When I was twelve, I wrote a letter to Steven Spielberg telling him how E.T. had changed my life. (These are the things that alter the course of your existence when you’re a pre-teen.)
I sat at my Gramma’s dining room table, nervously gnashing away at a grilled cheese sandwich and thinking of what to say. (I remember the sandwich because of the greasy fingerprint of planet Earth I left on the envelope addressed...