If you read this blog with any regularity, you are probably familiar with the extremely high standards that Susan and I maintain. The standards are important in all areas of my life, for example, when it comes to watching movies. My number one rule is to never watch movies that have someone holding a gun on the cover. I just hate car chases, super cool tough guys who know what to say right before they take the bad people in for good, and shoot-outs, even if it’s supposed to be comedy, which it almost never is. That eliminates about half of the movies out there, so you can see, the standard is already very high. I also don’t like to watch any movies that have creepy, dead kids on the cover, or women with weird, scary eyes and blood dripping from their fangs. Again, this cuts that half into another half or perhaps a third of that. Of the 1/4 or 1/6 of movies left that I’m willing to watch (comedies and dramas about British ladies having epiphanies in Italy), I generally rule out those with girls in bathing suits on the cover or anything where females are sort of decorations, hanging on fully-clothed men like jewelry or perhaps a fancy car. So, you can see, with these stringent preferences, I am down to one or two Hollywood movies per year. You would think my family would be proud of me, but they get awfully grouchy on Friday nights when I refuse to watch whatever they can find or criticize it mercilessly until they put their hands over their ears and start singing “I’ve been working on the railroad all the livelong day” to block me out. It’s a dirty job, but I’m glad to do it.