In an effort to keep you entertained, hyped, and involved, I struggle to find subjects interesting enough to be post-worthy. As such, I now find myself in the dubious position of teasing a forthcoming teaser.
Or trailer. I don’t know what those things are called these days. Back in my day, if you’ll forgive me the grandfatherly choice of words, it was pretty simple. They were called trailers because they were trailing behind the movie, after the credits. Which is, when you think about it, the worst place to put stuff you want to promote. Nobody watches the credits.
Then one day, something confusing happened. You’d rent a VHS (kind of a rectangular Netflix you could hold in your hands, but it had only one movie), and you’d go home for some VHS and chill with that pretty girl from two doors down. You inserted the tape, got comfortable, and then broke a cold sweat when the first pictures appeared. The clerk must have given you the wrong tape. Instead of the romcom you rented to swoon the girl next door out of her pants, you are treated to several shots of Arnold Schwarzenegger shooting the everloving shit out of everything.
Bit of a strange way to cut a movie, though…
Oh, thank god. The trailers are just at the wrong end of the movie.
But now there’s a new problem. Instead of focusing on the best way to subtly put an arm around the girl, you’re now too preoccupied by what to call the trailers. They’re not at the end. They’re not trailing. You don’t put the trailer on the front of the truck, do you? What kind of madness is this?
You begin to feel sick to your stomach. Everything you ever knew is suddenly wrong. Are dogs and cats living together now? Is black actually white, but with the lights off? What does the word ‘phrontistery’ taste like?
And then, suddenly, you find yourself alone. Only the girl’s sweet perfume lingers, but it doesn’t last. You hardly ever see her anymore because she hides every time she notices you coming.
It’s not just me, right?
It can’t be just me.
Okay, it’s just me. Well, lah-di-dah, casanova. Good for you that movie trailsers never ruined your shot with the girl who lives two doors down. Or guy, yes! That’s not the point here, is it? All I wanted to do was tell you I’m in the process of organizing a book trailer, and now here we are, standing in an ankle deep puddle of psychological despair.