About 20 years ago, a weird new sort of cartoon graced the screens of our theaters. It wasn’t drawn by hand, but animated using computers. It was odd, it was cool, it was new. At 8 years old, that kind of stuff mattered. I desperately wanted to like cool things, and this movie seemed like it was made for me. So, I managed to convince my mom to let me tag along with my older sister who she was going to the theater to see this movie with some friends (much to the embarrassment of my sister). That movie was TOY STORY, and it was my first encounter was the studio known as Pixar.
This film about toys that came to life when their owners weren’t around was funny, it was sweet, it had great characters, and most importantly, it had a great story. It was instantly my new favorite cartoon movie. “How can that be your favorite?”, a friend asked me upon that apparently ludicrous statement. “They don’t even sing!” It didn’t matter to me, I hadn’t even noticed. I was transfixed on something else, something I couldn’t even quite put my finger on. At least, not at that time.