We always had the movie theaters.  

Through the Great Depression.  Through the second World War.  We had the movie theaters.  

Cheap distractions; a few hours where the harsh reality of the times was abated, where the only thing that mattered was what was on that silver screen.  We always had the movie theaters.  

Even as a youth decades (many, many, many) after World War 2, so often great memories of my teen years have something to do with the movies.  Teens and before, even.  I remember the first movie I was allowed to go to without parental supervision—Enemy of the State, starring Will Smith.  I was only 12; I probably should not have been seeing an R-rated movie at the time, but I was mature for my age and my brother was there, so it was fine.  I remember the first time I took a girl to the movies—Mystic River.  Probably not a great choice, given the subject matter and its decidedly not-in-any-way-romantic nature, but somehow it made for a great night.  To this day, I can’t watch that movie without thinking about that night.  I still remember what it felt like sitting next to the girl I liked, wondering where the night would go (if my mom is reading this, rest assured, it went nowhere, much to the chagrin of 16-year-old me).  We connected with each other on an emotional level, though.  We had a shared experience.  We always had the movie theaters.  

But right now, we don’t have the movie theaters.  

We really don’t.  In the age of global pandemic and social distancing, where we wear masks to meet the grocery delivery at the door, we can’t go to the movies.  As much as it may seem insane to pine after another venue of closed doors and artificial light sources, despite the hushed voices and silenced phones, going to the movies is a social experience (unless you do it as I sometimes do, which is wait for a movie to have been out for a few weeks, then go watch it on a weekday when no one else will be there).  Deciding on what to watch with friends, getting yourself hyped up for the experience, and then discussing the movie—sometimes excitedly, sometimes disappointedly—afterwards.  Once you get into the car, of course (assume you’re taking a car, I grew up in the suburbs, so there was no mobility unless someone had a set of wheels), being careful not to spoil it for anyone waiting in the lobby or in line.  But now we can’t do that.  Getting into a car with a group of people right now—can you imagine?  Windows open, masks on, facing different directions, screaming out the windows, someone constantly reminding you that we really shouldn’t be that close to each other?  

We don’t have the movie theaters.  

But we still have that movie magic.  Thank goodness for streaming services, right?  And thanks to social media (a phrase I never thought I’d start a sentence with and mean earnestly), we can still have that social experience.  Sure, there isn’t the magic of that post-movie-car-ride, but we can tweet at each other, even send dreaded DMs if we know each other well enough.  We can set up Zoom calls, we can arrange Netflix Parties, we can host movies in Discord (I know this is possible, but I haven’t figured it out yet), we can all virtually get together and talk about Tiger King.  

Don’t discount the movement that is Tiger King—this is the button, this is our shared experience.  This is the wild shit, the beautiful trash, that we’d be talking about on the car ride home (or at the water cooler, if you can remember back to the days of actually going in to the office).  It doesn’t matter that it’s trash, it doesn’t matter that it’s all at once hilarious, horrifying, sad, and disgusting (when the most normal person in the story is the guy who admits to cutting up an ATF agent with a circular saw, things have gone very, very wrong).  Because Twitter is our new car ride home and when everyone in the car is talking about Tiger King, you can feel free to jump right in and watch along.  I’m a writer and on social media, I interact with a lot of other writers.  Being a writer is not always, but often, a solitary endeavor.  We close doors, draw shades, sit with a bottle of something that’s measured in proof (and if we’re being responsible, a great deal of water as well) or maybe coffee or tea, and we fire our fingers like so much artillery at plastic squares.  So I understand the notion that this kind of bandwagon watching should be shunned for the sake of iconoclasm, but in times like these, it’s important to feel connected.  It’s important to feel like we’re all still a part of the same thing.  That our society still exists, that it’s still functioning, that the people that were there for us yesterday are still there for us today, even though they’re over there and not here.  We need that right now.  

Because, after all, we don’t have the movie theaters.  

But the purpose of me firing my fingers like so much artillery at these plastic squares isn’t just to tell you to watch Tiger King; that wouldn’t be worth my time or yours.  Yes, even now, when so many of us have all this time on our hands.  It’s about the importance of escapism and the importance of escaping together.  We have these magic rectangles in our homes that we can now beam shows and movies to and get lost in them.  And I don’t mean like in the movie Stay Tuned, but, well, at this point, it might be a welcomed change.  Because we always had the movie theaters, but now we don’t.  But we can stream until our eyes go bloodshot and we can quote every line of Frasier while wondering if Seattle really is that white or if that was just TV in the 90s (although maybe if you’re from Seattle, you know the answer to that and you’re watching Friends, wondering the same about New York—it’s not, though, that was just TV in the 90s).  

We can stay home and save lives and help stop the spread of COVID-19.  Because going out when you don’t have to during a pandemic is very, very dumb.  Don’t do that.  If you’re essential, you have my effusive thanks and you surely deserve more money than you’re earning.  If you’ve got to get groceries, still practice social distancing.  Wear a mask, keep at least six feet apart, and, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I feel I have to, don’t lick things when you’re out in public.  But just because we’re stuck, doesn’t mean we can’t still escape.  

I’m escaping.  Oh, I’m escaping plenty.  I’ve got a freezer full of White Castle and I’m attacking my Netflix queue, my Hulu stuff, and my Prime list with ferocity and alacrity.  And that’s not all.  There are video games, music, podcasts and books I’m jumping into as well.  And I want to share these with you.  Over the next few days, I will be posting about the shows and movies I’m watching, the games I’m playing, the music I’m listening to, the podcasts I can’t get enough of, and the books I’m reading, hoping they can help you escape too.  And, if I’m honest, hoping we can connect over them on social media—so that we can have our own car ride home, wherever you are in the world.  So please, stay home, stay safe, and stay tuned.