Paige Prudhon

Annie and Ruby are in debt. They don’t like crime, but they don’t see another choice. For beth, it's a way to break up the monotony of her domestic ennui. 

I am tired of the teen movies with characters written as smart and driven getting to choose between a handful of very exclusive and prestigious universities.

Where once the dungeon was a quirky backdrop, it is now the focal point in a show concerned with questions of sex work, consent, power and confronting past mistakes.

If that is the case, what else could I excuse on the basis of empathy?

While my enthusiasm for Halloween costumes has dampened with age, I’ve always been fascinated with what feels like a subversive and dark holiday masquerading as a plastic, saccharine one.

A woman, a shadow, at the edge of memory, makes a promise.

My steep descent into the media I consumed in middle and early high school began humbly enough with my little brother at the start of quarantine. 

Netflix’s “Dead to Me,” in its second whirlwind of a season, asks what drives people to murder and whether those people should be forgiven.

So, a conscientious objector found himself moving to Berkeley to teach young college cadets, supporting the American wartime cause from home. This man was Witter Bynner, a professor of Oral English, enlisted by the American Army to ensure that its men would be well-spoken. 

As we grew older, the novelty of forbidden, preservative-ridden snacks wore off, and we grew tired and increasingly disappointed as we realized the world was not full of the hot, made-from-scratch delicacies that had dominated our early lives.