, some were dates that proved to be disasters (bad chemistry, the fact that he turned out to be a priest), some guys turned out to be flakes or jerks, but most weren’t bad at all. I just didn’t let that stop me from finding a way to make it not work.

I’ve realized that I actively look for the negatives. I look for delays in text messages, or opinions that I don’t necessarily agree with. If that doesn’t work, I try to make snap judgements on their maturity, assume they probably have a lack of ambition, or my personal favourite, I say that we lack the elusive sparks that every relationship needs (cue Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark).

Nothing is as bad as when a guy manages to clear all of those hurdles. Because instead of going with it, even if I have evidence that he likes me, I search for a way to convince myself that there must be a mysterious ulterior motive. Or that I’m trying too hard to make my “Elio in search of an Oliver” fantasy come true, and that I’m naively missing something that could end up hurting me. 

So I push them away. I become the one who doesn’t respond to texts or doesn’t hang out with them. I let them move on, and before I can give myself the space to be upset about it, I say that I’m relieved because deep down I knew it wouldn’t really work. 

In other words, I sabotage and put up walls to avoid the potential of rejection. I have become a cliche. How boring, I know!

That’s not to say this thought process is totally unwarranted. I’ve been through a lot, especially in the last year and a half - scroll through this blog for a sample platter of what’s been going on. However, I’m writing this to say I’m tired of repeating my destructive patterns. I finally feel ready to move forward and not let my past stand in the way. 

Now the biggest problem is figuring out how to do it. As noted earlier, I’ve never entirely removed myself from dating apps but it’s been a while since I’ve honestly put myself out there. Putting effort into online dating feels strange and uncomfortable. Partly because I’m making decisions on people without knowing anything beyond what someone lists as their hobbies, or how they answer “fun” questions such as “how my third grade teacher would describe me”. And even if I wade through that and find someone I match with, I still have to wait for him to message me back back. Messaging back, for those of you who don’t use dating apps, has the same success rate as waiting for Godot. You sit in vain, hoping for a response, and at least with gay dating it almost never comes (you’d be surprised by how many profiles outright make mention of this, and then once you match with them and send the first message never hear back). 

It’s a lot. In fact going to the Apple Store without a Genius bar appointment is more relaxing than online dating (for those of you who don’t own an Apple product, the Apple Store is the closest we will come to understand what hell on Earth is). 

Regardless, I’m up for the challenge. I’m learning to be okay with being open about wanting to find someone. I don’t know if I’ll be good at being a boyfriend but I also don’t want to waste any more time missing out on great people because of that uncertainty. 

So I’m writing this blog to hold myself accountable to putting myself out there. And if you know me in person, don’t be surprised if I ask you if you have any single friends, co-workers, or Amazon delivery men that I could potentially date.

The Difficulty With Getting Personal

BY: JASON RAYNER

I’ve always needed art to help me process my feelings. From reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower the way I’m sure Christians read the bible, listening to Dashboard Confessional so I can understand why I had so many emotions (although with the some perspective, I think maybe he had too many emotions. I mean he was in his late twenties and was still writing entire EPs about being in high school asking someone out to a party? It’s a little much), or watching films like the Before series as a way to get a preview of what a neurotic person like myself can potentially develop into (when Julie Delpy’s Celine matter of factly announces she is, like me, a Sagittarius in Before Sunset [which she co-wrote], I not only screamed but also Immediately googled Julie Delpy’s actual birthday and found out she was born on the same day as me [December 21 - mark your calendars, friends!]. We have a shared cosmic experience, so obviously these movies are more for me than anyone else).

The most important draw to this work was the catharsis I felt experiencing these stories. I felt less alone. I was able to understand myself. I was able to release my stresses, anxieties, and fears. No offence to the hard work of the magician community, but this is magic that I can actually get down with.

As I started to explore my own desire to create, I began to dip my toes in getting personal. Every film or sketch I have written - even if the premise is not based on my specific experience - is infused with my own personal catharsis. Then there is this blog, which has been pushing me to be as honest as humanly possible. While it often feels incredible to get things out into the world, it can also be crippling. Because the actual process of getting things out that are personal is exhausting, terrifying, and most importantly, difficult.

For the record, I’m not here to complain, evoke sympathy, or praise. I just want to be honest about writing. I admire artists who can put their heart into their work, and I want to follow their leads. But doing that is so much more than having words pour out of you. I’m writing this because we spend so much time talking about “hustling” and dropping social media posts about the countless projects we are working on, that we all seem like we are the perfect examples of #successmachines. Maybe everyone else around me is able to pump out great content with great ease, but I’m not. I’m more like Oz, except I actually have the spirit of the cowardly lion (he was obviously the gay one), and I’m blasting Whitney Houston’s Greatest Hits, getting distracted by her perfect angelic voice instead of actually writing. I have grand ideas about exploring facets of my personality but once I actually sit down to write, I’d rather do anything but dig into my psyche.

It makes it worse because, by nature I’m a procrastinator. I always work best with a deadline and am forced to focus. When I was in university taking psychology (#tbt), I remember taking the Myers Briggs test (if you don’t know, I suggest googling it to learn some deep truths about yourself. Even though it isn’t really a proper psychological tool, it’s still a lot of fun in a much more in depth than a Buzzfeed quiz kind of way). One of the scales Myers Briggs rates a person on is extraversion vs. introversion. And while I actually think I am far more introverted than people realize, I scored overwhelmingly high on the extraverted scale. Why am I mentioning this? Because one of the things about extraverts is that they tend to spend a lot of time procrastinating. So much so that they can only work in short, concentrated bursts. Which is to say, that even on the best day, I can usually only write one paragraph before I feel like I need to reward myself with a sing along to whatever song is currently playing, check up on movie projects I wish I was making, refresh of my Twitter feed, and a do a quick sweep of my texts. This is all a long winded way to say that I already have a habit of procrastination and writing about personal things as a way for catharsis becomes an even bigger uphill battle.

(And yes, it’s worth noting that after finishing that wordy paragraph, I did in fact check my phone, twitter, and marinate the chicken I’m planning to eat for dinner).

I’m aware of the release that comes with cathartic writing. I gain introspection. I can let out my deepest thoughts and fears and hopefully connect with others over our shared experiences. It’s like going to the gym - there are only benefits to going, and it really only takes a little bit out of the day, and damn health is absolutely the most important thing to take care of, but you better believe I am constantly arguing with myself before I actually drag myself out there and most of the time I still contemplate turning around.

The problem seems to lie with allowing myself to go to places that scare me. While previous iterations of my personal writing were focused on re-examining relationships that went awry, or as a platform to present frustrations or release epiphanies, they mostly felt like vent sessions. Writing can be an insidious activity, and sometimes what’s on the page continues past publication.

I can only imagine what it was like for Amy Winehouse. Back to Black is one of the all-time greatest albums (this is one of the few instances where I am judging art objectively). It was so emotionally uncompromising and raw and vulnerable and the process of creating it destroyed her. I always think of a series events in the documentary Amy (essential but heartbreaking viewing) where there was discussion over her reluctance to performing songs from Back to Black ever again. It represented her darkest times of her life and she simply didn’t want to re-re-visit the pain.

Not that I am comparing myself to Amy Winehouse. At all.

What I’m realizing is while I have always been drawn to personal work, I’ve taken it for granted. I’ve appreciated the end result, I’ve neglected to think about the process. With so much art available to us, it is easy to constantly consume, and as a creative, it is easy to feel pressure to constantly work on a schedule.

I know that I’m not talking about being a cancer researcher, or working in public service, or a doctor. I know that a lot of people have to perform consistently, and the stakes are a lot higher. However, I do believe art matters. And while it is often treated as a commodity, it also isn’t something that can always be rushed. And we shouldn’t rush ourselves to create it. And the catharsis will be worth it.

Resolutions

BY: JASON RAYNER

New age, new year, new me?

We are now just a little more than a week into 2019. Which is just enough time into the year for any short term resolutions to have been broken.

Does that sound cynical? It’s meant to. Because, I hate New Year resolutions. Or at least, I hate what they’ve become.

I do like the symbolism of resolutions. In all honesty, I kind love the idea of using it as a way to divide the chapters of my life. I also have a birthday at the end of the year and it makes it almost impossible to not think of my age and the calendar year as being tied together as segments of my life. In fact, I even like the symbolism of looking back and noting a few things that you would like to change.

It used to be that resolutions were attainable changes that you wanted to make to your life. Things like reading more, spending less money, quitting smoking. Now they aren’t even called resolutions. The language has changed to sound more evolved and important. They’re coded as “manifestations” or “year paths”.

Which is fine. Call it what you want. It’s the content that I take issue with. No longer are these small changes made to better yourself. Instead they’ve transformed into a list of grandstanding hopes and dreams, disguised as achievable goals. Now resolutions are things like “by the end of the year, I will have a development deal with Netflix”, or “I am going to publish my book and get it on the bestsellers list”, or “I will run a successful business by the end of 2019”. This isn’t to say that any of these things can’t happen - in fact, I genuinely hope they happen for a lot of good people. I also love ambition, and these are good career goals to work toward. However, to expect major changes to take place in a 365-day time period isn’t only unrealistic but, also unfair pressure to place on one person’s psyche. Especially when a lot of the time, these are things that aren’t entirely up to you.

It’s hard enough to keep simple resolutions. Usually all it takes is a cold Saturday for a bottle of red wine to be opened up and break a dry January. Gym memberships can be bought but the harder thing is actually making time to go to the gym. Staying positive works until you log on to Twitter and have your own buffet of things to make you feel blinded by rage and frustration.

So why we do this to ourselves? Because I don’t know about you dear reader, but all this does is leave me feeling disappointed; unsatisfied that I have not done enough.

At the risk of sounding my age, I do blame social media for a lot of this. In the last few weeks I have been inundated with memes and Instagram posts written with the “Notes” app about all of the things people plan to achieve and how they plan on achieving them. I’ve been told to take a dream and put a date to it so it becomes a goal. I’ve been told to look in to a mirror and say what I want out loud. I’ve been told that a lot of people absolutely cannot stop, and will not under any circumstances, stop.

And I’m saying fuck it.

I am sick and tired of “grind” culture. I am sick of hearing people talking about hustling. I’m genuinely horrified when I hear stories of people writing over their Christmas holidays, or working from home while battling a terrible flu, or when I catch myself feeling guilty for needing a vacation.

I’m sure making grand resolutions can be beneficial for some people. I’m not one of them.

Going back, I can see that it has never worked for me. In fact, I’m starting to realize it’s actually been detrimental to my mental health. This is what is responsible for leaving me in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, obsessing over my age and what I feel like I should have already accomplished (even as I type this I’m tempted to google “what are the expectations for the average 33 year old Canadian?”). It’s what leads me to compare myself to others and what successes they have had. I never even bother to take into account other factors such as privilege, access, luck, and the work they have done to get to where they are. Mostly because I’m too obsessed with seeing how I measure up. In fact, that becomes such an obsession that I don’t actually get anything else done.

Because in the midst of panic, I create more and more goals to list to anyone who will listen. You’d be surprised by how much time time talking about my ambitions to anyone who will listen actually takes. I may feel a high talking to people about the several projects I have in the works but, in the end they don’t end up going farther than that because I’m too busy telling myself to hustle and plan the next milestone in my life that I need to hit.

I’m starting to realize that maybe life isn’t like a season of Stranger Things with a neat and tidy serialized arc. If anything it’s more like a season The Good Wife, where development gets interrupted constantly by zany and unpredictable cases of the week.

I’m aware that my anti-resolution sentiment can be seen as a resolution. Perhaps it is. I just know that I am giving up on the idea that a new year will change everything. Good and bad things happen regardless or the time of the year. Motivation is a constant, and I’m tired of being trapped in an inferiority complex. I wish it was as easy as cutting ties with social media (as if I’m giving up Instagram and miss out on daily photos of Gus Kenworthy and Antoni Porowski), and I’ll probably still organize my life based on periods of time, usually by year. I just want to reject any pressure that is put on me to constantly be working and do more.

So yes, 2019 is a new year and I do have a new attitude. It’s coincidental, I swear!

Dreams vs. Money

BY: JASON RAYNER

For my entire adult life, I have been perpetually broke. I don’t think I’m supposed to admit that, though. Money is a strange thing in our society. It’s coveted, it’s necessary, and it is something almost everyone thinks about. Our entire days are centered around making it and spending it. But you aren’t supposed to talk about it. If you have an abundance, it’s best to not gloat. If you have too little, it’s weakness.

Me, looking longingly at a case of La Croix, which at tis point in my life, is essentially a luxury item.

It’s important to note the difference between being broke and being poor. I have an apartment, I am able to afford basic necessities, I just don’t have much money outside of that. Most of the time there are fluctuations. There have been times in my recently-graduated-from-University days where I’ve had so little money that the only way I was able to pay the minimum payment on my credit card was to go out for dinner with a friend, charge it to my almost maxed out card, and then ask them for their half in cash so I can could into an ATM and transfer that money to my credit card. Then there times where I am making a little more than I used to and I feel like I am living like Prince George. In almost all cases I add up my annual income and realize that I’m still just a little over the poverty line.

Choosing a life as an artist is particularly tough on finances. Everyone is competitive, and the amount of work you have to produce before you can even begin thinking about earning money is overwhelming. Writing jobs require sample packages, acting agencies require demo reels and resumes, film grant eligibility is based on having work already publicly exhibited. Getting to the place where you can maybe get paid takes a lot. More importantly, it takes time. So rarely do we talk about the time that is necessary to dedicate to making art.

Putting in the time isn’t really a problem per se; in fact I would prefer to. If I could spend my days writing at home or working on a film set, I’d be at my happiest. It’s the fact that balancing art while simultaneously trying to keep your head above water financially is a constant balancing act. It feels like I’m walking on a tightrope, and I’m a clumsy mess (and yes, I am listening to The Greatest Showman soundtrack while writing this, thank you for noticing the circus metaphor).

For most of my adult life, I have struggled with wanting to focus on art, while also trying to ensure that my income increased every year. Because more money is status, and the older I get, the more status I’m allegedly supposed to have. In your early 20s, living in a house with five roommates and spending a winter day in a coffee shop so you don’t have to turn on your heat seems almost charming (I’ve never personally done that but I know people who have). In your 30s, you are expected to be a “proper adult”. If you aren’t sharing a home with a spouse, you should be on your own, and most definitely be working toward owning. You should also be able to afford to eat organic. It’s called Forever 21 not Forever 31, after all (I sit here at me desk at 32, wearing head-to-toe Forever 21 by the way). When you’re an artist, you can get away with having less as long as you can bring up several projects you’re working on during a dinner party. Just keep your fingers crossed that no one asks you where they can view your short films,

The struggle to have enough money to help me feel like an adult yet still work on becoming a writing, acting, directing, and producing sensation has led me to several phases of my professional life. For a while, I would work contract jobs and tell myself that I would work on my craft in my off time. Instead, I would get a contract that would occupy all of my focus and energy and when it ended, I would spend all of my now free time looking for the next contract, leaving no time to create. So then I decided that I would go for stability and get a full time job, not worry about finances, and work on weekends and evenings (looking for this type of job was its own kind of nightmarish full-time job, by the way). Well, once I actually landed something, it turned out that I absolutely hated the 9 - 5 life (no matter how many times I thought of sweet angel Dolly Parton), and I was too tired to actually work on anything creative once I got home. In fact, I had less spare time because I was dreaming of being in bed by 9pm. I had money and I was miserable. So I went back to part time work, and was back at the start, stressing over not having enough money. So I got a second part time job. I was working 6 days a week, and while I was making more money than usual, I had virtually made no progress with the career I actually wanted. So I quit the part time job I loathed, and used my new free time to try laser focus on art.

Which brings me to present day. I’ve never been more focused on creating and I am simultaneously losing sleep over the fact that I am barely covering my basic life expenses. I feel fulfilled during the days (and some evenings) that I am writing, editing, and filming. Then I realize that I probably can’t afford that celebratory glass of wine I want to commemorate a job well done.

So how exactly can someone balance working toward their aspirations while meeting their financial standards? And yes, I realize I am asking this like I’m Carrie Bradshaw (even though I’m so obviously a Miranda).

I remember vividly one day in my mid-20s when I was working at a temp job, and a woman I had never met before said to me “You can have everything in life, you just won’t have it all at the same time” (moments after she said this, she vanished and I never saw her again). I didn’t love hearing that at the time because I wanted to believe in the glamour that came with whatever “having it all!” was supposed to mean. Now I think it might be the wisest thing ever said to me (if I was to find out that the 50 something year old woman with a great outfit dropping deep life lessons never really existed and was just a figment of my imagination, I would maybe believe you). Because the idea of “having it all!” is really an end game, but no one really goes into the specifics of what the process really entails.

Right now, it appears that while one area of life thrives, others fall apart. If you’re trying to focus your energy into building a career as an artist, your finances might take a hit. If you want to focus on your career in general, you might also have a hard time having a personal life. If you are in a new relationship, or do something crazy like have a kid (I think this is something people my age do - I’ll research that later), that will probably take up a lot of your time, and a lot of things like work will probably seem a little less important. And that’s okay. Some annoying truths about life include the fact that there is only 24 hours in a day, our attention spans wander constantly throughout our work days, and our bodies crash if we do not get sleep (while at 23 I would excite myself with the idea of only needing 5 hours of sleep, I now at 32, do not function well with less than 7 not just mentally but physically, in the form of bags that are so heavy they look like they’re weighted to the ground).

This essay isn’t a declaration or an answer. I don’t have a mantra I repeat in my mirror to manifest my dreams (no shade if you do!). Right now, I’m forcing myself to weigh what is more important to me, and trying to focus on what matters. For me, that is my art and trying to turn it into a career. I still want to be able to buy nice things, I still want to meet a nice guy to date, I still want to travel the world. If this (maybe imaginary) woman’s words from the temp job are to be believed, we should stop talking about “having it all!”, and maybe just focus on what we have right now and try our hardest to be happy with it. I think it’s also important that we talk about these struggles. There is nothing worse than feeling like there is something wrong with you for not being able to juggle so many things at once. So yes, I’m struggling with all of this. If you are too, you’re not alone.

I’d say we should commiserate over a drink but I’m currently broke.

DVD Collections Made Dating Easier

BY: JASON RAYNER

Yep. That's my actual movie collection. And a few books, too. Displayed PROUDLY.

Remember having a movie collection? Whether it be VHS (90s represent!), DVDs, or Blu Ray, there was a time when most people had a sizeable movie collection of films they not only owned but also displayed prominently in their living rooms. However, with the rise of Netflix and every other streaming service out there, collections stopped being added to, and much like CDs, DVDs and Blu-Rays are now seen as a marker of the past.

I, however am one of the few people who still proudly displays my personal library in my living room (see that photo - that's my collection!). And I have to be honest, I’m mourning (not a hyperbole, seriously) the days everyone had their collections proudly on display. Because looking at someone’s movie collection was not only an easy point of conversation on what kind of taste someone has. This is great for most social interactions, but was perhaps the most helpful of all for the toughest of social interactions, dating.

One of my favourite quotes ever comes from John Waters. He says, “If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em!”. Now, as someone who reads voraciously, but has a bank account that could be described at its kindest as slim, I don’t quite have the money for books and films. And since certain universities refer to film as the “literature of our time” (seriously), I’ve decided to extend this sentiment to film collections.

The standard film collection used to feature some key staples of the 90s - Titanic, Jurassic Park, and for most of the men that I dated (I can only speak of dating queer dudes), Mean Girls and The Devil Wears Prada (all of which have been in my collection at some time. I also want to take a moment to sidebar and reminisce about how my copy of Titanic was on a 2-tape VHS. Remember that? The movie was too long for one tape!). Scrolling through a collection would let me know if my future potential love of my life had depth - hopefully in between the staples there would be the odd indie like Before Sunset, or Lost in Translation, or an indie starring Nicole Kidman. This told me that while they liked things that were popular, they were also open to something a little different and artistic. Alternatively, if my date only had movies from the Criterion Collection I would worry about pretension. The outlier of Clueless or Sister Act in their collection was soothing because it meant that I was about to date someone who could also have some fun, even while being very serious about film as an artistic medium. If they owned a copy of Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion, I knew I had hit the jackpot because I was understood on a fundamental level.

Film collections, just like a music or book collection, say something about how we like to spend our time. They also give an insight on interests - someone with a wide range of Holocaust documentaries is fairly likely to be a history buff, someone with tons of horror films probably loves an equal mix of camp and is a bit of a thrill seeker, and someone who owns a 30 Rock box set understands my sense of humour. Film collections are also almost always displayed proudly either by a TV or in the living room.

It’s also a great conversation starter without having to ask a series of questions. This is essential when starting to date someone because there is only ask so many “and where did you live before you came to Toronto?” style-conversation starters before it feels like an interrogation. Loving the same movie can tell you a lot about what makes someone laugh and their sense of humour, what shakes them to their emotional core, and yes, if they are smart and can handle films with challenging or subtle plots (I’ve definitely had my fair share of guys talk about the glamour of Breakfast at Tiffany’s only to realize that they probably haven’t seen it and only bought the DVD because of the iconic imagery from the film). I also loved the idea of discovery that can com through browsing a film collection. I love hearing someone enthusiastically boast about a film I may not have seen.  If a potential lover tells me I absolutely must see The Tourist because it’s a beautiful love story, I’ll know that my idea of romance might not be in line with theirs (yes, this happened). If someone tells me that Best in Show is the funniest movie they’ve ever seen, I can fantasize our future together doing a Jennifer Coolidge/Jane Lynch couples costume for Halloween.

There were, of course, people who didn’t ever have movie collections. But I’m a film actor, film director, screenwriter, and film producer. Film is obviously a big deal to me. If you haven’t heard of Greta Gerwig we probably won’t have that much in common anyway.

Obviously you can’t (entirely) judge someone just by their film tastes. And just like music, we still are sharing art with others. In fact, we probably share more with people because everything is so much more accessible. But there was something about running through your hands of a DVD collection feeling like you were getting the sneakiest sneak peak at a part of someone’s personality without having to do too much prying. It also confirmed the general rule to avoid people who own copies of Boondock Saints.