This afternoon, after I had a truly wacky dream about a pastrami sandwich and my boyfriend dressed up in a blond wig, I spent the day lounging on the couch vegetating on bad television. This excludes the truly bad television I've referred to here before, including Hard Copy, Access Hollywood, Guiding Light, Judge Hatchett, and anything on E! save True Hollywood Story and The Soup!. I refuse to disclose whether or not I choose, in my bad TV selection, to include the following educational programs: The Peoples Court, Dr. Phil, or Scrubs.
In the midst of this highly productive afternoon I had an insane attack of nostalgia, in which I recalled the entire summer of 1991. I spent the summer babysitting for a 2-year old for $1.50 an hour while her mom, who was a friend of my mothers, worked at a local physician's office. The father of this child had an extensive collection of pornography and other movies which I became obsessed with, pornography excluded. Two in particular were Hardbodies (the proverbial allegory of my life, really), and Nothing in Common. They also had a massive collection of vintage records, and at the time had I known the gold that resided underneath that dust-encrusted turntable, I would have considered eloping with the argosy of vinyl and trading in my virginity for a low paying job at some crappy record company in Seattle. I didn't though, and chose instead to familiarize myself with Michael Jackson's Thriller. I see why this album is regarded with such high esteem to this day. It is addictive.
If you were born before the year of 1980, then in all likelihood, you've already seen this. If you haven't, I'd advise you to watch this thing in it's entirety, and I don't care if you are watching it at work because there will be a pop quiz later and anyone scoring a 69 percent or less will be banned from my posse.
Sorry I couldn't embed. But, get over it. It's my blog.