You may be asking yourself, “does the proprietor of The Basement Tan really have a basement tan?  Just how pasty could she be?”  To which I say, “would anyone on the internet ever lie to you?”  I reside in the beautiful icebox known as Canada, where I’ve spent a lifetime under the covers and in the dark, slowly convincing my body that it lives in perpetual winter.  Once I accompanied a friend to a blood donor clinic where I was approached by a nurse who, concerned by my ghostly appearance, forced me to have some cookies and orange juice in spite of my insistence that I hadn’t given blood and that I did, indeed, look like that every day.

Once upon a time, they used to let you rent seven movies for eleven dollars.  I am a product of that halcyon age, and I’m just here to meander through film, through history, and through life, without ending up anywhere in particular.  Come down to the basement with me (pretend I’m saying that in a totally non-creepy voice) and let’s put on a movie.