VHS Copy of "The Burning Bed" Not Included

I still have the Farrah Fawcett poster I begged my dad to get me:


Not in my current apartment, mind you. That would be a tad disconcerting (I eventually decided after much deliberation and consultation with the very same people who talked this 40-year-old out of covering his walls with Wacky Package stickers). For now it resides in my parents' garage, along with Aurora racetracks, SST Racers, Johnny Bench Batter-Up, Micronaut Tube Station, a Star Trek Control Room playset, several Star Wars action figures and, oddly enough, a S.W.A.T. TV Series toy truck.

But for many years the poster hung in my bedroom not only because I thought Farrah was attractive but also--and more importantly--I thought it made this once fat, painfully shy kid who couldn't breathe in front of girls and didn't kiss one until an embarrassingly late age look just a little more normal. ("Okay, he actually sneaks peeks at his dad's Playboy issues only for the comics but at least there's a chick in a swimsuit on his wall.") In fact, to that end it remained on my wall long after Farrah had left Charlie's Angels, divorced Lee Majors and failed to ignite a nation's imagination on fire with Saturn 3. And so what was meant to be proof positive of my impending manhood eventually served as evidence of my all-too-obvious social immaturity.

On the plus at least my dad didn't get me the Miss Piggy poster I also requested. However, my girlfriend does have a signed autograph of Miss Piggy which now proudly resides in our apartment (how a Muppet could actually autograph a photo is a question best left for another day).


I like to think that somehow, somewhere, my eight-year-old self is thinking, "Wow, a girl and a signed Miss Piggy photo?! Well done, Ces. Well done indeed."

And, of course, it wouldn't be Fourth of July Post Week without another history lesson from Schoolhouse Rock: