Jan-Michael Vincent

Handwritten page of a diary dated November 23, 1987

… and on the coffee table there was a videotape sitting out. I saw on my label that it was the one with the recording of Justice I taped before he had to move to Wyoming. I miss him so much so I put the tape in to look at him again and hear his voice again. 

That’s when I saw the worst thing that has ever happened to me — someone had taped over the interview with a movie from TV called “Damnation Alley.” 

I went around the house investigating who did it, and finally Julie confessed. I asked her why she taped a stupid-looking 10-year old movie over Justice, who I will still love until I’m old and crusty. She said she was in a hurry and just grabbed whatever tape she could get first. Then she said the movie had “JAN MICHAEL VINCENT.” 

Instead of yelling my head off, I just told her she’d better start saving money to send me to Wyoming, where I can tape another video of Justice. Then I started to remember how cute Jan Michael Vincent was. So I sat and watched the stupider-than-I-expected movie. I’m still completely mad, but yeah, Jan Michael Vincent looked even better than I remembered.

Original Image:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Maxell_VHS_tapes_02.jpg

Knock three times

Handwritten page of a diary dated May 28, 1970

It was bad enough when Dopey (no, he’s not one of the seven dwarfs, that’s just what I call Larry) came home from college for three weeks of Christmas break.  He walked around the house singing “Knock 3 times on the ceiling if you want me …”  Loud. And even Mom just started saying “Crimenetly Larry. Sing to yourself.” Also, about 100 times a day, he knocked on my door 3 times. 

Luckily he finally discovered a new hobby — using all the pop tops Mom was saving (for who knows what) and made himself a hat. Of course he looked like a dope, but at least he was out of my hair.

The thing I hate is that next week he’s coming home for three MONTHS!!!!!!! Somebody get an ambulance on high alert, because I might need it.

Original image:

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A clock with no hands!

Handwritten page of a diary dated January 8, 1970

… asked for a clock radio. Well my dad picked out a SONY brand, which means it cost so much it was the only present I got this year. But I must say when we had to go back to school this week, it was fun to get woken up by good music instead of my mom’s yelling. On Monday when it went off “Come Together” was just at the exact start. I love that sound. On Tuesday, unfortunately when it went off it was almost at the end of “Suite Judy Blue Eyes,” then —even worse—Wednesday, it was playing “Backfield in Motion, gonna have to penalize you.” Ugh. I hate puns and I hate football. But today it was all worth it again because when it went off it was that “Flashback Flashback Flashback” jingle, and then the excellent song by the Zombies that was playing a lot around the time we moved here.

The weirdest thing about having such a new-fangled clock is when I was sleeping late on Christmas vacation, I kept waking up and seeing numbers like 10:10 and 11:11. Once in the middle of the night I woke up and it said 12:12. I have to ask Melinda’s mom because she’s always talking about what certain numbers mean, and I’m pretty sure she will tell me I’m doomed or something.

Original image:

File:Sony Digimatic 8FC-59W radio alarm clock 20060526.png – Wikimedia Commons

‘Bring more sweaters’

Handwritten page of a diary dated November 23, 1978

… which by the way, Walter shouldn’t even have been included in the Thanksgiving Day family picture, since he technically isn’t even a member of the family. Luckily he was standing on the end, so when Mom mails me my copy I can get out the old scissors and lop him right off like he was never there at all.

After Grandpa’s neighbor takes the picture for us, we go back indoors and pretty soon my sister Patsy goes in to ask Grandpa, can we turn up the thermostat because Walter is cold. Then Grandpa says if Walter is cold why can’t he put on a sweater and Walter says he’s already wearing two sweaters and Grandpa says I guess that means you need three and Walter says he didn’t bring another sweater and Grandpa says he can borrow the big heavy one that’s hanging on the hook by the back door.

So the turkey and the gravy were good and the pie was good and everything was nice and peaceful after we ate, until Walter started another tizzy when he wanted to watch his new favorite show Mork and Mindy, but Grandpa wanted to watch the Waltons.

When Walter was ready to leave, Grandpa says to him that if Patsy still likes him by Christmas, he’d better bring more sweaters. We all laughed. But we all know with Patsy’s attention span being so short, we’ll never have to see Walter again.

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Original image:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/x-ray_delta_one/4464163918

‘Big Black Boots’

Handwritten page of a diary dated December 15, 2004

… cruel. Giving us homework to do over Christmas break? Seriously? This is not like elementary school where you get a summer reading checklist. This is supposed to be college.

Stupid English professor stands there (looking like Tom Hanks’ grandpa) and says “Start a blog.” I know he’s probably doing this so he can log in to see how well we write. But blogs are just a giant bummer. Oh, my feelings, my feelings. There’s a reason that the diary I had in junior high had a lock on it — the way personal feelings should be protected. Not splayed out as if everyone wants to know every whiny thing thought by someone else.

AND before we write it, we have to submit a PROPOSAL for him to approve. I start writing:

I will analyze the lyrics of my favorite songs. Like “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet. For instance, this line: “Now you don’t need money when you look like that, do you honey?” I will experiment by going out some night with no money, just my “big black boots” and “long brown hair.” In my blog I will report whether I really didn’t need any money.

HA! Now I’m just waiting to see whether my proposal gets the green light.

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Original image:

https://www.needpix.com/photo/945509/professor-man-teacher-education-business-person-businessman-senior-happy

 

Just admire the marbles

Handwritten page of a diary dated July 24, 1964

… but he keeps saying “what do you DO with the marbles?”

I keep saying  “I look at them. They’re fun to just look at. And collect.”

But then that leads to him always saying how back in the olden days they got marbles to PLAY MARBLES. And I want to tell him that it’s the 1960s now and we have better games to play than rolling marbles around on the sidewalk.

Sometimes it’s not so bad having him staying at our house now. He buys us Jiffy Pop when my mom says it’s cheaper to just pop corn in the pan. AND he knows how to make Jiffy Pop without burning the bottom.

And he has pretty good taste in TV shows. He will always remind me when My Three Sons is on, because we both have that as our favorite show.

He also takes us for rides in his convertible which is really neat as long as you don’t care about your hair blowing all over your face.

Except for trying to force me to PLAY with my marbles, I guess he’s not the worst family member I ever saw.

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Original image:

https://pxhere.com/en/photo/623938

 

‘Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna’

Handwritten page of a diary dated May 4, 1994

… wasn’t going to agree to be editor again this year. I was like — Let some junior do it, like I did last year. Just let me coast through senior year without all the headaches. But I got talked into it.

So today I’m playing Yahtzee with my mom and she’s like — you’re such a good writer that it must be easy for you to fix up the bad stories that some kids turn in. AS IF!!! Like, I told her about a story turned in last week that MADE NO SENSE. I’m like — imagine if someone just put a bunch of words on these dice in the Yahtzee game and just shook the dice and threw them out and just wrote down the words in the order they spill out onto the table.

She’s like — that can be good sometimes, like in song lyrics. The minute she brings up the Beatles, I go — DUDE, stop. But it’s too late and she’s singing stuff from I am the Walrus. Which, I don’t really mind that song, but I’d NEVER tell her that. Then she goes — I thought you liked that song called  I’m A Loser Baby So Why Don’t you Kill Me? What about when that guy says — beefcake pantyhose? What about when he says — spray paint the vegetables?

OK, I was surprised she knew the words to that song, AND she was actually kind of right. But what……ever.

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Original image:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Yahtzee_game_example.jpg

A good warm sleep

Handwritten page of a diary dated December 20, 1978

… now that popular music has officially gone right straight down the toilet. I had the radio on all evening and I was turning the dial every two seconds but the only decent song I heard was Baker Street. And I haven’t had any kind of love life for a good six months.

Good thing I have finally saved enough to buy something that will make life worth living again — I’ve been wanting a waterbed since last winter when I was dating Steve. Honestly sex on his bed wasn’t that great. (It’s like someone said, “It’s like playing handball against the drapes.”) But man was that bed warm! Like when you come in from a blizzard there is nothing that warms you up faster than getting into a heated waterbed. Who needs Steve?

I almost didn’t buy the one I bought because it’s round and I haven’t figured out how I’m going to find sheets for it, BUT:

1. The price was right,

2. Waterbeds will last forever, plus they’re only going to get more popular until long after I’m dead,

3. AND really, truly, I do look good on it.

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Original image:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Demonstratie_van_een_waterbed,_Bestanddeelnr_924-5941.jpg

Bow tie

Handwritten page of a diary dated May 15, 1977

… could barely get him to settle down long enough to take a picture of him, because he COULD NOT STOP SINGING. It drives me crazy. For some reason, every time he gets a bow tie on, he feels the need to sing. Which means our walk to church is the most embarrassing thing in this world.

Today he started singing “Some one’s knocking at the door, someone’s ringing the bell, do me a favor and let ‘em in.” And I want to cringe because Paul McCartney used to be good. But now, what the heck?

That was bad enough, but at least he didn’t scream it out like the new song grandma decided to teach him — which was “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.” That stupid song. She told him it’s meant to be sung loud, which is exactly how he sang it all the rest of the way to church and all the way home.

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Original image:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Slib_ml%C4%8Denlivosti_kouzeln%3%ADk_Ond%C5%99ej_Soukup.jpg

Party was a dud

Handwritten page of a diary dated October 31, 1970

… some of the greatest costumes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. So why weren’t we having fun? The photographer told everybody to say cheese, and STILL nobody smiled. I swear I woulda smiled but I was too tense because everyone else was. I think it must be contagious and you don’t even have to know the reason why a few people are tense and all of a sudden you just CAN’T relax. I even took a few deep breaths because my aunt is always telling me to do that at times like this. I guess I felt a little better but boy oh boy I’d sure like to know who put the kibosh on this Halloween party. (I don’t know what a kibosh is but the scary guy next door likes to come outside and yell at us kids that he’s going to put the kibosh on our kickball game, so I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of evil spell.)

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Original image:

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