I skipped my Junior Prom to watch a Sci-fi Original Movie that was airing that night. I regret the decision only because the movie was Cube 2: Hypercube, and was nowhere near as good as the original.
The first time I dealt with death was when a beloved neighbor of mine passed away. I was about 11. My Mom and Dad came to me and broke the news that she had died. I was sad, for sure, but I had also just gotten Mario 2 and all I really wanted to do was play it. So and I still feel guilty about this I said that I wanted to be left alone in my room because I was embarrassed to cry in front of everyone and wanted privacy. I spent the rest of the day happily playing Mario 2 and pretending I "wasn't ready" to deal with the family whenever they would ask if I wanted to talk.
In 7th grade, I would get mad at my mom if she was late to pick me up from school. The reason I gave her was that I had a lot of homework to do, but in reality it was because Dragonball Z came on at exactly 3:30.
I recently showed a girl my Mac Mini Boxee HTPC set-up. I explained it's media playing capabilities and how it could be operated entirely by my phone. She said, "Just so I understand, you think this is impressive. Right?"
Super Mario 3 came out when I was four years old. My sister was 13 at the time and we agreed to split the cost of the game. Our first night of owning it, she wanted to take it with her to her babysitting job. I was furious. A huge argument erupted in our kitchen. I screamed at her about how unfair it was, and threw my arms into the air to illustrate my point. Unfortunately, I was standing below a hot iron. It ended with her taking the game babysitting, and me with second-degree-burn blisters on the back of my hand, soaking it in cold butter water for the rest of the night, because that's what people thought you were supposed to do back then.
I accidentally swallowed one of my molars during a particularly intense session of BattleToads.
In 1993 I had an unhealthy obsession with Jurassic Park. My birthday wish-list that year was composed exclusively of Jurassic Park action figures, and I even attempted to read Michael Crichton's 400-page novel (which turned out to have too much meditation on the morality of genetic engineering and not enough Wayne Knight being eaten for a third-grader to enjoy). But my biggest ode to the film was, on most weekends that summer, dressing up like Dr. Alan Grant and wandering through the woods, recreating my favorite scenes. In the film, Grant (played by Sam Neil) wears a blue dress shirt, opened three or four buttons down (probably torn open while fleeing from a tyrannosaurus), a white outdoorsman hat, and a bright red handkerchief tied around his neck. And, in the film, this makes Sam Neil look impossibly cool. Surely I would look equally cool. This was how I convinced myself there would be no shame in walking out my door wearing (a) one of my dad’s oversized shirts, (b) a red bandana and © my mother’s floppy summer hat (the closest approximation I could find to Grant’s cap). And this is the reason why, one afternoon, I was ruthlessly taunted by a posse of older school kids who had (accurately) observed that I resembled an exotic 9-year-old prostitute in a Blossom hat and a pale, underweight bare chest.