Driving home was an exercize in nostalgia. The radio was tuned to the classic rock station, as it often is, but in the twenty-five minutes I was in the car, I knew every song. I loved every song. And I didn't even know that I did.

"Sultans of Swing", "Hotel California", "L.A. Woman", and others I don't even know the names of. These are embryonic memories, really, incidental. My father loved that music, and so I heard it growing up, and now, hearing it again, I discover that I love it, too. I find I know all the words to songs I never tried to learn, songs I haven't heard in years.

My father tells me that he would play the Doors when I was very small, and dance with me. I can almost remember. I do remember being perched on his hip, his hands supporting me against gravity as we spun and spun until I laughed. Then he dipped me, and I screamed, joyfully, terrified I'd fall. Except I wasn't scared, really. I don't remember if it was the Doors that we spun to, but I suppose it must have been. I suppose it doesn't matter. I hear those songs and I remember - not events, not things, just something nameless. Maybe it's the feeling of spinning that I remember, and strong hands that I know will never let me fall.

I am mired in memory these days, it seems.

This movie - it's called Savior. It's not happy. But it is beautiful, in parts. And it ripped my guts out, very quietly.

I don't describe movies well. This is what Roger Ebert said (etc): "'Savior' is a brutally honest war film that looks unblinkingly at how hate and prejudice can pose as patriotism."

Yes, that. And it's brutally human, too. God, sometimes I wish I were more political. I wish I knew how to be political. I wish all attempts to become so didn't inevitably end, very quickly, in utter hopelessness.