Poems for my Thoughts (and a lot of thoughts first) on our 2020 Colorado Trail Adventure

Do I have to lead with the rodent? It's hard to shake his insidious presence. As if walking 115.5 miles with monster packs over 8 days and the subsequent layers of grime on our own skin wasn't enough. Adam and I finished a glorious trek through the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness this past Friday. The first leg included some great friends, a midpoint was facilitated by my wonderful family in Salida, and the final leg featured a push through the most difficult and beautiful terrain I've ever experienced. But seriously, WHATEVER, if after all of that we had to encounter what we did when I opened the glove compartment of my Aunt Kay's RAV4, "Rava." As ALS was robbing her of physical adventure, she sold me her favorite car...and she would be so pleased with the experiences Rava has made possible for us! But still. This was a bit much.

First of all, I was pretty pitiful on our last day. Adam had a data book and phone app clearly mapping out our mileage and elevation fluctuations for days 1-7, but our last day back to Rava was "off-the-grid," if you will. Signs for "Browns Pass" pointed us roughly in the right direction, despite an uncleared avalanche zone full of tree-hopping and expletives. It's fine. Expletives can be motivating, and we made it through. So, after a longer-than-anticipated hike out on Friday, we (at long last!) came upon our dusty Rava, fully equipped to deliver our depleted souls to cheeseburgers and cocktails at the Buena Viking/Deerhammer Distillery in Buena Vista. We only had to withhold for a brief conversation of self-congratulation with a proud 65-year-old at the river, where we attempted to assuage some of our putrid stench with biodegradable soap. The man was taken to self-congratulation upon noticing Adam's "Sub-Forty" Fortitude 10K T-shirt. Again, it's fine - I'm just not terribly admiring of self-congratulatory people, and I was so ready for that cheeseburger. I'm pretty pleased with my inventive way of shaking him: "Well, enjoy your hike!"

Back at Rava, sudsed feet and all, I popped open the glove compartment - where I'd stashed a fanny pack full of COVID-19 necessities (a mask and hand sanitizer). The pile of tissues was fairly explosive in appearance, with a powdery-black residue of sorts, and what we eventually realized were tiny specks of rodent shit. "...what the FUCK?!" was, naturally, my first vocalization. Adam was messing around with all of the usual messy aftermaths of a weeklong backpacking venture. It was so disorienting, to piece together the bits of information as my exhausted brain was able to process them. First: "Did some crazy ass people break into our car to play some disgusting trick? Why didn't they take anything of actual value? Why did they just take a crap in some tissues and leave it in my glove compartment?" Once we realized, of course, some little chipmunk-piece-of-shit was the culprit, it was difficult to decide whether to admire the little fellow or feel completely and utterly violated. The box of tissues was in our back seat, on the floor. He (or she, or THEM, heaven forbid) somehow ventured into the car, through an airvent or God knows what, and determined the glove compartment was a cozy enough nook...only to determine, by gum, where are the nesting materials?! It GATHERED from the back seat in a ferocious tear, and BROUGHT tissues into the glove compartment, where it SHIT ALL OVER and LIVED in there while we walked for 8 straight days. And he was no where to be found! Hantavirus symptoms make themselves known in 1-8 weeks following exposure, so we'll see how that develops.

The thing is, it was a really amazing trip. I dropped my phone on our second to-last-day and cried somewhat pathetically about it (we're addicted to the damn things, after all). It just seemed so stupid. I pulled it out and shouted at Adam, "Stop! It looks like Mordor here!" and the darn thing slipped right through my fingers onto Mount Doom itself. And the rodent infestation, well, let me tell you - Rava is as clean as she's ever been under my ownership (Aunt Kay always kept her spotless and I have a mind to do so as well, rodents be damned). After burgers and libations and a state of calm I'm quite proud of, considering the circumstances, we noticed Rava's hood latch had inexplicably busted.  We tied her down with some copper wire at the advice of a kind, rugged woman in Fairplay and have an appointment at the Toyota dealership to get it fixed next week. Obstacles. We felt like hobbits out there from day 1, but I wasn't expecting so much to go wrong when we finally finished the actual hike. The hike, now! That's the real story.

See, it DID look like Mordor.

Around our fourth or fifth mountain pass last Thursday (I don't know, maybe the first one with a slick snowfield and bitch-slap of a wind tunnel at the top), I started mulling over the fact that we'd seen a lot of astoundingly beautiful mountain vistas in the previous six days of hiking. It was starting to feel like I'd eaten a fourth or fifth helping of pie...too much of a good thing? "Oh, look, another luscious green valley below, with azure mountain lakes, and majestic snowcapped peaks surrounding us in all directions, ENOUGH ALREADY!" The Colorado Trail has a way of revealing just how tremendously spoiled I really am. But I wasn't the only one. Last Thursday, we met a couple of men from Cortez setting up Cottonwood Pass around 4 in the afternoon, out of water, wondering where they would camp that night. Thru-hikers like seeing each other toting packs. It's pretty communal. It's also obnoxiously elitist, as we're all feeling stupidly superior to any "day hikers" we see, us in our far smellier conditions, river-washed-but-still-filthy garments hanging to dry for all to see. In any case, we naturally stopped to chat to these two guys for a few minutes, them heading up the pass and us heading down. Adam: "Hey! Going all the way to Durango? Right on! Us, no, we're just doing the loop. Yep. Yeah, we started at Segment 13, went up from . . . Marshall Pass . . . now we're . . . skipped 1 and most of . . . finishing out back at Silver Creek Trailhead tomorrow." (Adam is my complete and total tour guide, my wonderful life partner who I love with all my heart, and without him I would surely perish in the elements. I seriously have no idea how we made it back to the car.)

Anyway, these guys, they had already conquered Lake Ann Pass when we saw them trucking up Cottonwood, and this is something I do know: Adam and I completed, in reverse order, Segments 3-5 and part of 2 on the Collegiate West Loop of the Colorado and Continental Divide Trails. Lake Ann Pass is part of Segment 2, which we dodged in order to get back to our car. It's also possibly the most difficult pass on the loop. When I know a little something, I chime in to the conversation, as best I can: "We're sad to miss the view of Lake Ann! Heard it's one of the most beautiful passes on the loop." They just scoffed, "Oh, yeah, people told us, 'Just wait until you see Lake Ann from up there, it's stunning!' It's not stunning. [Hand gesture to acknowledge the fact that the four of us are currently standing in the middle of some fairly stunning mountain scenery] It's all the same." Oh, how we understood. We were finishing up Segment 3 at Cottonwood that day (which is actually the beginning of Segment 3, but per our backwards direction, it was ending), and after trudging up and down six mountain passes above 12,000 feet for 10 hours, with roughly 2 hours still to go before viable campsites, the vistas start to take a sinister shape to the filthy and exhausted thru-hiker. Are we supposed to just keep being astounded by nature ALL DAY? Impossible.

Oh, come on. What is wrong with all of us? It's all the SAME?! It's ridiculous how lucky any of us physically capable of covering those distances and climbing to those wide and glorious expanses of mountain majesty are to be simply doing what we are doing. In retrospect, I am ashamed that I couldn't muster a little verbal respect (even one "ooh!" or "ahh!") for the peaks with the strongest winds that day, the ones that had me somehow clinging to my hat as well as my hiking poles and staring at my obscenely weathered boots with each amazingly small and labored step took. But instead, those ones made me cry ugly tears and scream at the top of my lungs, "I HATE MOUNTAINS!" If you've met my husband, you might be intrigued to learn he was even yelling a little something up there (but I started it, after all, and it's sort of hard to stay positive when your hiking companion has decided to become inconsolable in the most difficult push of the day).

But honestly, I'm so thankful for it all. I'm not completely happy with the part of myself that has to crumple pathetically and sometimes irately when things are tough, and I'm sure Adam isn't either, but we chose each other and we chose that trail and we both are better for it. Once we'd get lower in elevation and a hillside blocked the wind for a few moments (before the next climb), I'd mutter apologies and excuses for my irrational outbursts, and when the end of our final trek to the car (day 8 and miles 103.7 to 115.5 of hiking with packs) was near, I asked Adam how he kept his composure so well. "Because we don't have any other choice, do we? We have to keep going." About my method of coping, he said, "Well, that's how you get through it. It's ok." Then I asked him why it was different for him with unexpected traffic delays, and I still don't really understand his answer, but it's nice to know he's not unflappable.

There are so many things I could say about the Colorado Trail. I've gone with Adam and followed where he leads like a silly little duckling for a portion of five summers now, gradually becoming grittier and more like those "real" thru-hikers we see every year (out there utterly filthy and enjoying it, for God's sake!). Our first trip was disastrous. We took a summer off. Then, joined by a very special friend and a very special dog, a true wolf pack was forged and we'll all be forever bonded by the trail. Pictures are funny, so delusive - telling the tiniest fraction of a story possible. Every year we've had mishaps. Every year we've had reasons to apologize to each other. I'll share an album of photos from this year's exceedingly panoramic and smile-filled journey and it will be fun to scroll through them; it will be nice for anyone who cares to see where we went and what it looked like on the surface...but only our wolf pack understands, truly, the emergency bathroom break in a hail storm and subsequent camaraderie that comes from traveling, in so much pain, with a group of people obligated to sharing that kind of information with one another (it's hard to keep secrets out there).

Every night slept outside this year (7 of the 8, since one was spent luxuriously in a retro motel in Salida), I wrote a crappy little poem that I'd like to share anyway, and these will be the last words I share - in writing, at least - about our Colorado Trail experience this year:

Night One:

Sore

Bodies start

Stop

Again

Pulled down to the Earth

by the things I need

Have you ever wondered

why we're allowed to tread

not lightly

upon everything?

It's like getting up

so painfully

from the ground

and thinking you deserve

some goddamn attention already.

Night Two:

Pleasant Surprise

That kind of rollercoaster

that smells like Christmas

took us for an easier ride

than anticipated, considering

it didn't have any wheels.

Changes in the sky,

a welcome chance meeting,

giving thanks to all things

we cannot control --

and through all 

our misconceptions

with the weather,

there was plenty for all

to eat.

There was plenty for all

to feel.

Night Three:

Outside

I've been sitting here for several minutes

trying (not very hard) 

to turn my attention outwards

of myself -- 

but I've been plagued

for all times.

Is it the same for you?

Does the chirping of the birds

have any other impact

than sweet singing in the evening, 

perhaps an early wake-up call,

or

in any case,

just what you needed?

(Sigh)

You again. 

[Night Four = No Poetry, I guess, because I finally had a shower!]

Night Five:

Natural Habitat

Since the river is ceaseless,

we'll be able to carry on.

The ant intruding on my under-shoe

certainly had other plans.

The greenery's well-quenched and

quivering with the slightest breeze.

Does an unleashed dog

love anything more

than a trail seeped 

in unfamiliar smells?

I've never been here before,

but the flatness of the Earth

and the nearness of the water

of course contends my right

to pee all over the perimeter.

Night Six:

Tent 

The moment the sky

goes from blue

to white

to black --

I missed it.

I've been hiding out

listening

instead of seeing.

What I don't feel anymore

is any expectation

for this night

(whether I'll feel cleansed,

or cold,

or scared that it might never end,

and that darn sky --

without my realizing --

turned to gold.)

Night Seven:

Holding On

People aren't beautiful

like trees are

and when it come to obstacles

in my path

I'm sure I prefer those

I don't end up conversing with.

It's not that conversing

is unpleasant --

it's just so much more complicated

than stepping

under, over, or around.

Today's screaming hillside

hid behind my hat

which I clutched in hopes

of not leaving

any more of me

in this perfect place

(skin-chapped wanderlust).

Fixed it remained --

one less obstacle

to getting home.

Oh, How We Impact One Another

Today I thought about how it's true
that all we really have is ourselves,
and that made me feel lonely.
Self-centeredness feels as inevitable
as it is embarrassing.

Back when I had voices inside my head
attached to inanimate objects,
it was a little better.
Figurines never hurt my feelings.
My mom told me that she listened
to what I was saying,
pretending she was asleep on the couch.
It doesn't feel like a violation
because I don't remember what I said.

I don't remember if I made up happy endings.
I don't remember if I made up any endings at all,
but I remember using greeting cards
on the dining room table
like vessels on a national speedway.

Have you ever thrown away a letter?
I have.
Is there anything worse?

The letters I've kept,
I never re-read. The letters I've sent,
I never remember. 

What They Taught Me

Three years ago, I met a group of 6th grade students: fresh-faced, wide-eyed, new-to-the-school and appropriately terrified. I had the privilege of being their ally for the three tumultuous years in adolescence that we call middle school. I know my job title, but that's really how I feel: I got to be their ally. Together, we got through middle school. Middle school! How many people do you know who would want to relive that era of life? These kids are some of the most earnest, kind, and creative individuals I've ever met. They'll never realize all they taught me; they'll never realize what a profoundly positive impact they had on my life. Because of these kids, I can fathom a career in teaching as a longterm ideal.

My students taught me about perspective. They taught me how to slow down, rephrase, and consider a sentence's value far beyond its grammatical pitfalls. They taught me about communication in its most authentic form: the sharing of thoughts, feelings, and ideas. Sometimes we problem-solved and sometimes we let ourselves feel frustrated. They showed me the advantages and outright necessity of scheduled breaks.

They inspired me to watch all of the films in the Marvel franchise without even trying to (kids don't really care if you like what they like or not; how refreshing is that?). They inadvertently taught me to ask for help, which I hate doing; however, one thing my students love is to be of service to others. (They absolutely live for it, so it was never an inconvenience to them to set up my projector when all of the adults in the building were too busy.)

They helped me understand my own irritation at the assertion, "Oh, you must be so patient," regarding my chosen profession. They helped me to see how the tables are quite possibly turned more often than not; it is the kids who must have patience with the adults who have forgotten what it feels like to be a kid. They taught me how to be supportive in a world full of new sets of rules, seven periods a day.

I'm so incredibly humbled by what I get to go to work every day to do. I feel there is a disproportionate amount of thanks given in the universe to teachers and all they do for their students, compared with students and all they do for their teachers. It's a common phrase, "That's a tough kid to work with." What about the fact that my students had to work with me, a perfectionistic introvert with single-minded views on the best ways to accomplish tasks? What about all of the various personalities students have to learn to appease daily in order to have success in their school day? It's hard work being a teacher, but it's hard work being a student, too. I couldn't be more proud of the unique and spirited group of young people finishing 8th grade in quarantine next week - the young people who taught me about humility, empathy, and Ant-Man. I will never forget them. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful students.

Truth Telling

Sometimes I get a very strong urge
to self-sabotage, and this usually
never manifests
any further than an imaginary scenario
inside my head. I spend a lot of time
pretending.

When I post a picture of myself and
something that I did, I'm looking for
attention. When I post my feelings
about my life and what it means,
I'm looking for validation.

If it's obvious that someone
doesn't like me,
I spend equal-parts of energy
on self-righteousness
and self-loathing.

My aunt and I had a conversation at a brewery
about how good our family is
at loving each other,
because even if we are as dysfunctional as any group of people
with strong personalities
in one small
geographic radius,
we give each other space
to be ourselves.

I want people to like me and say things like,
"Wow, she's really impressive.
She's really living her life right," and smile
like people do
in that knowing way, but I don't want them
to assume, like I do about people
who are really impressive
and living their lives right,
that it simply is that way.

2019 Everyday Critic Awards (in lieu of the Oscars)

In case you didn't know, the Academy Awards are today. In case you didn't care, but still have some interest in the best movies of the year, I have provided a list below of 24 films that (in my opinion) are very much worth seeing. Many of them are up for an Oscar, but I took the liberty of giving each of them an award in a category of my own making. I don't see how any film could ever be labeled "Best Picture," or how any director can be deemed the "Best" compared to all of the other talents. How about these bests?

Most Interesting Fairytale Concept - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Tarantino’s fairytales are my absolute favorite. His way of sticking it to the people in history who deserve it most can’t be beaten. Once upon a time, in Hollywood, a pregnant and beautiful Sharon Tate went out for Mexican food with her glamorous friends before returning home to the hills...but wait, just next door is Brad Pitt tripping on acid, and his dog of pure muscle, and a drunken Leonardo DiCaprio with a flamethrower... As in all of my favorite Tarantino films, the buildup to the massacre is my favorite part, and he certainly takes his time in this one. The details drew me into a time period I can only imagine, and to the idea of places I don’t want to imagine (such as Charles Manson’s loony ranch of hippies and the rundown car some of them took to Cielo Drive on August 9, 1969). I could have gone for more Sharon, as Margot Robbie delivered gorgeously in her few scenes: dancing with lighthearted confidence alongside Mama Cass, with Steve McQueen looking on; stealing backward glances in a movie theater projecting her own Wrecking Crew, completely unrestrained in her delight to be admired and applauded; later, feeling especially pregnant at El Coyote. The fictionalized has-been in DiCaprio’s TV cowboy and Pitt’s hunky, unconditionally loyal stuntman paired well next door to Tate’s rising stardom (especially since it’s laughable to think of DiCaprio himself ever being a has-been, ironically evidenced in the fantastic performances by and chemistry between him and Pitt throughout). My ultimate take on this story is this: I’ve watched it several times, it’s almost three hours long, and still - every time - that ending is so incredibly satisfying. The whole thing is so incredibly satisfying: soundtrack, dialogue, Coupe de Villes, Dakota Fanning, frozen margaritas and all. The only obvious wish is that one of Pitt’s final lines could have been true in reality for young Sharon and her friends: “It isn’t my time yet.”

Best Feel-Good Flick for the Dreamer in You - Blinded by the Light

This one’s for anyone who has ever had a little faith in the magic of the arts. For young Javed, that means poetry, Bruce Springsteen, and breaking out of the confines of his hometown to pursue his dreams inspired by both. When he first puts his headphones on and hears, “I ain’t nothing but tired. Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself,” it ignites an internal revolution - for Javed and any audience member who has ever wrestled with the same thoughts. Am I biased because I think writers and artists are charged with the most meaningful work in the world? Well, of course I am. But what about that feeling of intense belonging that comes from deeply relating to the words of a song on its first listen? I’ve never been a part of a minority (like Javed and his family, persecuted in their hometown for simply looking different). But I contend that Blinded by the Light means to resonate with everyone...or at least, anyone who has ever sought some kind of impractical dream, with the purest intentions, not to defy their family but to get the most out of this life. In the words of The Boss himself, “If dreams came true, well, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Most Impressively All-Inclusive-Audience Film About Car Racing - Ford v Ferrari

What’s horrible about assembly lines is the products all come out the same (or differences mean flaws), the paper-pushing stalls any meaningful progression (queue three secretaries and one memo), and higher-ups lacking any useful knowledge or skills call all the shots (stupidly and sometimes vindictively) and assume all the glory (infuriatingly and always unfairly). Don’t miss out on Ford v Ferrari because you don’t care about car races. Skip it if you don’t care about impeccable soundtracks matched to exhilarating scenes depicting the astounding achievements of real-life human beings...human beings that challenged bureaucracy and maintained their dignity in order to be the best of their time. Skip it if you never root for the underdog. Skip it if you don’t like a film to make you feel like you’re right there with the characters, shedding actual tears of joy for their victories and heartache for their losses. Ford v Ferrari immaculately relays a heart-racing and heartfelt tearjerker - a story for anyone who likes movies. In sum, skip it if you don’t like movies.

Most Aggressively Metaphorical - Parasite

What a satirical feast this was! To quote the protagonist, Parasite “is so metaphorical.” I love how obvious the suggestion of the title is as it pertains to three levels of class division, all on various physical levels of living quarters. A gated mansion with its many staircases and its beautiful family unwittingly provide for two sets of literal bottom feeders. First, there are the poverty-stricken but clever basement-dwellers who (with astounding efficiency) infiltrate the economic opportunities of the household. They pause for a comical high-point to toast their startlingly gullible providers, huddled around the cramped table in their rank apartment. Next, a horrifying mid-film surprise lurks in a cement barrack...pointedly invisible to the upper class above, graciously lapping up the runoff. The grisly ending is built up meticulously and leaves viewers with no clear answer on who-was-eating-off-of-who.

Best Casting of Emma Watson to Date - Little Women

When my uniquely free-spirited, creatively-minded grandmother (who coincidentally was named Jo) gifted a hardback copy of Little Women upon me as a young girl, I quite ironically wrote it off as unimportant. Greta Gerwig took most every word in her screenplay from Louisa May Alcott herself, other than the scene where Jo and her sisters discuss the importance - or lack thereof - of Jo’s current project. Jo wonders, “Who will be interested in a story of domestic struggles and joys? It doesn’t have any real importance.” Amy (whether whose character is spoiled or practical is up for discussion) replies, “Maybe we don’t see those things as important because people don’t write about them.” Gerwig artfully patch-worked the lives of Alcott’s characters together with the complexities life is wrought with, forgoing a linear narrative for powerful juxtapositions of childhood’s hopeful innocence and adulthood’s painful understanding. None of their stories (which include women’s as well as men’s, in case you think this narrative doesn’t apply to you) can be deemed unimportant without disregard for the human race itself. I’m ashamed of silly childhood Beth (who was much closer to Alcott’s self-interested Amy than her tragically selfless Beth) for casting this book aside - but perhaps 29 was the perfect age for me to read it. With the novel fresh on my mind, Gerwig’s take on Alcott’s strongly autobiographical literary classic brought a timely, compelling argument for the vastly important value of sharing our stories.

Best Performance by Taylor Swift in a Major Motion Picture - Cats

What do you think I should say, that this was a terrible movie? I’m not a real film critic. I judge movies based on my enjoyment level and whether or not I think something could have been changed to make it better. “It” is not always my enjoyment level, because I equally love movies that challenge my inherent beliefs, pull at my heartstrings, make fun of themselves, or make me laugh in spite of twisted humor. Cats was not any of those movies, but heck, I wouldn’t change a darn thing about it! If you ask me, Andrew Lloyd Webber is awesome, Taylor Swift is one of my favorite famous people, and musicals make me happier than a lot of things. Swift’s original song, “Beautiful Ghosts,” was lovely - performed in a touching way by Francesca Hayward in the movie (wait for TSwizzle during the credits). I didn’t care much for Judi Dench’s numbers, but Jennifer Hudson’s “Memory” more than made up for it, and can I just say, the tap-dancing-jubilee of “Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat” made my entire life better. Here is the final kicker on my four-star review: I really don’t even like cats.

Most Though-Provoking Anxiety Attack - Uncut Gems

It’s difficult to praise a film that made me grimace and clench my jaw for over two hours,  but it’s important for me to try to do so. In a way, I hated the experience of watching it  (mostly due to off-putting closeups of bodily fluids and repeated violent verbal exchanges that made me tear my cuticles to shreds). Sandler’s character has been described as “charismatic,” but I found him slimy and repulsive. The roller coaster ride of Uncut Gems was unpredictable and anxiety-inducing, but why do people like roller coasters anyway? Sandler’s Howard Ratner’s appetite for a thrill could never be satiated. It was impressive to watch an actor previously pigeon-holed into cheap comedic roles transform into a character incomparable to any of his others: Sandler was viscerally desperate, pathetic, and disturbingly euphoric. 

Ratner is at his most relatable (for me) when he earnestly asserts to Kevin Garnett, “This is how I win.” I’ve since spiraled around for hours contemplating, How do I win? I’m worried it’s in a desperate pursuit of approval from others - all others, all the time. It’s ridiculously out of my control. I don’t place any value on gems or basketball games, but aren’t we all endlessly - perhaps, in some cases, hopelessly - striving for our next big win?

Most Emotional Musical Solo by Adam Driver - Marriage Story

This story was depicted with a raw honesty that cuts pretty deep. I think many would find it hard to watch. I also think the characters were developed with intricacy and empathy, and performances by Scarlett Johansson, Adam Driver, and Laura Dern were extremely captivating. This was beautifully, heart-wrenchingly done (which I have to say, I prefer more than “heartwarmingly” in a film).

Best Drawn-Out Animated Franchise Sequel - Toy Story 4

The emotional punch packed by the collective installments of these toys and their various existential crises knocks me over. Forky was not, however, an obviously sentimental character in this seeming finale; I found his purpose to be a bit cryptic. Was he comic relief, ceaselessly attempting to return to the trash from which he was created, or was he a serious reminder to us all about the inherent value of what - or rather, who - we deem disposable? The latter came through as a major theme, and as usual, waterworks are a risk for audience members of all ages. Either way, the hero-complex Forky revives in Woody is pretty powerful...and if you ask me about the ending, I say, good for Woody.

Best Visceral Transformation of an Actor in a Leading Role - Joker

A stunningly disgusting, impassioned performance by Joaquin Phoenix was not overshadowed by this predictable, plausible origin story of a mentally ill individual’s spiral into mass-murderdom, due to all of the usual factors: lack of appropriate treatment, a history of abuse and brain trauma, and the exclusion and cruelty of society. Phoenix alone makes this movie worth watching. I cringed through the whole thing...but respect it nonetheless.

Best Attempt at an Original Coming-of-Age Story - Booksmart

The thing about those "nerdy girls," freshly and comically portrayed here by Bernie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever, is that in reality, no one ever gets to see how fun-spunky-and-lively they can be in the four tumultuous, suffocating years we call high school. Booksmart empathetically crafted their redemptive night of fun with a more-thoughtful-than-usual consideration of the would-be-villainous in-crowd. It was outlandish on purpose, but ultimately refreshing to see a film about high schoolers who all have something redeeming about them (yes, even those cool kids) as well as something to learn (yes, even those nerds).

Best Marvel Amusement Park Ride - Avengers: End Game

I was pleasantly surprised, as I worked my way through the Avengers’ various storylines in preparation for this epic finale, to find a natural place in my heart for each of its tenacious and flawed heroes. My relationship with superhero movies was nonexistent prior to the spring of 2019. I initially used, “I’m watching them to become more relevant to the middle schoolers I attempt to teach daily,” as an excuse, but I can’t deny the emotional appeal these characters very quickly had for me. I’m partial to Rocket, Ant Man, and Captain Marvel, and although I didn’t cry at the ending...I have to say, it cut pretty deep. It might have been perfect.

Best Endurance Event - The Irishman

I feel so ignorant taking off half a star simply because I didn't have the endurance to watch this film in my first three attempts. The performances were stellar and I am beginning to understand, truly, that "a great movie often takes its time," per Ty Burr's coaching in his introduction to The 50 Movie Starter Kit: What You Need to Know if You Want to Know What You're Talking About. I have a quest to become far more well-versed in viewing and talking about film in 2020. Per Burr's recommendation, I want "to make sense of the cultural Babel that confronts us every waking day" and ultimately begin my own list of powerful films. 

The Irishman is a powerful film. It is the only film of 2019 that's sent me to any sources I can find to try to understand it, from its fascinating and unreliable narrator to the Kennedys and Jimmy Hoffa and what it means that a group of old men can enjoy fine dining and red wine and love their families but still plot murder like its a banal transaction, comparable to any workplace obligation. The most interesting source I've found so far is an essay in The Atlantic by Jack Goldsmith (previous assistant attorney general; current professor at Harvard Law School; and step-son to Chuckie O'Brien, who is still alive and played by one of my favorites, Jesse Plemons, in The Irishman). Read Goldsmith's essay here: Jimmy Hoffa, My Stepfather, and Me

Best Controversial Viewing Experience - Richard Jewell

I don’t mind controversial, and I definitely don’t mind when a film makes me uncomfortable. Humans are creatures that swarm over one another, caught up in preconceptions and self-righteousness, always assuming but never truly knowing the full truth about one another. Richard Jewell was a security officer who took his job very seriously. He saved lives. Kathy Scruggs was a reporter who worked intense hours and put herself in precarious situations. She took her job seriously, too. Clint Eastwood is a director and producer of monumental proportions, taking his job seriously for decades on end (neither Jewell nor Scruggs had that opportunity). I left the theater feeling sad and contemplative, disconcerted by some elements and in awe of others (namely, Paul Walter Hauser, perhaps my favorite character actor of the decade). We humans put each other through a lot.

Best Thing Tom Hanks Did This Year - A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

This was so therapeutic! I spend too much time looking for flaws - in myself, others, questioning whether anyone really is who they say that they are. But Mr. Rogers says we’re all special, none of us as broken as we might feel. The investigative journalist tasked with profiling him ponders, “He’s just about the nicest person I’ve ever met. I just don’t know if he’s for real.” When Tom Hanks’ Mr. Rogers urged this journalist to join him in a silent minute, a minute to simply consider all the people who have loved us into being...I took that silent minute right with them and had tears in my eyes. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. Your doctrine of gratitude and compassion lives on.

Best Obligatory War Film - 1917

I love the ability of film to take me to places I’ve never been to, to experience things I will never understand. I can’t grasp how wars begin, how to be heroic, to follow orders, to wade through death and destruction and resume any semblance of “normal” in the aftermath (in the event of surviving the incomprehensible). The decision to portray 1917 in one continuous shot worked for me; I know this has been criticized by some viewers. I felt the young soldiers’ urgency and hesitation, their devastation in the midst of carrying on (because what else could they do?). The film captures a day’s worth of horror in a war that killed millions, in a way that feels somehow slow-motion...like a very bad dream you just want to wake up from.

Best Southern Accent by a British Actor - Knives Out

Don’t supersize your Coca-Cola for this one - there is no appropriate time to step out of the theater! This was witty and well-paced. I love movies that quicken the pulse and maintain a quirky, hilarious self-awareness. The cast was phenomenal, the dialogue was clever, the plot twisted around in a terrific way, and I can’t wait to see this again.

Most Endearing Performances by Young Actors - Jojo Rabbit

What does it mean to be a human? How can we teach children what it means? This was at once heartbreaking, horrifying, thought-provoking and thoughtfully hilarious. Scarlett Johansson as Jojo’s brave and plucky mom was my favorite part. I want to read more Rilke and be a better member of humankind after watching this. I recommend to anyone interested in the same!

Best Melancholy Self-Discovery Expedition in Outer Space - Ad Astra

Watching this was a meditative & contemplative experience. If there is no other life form when we look to the stars, we’re left with those who have been with us all along.

Most Impressed I've Ever Been with Jennifer Lopez (and no, I'm not talking about the 2020 Superbowl Halftime Show) - Hustlers

Oh, this was interesting. For someone who’s never set foot in a strip club, I feel awkward stating an opinion. What I liked about it is that there were no clear heroes or villains...just people, making their way through their messed up lives.
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PS: JLo is so cool.

Best Story About Something You Don't Care About but Probably Should - Dark Waters

The non-obvious, the “unsung” heroes - those have always been the most heroic to me. They’re the ones who persistently fight for what is right without any limelight whatsoever. I’d never heard of Rob Bilott before Dark Waters and am ashamed to admit it. This is the showcase he deserves.

Best Viewing Experience Despite Completely Missing the Filmmaker's Point - Us

I’m a nervous newbie to the horror genre and appreciate the artful craft of Jordan Peele. His version of horror is thought-provoking over nightmare-inducing (although I certainly triple-checked my walk-in closet for a murderous doppelgänger for weeks after seeing Us, and the ending’s ill-omened twist still makes my skin crawl). I don’t doubt that Peele had a purpose for each piece of this blood-soaked puzzle...I’m just pretty sure I missed the point.

Andie MacDowell's Most Stark Contrast to Rita in Groundhog Day - Ready or Not

  

Ready or Not was more comedy than horror, if you don’t mind some [a ton of] gore. I love Andie MacDowell as Rita Hanson in Groundhog Day and found her stark contrast filling the role of a murderous mother-in-law to be quite entertaining. I could describe this film in a similar way to how many people consume something indulgent: fast-paced, digestibly thrilling, tastefully over-the-top, and quite satisfying in the end.

Best Cast in a Real-Life Courtroom Drama - Just Mercy

My naivety was shocked and appalled at how little power the truth seems to hold in our criminal justice system. Bryan Stevenson’s crusade for the truth, his definition of justice, paid off for one man in Just Mercy, launching a career-full of vindication for the wrongly accused (and he’s still crusading). Michael B. Jordan caught my attention as the impoverished, gritty quarterback of East Dillon High in Friday Night Lights, and he’s certain to never leave that limelight with his subsequent stream of high-caliber performances. His Stevenson was stoically heroic. I found myself wincing in anticipation of what baseless nonsense he’d have to experience next in order to serve his client with basic, human rights. The pacing of the film - young optimism followed by reality check followed by a shade of hope followed by setback after setback after setback - reinforced the insanely difficult road Stevenson chose for himself. This pacing (which I read felt “plodding” to some viewers) thoughtfully emphasized how little glamour Stevenson’s work involves. I believe that was an important point to make. All that plodding (if it must be called such) leads up to a decisive matter of seconds in the courtroom: a spineless district attorney (Tommy Chapman, played diabolically well by Rafe Spall), after all his fanatical opposition to the truth - to justice - admits it at last. With a snap of his fingers, justice is served. How can one have so much power, while some have almost none? Just Mercy is emotional and persuasively non-flashy - a film every human concerned for other humans should make time to see.