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A Year to Remember
Apr. 11th, 2012 08:04 am1986 was a hugely event-filled year for me. I think back at how much happened that year, and it still amazes me.
It was in 1986 that our stage band went to Vancouver to perform at Expo '86. Because we were so incredibly good? Not really, it was more like the band's previous incarnation was so good. I had a solo part in one of the songs, and I also performed a jazzed up version of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" at the church where we played on the Sunday.
1986 was also the year of BEX. BEX was a very powerful, at the time, word processor and Braille translation program for the Apple IIe. The Braille translation was remarkable. The control over formatting, while not WYSIWYG, made it immensely powerful for producing high-quality Braille. It had what they called a contextual search and replace feature, which even now is far and away the best example of such a feature I have ever seen anywhere. It was brand new, a whole new world for me to discover, and I embraced it big-time. It was presented to me in school as a kind of birthday present in 1986. Unfortunately, the disk was corrupted, so it would be a while before I finally got to play with the program, but by the time I did, I had eagerly read the manual straight through twice. New hardware and software will come and go, but the magic of discovering a whole new world of computing, as I did in 1985 and 1986, does not stand a chance of being regained. The wonder can never be regained, because we have stopped inventing and are now improving on existing foundations. I miss the wonder, the thrill of discovery, the excitement of total newness.
1986 was also the year of Dr. Demento. I finally got to hear complete bootlegged episodes of the Dr. Demento Show. So when 1987 came along and our local station actually carried the Good Doctor for a time, I knew what a good thing we had. Much of my knowledge of, and love for, comedy was gained in 1986.
In 1986, my grandmother turned eighty. One of the last recordings that I know of where my dad sounds healthy and like himself is when he emceed the birthday celebration. Dad, I miss you. I played the trumpet, since I was still certain at the time that my singing abilities had vanished along with my childhood.
My brother Harv got married in 1986, and I got to know Sandra, one of my top three favorite sisters-in-law. I discovered Star Trek in 1986, and coincidentally, that was the year of my favorite Star Trek movie (IV).
I was baptized in 1986. I'd been a Christian for a long time before that, but this symbolized the logical progression for me.
In 1986 I finally made my first complete recording of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio series off of our local radio station, sort of. Many episodes were aired in mono (reason unknown), and I got episode 2 from the vinyl recording because I fell asleep before recording. I put it on 90-minute tapes, which means that four episodes had a chunk missing where I changed sides. But I remained proud of those tapes until I finally bagged the series on CD in 1990.
1986 was a year of promises, of possibilities, of opportunities, of limitless potential. Twenty-six years ago. If I'd only known what I had back then, and if I'd known I'd never again recapture the magic, would I have treated the year any differently? Would I have been more grateful? Would I have seized the moment? Would I have made more of an effort to remember the taste of a Niakwa pizza, of my mom's homemade cooking back when it was available to me seven days a week? Would I have abandoned experimentation with alcohol in favor of making sure I actually remembered all my experiences? What would I have done differently, if only I'd been smart enough to realize what I had, and that I would never have it again?
It was in 1986 that our stage band went to Vancouver to perform at Expo '86. Because we were so incredibly good? Not really, it was more like the band's previous incarnation was so good. I had a solo part in one of the songs, and I also performed a jazzed up version of "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" at the church where we played on the Sunday.
1986 was also the year of BEX. BEX was a very powerful, at the time, word processor and Braille translation program for the Apple IIe. The Braille translation was remarkable. The control over formatting, while not WYSIWYG, made it immensely powerful for producing high-quality Braille. It had what they called a contextual search and replace feature, which even now is far and away the best example of such a feature I have ever seen anywhere. It was brand new, a whole new world for me to discover, and I embraced it big-time. It was presented to me in school as a kind of birthday present in 1986. Unfortunately, the disk was corrupted, so it would be a while before I finally got to play with the program, but by the time I did, I had eagerly read the manual straight through twice. New hardware and software will come and go, but the magic of discovering a whole new world of computing, as I did in 1985 and 1986, does not stand a chance of being regained. The wonder can never be regained, because we have stopped inventing and are now improving on existing foundations. I miss the wonder, the thrill of discovery, the excitement of total newness.
1986 was also the year of Dr. Demento. I finally got to hear complete bootlegged episodes of the Dr. Demento Show. So when 1987 came along and our local station actually carried the Good Doctor for a time, I knew what a good thing we had. Much of my knowledge of, and love for, comedy was gained in 1986.
In 1986, my grandmother turned eighty. One of the last recordings that I know of where my dad sounds healthy and like himself is when he emceed the birthday celebration. Dad, I miss you. I played the trumpet, since I was still certain at the time that my singing abilities had vanished along with my childhood.
My brother Harv got married in 1986, and I got to know Sandra, one of my top three favorite sisters-in-law. I discovered Star Trek in 1986, and coincidentally, that was the year of my favorite Star Trek movie (IV).
I was baptized in 1986. I'd been a Christian for a long time before that, but this symbolized the logical progression for me.
In 1986 I finally made my first complete recording of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio series off of our local radio station, sort of. Many episodes were aired in mono (reason unknown), and I got episode 2 from the vinyl recording because I fell asleep before recording. I put it on 90-minute tapes, which means that four episodes had a chunk missing where I changed sides. But I remained proud of those tapes until I finally bagged the series on CD in 1990.
1986 was a year of promises, of possibilities, of opportunities, of limitless potential. Twenty-six years ago. If I'd only known what I had back then, and if I'd known I'd never again recapture the magic, would I have treated the year any differently? Would I have been more grateful? Would I have seized the moment? Would I have made more of an effort to remember the taste of a Niakwa pizza, of my mom's homemade cooking back when it was available to me seven days a week? Would I have abandoned experimentation with alcohol in favor of making sure I actually remembered all my experiences? What would I have done differently, if only I'd been smart enough to realize what I had, and that I would never have it again?
