It's your saucy Saturday Evening post. That where this blog and similarities to The Saturday Evening Post end. Norman Rockwell declined to comment. I got a VCR for my fourteenth birthday. I went halfsies with the parents on an old Panasonic job so I could tape Flyers games while I was at practice or doing homework. This was important, because this was also the year we got cable and I had resolved to watch every single game of the season, although logistically I needed to tape some of them.
So my older brother got me some blank tapes and a Metallica concert VHS. There was very little different between me at 14 in 2000 and a 14 year-old in 1988. But what will always stand out is my sister's gift. It was Wild Things on tape. I had never seen Wild Things, but it had achieved a Holy Grail type of reverence for 14 year olds, as it was technically a full-length feature film, but only 5 minutes of the movie was talked about. But those 5 minutes, the use of slow motion, and the ability to rewind made an adolescent boy feel like God. Or Satan, depending on your upbringing. I still do not know what the plot of Wild Things is.
I never asked why my sister, then 20 years old, got me Wild Things. We had never discussed it, I had never asked for it, I had never been caught leering at it in Blockbuster, and I certainly wasn't about to interrogate her. I maintain that this was the nicest thing my sister ever did for me. She would probably scoff at that, but that just means she didn't know the gravity of her gift, the ushering in of an era only marked by the *snick* sound of a locked bedroom door. I should really send her a thank-you note. Because, you know, that wouldn't be creepy.
The picture doesn't work.
ReplyDeleteAlso, your sister is like Mother Teresa but for teenage masturbation.
/going back to jail
//my verification word for this comment was "hotcoc"