Joke courtesy of Ms. Mia Wallace. It's the time of year when playing Ketchup -- excuse me, catch up -- is on my mind, as the list of movies I want to see but haven't gets deeper and thicker, like a few snowflakes pushed into a massing, curved drift. I might sneak out and catch The Queen today; I'm pulling my hair out looking for a screening of 13 Tzameti. I'm still hoping to catch The Prestige, even though I hated the book a few years ago -- or, rather, like Neil Gaiman's American Gods, liked the idea but hated, hated, hated the execution. Those are just the must-sees; what about The Bridesmaid, which came and went like a 24-minute flu but is heartily endorsed and recommended by someone I trust? And I'd like to see Babel again, I think. So, thank heavens it's rainy season now, I guess. And as time passes, paying a bajilion dollars for YouTube just looks sillier and sillier to me -- as Kim points out so rightly, once you strip away the copyrighted material, what's left? It'd be nice if YouTube were more of an archive -- Actually, Annalee Newitz's Techsploitation column this week has some smart things to say about the challenges of finding, searching and using past TV records -- but it isn't, and right now I'm not knocking myself out to find, say, the video of the guys in Yao Ming uniforms singing. No disrespect to Yao, I'm sure. And speaking of meaningless deals, Mary Pickford, meet Tom Cruise; Tom Cruise, Mary Pickford. I'm sure you two will get along just great. And finally, there's no surer sign of the passing of time than hauling your jack o'lantern down to the compost.