The most unrealistic aspect of The Walking Dead is that there aren’t more accidental shootings. They’d be frequent because nearly everyone is packing heat all the time, is constantly afraid, and almost none have military training (police training is mostly useless for this).

There’d probably be about a 10-20% death rate from accidental shootings, especially in the first few years.

To the woman in Seattle who said my partner and I could not possibly have a healthy relationship because we’d never had a screaming, fighting argument.

It’s been ten years now. Ten great years. No screaming, stay-in-a-hotel arguments at all. Not one. By most people’s standards, no arguments at all really.

In your face, presumptuous Seattle lady!

One of the things I like about David Lynch movies is that he takes the film as dream — cinema as delirium, as hallucination, as reverie — and says, “Let’s really dream, then.”

And then he throws narrative in the trash. Discards plausibility for impression, much as life itself does. Refutes causality with the very human quotidian perspective of what seems to be is all there is, all we can really know.

Identities blur. Thoughts and actions coalesce into nothing sensible, only something sensed.

And then there is no dénouement. Not really. Only further delusion, or illusion, in some universe that if not Lovecraftian-hostile is at least inimical to human striving for happiness.

Lynch’s surrealism and phantasmagoria makes his films the most realistic of all the movies I’ve seen.