I like getting to movies earlier rather than later, primarily because I can find a seat but also because one of my favorite things in the world is watching the little movies that they show before the big movie: the trailers. I now live in a world where I can dial up trailers for movies past, present and future, but there is still something sublime about sitting, hunkered down in the dark in front of that great big screen and watching the coming attractions with the rest of the crowd.
This was my one and only disappointment about my first viewing of the trailer for "Friends You Haven't Met Yet." This is the documentary that I participated in way back a year ago, when a computer scientist came to my house to find out why I have been yammering on about myself for the past eight years. In that year, a lot of water has passed metaphorically under the bridge, and now that it's been nine years, I was pleased and happy to find out that I hadn't just been shouting down a well. There is a movie. A movie that will be shown in a theater, even though the first time I saw bits of it they came as a link in an e-mail.
But I suppose that makes sense, really. That's how this whole thing started. In a quiet little corner of Al Gore's Internet, there was no blog. Now there is this towering virtual edifice of thoughts and words informed by whatever it is that happens to cross my mind as I sit down at the keyboard that morning. As Tom Petty likes to remind us, "some days are diamonds, some days are rocks." Over the past decade, a distinction I feel comfortable tossing around, there have been a few gems, but I should remind everyone that I am not being recognized here for my clever wit or keen insight. The reason they came to talk to me was because of my odd insistence that what I had to say was worth sitting down once a day and committing it to the ether into which I am typing this. It is my special award for being consistent.
Prior to this, on the ninth anniversary of this blog, my wife and a couple of our friends went out to dinner and a hot tub. I was presented with a Spider Man flash drive and a pair of very chocolaty cupcakes. When we went to take our tub, happy to be together and reminiscing, we were admonished by the management to keep it down. "Number five," came the harsh whisper from the other side of the door, "please lower your voices. You are disturbing the people next to you." This had the effect of simultaneously diminishing our joy, but reaffirming our bond. We were number five, and we were troublemakers. We were never asked to leave the premises, but in our own middle-aged way, I think we pressed the bounds of acceptable behavior.
Which gave me another story to tell. This may necessitate a sequel.
For now, I'm taking a moment to revel in my leap to the big time. A major motion picture will soon premiere in Hollywood featuring the whimsical notions of yours truly. And nobody told me to "keep it down."