I have not voted today, nor do I plan to. Back in September, I wrote about how, because of the anxiety it was causing, I had gone on a news embargo. The only news that I got of the outside world and its politics came from seeing random headlines that happened to be on websites I visited. I ignored the local papers on the rack at the corner bodega, and chucked the copies of the Times delivered to my door every weekend, still wrapped in plastic, straight into the bin. Bookmarks for news sites on my computer were ignored. Since then, I've slowly been able to reintegrate myself with current events, but only in an uncommitted fashion. Because I care so much about what happens in this country and the world, I cannot care about it. Put another way, I was damaging my psyche to such an extent by investing myself emotionally in politics that the only way I can feel comfortable being up to date is by being a dispassionate observer.

Woe be to the viewer when a film series becomes tired. At first there was innovation, followed by repetition. Afterwards comes mediocrity, before, finally, the series descends into total and utter garbage. Such is the case with the last film in this year's Horrorshow, Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers. From the opening scene through denouement, the sixth entry in the Halloween franchise is a tedious affair. So tedious, in fact, that I was worried I wouldn't be able to pay enough attention to this movie to write about it. It was a close call. More than once while I was watching a text message would come in or I would want to look up a member of the cast or crew on the internet, and any deviation in my focus threatened to derail my comprehension of on screen events. How could I possibly write a review of this dog if I couldn't remember what I just saw? I've stopped watching films after fifteen or twenty minutes and still written reviews, but the difference between those films and this one is that, although I only spent a short time with those films, I was able to keep my focus. Halloween 6 was a struggle from beginning to end.

Clive Barker has a sick little mind. There's no other explanation. His idea of a dimension of pure pleasure becomes twisted into a place of unending pain, and thus are birthed the Cenobites, cinema's most inventive sadomasochistic villains.

One of the reasons I like films in other languages is the subtitles force a viewer to pay attention. I'm just as bad as anyone else at juggling their technological experiences in the 21st century. I've been conditioned by products and my own indulgences to never be satisfied with just sitting still and watching one single thing. While watching football games or movies in English, I can keep up the pretense that multi-tasking is possible, as my attention wanders to whatever device is at hand. I can convince myself that listening provides the same experience as watching, even while my attention shifts completely to a website or messaging app. But not with a movie that has subtitles. If I want to have any sort of understanding of events on screen, I have to read those little lines of translated dialogue or I'm completely lost. Idea: watch movies in English with the sound down so low I have to use captioning. That should keep me interested, right?

This film is a horror cult classic. It's one of those flicks a person's friends tell them about in high school. The teller's eyes get big and mature elocution disappears. "Oh, man! You have got to see this movie. The ending is crazy!" No further details are given. The line has been drawn. Those that have seen the movie are in an exclusive club, while those who have not are on the outside, looking in with envy. Then the moment comes when a person finally sits down and sees the slasher flick with the shocking twist ending...and it's a piece of shit.