I know a bit about movie hopping. And I know a bit about Weird Al Yankovic. So this post touched a chord in me and warrants publishing here:
“You’ll never believe who’s here, Dave!” said my friend Andy from work. “Weird Al Yankovic!”
I have a few — shall we say — very good friends who are into their fifties and sixties who have perfected movie hopping. I myself have never done it, not because I am holier than thou, or I morally object, but because I can’t handle more than one movie at a time. A movie takes too much out of me. But I do have an in with the movie hopping crowd, let’s just leave it there.
I have never personally met Weird Al Yankovic, but I have a connection. Between 1988 and 1994 I lived in a log house in the rurual town of Fallbrook, California. Our neighbors across a field and a dirt road were the Yankovics, Al’s parents. He grew up in that house, went to the local high school, all long before we lived there. Occasionally, he’d come home to spend holidays with his parents, and I remember looking over into the driveway or the backyards and seeing Weird Al from a distance. How’s that for a valid connection?