It’s not always easy to tell based on my demeanor, but I am a very upbeat person.
I don’t show a lot of emotion, and I often exude a laid-back and even-keeled disposition. But inside, I am nearly always happy.
Quite simply, I enjoy being alive. I think life is a gift that we should all cherish, and I try my best to focus all my energy towards the positive things in my life. It just makes things so much easier.
That’s my motivation to wake up every morning. To embrace another day. Seize it. And be appreciative for all that I have. With that attitude, it’s hard to not be happy.
That all being said, if I were a person who was not happy, and who often succumbed to bouts of depression, then news that came today from the entertainment industry would have been enough to single-handedly make me want to keep living.
There will be four more Avatar sequels.
You know the gospel song that just repeats the word “hallelujah” over and over? Well that has been playing in my head on a continuous loop for about four hours straight, ever since I heard this news.
It was always known that there would be at least two more sequels to 2009’s Avatar, the global CGI phenomenon that created its own imaginative world and shattered box office records. But on Thursday, director James Cameron confirmed that four sequels will be released in 2018, 2020, 2022 and 2023, respectively.
Super loyal readers of the Weinblog know how much I love Avatar. In fact, the second post I ever wrote on this blog, on December 18, 2009, was pretty much just me obsessively fanboying over the movie.
I saw Avatar at midnight the day it came out. And I was blown away. (Needless to say this was before I had a job. Ah, the good ole days). As someone who has a very vivid imagination, and who spent a large part of his high school life reading fantasy fiction books set in alternate universes, Avatar was perfect for me.
I fell in love with the story, the world, the indigenous people created by James Cameron, and was amazed by how real he made it all seemed using CGI and 3D. I wanted to go to Pandora. I still do, sorta.
I’m nearly seven years older, and unfortunately, slightly more grounded and mature, but I’m confident that the minute the opening credits roll on these new films, the 22-year-old unemployed, politically ignorant, sexually inexperienced buffoon inside of me will come roaring back to life.
I miss him so much.
All hail the return of the Na’vi, coming to a theater near you in 2020.
And if you have no idea what that means, then I don’t want to know you.