The VCR

The other week, for a few brief, panicky moments, I literally forgot what a VCR was called. My mind scrambled to recall the correct name of "that thing that played tapes."

Oy.

It came as a surprise to me, because when I was growing up, I used our VCR a lot. So much so, that as a still very young child, I knew how to adjust the tracking to clear up the picture, even if I didn't know exactly what it meant.

Tapes were a thing. Back then, we didn't go to Blockbuster, choosing instead to frequent a placed called The Video. The building's still there; in the years since the movie store left, it's been about five restaurants. Another strip mall (torn down now)held a small video store that we also went to. This one, I remember vividly, had a large picture of Chucky on the wall and a sign that said "Even Freddie and Jason were kids once too." Apparently it was from a horror movie called Mikey.

The result of all this is that I took to indiscriminately shoving tapes into our VCR. This included some home movies, my mom's copy of Dirty Dancing, and a Denise Austin workout tape from 1986. Also the Wizard of Oz and 101 Dalmatians, the latter of which was later taped over with an episode of Regis and Kathy Lee, because someone at some time had the bright idea to make the record button bright red.

Anyone remember the movies that McDonald's used to sell on VHS at Christmas?

Man, where's my Rudolph tape? I am in serious need of a 7UP commercial right now.

Bothering

Alright, so more excerpts and snark are coming this weekend.

This 30 days thing is actually working out okay for now. I have gotten loads more done than if I hadn't set this thing up. That said, I really would love to write full time.

I've also been reading Rework the past couple days, and it's been pretty inspiring. My brain feels like it's going overtime. I definitely haven't found any contentment with daytime TV lately, which does signal a personal change. I did try to bounce some ideas off my fiance last night. I was basically too tired to attempt a toss, but it's nice to know my brain wants to do stuff that late at night.

Yesterday I actually cut out this disgusting part of the book where the characters find that they have to go through an animal carcass that's roughly the size of an elephant. When I wrote the scene, quite a while back, the squelching and crunching just seemed like a great fit.

When I went to type it up, it just grossed me out. It was also tedious and boring, and relied on something gruesome to make it interesting. As that's the reason I don't like slasher flicks that much, that scene had to go.

I'm still a little afraid of this venture. I'm scared to fail, because why bother if most self-published (and even house-published) novels aren't wildly successful?

I bother because I have a story to tell, and I intend to do just that.

This story's been cooking for over ten years. I think it's funny when there are YA book trends, because you know only one or two of the probably twenty on the shelf are honest. Sometimes there are reprints (like the Vampire Diaries, which was first published in the early 90s, and reprinted because, well, Twilight.)

The most honest stories are the ones that you must tell. Not the ones that the market says are hot, but the story you cannot get your mind away from. Tell the story that's chasing you down.

In other words, bother.

Remakes, or I Think I'm Old Now

So this past weekend, Season 7 of Doctor Who premiered. We get BBC America. Naturally, I commandeered the TV for watching a little Who. I won't spoil it for you, I promise, but there were Daleks (the name of the episode mentioned them, so really, not a spoiler.) After that, I watched Sherlock Holmes (the 2009 movie.) The night before, I had started watching The Hitcher (from 1986) on Youtube, and finished that movie up.

That's quite a lot of input into my poor little brain. I ended up having some dream in which there was a suicide note and I was turning into a Dalek. Pretty tame, actually. I had a dream with bandaids that made me gag, so I'll take the Dalek thing over that any day. (I hate bandaids.)

Lately I've been on an 80s kick. That happens every couple of years. Literally I will possibly soon be all about the 90s, which is when I actually grew up. But the 80s fascinate me right now, and coincidentally, a lot of my favorite movies were made then. I'd read some good reviews of The Hitcher (the original) and checked it out.

It was a decently creepy movie. There was gore, yes, but not a lot of it, no more than anything I've seen watching any of the crime shows I watch. It wasn't a slasher flick, in other words, but very psychological.

But they made a remake in 2007.

Sean Bean played the antagonist.

I haven't seen that one, and I don't really want to. For one, I can never really take that actor seriously as a bad guy. He's too human. He might play a criminal, but he's never unlikeable. Also, 2007 is possibly one of the worst years you could have picked to make a movie in which a lower antagonist is the absolute isolation of the highway, with no cell phone and no one you can trust. The original was scary because if you were driving alone, then you were really driving alone and unconnected.

So I wonder how the approximately million remakes coming up will hold together. I mean, they already remade Footloose. I don't know if it was any good, but it appeared to be all about country music and line dancing, with all the fun of a CW "next week on" promo. Pretty in Pink is most likely next, and I've already heard that they're remaking Dirty Dancing, though that may be just a rumor. (Hopefully a rumor, because it would probably be just pretty much one of the Step Up movies, and uhm, ew.) They've already remade Red Dawn. I saw the trailer, and it looks to be pretty good, from a technical movie standpoint. But is it believable?

*sigh*

I feel old. I'm defending movies older than me.

I'm gonna be like one of those kids I knew in college, who were born at the age of like 85, only unlike Benjamin Button, never got younger.

Someone get me some sugary cereal now. I need to grow down.

The Fork Thing Didn't Go Over Well

I've come to realize that I cannot possibly be the only unfortunate 25 year old woman who once...

1. Tried to comb her hair with a fork.

2. Wanted a horse. It could live in the shed out back.

3. Made a Trapper Keeper into a cubicle "cover sheet" for spelling tests.

4. Gifted Barbie with permanent makeup and/or a permanent haircut.

5. Tried the whole "bedsheets out the window" thing. My anchor of choice was the flimsy plastic part of the toilet paper holder.

6. Confused some adult about there being a "cat" in the sky during a crescent moon.

7. Ate Kool-aid powder, because friends said it was "good."

8. Ate a habenero pepper. Because "hey, eat this."

9. Watched Crossroads. Twice.

Blog Promos (i.e. Lazy Day)

It's Friday where I live, and time to do a little promotions of the blogs I love to read.

The Clumsy Juggler
This one's actually written by a friend of mine from college. She's currently in grad school for Master's in English, and was very recently diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. She writes about it on the site, and it is entertaining, thought-provoking, and educational all at the same time. It's also made me very thankful for my own health.

Children of the Nineties
For a child of the 90s such as myself, this blog just oozes nostalgia. Right now the updates are sporadic, and the last one was in May of this year, but check it out anyway. The archives are amazing.

Fourth Grade Nothing
Much like Children of the Nineties, this blog is a trip back into the childhood of a whole generation, the kids and teens of the 1980s. I'm currently obsessed with that decade, so I really love this blog.

Weirdly Awesome NC
Though I'm quite prone to scaring myself with ghost stories, I do very much enjoy weird tales and local legends, as well as alternate theories for historical events (Ancient Aliens, anyone?) This site has both, focused mainly in North Carolina, but also branches out into the "weirder" corners of the Earth. The author's ideas are pretty interesting as to why certain things occur, so be sure you don't miss the theme running through every post.

The Laconic Inkdrop
Another blog by a friend, this is focused mainly on the issues that us recentish college grads are having with employment, paying back loans, and basically facing a world that will soon belong to us. Her other blog is Ever Just Curious, which has a more literary focus.

Rediscovering His Grace
What can I say, I'm one amongst all my blogger friends. It's hard to keep one's faith these days, but sometimes things that happened in the past made it harder. I find this a refreshing glance at a faith that is too often riddled with trite sayings instead of the blunt truth.


That's it for the promos this week. I hope you find all these sites as enjoyable as I do.

1995 Was a Great Year to be Nine Years Old

Arguably one of my favorite blogs is Fourth Grade Nothing. The author grew up in the 70s and 80s, and most of the posts are spent reminiscing about her childhood. I love reading it. It's sort of like oral history. Actually, that's exactly what it's like. I wasn't around for much of the 80s, and none at all for the 70s, so it's really cool to read about another person's experiences.

I also love Children of the 90s, because I am one.

I don't remember much at all about the 80s, except for snatches here and there, memories of snow, my dad's Isuzu truck, and maybe a little Disney World. I was born in 1986, and spent a little over three years in the glorious 1980s (they really do look fabulous...) before the clock struck midnight and January 1, 1990 rolled in.

My most favorite memories are of the 90s, when I really grew up. Like so many other people who remember their childhood, I just feel like everything was so much better then. School supplies were definitely more awesome, and everything we take for granted now was a novelty.

I think that's why third grade was my favorite year of school. I mean, yeah, it had its times of suckage, but that was all elementary school drama. It was 1995 when the school year began, and I was almost nine years old. I freaking loved shopping for school supplies, and mine were epic. I had a suede backpack, all different earth-toned colors, and it closed with a drawstring and a flap. My chin-length hair (which was straight then) and my spaghetti strap dress over a white t-shirt made me feel so fashionable. Like really. I had style. I think.

My favorite school supply was my Trapper Keeper, which had some computer generated, abstract image on it. Man, that was so cool. Trapper Keepers are back, yeah, but it's not the same. They're boring. Vintage, supposedly. To a 90s kid? Bleh.

I'd taken a little creative license with the school supply list and convinced my mom that the sparkly glittery crayons would be fine. (They weren't. We did color mixing that year. Turns out peridot doesn't count as yellow.) I remember my teacher reading Ellen Tebbits that year. The world was our acid trip as we collectively obsessed over Lisa Frank. I think I had a pocketbook by that time, mostly because my cousin, the same age as me, had one and I desperately needed one too. I don't think I ever used it.

Please, all of yall tell me you remember plastic pacifier necklaces, yin-yangs everywhere, and Yikes! pencils and stuff. My fiance found some at his house, the green and purple particle wood sharpened down to just three inches long.

The Bookmobile, and extension of our local library, came every three weeks and parked right across the street from our little house, and I devoured The Babysitters Club and Goosebumps. I think I learned to love reading then. Not sure when the biting sarcasm developed.

That was the year we got cable, and it was absolutely amazing. I watched all of one channel, Nickelodeon. Back then, you had to order the Disney Channel extra, so I never watched that as a kid. Nickelodeon was enough. It had previously been a treat reserved only for weekend trips to my Gramma's house in Virginia, or for when we were at my Granny's house across town. Snick was the perk of a weekend at Gramma's, and Are You Afraid of the Dark rocked my world.

In 1995, I discovered Star Wars. My parents rented it, and it blew my mind. I'd never seen anything like it before. I mean yeah, I watched Star Trek The Next Generation on TV, but I have only a few memories of that and no emotional attachment. Star Wars made me love movies. Better than that, it made me love good storytelling. I had a homemade Star Wars cake that year, with Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine, R2-D2, and Luke Skywalker on it. The writing was done in blue gel on white icing. Epic.

My goal was to eventually make a lightsaber with a white blade. I daydreamed of finding that special crystal in my schoolyard.

We didn't have Internet yet then. I mean, it existed, but for most of the public, it was a little bit of a novelty. We didn't even have a computer. Family friends did, and I remember playing with a program at my parents' friends' house where you would speak into the microphone, and the parrot on-screen would repeat what you said. It yelled at me when I used the word stupid once.

I thought the internet looked so cool, with all the AOL keywords and games and a whole world out there, right at our fingertips.

I begged my dad to get a computer with a "motive" so we could get on the internet.

He laughed at me. The computer with the "motive" didn't come until the next year, around the same time we got Minnie.

After 1995, it got crazy. Technology changed at a dazzling rate of speed. I didn't know what a cell phone was then, and I had no idea, in 1995, what a laptop was. (I would later discover this technical marvel while watching Independence Day, in which a Powerbook was used to kill aliens.) No year, for the rest of that decade, ever felt as aweome. Blips of cool popped up here and there, such as seeing Star Wars (Special Edition!) in the theater and getting a puppy (10th birthday...double-digits rock). Back before the new Star Wars trilogy came along and partly broke the hearts of fans everywhere (but we're loyal lovers.) Back before the Y2K scare, before 1999 got stale, and back when kids weren't lazy. Back when anything was possible, but what else could have been better? Forget tomorrow. Today, there are pools to cannonball into, Death Stars to blow up, just in front of the swingset, and Warball games to play, beat or be beaten.

Yes, 1995 was truly a great time to be nine years old. I don't think the world's any worse. We're certainly aware of more now. I think we might've appreciated childhood a little more if ourselves now could go back in time and show our younger selves that this Saturday at the pool is a blessed and rare day off. But why ruin the fun?

And by the way, I still want that white lightsaber.

The All-American Drive-In Theater

Okay Google. I'll bite.

Today is June 6, and for students of history such as myself, it is the anniversary of the Invasion of Normandy, an event that gave the Allies a nice little foothold into Europe. Germany surrendered less than a year later.

Yet Google has instead chosen to observe the founding of the first drive-in movie theater.

I do understand though. Google has never been just what everyone expected, and everyone expects a moving tribute to the men who fell from the sky and the ones who stormed the beaches. Possibly a flag should wave somewhere. Google is on a quest for uniqueness.

I swear I can link the two. Watch me make logical magic.

The drive-in theater is an icon in American culture, the latter of which would not be the same thing it is now without a decisive victory for the Allies in WWII.

So I shall now observe the All-American drive-in movie theater, examined psuedo-closely in three films.

Many a film, in an interesting meta-ish practice, depicts teenagers going to the drive-in on the weekends. Ususally these are older films, so the nostalgia is there.

In 1978's Grease, the drive-in watches over the students of Rydell High School and acts as sort of a parental figure. The cool parent. The one good with everything, just there to make sure you're okay, but hey man. It's cool. Whatever. It's the sympathetic shoulder to cry on because that scene in particular is where Sandy and Danny break up. It's back there all "Hey, it'll be okay. Life will get better, I promise."

A tragic, but ultimately uplifting appearance of the humble drive-in theater is in 1984's Red Dawn. In this film, the small town of Calumet Colorado (which is both real and fictional*) is invaded by Soviet troops. The drive-in theater is fenced in and converted to a reeducation camp. We see it twice, once when two brothers and a friend sneak there and find that their dad is imprisoned, and where they effectively say goodbye to him for the last time. In the background is the drive-in theater, blasted with Soviet propaganda. And it just stands there, ever the picture of the slow burn that is the American temper. It will get its revenge, says the screen. You wait. Eventually, that happens when the kids do assault the camp and attempt to free everyone inside, and the projector ends up with graffiti on it, defiantly displaying Wolverines in big letters. The drive-in prevails.

And last but never least is the drive-in's appearance in 1996's Twister. The film's not-quite climax features a huge tornado tearing into the screen while The Shining plays on. Parts of the screen are ripped away as Jack Nicholson hacks wildly at the door his wife hides behind. And the screen just takes it. Like a champ. Truly American.

And so friends, I believe that Google's tribute to the drive-in on this particular date is appropriate, because without the Invasion of Normandy, maybe we wouldn't still have the American tradition of the drive-in.



 

*It's a ghost town that was abandoned sometime in the 70s. Basically, the makers of the film used the name and setting for a middle America feel, but filmed the actual scenes in Las Vegas, New Mexico. My brother at at the McDonald's that appears in the film. Apparently they're fans of salsa verde on burgers.



**Also, one of my available tags is "disasterssarcasm." It's a great new word and all, but I really don't know how it happened.

Reflections of a Future Terrible Parent, Part 2

Continuing from Part 1. 

I'd never really labeled myself as anything beyond being a Christian. I went to a Baptist church back then. We started going because my cousin would go to Awana with her friend, who went to that church. I started going to Awana, and it just naturally happened that we started attending, because my dad grew up there. His parents had become Christians in the 1960s and that was the home church they chose. They still go there. The church also basically ran my school, but I was never aware of it beyond simply knowing. They felt separate and as a result, I never really felt that close to the church. I went on Wednesday nights, and later we'd start going more regularly on Sundays, and I did get involved more in high school. That was pretty fun. But I never labeled myself a fundamentalist. My clothing was decidedly unmodest (my shorts went mid-thigh and I wore a bathing suit to a mixed swimming pool) and my family wasn't that big into hymns. For awhile, I only believed in the King James Version of the Bible, but for no other reason that I had been told it was the best. I don't believe that anymore, and I'm ashamed to say that I made that declaration without any sort of backing or research, checking around, or even reading it  much for myself. Despite all this, I was still pretty normal, and I was never a fundamentalist.

My reading tastes varied, as I mentioned before. I didn't delve into the classics, though. I read teen lit, and a lot of it. I'm sure that a lot of it was vapid and shallow, and I know some of my friends would raise an eyebrow and issue an intellectual disclaimer that the movie version was cute, but sort of silly. All this to say, I didn't grow up reading Pride and Prejudice voraciously. Fine if you do. I more enjoyed Treasure Island and Journey to the Center of the Earth. To this day, I still haven't read it. I might. Pride and Prejudice came with my Kindle app, and I own the 2005 movie (which I did like quite a bit. But it, alas, has "too much drama." Or something.) I still read a lot of YA lit. I liked Twilight (sorry to block your potshots here, but that doesn't make me unintelligent either.) I think part of the reason I do like the genre is because my local library didn't have a lot of it to offer that I liked then, and I was often too embarrassed to venture into the children's section. I'm writing a YA novel. Jane Eyre, as I understand the story, freaks me out a little. I mean, ew, the guy locks his schizo wife up in the attic and starts skirt-chasing a 20 year old, who likes it. That's officially grosser than Twilight right there.

So I won't make my sons or daughters read the classics because they're "good for them." I will train them to make the right decisions and to analyze everything, just like I do, and just like my fiance does. I didn't need ten thousand rules growing up because my parents taught me to think.

I said before that my mom went back to work once I was old enough to babysit my brother in the afternoons. I never got paid; it was just something normal that I did, every day, because my mom sacrificed a lot so we could have a private education. By no means did we live outrageously; our household was a frugal one. There were plenty of summer vacations, because building those memories is so important to my family, even today.

My junior year at BJU, I had this roommate who was mostly a very sweet person, but very sheltered. She was engaged to a man (and they're married now) who very much considered himself an authority in her life, in such instances as not letting her speak to any of her male friends. (I won't even touch on that. Make of it what you will.) Well, somehow there was some discussion or other in the room one day, between me and her and my two freshman roommates, about women working in WWII. (My great-grandmother was one such woman. I'm very proud of that.) I don't remember much about what happened through most of the conversation, but at the end, the older roommate said "But I believe women should have just stayed home after the war" in a condescending tone.*

And now, I can only think how spoiled rotten she was. She wasn't alone either. I know myself that stay-at-home moms do stuff, all day, especially if the kids are very young. It's a hard job. But I have known so many people who hold a quiet judgment for women like both my grandmothers, at least one of my great-grandmothers, and my mom. In a crowd of tenth generation Christian future homemakers and preachers' kids, I know I stood out, having come from a long line of women who worked and sacrificed a lot to give to their families.

So I will not hesitate to work if it means that my children will otherwise not eat or not have decent clothes.

That brings me to another point. See, growing up in a regular school, even if it was a private school, helped me understand people. Now, that's one thing that's not so unique at my alma mater, but there still are a lot of people in this country who are homeschooled. The US is pretty cool about that sort of thing, and I'm glad. But I'm also happy that I was never homeschooled, and it's very likely something I won't be doing.

I can hear the resounding "whys" now. I've actually been asked that, and in a confrontational manner. As if I hadn't thought it through. As if I had no idea what I was talking about.

But I have thought it through, and I have several reasons for not wanting to homeschool my children. For one, I don't want them to get a lopsided education. I only studied chemistry in college for one year, and, spoiler alert, I wasn't good at it. Same goes for math. Now, if there's something concrete I can focus on, like learning by doing stuff hands-on, then I'm good. That's why Physics was easier for me than Chemistry. Not easy, just easier. I still struggled, but I understood it better. I'm even convinced that Calculus could be conquered if one uses objects instead of concepts. But see, I don't know that my kids will learn the same way I do. They might, they might not. I don't want them to get an education so heavy in history and literature that they miss out on math and science and lose any opportunity for a calling. Even if I were to be a stay-at-home mom, my future husband, who is good at math and science, would be at work all day. I wouldn't be satisfied having my kids learn from a DVD. If it's obvious that one of my kids will love math or science, but has no way of learning past the most basic concepts, then there is a failure somewhere. Not everyone can major in English and love it. I sure wouldn't. Props to y'all who do. I believe an actual teacher needs to be there to help where I couldn't. If times are tough from a monetary perspective, I will work too. I've been told that there are bad influences in schools. And that all goes back to raising your child right.

So, I say again, I also will most likely not be homeschooling my children.

What I don't look forward to is the quiet judgment. I already know someone who looked quite surprised, and somewhat unpleasantly so, that I'm a whole two months older than my fiance, because "the husband should be older." Too late, I guess.


I'm not trying to insult anyone with the things I believe and the things I will do; I simply ask that the favor is returned. I'm not horribly altered because my life didn't have fresh baked muffins**, classes at home, and crappy old literature all the time, every day. I had a normal childhood and a normal adolescence. Yet still, I've had people, even friends, tell me the same thing a few times: "I didn't think you'd be a nice person until I got to know you." I don't even know what to say to that.

There's probably lots of other ways I'll manage to be a terrible parent, but I don't care. I learned from the awesomest. Cheers to "terrible" parenting.



*She also, for some reason, thought that my Dad's parents did not have a big wedding because they weren't church-going people at the time, and that it just wasn't important to them. My grandparents were poor. They couldn't afford a fancy old-money wedding, and were married by a minister in his office at his church. Same goes for my Mom's parents, who did attend church regularly. Tsk. Spoiled.

**I can bake the heck out of a chocolate chip cookie, though. Just sayin'. 

Reflections of a Future Terrible Parent, Part 1

When I decided in the spring of 2005, on a whim, to apply to and attend Bob Jones University, I had no idea what I'd be getting myself into. I was a little familiar with the school, mostly through some of the textbooks my Christian school used (there were some historical inaccuracies and brushovers) and the students who visited from the school (way too smiley.) But, for some reason that wasn't at the time at all obvious to me, I knew that I needed to be at that college in the fall of 2005. When I decided that, I was at a senior retreat for my class. I didn't know then that the man I'll be marrying in a few months was sitting in the same room, with his senior class. Later that year, because of a conversation with a good friend who also went to BJU (the only other person in my class to do so,) I met my now-fiance. It was more than I ever could have thought I'd receive simply for following an impression upon my soul. I never expected to even have many friends, as I'm not outgoing. But I have those too, thank God.

Everyone knows Bob Jones University is not without its flaws. It's become quite infamous lately, for what I think are grand missteps in judgement. It's also a place with many rules. Those I don't care about. I'm not here to really talk about Bob Jones University. It's the attitudes within a few in my generation (and older) that I encountered both at the school and outside of it that really cemented in my mind certain things I will not do when I am a parent.

I grew up in the 90s, as a normal kid. We moved around town a few times, but because I went to a private Christian school, I never had to change where I went. It was always the same place. Other than having to wear dresses every day to school, my childhood was not at all different than most other kids that grew up then. I devoured the Goosebumps book series, as well as The Babysitters Club. I don't think I owned many of the latter, and only one of the former. I also read the American Girl books (the ones that went with the dolls), but I didn't own many of them. The Bookmobile coming every 3 weeks was my own private Christmas; we didn't even have to go to the library, because it came to us. I loved that. I got my fill of BSC and Goosebumps, as well as other scary books for kids. I liked the spooky stuff. Seriously, the 90s was a great time to be nine years old. Before we got cable, a weekend trip to my Gramma's house in Virginia was a treat, because she did have cable, and therefore, we could watch SNICK on Saturday night. My favorite was the still-scary Are You Afraid of the Dark. I loved that show.
Until I was about eleven years old, my mom stayed home to take care of my little brother. When he went to kindergarten, she went back to work (she's a nurse.) This left me with the responsibility of us kids staying home alone every day, which was fine. We watched Kids WB and Fox 50 Kids. Animaniacs was an extraordinary show. I watched three straight incarnations of Power Rangers, as well as this show with some knights in Ireland. I freaking loved Mystic Knights. That show rocked. And none of it was educational. Saturday mornings were much the same, because ABC had all the best shows by then. (CBS had my heart for a while, though, as did Fox, which played Peter Pan and the Pirates.) Disney's Doug wasn't as good as the original, which aired on Nickelodeon. Still watched it, though. My best friend (who also went to my school) lived up the street, around the corner, and up this insane hill that probably wouldn't be so bad if I gave it a whirl at th age of 25. I biked everywhere in my neighborhood, exploring every nook and cranny to my hearts content. I finished 6th grade, started shaving my legs, and started junior high. I remember being a Britney Spears fan, back before she sorta lost it. Seventh grade was marvelously awkward for me. After that year, my best friend moved away, and we moved out of our neighborhood and across town. Another friend transferred, and the only link was a phone number (we didn't get internet until later that year), and a dude whom I'd known since 5th grade and whom I had declared to be my mortal enemy. Sort of. (Same dude was the friend who went to BJU. Funny how things turn out, ain't it?) It was a lonely year.

High school was better. Actually, it was pretty great. I was still an introvert, so I was the quiet one, but who cared if I could get away with stuff in my school. 9/11/2001 was at the beginning of my freshman year, and it was pretty scary because North Carolina has its good share of military bases. At some point in that time frame, I transitioned from my rather conservative peach eyeshadow and pink lipstick to smudged eyeliner in blue, green, or purple, and dark lipstick in red, purple, and sometimes silver. Blush was not something I was a fan of. Pallor was my friend. I liked books and stuff with bows and arrows in them, but I was also a girly-girl. The US invaded Iraq in 2003. 2004 brought Green Day's American Idiot, so that was awesome, but we also worried about the draft starting up again, and whether women would be drafted as well, if it came to that. I graduated in 2005, at the age of eighteen, and started preparing to go away to college.

I was not prepared for what I'd face from other Christians, since my upbringing in a Christian home had been so so very regular.

A Look Back: The Vacuum Cleaner That Ended the Cold War

Oh yes.

You've probably never heard of the brand. It used to be called CMS, and it's now called Cleartrak. Yep, a vacuum cleaner.

We've had this vacuum cleaner for at least as long as my existence (24 years). As I am still living at home and both my parents have full-time jobs (something I'm also looking for...), I was called upon to vacuum the living room today. Not a problem. I don't mind, as long as everything's in good working order. It was; I vacuumed; our gray living room carpet is now in a clean condition.

See, this vacuum was purchased during the 1980s, the second best decade ever. (The 90s is first. Always.) Reagan was president, NASA was working again, and my parents purchased this beast of a cleaning machine through Amway.

The CMS Cleartrak Amway vacuum cleaner (complete with globe logo) is incredibly heavy. My dog weighs about 35 pounds, so I'm gonna estimate this bad boy at somewhere between 50 and 60 pounds. It has a clear cylinder and a gray/blue theme and lots of scuff marks from at least 24 years of life and 6 different houses. You turn it on, and it roars.

See, like everything else in the 1980s, this cleaning device is big and over the top. And it still works.* If Reagan had been in possession of one of these babies and flashed it around in Berlin, Mr. Gorbachev would probably have torn down the Wall himself. With his bare hands. Just the black hole-esque startup sound single-handedly inspired the movie Red Dawn. Yes, we still use this shining pinnacle of capitalism to suck all that dirty commie mess off the floor.

It's quite poetic.

I admit, I hated the thing when I was younger. As I grew and my responsibilities for keeping stuff clean added up, I've really started to love the old boy. Let's call him Chester. The loud noises that once bothered me (greatly) are now a welcome sound as Chester gets the living room, the hallway, my room, anything else clean. My dad says it's one of the best cleaners out there, and because it's lasted so long with only a few minor belt issues, I'm inclined to believe him.

Chester is something that's leftover from another time in my life, when I was naive and innocent, and that was okay.

And as much as I hate vacuuming anything, I know I'll have to get my own vacuum cleaner when I get an apartment. I know I'm gonna miss ol' Chester a lot, and not just because he's an awesome vacuum cleaner. What I do know is, I'll probably be borrowing him as an old friend to come and break the champagne bottle and inaugurate the new apartment and do what he does best: vacuum.



*Until a few years ago, my parents still had most of the same appliances that they received as wedding gifts in 1983. And it all still worked awesomely. I still use their hand-mixer, which is still mighty.