As a Netflix subscriber, I probably
shouldn’t poop on the conveniences of the Internet age. As a retro geek,
nostalgia nut, and middle-aged guy, I still can’t help but pine for those days
when I’d walk out the door with friends and walk to our local seedy video shop
to rent some crappy movie in the pre-Blockbuster © eighties. On the back wall
of those holes cramped with shelves stacked with bulky VHS boxes (the tapes
were always safe from shop lifters behind the counter) was the real junk:
the B-horror and science fiction flicks with the most garish covers in sight
(the most garish of all belonged to the porno tapes kept behind a curtain in
their own closet-sized section).
