The problem came when I sat down to start writing about them: after I filled in the “formula” line for each show I watched, there was nothing left to say.
It’s like a Rorschach Test for your musical allegiances.
The Portland of My Own Private Idaho is the PDX of fifteen years ago.
Steamboy isn’t really about narrative, it’s about technology. (Or perhaps “SCIENCE!”; shout it in your best Thomas Dolby voice.)
All of this morning’s big news seems to involve big business deals between big companies.
Notes on the final season of Angel. There are some mild spoilers, but none of it ever made any sense anyway, so reading on probably won’t hurt too much.
I’m a total idiot when it comes to grammar, so there’s probably some part of speech that I’ve never heard of that explains the use of “so” at the beginning of a sentence. If there is, will someone let me know before I drive myself nuts?
You can hardly blame them for being lulled into a liminal state by Halim’s deceptively simple, airily seductive games.
There are times when I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I signed up for this.