I used to write an annual Top 10 films of the year; almost every year since 2004. The yearly list survived from Livejournal, to a few years on a myspace blog, and perhaps was even incarnated on a blogger account at some point. Tumblr is the blog du jour, and in keeping with the truncated aesthetic, I’ll attempt to keep it short. (Editors note: this does not happen)

Honestly I can’t name 10 good movies from this year. If I had to list 10, some of the bottom films would be films I had major problems with. The list of movies I actually enjoyed from this year is short, eclectic, and will cause embarrassment years from now.

In no particular order, here are my favorite handful of films from 2011, one of the worst years in the history of cinema:

Midnight in Paris, Bridesmaids, Rango, Rise of Planet of the Apes, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, The Muppets.

Six movies. Disgusting. I remember back when I had a myspace, one year could only garner seven names. A year ago, if you told me the words “Planet” and “Apes” would be in the accolade section of my year-end top 10, I would’ve jumped off a bridge. But alas, here we are. Thomas Felton as a maniacally evil stepson zookeeper and an Owen Wilson starring vehicle are things that I am actually recommending to other humans beings who I wish to speak to and impress.

That’s it. See those movies. I liked them a lot.

I would, for a second, like to talk about the two most critically acclaimed films of the year which, as you noticed, are NOT on this list.

The first is The Artist. The Artist is a perfectly nice film. It is not the best movie of the year. This is a distinction that needs to be made. Harkening back to an older style of making movies just because you can does not make it transcendent. It’s fine to honor a specific tradition of film-making, but calling something the best of the year because it’s just the most different of the year is a very reactionary position. I wasn’t emotionally tied to many of the characters; by about the fourth time the main guy (the artist??!) has a breakdown and loses everything I got a little wearisome. I don’t have too many arrows to throw at this movie so I won’t say things I’m not willing to back up. Again, let’s not call the most different thing the best thing. It’s tough to take a huge dump on this movie because I actually did enjoy it for the most part, but to say it’s even as good as The Muppets is a stretch. Can’t believe I just said that.

The even bigger discrepancy between critical quality and actual quality this year was Hugo. Allow me to recreate every scene in the first hour and a half of this two-hour-PLUS children’s film:

Hit Girl: Hey where are you going?

Hugo: It doesn’t matter.

Hit Girl: Why can’t you tell me?

Hugo: We need to change the subject.

Hit Girl: What’s in your hand?

Hugo: Nothing.

Hit Girl: Can you please tell me?

Hugo: It’s so complicated you wouldn’t understand.

Hit Girl: My grandfather* is upset, I don’t know why.

Ben Kingsley: Get out of here, something about your actions is bringing back terrible memories, BUT I CAN’T TELL YOU WHAT THEY ARE.

Hugo: Why?

Ben Kingsley: Surely, you wouldn’t understand!

Hit Girl: Well maybe if…

Ben Kingsley: Please change the subject, I can’t tell anyone!

Hit Girl (V.O.): And then everything worked out!

Credits.

*I don’t think he plays anyone’s grandfather. I can’t remember for the life of me how Ghandi and Hit Girl come to live in the same house. THE MAGIC OF SCORSESE’S FILM-MAKING.

This movie would’ve been a great episode of a TV show if ANY character just spoke their mind instead of acting like an irrationally stubborn character on LOST. It would’ve been 22 minutes, and it would’ve mostly been composed of the famed flash-back sequences, which you’ve do doubt heard of already.

FILM-MAKING TIP: If your movie is only recognized because of an extended flash-back sequence that really has nothing to do with the plot of the movie, you don’t have a good movie on your hands. Like The Artist, Hugo convinces its audience that classically nostalgic imagery is substance rather than creating its own iconography from original content.

That was a problem with all of this years movies, and maybe my thinking is irrational considering the six movies I mentioned as my favorites earlier: a pulp-novel adaptation, a big-budget prequel to a decades-old scifi franchise, a nostalgic musical about a decades-old children’s franchise, a romcom ABOUT nostalgia starring caricatures of famous authors, and an animated western that’s essentially a Stoppardian homage to the genre and its form.

Perhaps the most original film in my list was Bridesmaids. The true irony about that is the narrative the public created in weeks following the film’s release: it was a female-driven attempt at recreating a frat-pack type comedy. In the comedy circles I travel WOMEN were coming up to me and saying “oh, it’s so good for being a movie about women.” STOP UNDERCUTTING YOURSELVES. Why should the movie be stuck with the qualifier “for being a movie about women?” That’s a terrible thing to say! Oh god, this is about to get real embarrassing: “Barbershop is a good movie for being about black people.” NO! Barbershop is a good movie because it’s a good movie. Bridesmaids is a good movie for the same reason. This year people seem to be taking away originality from the truly original and applying it to the aesthetically original.

Thank god we have some PT Anderson coming out next year.

I’m a picky eater. I admit it. THERE. It’s the first step. But I’m tryin’, Ringo, I’m tryin’ to get better about it. To put it simply, my least favorite flavor/texture combos happen to be lettuce, tomato and onion, which unfortunately for me are the big three vegetables in American cuisine. I like spinach a lot so I can get around lettuce with spinach salads, spinach on a hamburger, etc. I’ll eat an onion ring so apparently they aren’t all that bad. Plus, finely chopped onions are in tons of things, and I tend to deal. Most people can sympathize with an onion hater. Tomatoes, well you can just get those motherfuckers away from me. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to touch them, I don’t want to hear them unless they are ketchup or marinara sauce. Got it? I’m serious.

Other than those three big hurdles, I’ve come a long way in my life. Something about sushi (and cold seafood in general) irks me. I love shrimp, can’t touch shrimp cocktail. I’ll eat, or at least try most other things (within reason, Joe Rogan! {who follows my tumblr religiously}), but needless to say, growing up as a much pickier eater than I am now has led to some neuroses later in life: specifically the conundrum of ordering food for a whole party.

Recently a coworker posted on Facebook that she had won 25 free burritos courtesy of Chipotle because her business card was drawn from one of those fishbowl contests by the register. People were mostly excited at the prospect of getting a free stool loosener and I was more then ecstatic that I wouldn’t have to endure one of my habitually least favorite in-store dining experiences. The conversation continued, “how exciting!” “this is the best week of our lives!” “I wonder what we’ll get?” INSTANTLY my pupils dialated, I went into fight-or-flight mode and then went on a five minute tirade, much to the chagrin of my office mates:

There is no way, when ordering 25 burritos to make people happy. Some people like rice, some people HATE rice. What kind of meat? Well I work in a New York theater, so I’m assuming a lot of people don’t eat meat. Cilantro? CILANTRO?????? What kind of beans? THESE ARE THE QUESTIONS WE NEED TO THINK ABOUT.

It all goes back to birthday parties for kids. Mom comes out, “alright, we’re ordering pizza for everyone, what do you kids want?” That’s essentially where it all goes to shit. Parents should realize that kids are idiots and if we gave every kid what they wanted to eat, we’d all be dead of type 2 diabetes by our Bar Mitzvahs. How come parents take over every aspect of a child’s life except for what they want on pizza? Is pizza the last refuge of childhood hopes and dreams? Does pizza only exist because children believe in it? Ask kids what they want on a pizza and you’re gonna get pizza with hot dogs, mayonnaise, and chocolate pudding on it (bad example— I would eat that without hesitation).

Back to the party. Mom wants to know what all the kids want. We get screams for cheese, cheese, and cheese, then one fucking asshole kid goes “hmmm, I could go for a mushroom pizza.” And why the mother listens to this poindexter shitwad, I don’t know. It’s a kids party! Get ALL cheese. ALL CHEESE. Anyways, in the interest of fairness and making everyone happy, two pizzas are ordered. One full cheese. One full mushrooms. For the ONE kid who requested it. Half hour later. Pizzas come, the cheese is devoured instantly and the one kid who asked for mushrooms, he doesn’t even commit to the mushrooms. He gets one slice of each! PIECE OF SHIT. The rest of us (me) are stuck picking off mushrooms, but it’s not the same. IT’S NOT THE FUCKING SAME AND YOU KNOW IT, so don’t tell me I can pick things off.

Sandwiches are the same deal. LET’S GET A 6 FOOT LONG SUB SANDWICH WITH JUST EVERYTHING ON IT BECAUSE THAT’S A GREAT IDEA FOR 4 PEOPLE.

Pizza is easy. Pizza is 3 ingredients and is as ingrained in our culture as the NFL, criticizing female celebrities, and greed. Burritos. So many weird combinations. I’m not sure what happened with the free burrito party. I heard that it didn’t actually take place. I’m not going when it happens. Too many bad memories. Too much raw emotion and aggression. A free burrito is something to celebrate, like a job promotion or a new baby. If I went to the free burrito party, I would be there cursing under my breath, eying the burritos. Wondering what was in their foil wrapping like Forrest Gump with a box of chocolates. Giving dirty looks to my coworkers. I’d be considered anti-social.

Mothers, fathers, business owners, party planners. Take heed. Make your own sandwich bar. Make your own burrito bar. Just cheese pizzas. Help me out. Help out the children.