I was having a weird day today and I wasn't feeling the blog thing until just now. Be glad I spared you from the stream-of-consciousness nonsense I tend to write when I have nothing for you.
Now with some time to think of something "good" to write, let me tell you about my childhood bedroom. It was tiny, had orange and white painted wood furniture and 2 huge posters. Here they are. Ready?
This, in case you are too young, is Greg Evigan. The little hairy guy is Bear. Together they were the main characters of a little show called BJ and the Bear. Classy show about a trucker and his monkey "best friend" hauling stuff in a really cool striped truck. Oh, the boyish hijinx! I had the biggest crush on BJ. And maybe a little on Bear too. The 70s was a confusing time.
Here's the next one:
It's Christopher Atkins in his Blue Lagoon days. How on earth did my father allow this? If Audrey had this poster up in her room, the first call I'd make would be to the Sisterhood of the Grey Nuns. Next would be to a psychiatrist whose arm I'd twist to write me a prescription for some drug to keep me heavily sedated throughout her tweens and teens.
I don't even know where to start "critiquing" this poster. Bony chest? Tiny package? Homemade cloth diaper? Necklace of "bones"? White boy 'fro? I feel like one of those cartoon robots getting too much information too fast and starts to smoke and wave its robotty arms. Does not compute...
Yeah, so those are the posters I had before I discovered Duran Duran and plastered every square inch of bedroom wall with those 5 metrosexual boys before metrosexual was a thing. Again, where was my dad during all this? Poor guy was probably looking up the Grey Nuns in the yellow pages. I was actually going to write that he was programming their number into the speed dial but I remembered we only had a quaint "antique style" rotary dial phone. Just one. Kids, this is what it looked like. Seriously.
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