VCR Mining
Some time ago, a small group of HompCo members found themselves cruising a neighborhood yard sale just as the vendors were tossing in the towel and quitting for the day. Those Ms. Piggy potholders and rusty lawn dart sets were either going to have to be carted back inside or tossed if some sap of a buyer didn’t make their move fast.
Enter HompCo.
While perusing some table or other strewn with the refuse of twenty years of suburban living, a wonderful discovery was made. Nestled between a broken CB radio and a stack of Ratt records sat a very grimy top-loading Funai VCR. This VCR likely spawned during the early years of the Reagan administration, and as such, made a perfect bludgeon to use on Communists if it came to that.
The iron gray box didn’t sit so much as lurk, and was covered in that kind of sticky brown dust that doesn’t blow off in fine particles, but slides off in sheets. Most intriguingly, we could clearly see a mysterious, unlabeled tape through the ancient clear plastic on the loading mechanism, but could not manage to get it open. Thinking that perhaps if the machine could be persuaded to unload its secrets if we plugged it in, an inquiry was made as too the price. Clearly not wanting to cart the heavy thing back inside, the saavy vendor quoted a price of a single American quarter. One was quickly procured and offered, and the group returned to headquarters with their purchase.
After concluding that plugging in the machine would neither allow it to open nor play the tape hidden in its rusty innards, the experiment was put on hold for some time. The VCR was all to happy to return to its disused state, one again to collect the grime that old VCRs love to collect.
Yet when the opportunity presented itself to finally delve into the mysteries of the machine, HompCo operatives wasted no time in planning an extraction method for the tape.
A method that did not necessarily involve leaving the VCR in one piece.
All warning and caution thrown to the wind, the valiant members of HompCo began raining furious crushing blows down on the metal exterior, wildly swinging the industrial strength hammer in devastating arcs.
To no effect.
Clearly built to survive a nuclear blast or worse, the VCR stood defiant, almost gloating at our attempts to delve into its mysterious depths. Some attempt was given to removing various screws visible on the outside of the machine, but also proved patently useless. Clearly, another approach was needed.
It was then we discovered that the box had a weakness – its black plastic bottom. Almost immediately, we were able to hammer our way through its brittle outer layer, revealing a soft underbelly of circuit boards and corroding wires.
Rich veins of multi-colored circuitry and electronics were revealed and tore away with each blow. Real progress was finally being made in extracting the tape, but we were tunneling in the long way through; a way that would have us literally removing every bit of the VCR from its protective shell.
Small particles and pieces of technology routinely rocketed out of the hole while we dug, and larger pieces began piling up so quickly that we laid down newspaper to try and contain the mess somehow. Wires were cut and pulled, bizarre mechanisms were ripped apart, all for the sake of retrieving a video tape may or may not even be playable.
Finally, the gruesome work was completed and the tape was revealed before us. Yet victory continued to elude us, as it was lodged firmly the metal ejector assembly, with some of its precious magnetic tape still wrapped around the reader heads.
Brute force would get us nowhere with this new challenge; a more steady and precise hand was needed. Those of us who had been involved with the more wanton destruction in the early stages of the extraction had dipped too far into the well of testosterone to handle such exact tools as a screwdriver, so the job was passed off onto some new hands.
David and Laura sized up the situation and in very little time, had the assembly in pieces, the tape finally free from its prison of untold years. A cotton swab was acquired and the tape was cleaned and inspected.
We decided it looked to be sound enough for play in another VCR, so we wasted no time in inserting it in the closest video player unit to see what sort of analog treasures we had uncovered. I assure you, there has never been a more satisfying "shoonk" as the freed tape was inserted into the machine.
There was an unplanned moment of complete silence as the snow on the television flickered so briefly to black and the image appeared, almost as if magically summoned.
Teen Wolf! Teen Wolf it was, ripped from the golden age of the VCR and the video tape, the 1980s. Yet, upon closer inspection of this revealed treasure, it became apparent that while the movie itself was vintage, the recording came from a slightly later pop culture epoch.
Fast forwarding the tape a bit, we found that another movie was hidden in its dusty innards – a film from 1996 that could have chosen little better time to once again reveal itself. Forest Warrior was, I hope for the good of all humanity, a direct-to-VHS or TV movie starring none other than the ubiquitous Chuck Norris. Even our eyes, veterans of many movies scraped from the foulest of used DVD bargain bins could not stand to gaze upon Forest Warrior more than a few minutes. As near as we could tell from what little of it that could be endured, the movie featured the invincible Mr. Norris in the most uncompromising of roles: a Native American-esque fellow that could morph into a bear to fight crime.
I kid you not.
I think there was also something about some kids and a gopher or something, but there’s a good chance those are false memories planted by an unfortunate amount of time spent in my tween years trying to pitch a Caddy Shack Kids cartoon to my neighbor, who was the janitor at the local CBS affiliate. I vaguely imagined it coming on after Camp Candy for some unknown reason.
Ultimately, however, this experiment taught us a lot about science, and I think about friendship itself. One is that old VCRs are really tough to break. The second is that Chuck Norris can never escape the awful films of his past, nor should he. No matter how much money he spends to hunt down and destroy every existing copy of a movie, there will always be a scummy, steel-plated VCR at a yard sale, just waiting to prove Mr. Norris will do anything for a buck.
ARTICLE REVIEW:
Answer the following questions in complete sentences and turn them in to your teacher.
1) Early 1980s VCRs are excellent for attacking suspected communists with. Name at least two other objects good for the same purpose and why.
2) Why did Aaron’s neighbor never produce Caddy Shack Kids, even though it would have been an awesome show that would have totally made, like, a million dollars.
3) How did John Candy die? On the back of your paper, draw an alternate death scene for John Candy involving cocaine, three ham sandwiches and a child-sized Spiderman halloween costume.
4) What the hell is up with Chuck Norris’s left ear?
-Aaron Littleton
Some time ago, a small group of HompCo members found themselves cruising a neighborhood yard sale just as the vendors were tossing in the towel and quitting for the day. Those Ms. Piggy potholders and rusty lawn dart sets were either going to have to be carted back inside or tossed if some sap of a buyer didn’t make their move fast.
Enter HompCo.
While perusing some table or other strewn with the refuse of twenty years of suburban living, a wonderful discovery was made. Nestled between a broken CB radio and a stack of Ratt records sat a very grimy top-loading Funai VCR. This VCR likely spawned during the early years of the Reagan administration, and as such, made a perfect bludgeon to use on Communists if it came to that.
The iron gray box didn’t sit so much as lurk, and was covered in that kind of sticky brown dust that doesn’t blow off in fine particles, but slides off in sheets. Most intriguingly, we could clearly see a mysterious, unlabeled tape through the ancient clear plastic on the loading mechanism, but could not manage to get it open. Thinking that perhaps if the machine could be persuaded to unload its secrets if we plugged it in, an inquiry was made as too the price. Clearly not wanting to cart the heavy thing back inside, the saavy vendor quoted a price of a single American quarter. One was quickly procured and offered, and the group returned to headquarters with their purchase.
After concluding that plugging in the machine would neither allow it to open nor play the tape hidden in its rusty innards, the experiment was put on hold for some time. The VCR was all to happy to return to its disused state, one again to collect the grime that old VCRs love to collect.
Yet when the opportunity presented itself to finally delve into the mysteries of the machine, HompCo operatives wasted no time in planning an extraction method for the tape.
A method that did not necessarily involve leaving the VCR in one piece.
All warning and caution thrown to the wind, the valiant members of HompCo began raining furious crushing blows down on the metal exterior, wildly swinging the industrial strength hammer in devastating arcs.
To no effect.
Clearly built to survive a nuclear blast or worse, the VCR stood defiant, almost gloating at our attempts to delve into its mysterious depths. Some attempt was given to removing various screws visible on the outside of the machine, but also proved patently useless. Clearly, another approach was needed.
It was then we discovered that the box had a weakness – its black plastic bottom. Almost immediately, we were able to hammer our way through its brittle outer layer, revealing a soft underbelly of circuit boards and corroding wires.
Rich veins of multi-colored circuitry and electronics were revealed and tore away with each blow. Real progress was finally being made in extracting the tape, but we were tunneling in the long way through; a way that would have us literally removing every bit of the VCR from its protective shell.
Small particles and pieces of technology routinely rocketed out of the hole while we dug, and larger pieces began piling up so quickly that we laid down newspaper to try and contain the mess somehow. Wires were cut and pulled, bizarre mechanisms were ripped apart, all for the sake of retrieving a video tape may or may not even be playable.
Finally, the gruesome work was completed and the tape was revealed before us. Yet victory continued to elude us, as it was lodged firmly the metal ejector assembly, with some of its precious magnetic tape still wrapped around the reader heads.
Brute force would get us nowhere with this new challenge; a more steady and precise hand was needed. Those of us who had been involved with the more wanton destruction in the early stages of the extraction had dipped too far into the well of testosterone to handle such exact tools as a screwdriver, so the job was passed off onto some new hands.
David and Laura sized up the situation and in very little time, had the assembly in pieces, the tape finally free from its prison of untold years. A cotton swab was acquired and the tape was cleaned and inspected.
We decided it looked to be sound enough for play in another VCR, so we wasted no time in inserting it in the closest video player unit to see what sort of analog treasures we had uncovered. I assure you, there has never been a more satisfying "shoonk" as the freed tape was inserted into the machine.
There was an unplanned moment of complete silence as the snow on the television flickered so briefly to black and the image appeared, almost as if magically summoned.
Teen Wolf! Teen Wolf it was, ripped from the golden age of the VCR and the video tape, the 1980s. Yet, upon closer inspection of this revealed treasure, it became apparent that while the movie itself was vintage, the recording came from a slightly later pop culture epoch.
Fast forwarding the tape a bit, we found that another movie was hidden in its dusty innards – a film from 1996 that could have chosen little better time to once again reveal itself. Forest Warrior was, I hope for the good of all humanity, a direct-to-VHS or TV movie starring none other than the ubiquitous Chuck Norris. Even our eyes, veterans of many movies scraped from the foulest of used DVD bargain bins could not stand to gaze upon Forest Warrior more than a few minutes. As near as we could tell from what little of it that could be endured, the movie featured the invincible Mr. Norris in the most uncompromising of roles: a Native American-esque fellow that could morph into a bear to fight crime.
I kid you not.
I think there was also something about some kids and a gopher or something, but there’s a good chance those are false memories planted by an unfortunate amount of time spent in my tween years trying to pitch a Caddy Shack Kids cartoon to my neighbor, who was the janitor at the local CBS affiliate. I vaguely imagined it coming on after Camp Candy for some unknown reason.
Ultimately, however, this experiment taught us a lot about science, and I think about friendship itself. One is that old VCRs are really tough to break. The second is that Chuck Norris can never escape the awful films of his past, nor should he. No matter how much money he spends to hunt down and destroy every existing copy of a movie, there will always be a scummy, steel-plated VCR at a yard sale, just waiting to prove Mr. Norris will do anything for a buck.
ARTICLE REVIEW:
Answer the following questions in complete sentences and turn them in to your teacher.
1) Early 1980s VCRs are excellent for attacking suspected communists with. Name at least two other objects good for the same purpose and why.
2) Why did Aaron’s neighbor never produce Caddy Shack Kids, even though it would have been an awesome show that would have totally made, like, a million dollars.
3) How did John Candy die? On the back of your paper, draw an alternate death scene for John Candy involving cocaine, three ham sandwiches and a child-sized Spiderman halloween costume.
4) What the hell is up with Chuck Norris’s left ear?
-Aaron Littleton
