VCR for Christmas
When I was a kid, Christmas had a different feel to it. Things weren’t necessarily better. Just different... you know what I’m saying?
I always think I’m part of that last generation that remembers the “old ways”. Simple gifts of trains, stiff plastic dolls and little metal cars. The entire family together at one table. Grandparents. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. Relatives smoking through entire hard-packs at the dining room table during the coffee segment of the meal. Just snuffing-out butt-after-butt in greasy lipstick-stained tea cups and dessert plates of pizzelli and half-eaten anisette cookies.
I think, for me, the "old ways" ended the Christmas we got the VCR.
Man, Christmas 1984 was from the space-age. No shit. The old man must have bonus'd-out himself a couple of bucks from Ma Bell cuz we got a brand-spanking-new VCR from Sears.
Sears, man!!!
Nothing but the best. Nothing but!
And he couldn't wait to show us, either. Christmas Eve and my old man steak-knifed the shit out of that box to behold to us a top-of-the-line, top-loading VCR. Dammit! A top-loader. That Christmas the Crowleys were living in the future!!!
He hooked it up faster than I had ever seen him do anything. I was given the task of turning the TV on. My brother set the TV to Channel 3. My sister just jumped up-and-down in her lace-lined, flannel nightgown.
To this day I still don't quite understand the laced-lined, flannel combination in Wintertime bedwear. Fatty lace and cranberry plaid together - Yikes!
Finally, my old man gave my mother the honor of pressing the enormous block of a power button.
HARK AND BEHOLD ON THIS CHRISTMAS EVE - LIGHT!!!
The green digital display.
It struck 12:00 AM... and then, as a family, we stared at it.
“Okay, so, what do we do with it,” I asked my old man, careful not to be wrapped upside the back end of my head.
“You watch movies with it.”
“What movies?”
“Movie movies!”
WHAT?!? "Movie movies!" We have movie movies in our very own home. HOLY SHIT! We're not from the future... the future is here!!!
The anticipation was ugly. Almost painful. We had fucking movie movies in the house. The four of us waited for him to present his movie movie but, he presented... nothing. NADA!!!! So, we all sat watching the clock blink 12:00 AM.
“Do we have any?”
“Any what?”
“Movie movies?”
“I don’t know where to get them.”
Blink. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Can we put the TV back on, now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this thing wasn’t cheap.”
12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
“Can we tape something from the TV on it?”
“What else would you tape from on it?!?”
What?!?
Grammatically, the old man had nothing to say, but from all the breath-y frustration that came from him... I got the point. He, basically, gave me the go ahead to use the thing but offered no medium in which to perform the taping activity. So, on behalf of the other three, (and against all judgement that I stand for) I had to man-up and ask, “Do we have any tapes for it?”
He paused.
For a long time.
Like, maybe, 8 blinking 12:00 AMs long.
Shit.
I'm doomed.
Then, Mom threw me a raft, “Did you buy any blank tapes for it?”
He wriggled.
He squirmed.
He did buy a blank tape for it. I saw it on the coffee table. And it was big, too. Like an ancient Russian tome. That fucking thing must have cost him a million bucks the way he was so reluctant to reach for it. I wanted so bad to tear the plastic off and record something but, there was no way I was living the rest of my life with the hand that picked it up. And since I had already gone over my question quota, I had to wait.
12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
Fuck... I gotta ask again...
“Dad?”
He popped the top of his head in the direction of the coffee table, “Over there.”
I pointed to my brother to grab and open it in the event that the old man changed his mind. My brother was still young and hadn’t reached his quota for cracks across the ass, yet. I, because of my mouth, had gone way over my ass-beating quota years ago. So, I figured I could donate a few ass-crackings to my brother's cause. Opening that tape amidst the old man changing his mind could have, easily, been one of those donations.
He ravaged it. My brother tore open that package like a lion tearing into the side of a fallen zebra. Plastic and cardboard everywhere.
Panic set in my father's already bulgy eyes, “Hey, hey, hey…”
How much it set him back...
“… that thing was twenty-five bucks!”
Twenty-five bucks, man. Tapes back in ’84 were expensive. EXPENSIVE!!!
"Careful with it. It's a Memorex."
That tape was treated like a centuries old heirloom. Over the course of 2 months we must have recorded a thousand things on that tape at extended speed, quickly learning how to watch things through the grainy-static of an SLP recording.
“Give it to me,” as he gingerly ripped it from my brother’s claws.
In awe we watched him double-finger the eject button. The door rose from the top of the machine. CLEE-CLUNK!!! Opened and ready for that twenty-five dollar tape. My old man slid the tape inside the arm and, with both hands, pressed the door closed.
“You have to press the play and record button at the same time.”
His fingers covered the buttons.
Play.
Record.
And we watched the timer spin: 00001, 00002, 00003 and so on and so forth as we recorded 3/4 of National Lampoon’s Vacation off of HBO.
And when it was over, we rewinded and watched it back on the top-loading VCR until we went to bed at 12:00 AM. Or whatever time it really was.
We never figured out the clock.
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!!!
I always think I’m part of that last generation that remembers the “old ways”. Simple gifts of trains, stiff plastic dolls and little metal cars. The entire family together at one table. Grandparents. Uncles. Aunts. Cousins. Relatives smoking through entire hard-packs at the dining room table during the coffee segment of the meal. Just snuffing-out butt-after-butt in greasy lipstick-stained tea cups and dessert plates of pizzelli and half-eaten anisette cookies.
I think, for me, the "old ways" ended the Christmas we got the VCR.
Man, Christmas 1984 was from the space-age. No shit. The old man must have bonus'd-out himself a couple of bucks from Ma Bell cuz we got a brand-spanking-new VCR from Sears.
Sears, man!!!
Nothing but the best. Nothing but!
And he couldn't wait to show us, either. Christmas Eve and my old man steak-knifed the shit out of that box to behold to us a top-of-the-line, top-loading VCR. Dammit! A top-loader. That Christmas the Crowleys were living in the future!!!
He hooked it up faster than I had ever seen him do anything. I was given the task of turning the TV on. My brother set the TV to Channel 3. My sister just jumped up-and-down in her lace-lined, flannel nightgown.
To this day I still don't quite understand the laced-lined, flannel combination in Wintertime bedwear. Fatty lace and cranberry plaid together - Yikes!
Finally, my old man gave my mother the honor of pressing the enormous block of a power button.
HARK AND BEHOLD ON THIS CHRISTMAS EVE - LIGHT!!!
The green digital display.
It struck 12:00 AM... and then, as a family, we stared at it.
“Okay, so, what do we do with it,” I asked my old man, careful not to be wrapped upside the back end of my head.
“You watch movies with it.”
“What movies?”
“Movie movies!”
WHAT?!? "Movie movies!" We have movie movies in our very own home. HOLY SHIT! We're not from the future... the future is here!!!
The anticipation was ugly. Almost painful. We had fucking movie movies in the house. The four of us waited for him to present his movie movie but, he presented... nothing. NADA!!!! So, we all sat watching the clock blink 12:00 AM.
“Do we have any?”
“Any what?”
“Movie movies?”
“I don’t know where to get them.”
Blink. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Can we put the TV back on, now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this thing wasn’t cheap.”
12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
“Can we tape something from the TV on it?”
“What else would you tape from on it?!?”
What?!?
Grammatically, the old man had nothing to say, but from all the breath-y frustration that came from him... I got the point. He, basically, gave me the go ahead to use the thing but offered no medium in which to perform the taping activity. So, on behalf of the other three, (and against all judgement that I stand for) I had to man-up and ask, “Do we have any tapes for it?”
He paused.
For a long time.
Like, maybe, 8 blinking 12:00 AMs long.
Shit.
I'm doomed.
Then, Mom threw me a raft, “Did you buy any blank tapes for it?”
He wriggled.
He squirmed.
He did buy a blank tape for it. I saw it on the coffee table. And it was big, too. Like an ancient Russian tome. That fucking thing must have cost him a million bucks the way he was so reluctant to reach for it. I wanted so bad to tear the plastic off and record something but, there was no way I was living the rest of my life with the hand that picked it up. And since I had already gone over my question quota, I had to wait.
12:00 AM. 12:00 AM. 12:00 AM.
Fuck... I gotta ask again...
“Dad?”
He popped the top of his head in the direction of the coffee table, “Over there.”
I pointed to my brother to grab and open it in the event that the old man changed his mind. My brother was still young and hadn’t reached his quota for cracks across the ass, yet. I, because of my mouth, had gone way over my ass-beating quota years ago. So, I figured I could donate a few ass-crackings to my brother's cause. Opening that tape amidst the old man changing his mind could have, easily, been one of those donations.
He ravaged it. My brother tore open that package like a lion tearing into the side of a fallen zebra. Plastic and cardboard everywhere.
Panic set in my father's already bulgy eyes, “Hey, hey, hey…”
How much it set him back...
“… that thing was twenty-five bucks!”
Twenty-five bucks, man. Tapes back in ’84 were expensive. EXPENSIVE!!!
"Careful with it. It's a Memorex."
That tape was treated like a centuries old heirloom. Over the course of 2 months we must have recorded a thousand things on that tape at extended speed, quickly learning how to watch things through the grainy-static of an SLP recording.
“Give it to me,” as he gingerly ripped it from my brother’s claws.
In awe we watched him double-finger the eject button. The door rose from the top of the machine. CLEE-CLUNK!!! Opened and ready for that twenty-five dollar tape. My old man slid the tape inside the arm and, with both hands, pressed the door closed.
“You have to press the play and record button at the same time.”
His fingers covered the buttons.
Play.
Record.
And we watched the timer spin: 00001, 00002, 00003 and so on and so forth as we recorded 3/4 of National Lampoon’s Vacation off of HBO.
And when it was over, we rewinded and watched it back on the top-loading VCR until we went to bed at 12:00 AM. Or whatever time it really was.
We never figured out the clock.
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!!!
posted by Oh My Lot! at 1:11 PM
1 Comments:
Jeez, I forgot that Sears used to make electronics, though I do remember the top-loading VCRs. This was like flashback, only I've never dropped acid.
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