I used to love movies. Back in the day, my friends and I — since there weren’t any girls around to make out with — used to spend entire weekends watching movies. We’d watch comedies, dramas, action flics. Mainstream movies and movies no one had ever heard of. We’d have themes, like watching Heat, Casino and City Hall in one sitting, or Raw and Delirious, back-to-back. I remember even one time, way back in the day, when my friends actually watched Clerks four or five times in an afternoon. Hey, what else were we going to do? And besides, you never know when being able to quote The Brother from Another Planet may come in handy.

Ever since I moved down to Los Angeles, I sort of stopped watching movies. I stopped going to the theater because it’s $10 a ticket and Hollywood doesn’t seem intent on putting out movies that are worth sitting still for 2 hours. I stopped renting movies because…well, see, I’m not exactly sure why I stopped renting movies. But I did. Before my two new roomies movied in, I think I’d probably seen maybe 4 or 5 movies in the last year. Surprisingly, there were even some good movies out there to be had, so I can’t even blame Hollywood.

After listening to my new roomies complain for the umpteenth time about having to walk the six blocks down to our local video store (which, by the way, rocks, as they rent new releases for about $2.50), I finally pulled the trigger and did something I’ve been meaning to do, well, since it was invented:

I signed up for Netflix.

Now, the only reason I mention this is because there are some weird “friends” things you can do on Netflix, where — I’m guessing — you can share queues and recommend shit and whatever. I’m not exactly sure how any of this works, mind you, but if you want to be my friend, and impress me with your impeccable taste in shitty Bolivian documentaries about transvestites who can’t get jobs in the aroma-therapy market, now’s your chance.