I remember when my editor decided to name the column "From the Peanut Gallery," which pissed me off to no end. I was a newspaperman, damn it!
Then I realized I might as well get something out of the gig besides a few cents a column inch and talked my editor into letting me write movie reviews. I was completely unqualified, of course, but the trick was this: In Kansas, 14-year-olds can get a "restricted" driver's license that allows them to drive to work and school. This was meant for farm kids who would need to get from school to the farm to bring in the crops, etc. I used it to drive to the movies--the closest theater being in a different town. Yes, my career as a movie critic--an awful, awful movie critic--was a scam.
Still, I became a fan of movie criticism and a year after I began writing reviews, a show called Siskel and Ebert and The Movies debuted. I watched it religiously.
All of this is a roundabout way of pointing out how much I love the damn intertubes. Not only am I tangentially connected to Roger Ebert now (which is kickperiodassperiod), I'm also only two degrees of separation away from Russ Meyer.