I’m shaking with glee as I write this.
October 10th, 2004, 4 and a half years ago, roughly. A younger, less mature, version of me today had the house all to myself for a long weekend. The parental units had taken off on a pleasurable leave somewhere around the globe, Chicago, Boston, maybe Europe, the destination is of no importance to this tale. A younger Ritalin stimulated Drew and a socially awkward Will had recently reaped the fruits of a 7 month labor. These fruits were stripped, chopped, dried and ready for inhalation. This feat would not be undertaken by just 2 teenage delinquents, no, we needed a handful of equally minded rebellious individuals. Drew and I handpicked 4 other sutures for the task. A bald lanky inner genius named Andre, a born again 70’s show Hyde named Tom, an Englishman who many thought was a grizzle bear of a man named Rory, and a Montreal raised Italian destine to lurk the grimy, oily underground of vehicle repairs. We now had a well balanced gang of 6, number of the devil.
The pilgrimage to my house took longer then most would have liked, including an hour long stuffy bus ride and a precipitous 30 minute hike. (The ends justified the means ten-fold.) As soon as the doors to my abode opened, the gang of 6 made a B-line for my room. The room of the forbidden fruit that was going to be tasted, sampled and enjoyed, illegally. The expert of this specific fruit, Tom, took out the necessary tools for the session to come. Rolling away like a Cuban rolling crapes for 15 $ a month at a palms resort in Varidaro, but I digress. A cheap future shop recorder was whipped out by an eager baby faced looking me. This occasion had to be documented for the professionals of the future. Making sure to introduce everyone by name on camera, the tool of our intoxication was finished. All we needed now was a venue for the session. With slight debate from the host the living room was chosen. The musical mastermind, Drew, took care of the ambiance. The gang of 6 seated themselves on the couches and whatever chairs they could find. The stage was set. The fruit that Drew and I had nurtured over the course of 7 months was going to be put to the test. Could it impress 6 individuals of varying experience? especially our Hyde who not only acted the part but shared the same hazy hobbies as the TV Character? This was definitely going to be a challenge for our aromatic fruit. The host produced a small flame from a tiny device and inhaled what would soon be the most memorable fruit in his history up to date. “It tastes like coffee” I said with a smirk. No one really cared for vocal explanations; they wanted to test it first hand. Tom, the experienced one, took the intoxication device from my hands and put it to his lips.
The rest, well, was a strange ordeal. However strange it was, it was all recorded and put on tape. To make a long and strange tale short and pseudo-ordinary the tape was lost, lost to the sands of time, so I thought. In reality the tape had been abducted, abducted by a determined Frenchman of quick actions and an unnaturally youthful appearance. Hidden away for years the tape gathered a thin layer of time on its surface, until one day when this Frenchman was searching for some particular item. The search for this unimportant item leads him to the corner drawer of the corner room of our residence. The main characteristic of this man was his downfall. Unbeknownst to my presence the Frenchman hastily pulled books and other such items out of this drawer in search of whatever it was he was trying to find, he pulled out a blank, dusty tape. As quickly as it was pulled out the tape was hurriedly shoved back into the dark corner of the corner drawer in the corner room. It seemed as if merely touching this article would scar his fingertips.
If it wasn’t for my eagle like vision and mongoose like curiosity the tape would have rested their in peace for untold years. This little kitty would not have that. As soon as the parental units left the house, a couple days later, the hunt was on. The tape was recovered from its 4 and a half year grave in the corner drawer of the corner room. It was then fed to the skeletal looking vcr, (which had been dismantled and re-mantled by me in pubescent curiosity). As the vcr started reading the old brown film its images were presented on the screen of my TV. My eyes dilated. Shrieks and roars of triumph exploded from my throat. Arms reached for the heavens, I ran around the house demonstrating my jubilation to the gods. An old friend, who was presumed lost, had been recovered this day and was back in the hands of its rightful owner. Now that owner will defend its existence with tooth and nail. Never again shall a perverse abduction such as this ever occur.
This black rectangle has within the recording of a moment in time when the worries of the world were the farthest thing from the minds of 6 teenagers. Our parents had the 70’s, Mr. Rogers had his sweaters, shit even Al-Qaeda have Ramadan, well the 6 of us have this black rectangle.
From the nipple to the bottle, Now the cow must die.
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