Ye Olde Bar and Video
I frequently drive to work past the site of the video store - no longer there of course - I used to frequent.
And I realized with a pang that I missed it.
Not the videos themselves, of course. That function, the supplying of video (movies) has been replaced by much more efficient and comprehensive sources - Netflix, for example, that first sent the movies direct to you, now is streaming more and more content to you on demand. Or you can use the On Demand services of your local cable company, which are again becoming more and more robust, featuring newer releases at at reasonable prices - even free for some - both for feature films and tv series you don't want to miss (like Terra Nova, anybody?).
And I can't quibble with any of this. In fact, I love it. As anybody knows who reads this column, I have some undeniable geek tendencies that are thrilled with each new innovation that makes my life simpler, easier, and more under my control from my laptop or iPad or even smart phone.
What I miss is the face-to-face interaction of the neighborhood video store. It had a lot in common with the neighborhood bar, but without the downside of alcohol consumption. You'd go in on a Friday night, and odds are you'd meet at least one person you knew, and of course you'd catch up or start talking movies. You'd browse slowly through the titles, seeing what caught your fancy, what was in the new release section (always crowded), and listen to the quarrels over whether to get a chick flick or a cop film.
And then there were the "bartenders," the cinephile clerks who knew not only you, but your tastes and preferences. Like any good bartender, they knew what you'd had the last time you were in, and able to recommend something like it, or guess at something different that you might like. They had ready opinions about movies you were taking out ore returning, and always had time for a little conversation. "Where everybody knows your name," was certainly the case.
Now watching a movie is more of a solitary pleasure. I recently sat with a friend in his living room, each of us plugged into our own iPads, each of us watching our own movie selection on Netflix. Yeah, we were "together," but we certainly weren't experiencing the same evening. (Remember the really old days of HBO, when we'd excitedly ask one another, "What's on HBO tonight?")
You can still rent videos, but mostly they're an afterthought at the grocery store, or you borrow them at the library. There isn't the buzz of shared passion (film), the sense of knowing and being known, the recognizable faces and chance encounters with a friend that you found at your local video rental store.
And I've got to admit, I miss it. Sometimes, it's true, you don't know what you've got til it's gone.
And I realized with a pang that I missed it.
Not the videos themselves, of course. That function, the supplying of video (movies) has been replaced by much more efficient and comprehensive sources - Netflix, for example, that first sent the movies direct to you, now is streaming more and more content to you on demand. Or you can use the On Demand services of your local cable company, which are again becoming more and more robust, featuring newer releases at at reasonable prices - even free for some - both for feature films and tv series you don't want to miss (like Terra Nova, anybody?).
And I can't quibble with any of this. In fact, I love it. As anybody knows who reads this column, I have some undeniable geek tendencies that are thrilled with each new innovation that makes my life simpler, easier, and more under my control from my laptop or iPad or even smart phone.
What I miss is the face-to-face interaction of the neighborhood video store. It had a lot in common with the neighborhood bar, but without the downside of alcohol consumption. You'd go in on a Friday night, and odds are you'd meet at least one person you knew, and of course you'd catch up or start talking movies. You'd browse slowly through the titles, seeing what caught your fancy, what was in the new release section (always crowded), and listen to the quarrels over whether to get a chick flick or a cop film.
And then there were the "bartenders," the cinephile clerks who knew not only you, but your tastes and preferences. Like any good bartender, they knew what you'd had the last time you were in, and able to recommend something like it, or guess at something different that you might like. They had ready opinions about movies you were taking out ore returning, and always had time for a little conversation. "Where everybody knows your name," was certainly the case.
Now watching a movie is more of a solitary pleasure. I recently sat with a friend in his living room, each of us plugged into our own iPads, each of us watching our own movie selection on Netflix. Yeah, we were "together," but we certainly weren't experiencing the same evening. (Remember the really old days of HBO, when we'd excitedly ask one another, "What's on HBO tonight?")
You can still rent videos, but mostly they're an afterthought at the grocery store, or you borrow them at the library. There isn't the buzz of shared passion (film), the sense of knowing and being known, the recognizable faces and chance encounters with a friend that you found at your local video rental store.
And I've got to admit, I miss it. Sometimes, it's true, you don't know what you've got til it's gone.
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