Here's one of those modern truisms that somehow means nothing and everything at the same time.
Unless, of course, you happen to frequent a good one.
Our old good store was a place with a crummy name - 'Smash Hits Video'.
It was on the edge of campus and it was run and, here's the important part, owned by a small group of young kids that knew something about movies.
Smash Hits disappeared when the very fine fellows who redeveloped the Village wouldn't give them a lease because, rumour has it, they were holding the space for Blockbuster.
The irony, of course, is that the Blue Death never showed up and in it's place there is now one of those office warehouse-type, almost stupidstores.
Even more ironic is the fact that we, and our neighbours that used to frequent Smash Hits, have also been disappeared by a different, but similar thinking, very fine re-developer.
But all is not lost because have a new good movie store now, 'Cinephile' on Main St. in the 20's.
The catalogue is great, but what I really like about the place is the people and the advice they give. Like an old Hal Hartley recommended awhile back, or the docummentary that serves up the real story of that group of young kids in the SoCal 70's that quite literally invented what has now become modern skateboard culture.
And it's not just highbrow or, maybe more correctly, brow-wigglers that the Cinephile folks tell me about.
Example: A couple of weeks ago we had a house full of on-the-cusp-of-teenager-hood girls and, except for a vague notion that I would like to treat them to something other than a H.Duff/L.Lohan vehicle, I had no idea what to get..... In less than 10 minutes, which was much longer than needed because I so much enjoyed hearing the dozen or so rapid-fire capsule reviews first, I was in and out with John Hughes' 'Pretty-In-Pink' which was a big hit all round, the young and creepy James Spader notwithstanding.
And last night was even more difficult. My mission was to find a non-Disney, or worse disneyfied, film that everybody from age 6 to Fogeyville would like.
The answer was Ghostbusters.
Which itself is old enough (1984) that that none of the young ones had seen it. And old enough that we the fogeys had forgotten some of the best parts - like Rick Moranis as the not-quite, but almost, hoser accountant who becomes the Keymaster to Sigorney Weaver's something or other......
Now, I guess those in the know could accuse me of playing a little bit dumb here.
Because it turns out that movies are the only reason that I still buy a print version of the NY Times, once a week, on Fridays, for the reviews, especially the ones by Manohla Dargis.
But yesterday Ned Martel wrote about a (not mocking) documentary that I won't need movie store help to see - 'We Jam Econo'.
It's the story of the Minutemen.
Not those whackos on the borders, but rather the musical duo of D. Boon and Mike Watt from days of yore.
Those who have been hanging around these parts for awhile may have noticed I am a sucker for just about anything DIY. So much so that in my advancing middle age I am increasingly suckered by things pretending to be done by somebody themself which I just realized may be why I need help from folks like the ones at the Cinephile occasionally. Yikes!
But I digress, as usual.
Because even I remember that the Minutemen were the real thing. And it sounds like the movie, by Tim Irwin, gets to the heart of that which matters.
I was in a garage band once.
A very bad one, at least my part in it, but it truly was more fun than anything else before or since.
My brother though was in a much better band, one that became more than just kidstuff.
Anyway, not long ago I visited him in his basement studio and we jammed a little.
That studio is gone now, but he still plays.
And last night I dreamed that the documentarian came for him.