bf: (slow smile) what? 
me: nothin :)
me, internally: but was “reservoir dogs” actually meant to be that gay? the moony eyes, the first names, the hair combing, the shakespearean bloodbath, the tender cradling, the tortured deathbed confession. is tarantino capable of that kind of emotional sensitivity? even if he didn’t intend it, does it matter? can’t we assign meaning outside the intention of the artist? maybe the issue is not with tarantino, but with myself. am i ascribing homosexual undertones to a fundamentally paternal relationship, does my confusion about the nature of the interactions between mr. white and mr. orange reveal not only my own problematic expectations for “normal” male interactions, but the uneasy role of the Father in our society? truly the patriarchy confounds at every turn

  • Mr. Pink:You didn't tell him your name, did you?!
  • Mr. White:I told him my first name, and where I was from.
  • Mr. White:I also gave him my two most recent addresses and my phone number.
  • Mr. White:And my aunt's phone number because sometimes I'm there on the weekends.
  • Mr. White:We also might have discussed my favorite color, least favorite word and celebrity crushes.
  • Mr. White:I may have co-signed on a credit card with him.
  • Mr. White:I'm his emergency contact at the DMV now, don't ask.
  • Mr. White:Aaand I let him borrow my library card because we wanted to rent Tremors last Wednesday and I didn't feel like putting on pants.
  • Mr. White:What was I sUPPOSED TO DO