My cousin posing with a postal box in Copenhagen in 2024.
I was sad to hear that the Danish postal service recently decided to stop mailing letters, because one of my favorite stories about my family members in Denmark involves two women with the exact same name sending letters to each other.
That was cool.
See, I have two aunts in Denmark with the same name, first and last. For the sake of everyone’s privacy, though, I will call them Annika Nielsen.
And the first Annika Nielsen, my father’s sister, loved to tell me how fun it was to send letters to the second aunt Annika Nielsen, who married her brother, so hey could laugh about how the postal person delivering the letters might be thinking, “Oh, this poor woman; she’s so lonely she has to send letters to herself!”
But these days there aren’t enough Annikas, or anyone else, in Denmark sending letters, cards or even bills to justify the country continuing having its postal service deliver them. As proof, when I asked my first aunt Annika when was the last time she mailed a letter, even she couldn’t remember!
Though my aunt did report that if she does ever need to mail a letter or package, she has easy options nearby, so I needn't mourn the loss of letter service.
So instead I'll go back to mourning what I will never find in my mailbox ever again: A red envelope mailed from Netflix, which decided 2.5 years ago to stop mailing DVDs:
The movies I saw in February delivered a nice dose of nostalgia, especially the re-release of Pretty in Pink, which my high school friend and I both fell in love with 40 years ago.
“I felt seen,” my friend said when I asked her recently why she enjoyed that movie so much, and I agreed that the main character of Andie was very much like both of us: Not-rich girls who attended a high school full of rich classmates, then came home to a single parent who was often not up to the task of providing either financial or emotional support.
And while my friend tactfully described her lone parent as “imperfect,” I would describe mine as neglectful. (But luckily I had Mechele to help fill the void after my mother died.)
1. Pretty in Pink (In the theater 2/14/2026, but first in 1986!) Grade: N/A
I didn’t give this movie a grade because I can’t be impartial. Given that I was living alone with my often depressed and under-employed father just like Molly Ringwald’s character Andie, I identified with this teen romance far more than any other I saw in the 1980s.
Yet I was also disappointed by that romance far more than any other because to this day I am still upset about the boy Andie chose at the end, which was the “richie” Blaine played by Andrew McCarthy instead of her best friend Duckie played by Jon Cryer, who I had a huge crush on. But more than preferring Cryer over McCarthy, I knew that Andie and Duckie had great love and respect for each other, while nothing about Andie and Blaine’s relationship made any sense to me.
But apparently early audiences did not agree with me, as director Howard Deutch is seen explaining in clips shown before my 40th anniversary screening that the first ending was what I wanted: Andie realizing her best friend was a far better companion to choose than a boy she hardly knew and seemed to have little in common with. However, Deutch said that test audiences were so unhappy when Andie didn’t “get the boy,” (yes, even booing!) that the filmmakers quickly shot new scenes that had Duckie insisting Andie go with Blaine, and the movie ends with them kissing in the parking lot. Boo!
I still think she chose the wrong boy, but it was fun to see my theater nearly full for a 40-year-old movie. Which, I am not ashamed to admit, still made me cry decades later when Andie shows up to the Prom alone and is about to leave until Duckie appears to escort her inside.
I am also not ashamed to admit that while the movie has a great soundtrack (which of course I bought on cassette tape) and a great supporting performance by Annie Potts, the movie itself is, actually, not all that great.
2. Crime 101 (In the theater, 2/21/2026) Grade: A
I loved a lot about this movie, especially seeing Mark Ruffalo as Columbo, my favorite TV detective on one of my very favorite TV shows. Ruffalo didn’t bring a trench coat or cigar butt everywhere, but he was a dogged detective whose old car and rumpled stye deftly distracts everyone from his skills while he quietly picks up clues they didn’t know were dropped.
The rest of the cast was also a treat, with a raspy Nick Nolte oozing menace despite seeming barely able to breathe, and the always charming Chris Hemsworth easily making you root for his character despite his growing rap sheet.
My favorite performance, however, was Halle Berry, despite her being miscast as an insurance agent supposedly past her prime. Because at nearly 60, the actress still made her 53-year-old character look twice as hot as the young woman hired to hook clients she supposedly can't land anymore.
Yes, Crime 101 may borrow from many movies before it, and yes, it ends with a bunch of bad deeds tucked neatly into a box with a pretty bow on top, but I thoroughly enjoyed this slow burn of a story that trusted its audiences to pay attention without needless nudity, violence or special effects. In fact, it would have made for a great episode of Columbo!
Long before our phones could instantly show us every photograph we take, we had to develop the film inside our camera before seeing what images we captured.
And while many of us just dropped off that mystery mix of magic and mistakes somewhere that could churn out both negatives and prints in about an hour, my father always took his film rolls to a local photo lab for more personalized service.
That was cool.
Because I loved going to the photo lab with my father when I was a kid. I can still hear the bell ring on the door, smell the chemicals in the air and feel the anticipation as we waited for someone to emerge from the back for my favorite part: Pulling out the magnifying tool for our first glimpse of the negatives.
Because as much as I loved just looking at my father’s photographs, I loved even more getting to see how they were brought to life, feeling very adult as I soaked in every step of the process from deciding which frames to print and how to make them look their best.
And though the exchanges at the photo lab were technically business transactions, with my father trying to make a living as a professional photographer and the lab tech performing a job, their interactions always felt less about money and more about art to me: Two craftspeople working together to make the best product possible, each knowing that they couldn’t do their best work without the other.
And I felt a bit of that artistic camaraderie again recently when a photo lab in San Francisco started printing a magazine. Yes, in this day of social media posts that last maybe seconds, this lab decided to post permanent photographs in the form of an actual printed magazine.
“We wanted to make a magazine to foster more connection in the community we’ve built with so many photographers over the many years Photoworks has been around," said Rhonda Smith, explaining that she and her co-workers were “definitely inspired by Pamplemousse, a magazine founded by a former Photoworks employee.”
Each time Photoworks has asked people to submit photos for these guest magazines, Smith, who served as senior editor, curator and interviewer for the lab’s third magazine, said “we have gotten a couple hundred submissions, with the second edition receiving nearly 500 submissions.”
When asked how many copies they print, she said that number is based on how many photographers are featured in each magazine “and the amount we could realistically sell and be able to break even on production costs. Also as those of us who work on the magazine are also doing our every day tasks in the store, it can take longer than we plan to finish it, but we do hope to have two annually.”
You can certainly argue that such an endeavor is far from altruistic, likely ultimately launched as another way to make money; but everyone with a photograph featured in the magazine was offered a free copy, allowing each person to see their artwork published in a high-quality product full of beautiful and interesting photographs, which is an exhilarating experience no matter how, or how many times, it happens.
And having a print product feels almost revolutionary in today's world, where we keep getting more connected than ever in all the ways that don't matter, while feeling less and less connected in all the ways that do matter: those tangible, tactile ways of meeting face-to-face, shaking hands, and even sharing a drink or a meal together.
Which is exactly what happened when the magazine was celebrated with a launch party, a gathering of real people in real time instead of in a digital post that people scroll past and forget even before the next post appears. And standing there by a counter to pick up my magazine with the smell of chemicals in the air, surrounded by photographs and photographers, reminded me of how I first fell in love with taking pictures: Going to the photo lab with my father.*
That was super cool.
See more of the magazine in my ode to old-school media in the video below:
* My father's birthday was this month, so I would like to wish the man who always encouraged me to both form and express my own opinions on everything a very happy birthday, and to thank him again for introducing me to the wonderful world of photography.
I didn’t see many movies in January, but those I did watch packed a surprisingly satisfying punch; all three featured women defying the control of others to carve new paths for their lives, with most carving those paths straight through their captors with very sharp knives.
That was cool.
And while my favorite movie of the trio features a woman realizing that the VIP club she desperately wants to join is just a gilded cage, my favorite character was a woman suddenly released from her cage of conformity and quickly realizing her true talents lie in plotting revenge, not playing nice.
January’s movies:
1. Anora (On DVD rented from library, 1/10/2026) Grade: A
Last year I was disappointed that Demi Moore didn’t win an Oscar for her work in “The Substance,” but after finally seeing “Anora,” I full embrace the Best Actress win by Mikey Madison. Not only did I believe every moment of her portrayal, I would have given her the statue just for the screaming fit she throws to keep two men from containing her, as their response to her full-bodied revolt created one of the funniest scenes I have ever watched.
And that comedy came at just the right time, for I was about to give up on this movie that lifts bits of plot and dialog from “Pretty Woman,” but little else from that fairytale. Because while the 1990 movie was essentially a rom-com/Cinderella story with just a side of sex work ordered from the kids menu, “Anora” has our main character’s body being rented by a man with far more realistic demands than Richard Gere’s too-driven-to-date businessman.
The resulting debauchery and disrespect inflicted on our heroine in this movie almost had me turning it off, but I am very glad I stuck with this slow-burning love story, which I not only found more realistic, but far more satisfying, than the nearly squeaky clean “Pretty Woman.”
2. Blink Twice (On DVD rented from the library, 1/17/2026) Grade: B+
I’ll admit it, I picked “Blink Twice” off the shelves because Channing Tatum was on the DVD cover. And knowing really nothing else about this movie, I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it despite Tatum playing almost a bit part.
To avoid giving away too much of the plot, I’ll just describe “Blink Twice” as a nice mix of Fantasy Island and Get Out (and did I detect a dash of that creepy movie in which director Zoe Kravitz’s mom starred called Angel Heart?) that delivered an impressively edited feast of sounds, music and visuals that kept my attention far more competently than “Him,” which failed to create even a fraction of the “what the heck is happening?!” ambiance this movie deftly maintains throughout.
3. Send Help (In the theater, 1/31/2026)Grade: C
The best thing about this movie was Rachel McAdams, which was another surprise because I’d never quite warmed to her before. But here she exudes the perfect mix of cheerful-yet-creepy as a ridiculed outcast who suddenly gains power and popularity when civilization collapses around her. The only actress I’ve seen doing that role better these days is Christina Ricci in “Yellowjackets.”
But overall, the movie felt like a mediocre mix of the two great movies “Cast Away” and “Misery,” since it pales in comparison to both. My favorite parts of “Cast Away” are watching Tom Hanks opening packages, learning to fish and build a fire, but this movie decides not to show us much of how Linda adapts to the island she is dropped on, preferring instead to linger on her punishing her former boss.
Yet unlike “Misery,” when it came time for any actual torture, “Send Help” shies away from Linda physically maiming her boss unlike Kathy Bates’ Annie does to her captive, instead deciding to linger far too long on our two main characters squabbling with decidedly uninteresting chemistry, and mysteriously having the most violent scene not even featuring a human victim.
As someone who can definitely identify with Linda's inability to adapt to “polite society,” I wanted this movie to get far more detailed and depraved that it dared, and wish a director like David Fincher had been hired to relish in showing us exactly how Linda realizes her full potential.
One of my favorite places to visit is the beach at Big River in Mendocino County. Not just because its beautiful and full of wildlife, but because I always seem to find something a bit magical every time I walk its sandy shore.
Like one foggy morning when horses were trotting on the sand. Or another morning when I met the person I want to be in old age: A woman well into her 80s who swims in that water every chance she gets.
“You do this every day?” I asked her as she treaded water in that beautiful spot, made even more beautiful by the ripples of light in the waves she was creating.
She paused, likely deciding whether or not to even respond to this stranger interrupting her meditative exercise, then finally answered me with a simple: “Try to.”
That was cool.
Because I’ve thought about her ever since, this woman fully embracing life, not content to waste her last years letting her body decay in a recliner while watching television like another woman I knew on the edge of 80.
So the next time I was at Big River, I was drawn back down to the shore, hoping she might be there again. And though she wasn’t swimming in the river that day because it was wintertime and the water too cold, while searching for her again I found something even cooler: A whole group of women who swim there every day!
A member of the Big River Swim Team poses near the team's decal.
Members of the Big River Swim Team, they are a group of friends in their 50, 60s and 70s, who don wetsuits to brave the cold beauty of Big River for their daily swim.
“Why do you do this?” I asked them, though of course I knew why: exercise, companionship, accomplishment, and nature. All things that make you feel better, all things included in one daily swim at Big River.
And of course those cool women knew the first swimmer I met, but told me she didn’t swim in the river past November.
“I want to be her,” I told Eileen, 64, who was drying off after swimming nearly two miles in the river.
My favorite movie I saw in December was also my favorite Christmas present this year, since it gifted me 90-plus minutes of hanging out with three of my favorite people: Jack Black, Paul Rudd, and a beloved family member.
Yes, the first two were technically only present on the movie screen, and yes, my companion and I didn't have to go to the theater to watch those actors together, but we did need a break from our menfolk.
So I respectfully disagree with a recent column by Mick LaSalle, a film critic for the San Francisco Chronicle, in which he couldn't come up with a reason for anyone to see a movie at just a standard multiplex playing new releases anymore. Because we had two very good reasons to go to the movies that day: First, to escape our spouses and enjoy some belly laughs together, and second, to hear those laughs magnified by all the people around us. That was very cool.
The movies I saw in December were:
1. Anaconda (12/26/2025, in the theater) Grade: A
This movie was everything I wanted, an impressive feat given how excited I was after first seeing the trailer: Jack Black? Good! Paul Rudd? Good! Goofy reboot of Anaconda? Super good!
And unlike the disappointing sequel to The Accountant that also had me super excited after its trailer (more on The Accountant 2 here), this movie delivered, being both fun and relevant for people my age, with just enough silliness on top to entertain any kids (and grandkids!) we brought along.
2. Fatman (12/20/2025, Netflix) Grade: B
This movie was a slow burn, one best savored by super fans of Walton Goggins and Mel Gibson who are not expecting typical holiday fare, as this was a most a-typical Christmas movie with a most a-typical Santa.
And while I certainly appreciated every scene with Mr. Goggins, I could have enjoyed much more time with grumpy Gibson driving around in his Ford pick-up with a bottle of milk balancing on the dashboard and plate of cookies next to him on the seat, especially since an older Ford F-150 is just about my favorite vehicle to watch, either on screen or in real life.
3. Song Sung Blue (12/28/2025, in the theater) Grade: C-
It breaks my heart a little to give this movie a poor grade, because Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson were delightful as low-rent lounge singers who find success as a Neil Diamond tribute band, and I could have happily watched many more scenes of them learning to harmonize, arguing over which song to start their concerts with, and how much time and effort they were going to spend getting his hair just right.
But much like the recent Bruce Springsteen biopic (more on “Deliver me from Nowhere” here), this movie spent way too much time off-stage wallowing in the sad parts of the story instead of giving the audience what it really wants: to sing some fun songs with some fun, good-looking people who also happen to be pretty good singers.
And much like Jackman’s Lightning refusing to start concerts with the fan favorite “Sweet Caroline,” it felt like this movie just didn’t want to give the audience what it wanted. Proven by my theater’s response to the credits, which was crickets: How could you possibly have more than two hours of Hugh Jackman, Kate Hudson and super-catchy Neil Diamond songs and not have people at least clapping afterward, let alone cheering?
I think most people, including me, would have enjoyed this movie much more if it left out many of the tragic twists and turns of the true story it was based on, letting its perfectly cast stars shine as the charismatic and talented real people they were portraying, while letting audiences seek out the rest of the story on the documentary that served as its source material.
I also wish Jackman had asked James Mangold, who directed him in "Logan," to take the helm, since Mangold proved twice, first in "Walk the Line" and next in "A Complete Unknown," that he can make meaningful-yet-enjoyable movies about imperfect musicians that neither skirt nor dwell on the bad bits.
Now, at last, the movies my grandmother saw in December of 1998:
Thursday, Dec. 3:
Ate KFC, pot pie.
To Show, “Bug’s Life.”
Home 4:30 p.m., worked on taxes.
Thursday, Dec. 10:
To McDonald’s for coffee.
Looked for pants at Penney’s, Gottschalks. Some Vanderbilts and Lees.
To show, “Home Fries.” Drew Barrymore, Luke Wilson? About “country” folks!
Friday, Dec. 18:
To post office, mailed 7 cards.
Longs, returned video.
To show, “Prince of Egypt.” Good.
Saturday, Dec. 19:
Coffee and donut on Ocean Avenue.
To show, “Gods and Monsters.” Ian McKellan, wonderful film.
Newspapers sold out in many places, found 3 left at Drug Emporium.
Thursday, Dec. 24:
Justine here 3:30 p.m. Drove to see lights.
To show, “Gods and Monsters.” She had pizza.
Home 9:30. Some TV.
Tuesday, Dec. 29:
Wakened by quakes, 4:38. Back to sleep after moving lamps and gorilla.
To show after donut/coffee. “Shakespeare in Love.” Great.
The best thing I did in 2025 was also the craziest: Driving several hours just to see a big wooden troll.
And while I still don’t know exactly why I felt compelled to see Lulu, the first Thomas Dambo troll to be installed indoors at the California Nature Art Museum in Solvang, I do know that meeting her sparked an obsession that soon had me driving across two states to see six more trolls in the Pacific Northwest.
That was cool.
Because after seeing Lulu, I started researching the other Dambo trolls I could drive to, and soon found myself visiting an old friend in Washington State who lived near five of his sculptures.
And though I hadn’t seen Patty in 10 years, she still dropped everything to not only offer me a place to stay, but to spend a full day driving us around (and across!) the Puget Sound so we could fulfill my dream of seeing all five of the Thomas Dambo trolls near Seattle in one day.
“That’s why we’re friends,” Patty said. “We both like doing crazy stuff like this.”
And after eight hours of searching that included two ferry rides, when we reached the fifth troll on Bainbridge Island and completed a mission we were told halfway through was “impossible,” I was high as a kite.
“We saw all five today, this is our last one!” I exclaimed proudly to a woman who just happened to be visiting the same troll with her young daughter.
“Wow,” she said flatly. “That's a lot of driving.”
At first confused by her response, I soon realized that she probably just wanted me to go away because I was not only a stranger, but a super strange stranger who was super excited about some super crazy quest that just sounded like a super big waste of time and gas.
So if you don’t want to find yourself on some super crazy quest like me, whatever you do in 2026, don’t go see Lulu.
Or on second thought, maybe do.
Because if I hadn’t gone down to see Lulu, I wouldn’t have climbed Valencia Peak in Los Osos and met my new favorite picnic table. (More on that here.)
And then I wouldn’t have completed my “impossible" quest with Patty, a great travel companion who I am already planning another grand adventure with for 2026. And though talking to that unimpressed woman at the fifth troll on Bainbridge Island had me briefly second-guessing my life choices, on my drive back to California I became even more grateful for Lulu and the troll fever she gave me.
While staying in Oregon on my drive home, I learned that my mother-in-law had taken a bad fall and would not be able to go home again. Even worse, she very likely would never walk again.
The next morning, I got back on the road as soon as it was light, and around sunrise I stopped at a covered bridge I spotted from I-5 in southern Oregon.
Named “Grave Creek” in honor of a 16-year-old who died while trying to complete a far more important quest than mine, that bridge felt like the perfect place to end my journey: Because while walking over it, all I could think about was how just being able to walk at all would feel like an impossible quest to my mother-in-law, which made me even more grateful that I could still take road trips. And, yes, that I decided to take that silly one to meet Lulu.
So my advice for 2026 is this: That crazy quest you're dreaming about? Just do it. And do it now.
