Back when VCRs became popular in the
1980s, I was like a kid in a candy store. The idea that I could videotape a
show on TV when I wasn’t home and then watch it at my convenience was, in my
mind, the greatest invention since glazed crullers. Every day I would study the
TV Guide and set the VCR to record a movie, sporting event, sitcom,
documentary, infomercial, farm report, test pattern, or other exciting program.
Then I would put a label on the tape, carefully noting exactly what
entertainment extravaganza was contained therein.
Every time I went near a retail store, I
would stop by and purchase another 10-pack of blank VHS tapes. I kept this up
for many years and by the mid-1990s I had a massive library of recorded TV
programs. There was only one problem: between all the time I devoted to
planning and recording shows, plus the time I spent dealing with the other
things of life — such as work, sleep, raising kids, mowing the driveway,
shoveling the lawn, etc. — there was no time left to actually watch any of the
tapes I recorded.
After about a decade it finally dawned
on me that I was wasting my time. From that point on, I only bothered to record
really monumental events, such as the final game of the World Series if the Red
Sox won, plus any episode of “Maury” that promises to disclose who the real
father is. (Ha, I’m kidding. EVERY episode of “Maury” follows that format —
which means every episode needs to be recorded and archived at the Smithsonian,
so future generations will understand why our civilization collapsed.)
Anyway, while doing
a major basement clean-up a couple years ago, I threw out most of the old
videotapes. But I did save a few. And just recently I sat down to watch an old
tape from what turned out to be 1988. At first, I wasn’t sure of the year. The
tape was a Red Sox game, and I had a feeling it was still the 1980s because
Roger Clemens was slim and Jim Rice was in the lineup. (What? You don’t memorize
Red Sox minutiae? What are you wasting your precious brain cells on, the names
and birth dates of your kids?)
The most interesting thing about the
videotape turned out to be the commercials. I realized the baseball game
occurred in 1988 when an ad between innings offered a “sneak peek” at the new
‘89 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. (Also, the game announcer provided a hint when
he said, “The Red Sox hope to stay healthy down the stretch and win the 1988
pennant.”)
I found myself fast-forwarding through
the game action (even after three decades I can only take so much of seeing Bob
Stanley give up back-to-back doubles) so I could watch, and laugh at, the
commercials. Although the decade of the 1980s should receive some kind of
fashion award — simply for not being the 1970s — the hair and clothing were
kind of interesting. Especially the hair.
All the men in the commercials had high,
poofy hair, which clearly had been carefully brushed and blow-dried for at
least two hours. I suspect any global warming we are experiencing now was
caused, not by SUVs and coal-fired power plants, but by men using hair dryers
in the 1980s.
The eyeglasses were even funnier. The
lenses were so huge back then, it looked like everyone had a couple of bay
windows perched on his or her nose.
I wish I hadn’t thrown out my collection
of tapes. Despite the funny fashions, it was more interesting than anything on
TV today — except, of course, for the next paternity test episode of “Maury.”
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