06/29/2025
I have a deep, almost spiritual love for Doug Jones.
Not just āI liked him in Hocus Pocusā love. I mean Iāve watched every single thing heās ever been ināevery creature, every movie/show/ect, every soft, aching movement under 12 layers of silicone and sorrow.
Doug Jones is not just an actor.
He is gesture as poetry.
Emotion in silhouette.
The sacred art of monsters who just want to be loved.
Two years ago, he came into my bar.
And I missed him.
By ten.
F*****g.
Minutes.
I lost my mind. Iām still grieving that timeline. I was running late to the bar like a chump while THE PAN FROM PANāS LABYRINTH was just out of reach, breathing air I wasnāt sharing.
But today?
My friendsāmy unhinged, perfect friendsāgot a birthday video from him.
Doug Jonesā¦ said my name.
Doug Jones told me happy birthday.
Doug Jones looked into the camera with those impossibly kind eyes and made my monster-loving soul collapse like a Victorian poet in a thunderstorm.
Iāve been sobbing for 20 minutes.
Ugly crying. Monster-mascara running.
Doug, if you ever see this: thank you for giving us beautiful nightmares with soft hearts, for completely changing my life, and continuing fanning the fire of love for the scary, the weird, the horrific and the nerdy.
