This new series is a wedding present to my fiance. He said, “Why don’t you mention these in the blog?” And given that not only is he my soon-to-be-husband, he is also my legal counsel, I’m mandated to take his advice.
I was addicted to TV Guide when I was younger. My mother was charged with buying two copies at Wegmans every week – one for Grandpa, who kept it tucked in the cushions of his electric recliner or next to his pen collection (he collected pens from his route as a bread delivery man), and one for Great-Grandma (his mother, she of the fun stories. Her last name was Hooker. She knocks the flowers off her grave. She lived to be 94 and was the first person to tell me to my face that I sucked. She would take my mother’s hand, hit her on the cheek with it, and tell her to “stop hitting yourself, Kelly!” She was that kind of woman.)
On the car ride between Wegmans and the two TV Guide drop-offs, I would devour the magazine. First, I had to see what would happen on next week’s Full House. After getting that all-important information (“Mom, DJ is going on a date with a guy Danny doesn’t like, and Stephanie wants to get her ears pierced!”), I would flip to the front and read every morsel on every non-listing page that I could. This single-handily is why I was a speed-reader in school. I had 10 minutes to read the entirety of early 1990s TV Guide, which was much more substantial than today’s version. Continue reading
In my parents’ pink insulation filled crawlspace in Rochester, NY, there is an entire Rubbermaid underbed container of programs. Ice show programs. Football programs. Hockey programs. Huge 11×17 full color programs. Black and white home inkjet printer printed programs.
Programs were one of the reasons I would attend games and shows. When I was really young, my hands would shake nervously when I would hand over my hard-earned money for a hockey or ice show program. I would insist on getting to events right when doors opened so that I would have as much time with the program prior to the puck drop, first pitch, kickoff, or opening piece. I would devour the program the minute I sat down. I loved the smell – that toxic ink plastic-like brand new smell that graced the pages, especially if this was the beginning of the season or tour or the first one in the box. The pages would stick together upon that first read through, which made me develop this unconscious habit I still have today of flipping through the program at a rapid pace at first to separate all of the pages before settling in to fully digest the content.
No one knew where I went to college until the basketball players started stealing condoms and dealing drugs.