Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman (Jane Seymour) pleads with the public in this PSA to not discriminate against those who might be diagnosed with AIDS.
My first computer and game console was the Commodore 64. I still remember those halcyon days with the hulking keyboard/computer assembly connected to the back of the beautiful wooden console television we got as a hand-me-down when my grandparents upgraded theirs to a new Curtis Mathes from the company store in Austell. I can close my eyes and instantly be transported back to the late-1980s, sitting crosslegged in the living room floor, turning the television dial to channel 3 with a satisfying “kaCHUNK” giving way to the unbearable roar of analog snow. With a flip of the switch from “TV” to “GAME” on the small black box dangling from the antenna connection, the snow gave way to the low hum that an old CRT emits when forced to display a static image–the one that changes pitch slightly depending on the color displayed. I had Frogger on cassette tape and it took what seemed–to a child, anyway–to be hours to load, but it was all worth it when I finally managed to beat the preset high score!
The Commodore 64 taught me more about electronics than any single device and begat a lifelong affinity for computers, games, programming, production, and tinkering that persists to this day. Without the Commodore 64, I may never have desired a world beyond Cobb County, Georgia. The gentleman in the video–microcomputing heavyweight Jim Butterfield who, let’s face it, is nearly comical in his blasé approach to the presentation (“It’s a pretty good computer”)–walks us through the entire setup and use of the C64 in a 2-hour-long celebration of the classic machine.
Yes, sir, Mr. Butterfield. Yes, sir.
There are a lot reasons to collect old stuff. Libraries, archives, and museums preserve their collections to build a sense of cultural history. Middle-class collectors in the 19th and 20th centuries collected trinkets from around the world to make themselves look sophisticated. Today there’s a new breed of collectors who split their time between moldy thrift stores and the bowels of the internet. They’re the dead media hoarders.