12.02am

I was just on the verge of drifting off when your messages pinged through, one after the other. But only because I assumed you’d gone to sleep too. As soon as I heard the evidence that you hadn’t I was wide awake again, devouring everything you had to say.

Those are excellent choices.

And by excellent I mean they are both cool enough, and yet not so cool that I feel I have to lie about my own choices. If you had been one of those guys who lists obscure silent movies in French that were lost during the war, or macho films about gangsters probably played by Al Pacino, I might have pretended I loved stuff directed by Jean Luc Goddard.

Even though I honestly have no idea who he is.

He’s just the fanciest director I could think of.

But now I can be totally, one hundred percent honest. Here is my list, in all of its weird glory: Splash, Fargo, The Truth About Cats and Dogs, The Silence of the Lambs, Candyman.

Splash because I was so obsessed as a kid I once secretly made myself a tail, Fargo because catching criminals while my cuddly bald husband waited at home just seemed like the best kind of life to me, The Silence of the Lambs because of my lovely Clarice, my Clarice god I wanted to be Clarice so bad. The Truth About Cats and Dogs because it’s a meeting of minds not beautiful faces. And Candyman, because it’s a horror movie.

But also because it’s a romance.

Now, box sets.

I want to say Blackadder, but there are so few episodes. And it’s the same for American Gothic, even though I loved that show unreasonably. Dungeons and Dragons would have to go in, for old times’ sake.

But then I’m still so short on episodes.

Star Trek: The Next Generation would probably help out there. Does that get me to five? No, I need one more. Another long one, a juicier one. Maybe Dexter?

Yeah, Dexter.

Okay, your turn. And don’t skimp on the reasons!

1.40am

Nope, my days of pretending to like clever, obscure shit are over. The only people that crap ever impresses are insecure assholes, and I’m the only insecure asshole I’ve got room for in my life at this point. Jean Luc Goddard can suck it.

(Though I did like Weekend, legitimately. You should check it out. That plus Silence of the Lambs and you’ve got a cannibalism double feature!)

I hadn’t considered the quantity versus quality conundrum… Would I rather watch endless episodes of something kinda entertaining, or just a few episodes that are all genius? Shit.

Let’s just plunge in. Your scary movie picks are making me want all the old Tales from the Crypts. We had HBO for a couple years when I was little, and I remember staying up late, waiting for that show like it was a religion. No clue if they’d be any good as a grown-up, but I’d be willing to find out.

It’s probably a girl show, but I fucking love me some Six Feet Under. That’s just good TV. If our islands are adjacent, we could trade our Michael C. Hall stashes back and forth via a complex coconut raft and tether system.

For some reason, I think bringing every episode of The Bachelor or Survivor would be smart. I’ve never seen a single minute of either, but it seems like there’s a lot of episodes per season and a lot of seasons, so there’s quantity, plus I think The Bachelor would curb any torturous yearnings for civilization I might be tempted to suffer. Or I would become completely obsessed and overly emotionally involved. Either way, let’s throw one of those in the mix.

Duck Tales. If you didn’t grow up with Duck Tales, you basically had no childhood worth mentioning.

I think I need another quality collection to balance out the irony and nostalgia … something funny but well-written.

Oh shit, back up! I need to swap out Duck Tales and bring The Simpsons instead. Gazillions of episodes, even if I’d probably only ever fire up seasons two through eight. SNL is also a temptation for sheer volume, but I think I’ve made the right choice here.

And since that covers the funny factor, my final pick would be The X-Files. That one’s nostalgia, too, but also good writing, for the most part.

Now you—top five pop songs. The ones you never, ever switch the channel on when they come on the radio. Cheesier the better.

2.22am

I’m so glad I asked you not to skimp on reasons. Your reasons are so good. Like getting overly emotionally involved in The Bachelor, which I can completely see happening to me too. I would probably intend to stay aloof and ironic about it. But then the bachelor would choose Jessie over Susie and it would be bedlam.

Oh and yes yes yes a thousand times yes to Six Feet Under. I almost said that, but then wondered if it would make me seem obsessed with Hall. Even though I swear to god I barely noticed him when I first watched that show. And any feelings I have about Dexter are purely to do with him being essentially Batman.

If we were honest about what Batman does.

As for the rest if your choices: I would definitely need you to create the pulley system. I need Simpsons and X-Files and even Tales from the Crypt, even though I distinctly remember seeing an episode as a kid and not sleeping for the rest of my life.

Now: pop songs.

1. The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats. Both because it’s a lighthearted pop song and also because it’s probably what will play to herald the coming of our doom at the hands of a goblin army.

2. What Is Love by Haddaway. Probably for the same reason? I can definitely see Satan riding in on his chariot to this tune.

3. Push the Button by The Sugababes. Surely this must be a humiliating enough choice? They spell sugar wrong in their name. And yet I feel that this song is everything good about music.

4. I’m Like a Bird by Nelly Furtado. I think this might actually be an excellent choice. The kind of choice that posh, cultured people would make to diversify their lists of joyless dirges. But I’m putting it here anyway because it’s impossible to not.

5. Irreplaceable by Beyoncé. This has to go on the list, because not long ago I discovered to my total shock that it is the number one played song on my iPod. By an insanely huge amount. Like so insanely huge I’m a little concerned I’ve been sleepwalking to the sound of it playing.

Hopefully that was cheesy enough for you.

Now hit me with your own cheese.

4.29am

Jesus fuck, why am I not asleep?

Because we’re basically curating mix tapes, is why. I can agonize for days just over the song order in a mix, especially if there’s a girl involved. And there is, of course, though we’re making anti-mix-tapes, here, all cheese and no dignity. It’s kind of a relief.

Okay, here goes.

1. Say, Say, Say. You know, that duet between Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney, and it had an amazing video where they’re snake-oil salesmen traveling around in a Conestoga wagon in the Old West or something? It’s probably not either of their best work, but I fucking love it. I bet it makes it onto 90+ percent of my road trip mixes.

2. Since U Been Gone, by Kelly Clarkson. I love bitter-ass break-up songs, and that one is solid gold.

3. Cry Me a River, by Justin Timberlake. Same reason.

4. Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now, by Starship. Theme to the movie Mannequin? I bet my mom played that single eight thousand times when I was little. It’s seared onto my brain like grill marks. If I ever find out that by freak coincidence we live in the same village, I’m going to celebrate by drugging you and rolling you in a wheelbarrow to the nearest karaoke bar and forcing you to perform it with me.

5. It’s All Coming Back to Me Now, by Meatloaf. I don’t know why, but I can’t hear that song and not cry. Like, full-on sobbing if I’m alone, or feigned-allergy sniffles if there are witnesses. Don’t tell anyone.

Since we’re on the topic of cheesiness, can I just say thank you for this? I’ve got so much shit going on, but for the twenty minutes it took me to pick those songs, I was a teenager again. Not to say that I want to forget about the boy, necessarily, but it was kinda miraculous that I managed to, just now, with you. So thanks for that.

Now, for the next top five… How about top five villains of all time, in any sort of media?

One of mine is definitely Murdoch from MacGyver. He made me want to grow up to be an assassin.

Gus from Breaking Bad was amazing.

Miss Hannigan from the 1982 movie version of Annie, because I have a sort of quasi-Oedipal crush on Carol Burnett, who reminds me of my mom a little. Don’t read too much into that. Plus Burnett made alcoholism look like way more fun than it actually is in that movie.

Hans Gruber from Die Hard. Clearly I love my villains cool and calculating and smarter than the hero.

And finally … damn, let’s think…

Oh, I know! Dark Helmet, from Space Balls. I don’t think that one needs any justification.

Now you, stranger.

3.23pm

Sorry for taking so long to reply. Though I suppose it hasn’t been that long, really. It just feels like a long time, when I’m busy making myself do necessary morning things instead of immediately pouncing on your 4am messages. If my mind had its way, I think I’d forgo eating breakfast and taking a shower, just to get back to this more quickly.

But I made myself be good. I got up at eleven and ate some cereal and washed up and got dressed and answered emails, before finally giving in.

And you can say thank you. As long as I can thank you.

I had no idea that sharing lists of things you love could be so soothing—both to compile, and to read from someone else. It makes me think about things I haven’t thought of for years. Like it’s blowing away cobwebs I didn’t realise had gathered in my mind. And it gives me a picture of you I doubt a thousand emotional back and forths could have revealed.

Not that I think I know you, though, because you told me you like Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now. Just that I feel I know you a little better—and in a different way to the way I might have known you if you told me you were happy or sad.

Does that make sense?

I hope so.

Because now I’m going to move right on into my villains.

Hans Gruber obviously. I don’t even care if you think I’m copying you!

It has to be. The universe demands it.

Hannibal Lecter.

Partly because he is amazing, but also because of that line he says to Clarice. You know the one about the mirror? I think about that a lot. About someone being so evil and yet revering goodness so completely.

Only in the movies, I guess.

But then, isn’t that why we love them?

So we can love the villains we would hate in real life?

My other three are Severen from Near Dark, Jareth from Labyrinth, and Agent Smith from The Matrix.

But only because their evil is on the other side of the safety glass that is my TV.

And my next question is: top five places you would go, if you could.

10.17pm

The five places I’d go if I could… I’ve been mulling it over all evening, while I got the boy fed and down for the night and poured myself a drink and then a second, and I have to say, I’m dying to know your answers to this one. It almost feels pornographic, the thought of hearing where an agoraphobe fantasizes about traveling to.

Maybe that’s the whiskey texting, but I dunno. It strikes me as a grotesquely intimate thing to discover about you.

My immediate reaction when you asked was to type “home,” meaning Albuquerque. But when I think about it, I don’t feel what I’d expected. I don’t feel achy with homesickness, dying to get back there. The thing is, I don’t feel like I know who I am anymore, and going back there … I think it’d be really confusing and uncomfortable.

When I left, I thought I was a hip, successful, relevant member of a social tribe. Now I’m here, and I’m a lonely, half-competent-at-best, quite possibly alcoholic single father. There’s not a lot of overlap to those identities.

I feel like I know myself better now, but I like myself less. Or rather, I want to be my own self less. I don’t know how to translate my new self within the context of my old life. So no, Albuquerque’s not making the list.

So let’s just have fun with it, shall we?

First off, Patagonia, because it looks fucking gorgeous.

Morocco, just to wander around massive outdoor markets buying dried fruits I can’t identify and likely getting pickpocketed by trained monkeys.

Somewhere northern enough to see the Northern Lights. Maybe get drunk enough to weep with wonder while sitting on the banks of an Icelandic river or something.

New Orleans. I’ve never been, and that seems like my loss. It looks so sexy and strange and nasty and alive.

And finally, Paris. Personally, I don’t have any particular affection for the French, but my mom always wanted to go there. She bought way deep into the romance of the idea of Paris, so I’d go and do all the things I bet she’d have liked. Every touristy, flouncy, beret-capped Parisian thing there is to be done. And I’d buy a dozen girly postcards to bring home, and I’d pin them up around my house and pretend she sent them to me and imagine her wandering around all those places with a baguette under her arm.

Now you. Relieve me of this smothering curiosity, already.