What's in a Rating?

It's hard to believe that there was once a time when it mattered what rating a movie received.  But it did.  It mattered in 1985.  With my mom busy shopping, I would browse the video department of the Dierberg's grocery store in Chesterfield, Missouri searching for the next feature for our spanking new VCR.  Time after time, I would come across a movie called "Angel" with the tagline:  "High School Honor Student by Day.  Hollywood Hooker by Night."  (I swear I remembered this tagline word for word and only looked it up on imdb.com to verify.)  I'm not even sure I knew what a hooker was, but that video cover always intrigued me.  Sadly, it would never find its way into our VCR, having been slapped with a big fat "R" rating.  To this day, I have not seen "Angel."  Perhaps I should just to see what I was missing out on, but I have a sneaking suspicion I would be bored.  It no longer has the appeal it once did, probably because I can go see an "R" rated movie any 'ole time I want.  In fact, these days, I rarely even notice what a movie is rated.

I do, however, remember my first real rated "R" movie, and I remember exactly where I saw it:  at a slumber party at Amy M.'s house for her tenth birthday.  The movie was "Purple Rain."  I had no idea what was in store when my mom dropped me off at the apartment Amy shared with her mom.  This was a video pick that had been sanctioned by Amy's mom, evidently with no consideration for other people's parenting styles.  I could not believe my luck.  We were talking about Prince.  Prince!

In retrospect, as an amateur film critic, I could have a field day with this tale about a brooding petite rock star and all of his daddy issues.  But I won't.  Because what stays with me is the excitement, the thrill, of being able to watch this garbage - the garbage that I would never have dreamed of asking my mom to bring home.         

Ignorance is Bliss

The year was 1983. As a surprise one day, my mom brought home Air Supply's Greatest Hits. (Amazon lists the release as 1988, but that must be for the CD, not the super cool cassette version.) It was a mistake, actually. The last song on Side 2 was a song called "Sweet Dreams" and, not having the benefit of Internet and constantly missing the D.J. introduction on the radio, my mom figured it was the popular Eurythmics song. No matter. Even if "Sweet Dreams" was the worst song on the album (it was), there was plenty to love. Oh yes.

My Air Supply cassette accompanied me wherever I went, usually tucked inside my imitation Walkman with the orange sponge headphones, manufactured by Unicef. For me, it made my brother's seemingly endless soccer games bearable. I would even sing along - that is, until my brother helpfully pointed out that singing when you can't hear yourself makes even the most accomplished singer sound tone deaf (actually, he probably just said, "Shut up. You stink.").

While a number of the songs competed for second place, there was a definite favorite: "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All." It was prominently placed in the first slot on Side 2, and I knew all of the words by heart. I especially enjoyed when the song hit its crescendo, and I could sing to the top of my lungs, "We could make tonight forever, or we could make it disappear like a dog . . ."

Yes, that's what I said. "Disappear like a dog ..." I happily sang these lyrics for a good five years, and no one bothered to correct me. See, we didn't have the Internet to look these things up. Back then, we were lucky to find the lyrics in the cassette insert, and even then, only Chuck Yeager could read them. (Raise your hand if you remember Chuck Yeager ...)

Today, I could find out in less than five minutes exactly what Graham Russell was saying.

But where's the fun in that?

Great Way to Feel Old Tip #1

Start asking people what their first "45" was. Enjoy the blank stares fired back at you.

(Mine was "Theme from the Greatest American Hero," in case you were wondering.)

Michigan Winter

For me, elementary school days in Michigan were the best. Having been born a Yankee (Massachusetts, to be precise - which makes me wicked cool even though I remember next to nothing about living there), cold winters were all I knew. Snow was a given. We all went outside looking like buoys with all of our puffy layers (and a little like Ralphie's little brother in A Christmas Story). Inevitably, we'd face that circulation restricting scenario when the turtleneck layer sleeves somehow got pushed up around our elbows while the bottom of the shirt rode up, exposing our bellybuttons under our sweaters. And we wore moon boots. Oh moon boots! You probably remember the removable soft white booty liner that could double as a cast if you were playing doctor's office. And if you're like me, you might remember that other secret special Michigander liner inside the booty liner - the bread bag your mom cinched over your socks with rubber bands before you stepped into your space shoes. (FYI - John Heffron, from Last Comic Standing has an excellent bit about Michigan elementary school coat rooms, which mentions the ever present bread bag.) It was cold, but we had style.

If you rode the bus to school, there was a cardboard box near the driver that contained various "lost and found" mittens and gloves, most of them mateless. The bus driver often dipped into this box for a mitten to cover the cold metal passenger door handle when temperatures became almost unbearable. The little hand waved at us on the ride to school, like something out of Laverne and Shirley. While I was a frequent contributor to the lost and found box, I was always thankful my winter accessories never made center stage. (I have a fear of confrontation, and the bus driver was usually a little bit scary.)

When the holiday season approached, there was another special thing we did at my elementary school in Brighton, Michigan: off-site visits to parents' houses to make Christmas cookies. How awesome is that? It was especially awesome if your mom was one of the volunteer moms and a select group of kids got to go to YOUR house to create these masterpieces. I'm not talking about kids that were already my friends, but the other kids. The ones you just see at school. When we gave them the tour of the digs, I felt special - I felt famous. We were doing a school-sponsored activity at MY HOUSE. My house!

I think I'm still glowing thinking about it. Some things never change ...

Today's "When I Was Your Age, I Used to Walk Ten Miles to School in the Snow" Observation

Way before the days of the Internet, DVDs, and iPods, some of us used to dream about the latest and greatest in media technology - the portable t.v. For me, one of the lucky ones, this dream became a reality when I was able to stockpile enough of my babysitting money to purchase a Casio version of this fantastic device from our local showroom merchandise store, Foland's. My beloved Casio was black and white and had a 1 1/2 inch screen. The image transmitted was reflected in a little mirror when you flipped open the top of the t.v. It cost me $50. And I was proud. Oh so proud. What they didn't tell me is that the reception would be terrible, and nearly impossible when my family ventured sixteen hours in our GMC Safari from Michigan to Maine for vacation. I thought I would be able to kill one of those hours by watching "Days of Our Lives" on my new gadget. I was wrong. Oh so wrong. Jennifer and Frankie faded in and out of view. I would never know whether they would get together (okay, I would know - but I had to wait three weeks until we returned to our real t.v.).

I can tell you, however, that my little Casio (which I still own, btw) was useful in one, and only one, instance. On October 3, 1995, a number of my sorority sisters and I anxiously awaited the verdict in the O.J. Simpson trial. There was one problem: we had classes that day. Sure, a number simply skipped classes to hang out in the rec room and see this historic moment live. Not I. I carted my trusty Casio to English History and proudly announced to my class that I was equipped to tell them the verdict as soon as it was rendered. And true to my word, the trusty little Casio delivered. I intently listed to the scratchy audio, heard what I needed to, and clapped the t.v. shut. "Not Guilty," I announced to the class.

Sadly, an opportunity for such classroom glory would not exist today.

Something to Think About

Did you realize that, as of today, nearly all of those born in the seventies have reached their thirties? Yep. When American Idol inevitably features the "Songs from the Year You Were Born" theme night, our decade will be noticeably absent. Instead, we will hear songs that were the background for slumber party games or - gasp! - that we danced to in high school or college. We are well above the maximum age for appearing on The Real World. If we're carded, we can expect a "yikes" expression on the checker/bouncer's face. We're nowhere near that "You Must Be Born on Today's Date in ____ to Purchase Alcohol" sign. All of us are eligible to run for the House of Representatives; most of us can run for Senate; approximately half of us could run for PRESIDENT. Face it - we're old.

Good thing the thirties are the new twenties.