Moby likes lumpy stuff to sleep on.
And the dryer. He's pretty much taken over the dryer, probably until the weather stops storming.
What art, what books, what movies we chose speak volumes about who we are, what we care about, what we aspire to. Not quite as much when we are young and easily swayed by what our friends like, what marketing shoves at us, when we are still deciding what we are. Much more when our characters are formed and buttressed, and we want those we love to share them.
The ex's favorite movie was The Graduate. I didn't see the film until the year I escaped. I like to think if I'd seen it early on, I'd have looked much harder at the question of marrying that guy. It's a classic, sure, well made, strong cast. A teen finding it entrancing, even an upper middle class young man, understandable. But a 37 year old, to choose it consistently, unqualified, as his favorite? A selfish and utterly self absorbed main character should not be that appealing to a grown man. Liking and respecting the movie, one thing. Identifying with it so completely, not so much. Much depends upon why, his reasons should have sent up all kinds of red flags.
D's favorite has long been Casablanca. With a few dated moments, the characters eventually give up personal indulgence for unselfish goals. It's witty and smart, and in many ways, very kind. I'd already written a paper about it when I met D, and we watched it together, explaining what we liked about it. And both of us, over the years and repeated viewings, have come to appreciate the rightness of the ending, even as walking away from real love stays painful and sad.
A couple of friends are reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder books with me. We're all finding that our childhood taste is better than we suspected, as the stories still charm us. Strong, loving, capable characters all.
My own favorites have changed many times over the years, in any media. I'm looking at our copy of Lone Star, a perennial favorite. I re-read Hogfather most years around December.