Saturday, February 26, 2011
Goin Back, Goin WAAAAY Back
This afternoon at lunch, I tapped the black, deep-dish pizza pan with my fork and reflected, "I feel as if I'm returning to my childhood--the part in the US, anyway."
Martin took a sip from his tall, cloudy plastic cup of root beer. "These cups haven't changed much since I was a kid," he said. I agreed. Though they've done away with the pitcher of pop on the table, and the colored glass hanging lamps were gone, there were still some reassuring Old-School Pizza Hut details. The scrape of the metal server on the pan, the same stringy cheese and buttery crust, the same solid square-shaped ice cubes. No crushed ice and Coke products for Pizza Hut. It's always been Pepsi. The jar of red pepper flakes with the perforated top that my sister once told me were bacon bits. I spent most of that particular meal with a napkin plastered to my burning tongue.
There were no PacMan games silently running in the front, though, and I think I remember that, though I was never allowed to play, of course--a total waste of money. I'm filling my old-school video game longing by an occasional dabble with our friend's old Atari. It turns out, I stink at PacMan, though I think it's all the fault of the sticky joystick.
And Martin and I have been watching The Cosby Show from the beginning, and unlike most TV shows I thought were funny and now seem embarrassingly awful, The Cosby Show still makes me laugh. It's a pleasure, actually, to watch Bill Cosby now that Martin and I are parents--it's all funny from the other side. And there's always the sweater vests and stretchy pant/baggy shirt combos to marvel at.
All these allusions to my childhood have prompted me to choose a venue for my upcoming birthday party in April: RollerRink. Maybe I'll finally fulfill my fifth grade dream of skating forward in a boy's arms as he skates backward. Unfortunately, the boy won't be Martin--he's like a drunk spider on anything with wheels or blades. Maybe I'll take the backwards role and I can pull him along.
Don't forget, dearies, that the Sunday-Add-A-Caption Game--the highlight of your week!--starts at a few minutes before midnight tonight. . . .
Martin took a sip from his tall, cloudy plastic cup of root beer. "These cups haven't changed much since I was a kid," he said. I agreed. Though they've done away with the pitcher of pop on the table, and the colored glass hanging lamps were gone, there were still some reassuring Old-School Pizza Hut details. The scrape of the metal server on the pan, the same stringy cheese and buttery crust, the same solid square-shaped ice cubes. No crushed ice and Coke products for Pizza Hut. It's always been Pepsi. The jar of red pepper flakes with the perforated top that my sister once told me were bacon bits. I spent most of that particular meal with a napkin plastered to my burning tongue.
There were no PacMan games silently running in the front, though, and I think I remember that, though I was never allowed to play, of course--a total waste of money. I'm filling my old-school video game longing by an occasional dabble with our friend's old Atari. It turns out, I stink at PacMan, though I think it's all the fault of the sticky joystick.
And Martin and I have been watching The Cosby Show from the beginning, and unlike most TV shows I thought were funny and now seem embarrassingly awful, The Cosby Show still makes me laugh. It's a pleasure, actually, to watch Bill Cosby now that Martin and I are parents--it's all funny from the other side. And there's always the sweater vests and stretchy pant/baggy shirt combos to marvel at.
All these allusions to my childhood have prompted me to choose a venue for my upcoming birthday party in April: RollerRink. Maybe I'll finally fulfill my fifth grade dream of skating forward in a boy's arms as he skates backward. Unfortunately, the boy won't be Martin--he's like a drunk spider on anything with wheels or blades. Maybe I'll take the backwards role and I can pull him along.
Don't forget, dearies, that the Sunday-Add-A-Caption Game--the highlight of your week!--starts at a few minutes before midnight tonight. . . .
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