My Open Letter to 1982

In marriage, there is compromise.  Each partner brings certain qualities to the union, as well as certain beloved possessions—pets, furniture, artwork... electronics—and all of those things must find a way to cohabitate together, for better or for worse.

To our marriage, I brought a very old and much-loved VCR, and thirty-six VHS tapes.

My husband, the computer geek, frowned when I lugged these items into our home.  When he opened his mouth, presumably to make some remark about Goodwill or trash day, I told him in no uncertain terms that this VCR was a member of our family and that it would find a place of honor in our living room.  He closed his mouth and hooked it up, grumbling as he made room for this noisy, archaic stepchild amongst his U-Verse and X-Box and Blu-Ray babies.  And, thus, compromise was achieved.

One night when we were watching my VHS tape of Clue (awesome movie), my hubby decided he needed some popcorn, so I dutifully paused the tape.  However, when the making of the popcorn took more than five minutes (why? I don't know) the tape came un-paused and I had to rewind and pause again.  Annoyed, I complained aloud:

"I have never understood why VHS tapes un-pause themselves after five minutes.  OBVIOUSLY I'm not ready for it to play again, otherwise I would've hit play."  Then the hubby informed me that staying paused for too long is bad for the tape.  "Oh," I said.  "Well, then they should STOP after five minutes then, not PLAY.  It still doesn't make any sense to PLAY if the viewer is not ready yet.  No one wants to be on the way back from the bathroom and hear their movie start up again without them.  It causes unnecessary stress.  They should just STOP.  Why did they make them this way?!”

There was a long silence from the kitchen.  Then the hubby said, "Yeah… you know, you're right…  You should write a letter to 1982."

And so, ignoring the hubby’s sarcasm, I did.

My Open Letter to 1982

 

(I was pretty darn cute in 1982...)

 Dear 1982,

So, first of all, what is up with the VCR pause button?  Could you not have come up with a better plan than simply making it play again after five minutes?  How about making it stop?  How about making it start beeping at four minutes and forty-five seconds so that at least we have some warning as we are hurrying out of the bathroom or pouring our popcorn into a bowl?  And while we're on the subject of VCRs, why did you make them so damn hard to PROGRAM?  People are STILL talking about that.  In 2013.  Seriously.

But you know, 1982, you weren't ALL bad.  I mean, you did bring us Poltergeist and E.T. and The Dark Crystal and Tron (what a strange year for movies...) and iconic songs like Thriller and Eye of the Tiger.  Plus, I’m pretty sure that was the year my mom first read Bunnicula to me.  It’s still one of my all-time favorite books.

I was only five years old for most of 1982, but it was a big year in my little life.  I started Kindergarten that year, and got my puppy Lassie, and spent a lot of time playing with my Lite Brite and my brother’s Hoth Imperial Attack Base playset and sitting on a stool in the arcade at Richardson Square Mall to play Pac-Man and Galaga.  And I did ALL of those things in my favorite three-quarter sleeve rainbow shirt, which I would have worn every single day if my mom had let me.  Those are good memories.

Then again, I can’t forget that 1982 was the year that took away my Pappy and, on the day of his funeral, gave me my first stitches.  That was a hard day for many reasons.

I can't believe it's been thirty-one years since I've seen you, 1982... Where has the time gone?  I guess I'll forgive you your faults, since I've made my share of mistakes since we saw each other last; no person, no year, can be perfect.  So let's let bygones be bygones.  Let's put the past behind us and look forward, together, into the future.  Thirty-one years from now, in 2044, what will we have to complain about?  My money's on arthritis, too many freaking movies with Suri Cruise in them, and the fact that my VCR still un-pauses after five minutes.  (Sigh.)

Till I finally get my time machine and we meet again,

Your friend,

Carie

P.S.  I really wish I still had that cool rainbow shirt.

P.P.S.  AND the Hoth Imperial Attack Base Playset.  That thing was AWESOME.

 

Poltergeist, Then and Now

Spoiler Alert!

If you haven’t seen Poltergeist, shame on you. 

Go watch it first.  Then read my post.

Post Part 1:  A Trip Down Nightmare Lane

May 31, 2012

I was still in jellies when Poltergeist first hit the big screen.  I think my parents were sensible enough not to take their five-year-old daughter to see this horror flick in the theaters (even though it was rated PG, yes you heard me right), but I have vivid memories of watching it on our TV when I was still very young.  Some would say too young, but we were a hardier stock, we children of the 80’s.  Plus, if my older brother was watching it, I was surely pitching a fit to see it too.  I remember laying on the floor on a sleeping bag in front of the television being equally traumatized both by the poltergeist itself AND the creepy little lady trying to rid the house of it.

Even though I haven't seen the movie in at least 15 years, certain images are still tattooed on my brain. Little blond Carol Ann with her hands pressed against the static of the TV screen.  Her innocent little voice chanting, “They’re HERE.”  The chairs moving across the kitchen floor by themselves.  The poor kids trying to stay calm by counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder.  The giant tree that sucks the little boy out the window.  The skulls popping up in the swimming pool.  The mom's hair turning gray overnight.  (For some reason that disturbed me for years-- I think I worried (still do?) that it would happen to me).  And of course, the clown doll.  The clown doll that was disconcerting to begin with and became absolutely horrifying as soon as it disappeared from that chair and you just KNEW it was under the bed. 

The mere thought of the movie Poltergeist gives me the chills and makes me hug my arms close to my chest and look over my shoulder.   Then the other shoulder.  Then the first one again just to be sure.  And tomorrow night, on the 30th anniversary of its release, I am going to see it again.

The Alamo Drafthouse Ritz is showing Poltergeist on the big screen and my husband and I will be there, clown doll in tow.  (It's actually a talking Krusty the Clown doll from The Simpsons and not very creepy at all.  But, surprisingly, when I posted on Facebook that I needed to borrow a large creepy clown doll to take with me to a horror movie at a dinner theater, no one responded.  Strange, I know.  So Krusty will have to do.  I plan to use him as a viewing shield during the scary parts.  And, if I could control the things he says, I would risk getting kicked out of my beloved Drafthouse by pulling his string at just the right moment to make him say, "I'm Krusty the Clown and I'm going to kill you!")

Anyway, I am psyched about this.  It's the last day of school tomorrow and not only that but the last day of my teaching career, and I say what better way to commemorate a school year like this than with a night of terror?  I'll be there an hour early at least.  I only hope I don't spill my beer on myself when I jump.

Post Part 2:  This House is Clean

June 1, 2012

I had predicted that I would have trouble sleeping after seeing Poltergeist again.  But I thought it would be out of terror, not giddy child-like excitement.  Don’t get me wrong—the movie is still scary.  The movie will ALWAYS be scary.  I remembered that, and it held true.  I jumped out of my skin at least three or four times, and that infuriating clown STILL got me even though I KNEW he was going to get me.  (Isn’t that the trick though?  It knows what scares you. *shiver*)  What I did NOT expect was to walk out of the theater impressed with what a great movie this is.  Don’t laugh.  If you haven’t seen Poltergeist since you were a kid, go watch it again.  It hasn’t changed, but you have.  And it still holds up.

When I was a kid, I was watching the movie from the kids’ perspective, picturing being sucked into the closet by the evil whirlwind or being so traumatized after getting eaten by a tree that you can barely even call your mom’s name even when you hear your little sister’s voice coming from the television.  But this time I am older than the parents in the movie and, even though I am not a mom myself, tonight I was seeing the experience from her eyes.  Pardon my language, but the mom in that movie kicks ass!  I love how open-minded she is about the whole thing originally and how she bonds with the first lady that tries to help them.  And then, at the end, I’ll admit it, I felt a few tears prickling at my eyes when she yelled, “Stay away from my babies!” and fought that demon with everything in her power.  She was awesome.

However, I did do the math when the dad gave the family members’ ages and was shocked to learn that they had their first daughter when the mom was only 16.  Scandalous!  It was also a little surprising that the movie was rated PG even though the parents were smoking marijuana.  Not that I am bothered by that—just surprised.  It’s not the two minutes of pot-smoking that should have earned the movie a higher rating.  It was the EMOTIONAL SCARRING AND LIFE-LONG TRAUMATIZATION OF CHILDREN that should have done that.  Sheesh.

Anyway, I loved it.  I loved the whole movie, from the Star Wars bed sheets to the steak inching its way across the kitchen counter to the headless doll that Carol Ann cuddled with in her bed.  I could go on and on (perhaps I already have?) but I will stop.  All I have to say is that if my husband (who is leaving on a business trip tomorrow) rigs our TV to show nothing but static when I turn it on (like he suggested he might) he is going to WISH there were a poltergeist in his house when he comes home.

[Side Note:  I highly recommend going out in public carrying a talking Krusty the Clown doll.  Because of Krusty, my husband and I started chatting with the two guys behind us in line for the movie.  While some people chuckled at but then ignored the clown and others did that thing where they SLOWLY rotate so that they have their backs to you and try to pretend you don’t exist, these two gents embraced our Krusty-ness.  (Poor word choice.  I admit it.  We’re powering through.)  And after talking for a bit, we came to realize that:

- New friend #1 is from the same hometown as me.

- New friend #1 now lives near where my husband grew up in Maryland.

- New friend #2’s wife was in my graduating class at my high school and I knew her sister.

- New friend #2 and my husband work at the same company.

So there you have it.   The world is, in fact, tiny.  We’re all best buds now.  We have matching friendship bracelets and are getting a time-share together.  We may all co-sponsor a baby whale.  Anyway, I reiterate, when you go out in public, you should take a talking Krusty the Clown doll with you.  Enough said.]