There was a stretch of time, maybe my eleventh year — lithe, no socks, Piers Anthony — when I imagined my life was a movie. And I don’t mean I pretended my life was exciting and cinematic or like maybe I was a character being played by a talented child actor (SIDE NOTE: I wanted so bad to be the kid in Time Bandits), but that everything I was seeing and hearing was being projected up on a screen somewhere, and an audience was stuck in a theater watching it 24 hours a day, for months on end. And when I was sleeping, the screen would go black and the audience would sleep, too, or get up and walk around, stretch the legs, maybe refresh their buckets of Red Vines.

It just occurred to me, as it probably occurred to you about three or four sentences ago, how the movie daydream was a precursor to this website.

“I’m running diagnostics.” “You are not.” “I am — lookie.” “Those aren’t diagnostics.” “Suddenly the expert.” “I’m no expert, I’m an average joe, but even an average joe can take a look at that there and tell you there’s no diagnostics involved like at all.” “OK genius then wh—” “A picture of a horse made out of macaroni and glitter and construction paper.” “And.” “And glue that turns from white to invisible.” “And what are these here?” “Sparks comin’ off.” “OK you win.”