It was the summer before seventh grade. My mom's friend from her university days was in town. Soft-spoken, funny, and kind, he was the antithesis of all old guys I'd met up to that point. On a late-August afternoon, we were having lunch at White Spot when he asked if we'd ever seen the movie Napoleon Dynamite. When we said no, he took it as a personal affront. He said it was the funniest movie he'd seen all year. My brother and I, a couple of self-proclaimed comedy-movie aficionados, were naturally intrigued. We left the restaurant, crossed the parking lot to Rogers Video and rented a copy of this new, mysterious comedy.
The movie was a revelation. Was it because there was nothing that this gentleman could recommend that I would hate? Maybe, at the time. But, considering that I still love Napoleon Dynamite, I now think it was just a great recommendation.
A few weeks later, I received a package in the mail from this grown-ass man I called my friend. It was a Napoleon Dynamite DVD accompanied with a "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt. My fate was sealed; this movie became my entire personality.