This is going to be a very personal piece of me. Not because I am a film critic. Not because I thought of myself as being the next “Roger Ebert” (or Gene Siskel) for that matter. Not because, as of late, I have taken to blaming the Pulitzer Prize winning film journalist for everything that’s wrong with modern criticism. No, I will miss Roger Ebert the way I have learned to miss many things in the last 52 years—as parts of my past fading away into the infinite abyss of mortality and the uncertainty of my remaining time on this Earth. In many ways, he is me. In others, we couldn’t be more different.