Updated: Dec 3, 2019
Nope. It makes no sense whatsoever, but I couldn't resist opening this photo essay with those cryptic words, scrawled on yellow paper at some point in the distant past by yours truly. (You'll see it soon.) The photos in this article were taken on my kitchen table, around midnight. At Retro Injection, we keep it real.
That gibberish-laden paper was in the pouch below, which I found last night at my mom's house. It contains art projects, school work and random junk from when I was a kid in the late '80s to the early '90s. I was looking through her photos for material on a different subject, when the mysterious envelope caught my attention, peeking out from behind the stack of scrapbooks under her TV. Sometimes, I like to put the past into a personal context, and that's what this piece is all about.
As you can see from the sticker montage, I've always had a penchant for burgers.
I took over sixty photos of the stuff inside, but realistically you'd have no interest in many of them. You probably won't even care about these! But this stash was such a fun find, I couldn't help but post it. You'll be seeing why I pay for unlimited bandwidth.
Here I am, being a ladies' man at eight years old. This was '50s Day in second grade, 1989. If you look closely, you'll notice I have a pack of "cigarettes" rolled up in my left sleeve. They're of the candy variety, but I'm sure today's schools wouldn't permit this wanton act of rebellion. It's been said that the public gets nostalgic in thirty-year increments. The '80s did indeed have a love affair with the '50s, as evidenced by Back to the Future. But in my opinion, the '80s have become a permanent fixture in the collective consciousness.
What's housed within this vintage photo envelope? (It looks like they stole their logo from TV Guide.)
It's my personalized baseball cards! (T-ball cards, if you want to get technical.) I remember not wanting to break away from whatever I was doing to have my photo taken. My dad told me that I would be getting the picture on a baseball card, and I thought I must have been hot stuff. I was very disappointed when I saw they didn't have my stats on the back. Also, check out that vintage disc camera film! I hope nobody needs those pictures again.
Now that you've witnessed the extent of my athletic prowess, have a look at this brilliant poetry, never before published! I would have written these around 1990, at nine years old. The book contained a million of these, but only the best will be showcased for Retro Injection readers!
Decades before Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, there was the tautly-crafted magnum opus "Cloudy with a Chance of Tods," produced circa 1987.
I would have written the following, "serious" piece at about eleven years old, in 1992. It bills itself as a ghost story, but it's really about time travel. Some of it doesn't make much sense, and you may notice math was never my strong point! Being a pint-sized narcissist, I of course named the main character after myself. But in fairness, George Lucas did pretty much the same thing.
I've always been a Ghostbuster. At about seven years old, I won a battle against the flu, thanks to my mom. For her efforts, I granted her the following coveted award:
And speaking of the supernatural, here's the elusive Vampire Butterfly. What a sick and twisted little kid. (Not much has changed.)
If you assumed I was going to fully reveal the "Batman noseplug" until the end, you got me. If you skipped down this far, scroll back up for some laughs! Apparently, I was under the impression my "GRaB 'n naB" was somehow a work of genius, and needed to be trademarked. I don't know if it was supposed to be some sort of napkin, or what. Unbelievably, just a few hours ago my wife and I had a debate about the punctuation of "n" being used for "and." (She was naming one of her new pastries, but decided on just using "and." I never actually cared.)
The other side is slightly less bizarre. The important thing is that I remembered to trademark it on both sides! Hands off my patent-pending GRaB 'n naB!
We'll see the sentimental journey out in style with this 1988 parting gift from my first grade teacher. In reality, I doubt she shed any tears at my departure.