Netflix, I big-red-puffy-Bedazzled-heart you. You have made the Nighttime-OutOfIt-Mommy-Movie-Catchup so much less of a headache. Thanks to you, I no longer feel like I’ve been off the grid for so long (i.e.- since I had children). I can now speak of the Third Season of Lost with aplomb, if not clarity (’cause, it’s- uh- not).
I love how you think of me and my interests, in a way that’s disturbingly accurate, and kinda makes me blush. Why yes, I would love to see almost anything in your Movies Based on Classical Literature category. And indeed, my little heart is set aflutter when you nudge-nudge, wink-wink me towards Cerebral Movies With a Strong Female Lead.
But I begin to wonder, honestly, when you suggest Mexican Documentaries. And no, I didn’t know they even existed. Not that I don’t like Mexicans- but I think perhaps my language preferences might have blinded you into believing I had a penetrating need to learn of Cesar Chavez and Zorro. Um, I don’t. But thanks.
And we won’t even discuss Lesbian Comedies in Arabic.
Still, I am grateful. You’ve done wonders, cementing my dislike of Nicolas Cage, illuminating my almost-unconscious interest in Tibetan Buddhism, and affirming my intellectuality by showing me local favorites- none of which I’d touch with a 10-foot pole. I can wait on the movies that come to me from my queue, or I can be impatient and spontaneous and watch streaming movies on my computer. Huddled with my green tea and McVities digestives, I find escape, peace, and blog fodder.
Now show me a few Critically-Acclaimed Foreign Dramas. And stay away from those Feel-Good Talking-Animal Children & Family movies.