Vhs Quotes

I don’t think it’s overstating it to say that my religion of choice became VHS rentals, and that its messages came in Technicolor and musical montages and fades and jump cuts and silver-screen legends and B-movie nobodies and villains to root for and good guys to hate. But Ruth was wrong, too. There was more than just one other world beyond ours; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, and at 99 cents apiece I could rent them all.

What, no Star Wars?" Solo sighs. "I wanted to bring the original, unaltered Episode IV, in which my namesake shoots first, as our Lord and savior intended." "Why didn't you?" "I only have it on VHS, and my dad's old VHS player broke halfway through the summer.

What a fantastical place adulthood has turned out to be: with the power of social media and a thousand dollars, she's summoned Taylor's dream crush out of an ancient VHS tape and brought him here, to life.

I lifted the remote control, pushed the Play button, and started the video. I guess, in that moment, I also started my new life as Cameron-the-girl-with-no-parents. Ruth was sort of right, I would learn: A relationship with a higher power is often best practiced alone. For me it was practiced in hour-and-half or two-hour increments, and paused when necessary. I don't think it's overstating it to say that my religion of choice became VHS rentals, and that its messages came in Technicolor and musical montages and fades and jump cuts and silver-screen legends and B-movie nobodies and villains to root for and good guys to hate. But Ruth was wrong, too. There was more than just one other world beyond ours; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, and at 99 cents apiece I could rent them all.

Don’t forget, the superior Betamax technology did not beat out the substandard VHS technology as the standard format for videotape in the 1980s.

Have you ever done the splits trying to be a stripper named Gigi Fontaine while dancing to Britney with moves you learned from a Paula Abdul exercise VHS tape in the nineties after having four shots of Jager? Me too.

Milicent Patrick’s final resting place is in every single Creature from the Black Lagoon T-shirt, every Metaluna Mutant toy, every VHS tape of Fantasia, every DVD of The Shape of Water. It’s on the desk of every female animator and in the pen of every woman doodling a monster in the margins of her notebook. It’s always been there. It’s just been hidden, purposely obfuscated. Now, it’s in every copy of this book, i your hands or on your ears.

I’m afraid that soon Halloween will follow the path of the forgotten!  Now we have Christmas in July!  We have Christmas movies available year round!  First VHS, then DVD, and now internet streaming has made Christmas movies a year round

Why am I holding on to this stuff? Some of this junk is losing its punch. Pictures. Pieces of paper with writing on them—I can no longer connect with the thoughts or feelings that birthed them, that drove me in that panicky desperate moment to scribble in a barely legible scrawl as if on a cave wall. All say the same thing in some form or another: “I am here. This is me in this moment.” Do I have some fantasy that this stuff will be important after I die? Do I think that scholars will be thrilled that I left such a disorganized treasure trove of creative evidence of me? Will the archives be fought over by college libraries? What will probably happen is my brother will come out with my mother and look in the boxes. My mother will hold up a VHS or a cassette and say to my brother, “Do I have a machine that plays these?” My brother will shake his head no and they will throw it all away.

Nami Emo was also the greatest storybook reader in the world. Like my grandfather before her, she worked as a voice actress, doing voice-overs for documentaries and dubbing anime episodes, which Seong Young and I would watch over and over on VHS. At night, she'd read Korean Sailor Moon books to me and do all the voices. It didn't matter that she couldn't translate the chapters into English---her voice was elastic and could swing seamlessly from the cackle of an evil queen to the catchphrase of the resolute heroine, then quiver words of caution from a useless sidekick and resolve with a dashing prince's gallant coo.

Reading a book by Lee is like uncovering a moldy VHS tape from the back of an abandoned storage bin and cleaning it up. It’s putting that tape in your TV and watching a movie that hasn’t even made it to IMDB or Letterboxd. It’s a treasure hunt, minus the disappointment of digging in your backyard and not even claiming an arrowhead for your efforts.

Aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands.

But I'm a romantic. In real life, if Nick had killed me, I think he would have just rolled my body into a trash bag and driven me to one of the landfills in the sixty-mile radius. Just dispose of me. He'd have even taken a few items with him – the broken toaster that's not worth fixing, a pile of old VHS tapes he's been meaning to toss – to make the trip efficient.

But I was stuck--stuck in a delicious, glorious, beautiful, inescapable La Brea tar pit of romance with a rough, rugged, impossibly tender cowboy. As soon as I’d have any thoughts of escaping to Chicago to avoid my parents’ problems, within seconds I’d shoot myself down. Something major would have to happen to pry me out of his arms. Marlboro Man filled my daydreams, filled my thoughts, my time, my heart, my mind. When I was with him, I was able to forget about my parents’ marital problems. On our drives together, preparing our dinners, watching our VHS action movies, all of those unhappy things disappeared from view. This became a crutch for me, an addictive drug of escape. Ten seconds in Marlboro Man’s pickup, and I saw only goodness and light. And the occasional bra-and-panty-wearing grandma mowing her yard.

I accidentally put on a sex tape while babysitting a little girl when I was fourteen. The family wasn’t much into technology and only had a VCR player with one Disney movie in VHS. The cassette stopped working right at the beginning of my shift and the kid threw such a massive tantrum, I panicked and searched EVERYWHERE for another movie. Almost shed tears of joy when I found the Little Mermaid. Except it was really called the Little “Spermaid.” And the characters were her parents. Thank God I stopped it before she saw anything

If you're a film fan, collecting video is sort of like marijuana. Laser discs, they're definitely cocaine. Film prints are heroin, all right? You're shooting smack when you start collecting film prints. So, I kinda got into it in a big way, and I've got a pretty nice collection I'm real proud of.

I’ve always said that toking up expands your mind and gets the creative juices flowing and Barack proved me right. After a few hours of simmering in our fumes and cracking up at a VHS of Barbarella, he turns to me and says, “What if we just fucking sent in some helicopters into Pakistan?” I said, “Without permission? That’s either the craziest thing I ever heard or the most genius.” Barack starts laughing and says “Crazy like a fox!” and orders the choppers in. And that’s how we killed bin Laden. Later that night we ordered a Pad Thai Pizza from this place called Big Billy’s, and that was just as awesome as it sounds. Yeah, Barack’s a pretty good guy.

But this day he was lost in the story he made of their bodies. The men were in the midst of saving a six-inch Mickey Mouse trapped in a prison made of black VHS tapes. ...Before he could make out his mother's face, the backhand blasted the side of his head, followed by another, then more. A rain of it. A storm of mother. The boy's grandmother, hearing the screams, rushed in and, as if by instinct, knelt on all fours over the boy, make a small and feeble house with her frame. Inside it, the boy curled into his clothes and waited for his mother to calm. Through his grandmother's trembling arms, he noticed the videocassettes had toppled over. Mickey Mouse was free.

Here’s what strikes me when I think back to my childhood, particularly those first nine Internet-less years: I can’t account for everything that happened back then, because I have only my memory to rely on. The data just doesn’t exist. When I was a child, “the unforgettable experience” was not yet a threateningly literal technological description, but a passionate metaphorical prescription of significance: my first words, my first steps, my first lost tooth, my first time riding a bicycle. My generation was the last in America and perhaps even in world history for which this is true—the last undigitized generation, whose childhoods aren’t up on the cloud but are mostly trapped in analog formats like handwritten diaries and Polaroids and VHS cassettes, tangible and imperfect artifacts that degrade with age and can be lost irretrievably. My schoolwork was done on paper with pencils and erasers, not on networked tablets that logged my keystrokes. My growth spurts weren’t tracked by smart-home technologies, but notched with a knife into the wood of the door frame of the house in which I grew up.

Then, just as we were to leave on a whirlwind honeymoon in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, a call came from Australia. Steve’s friend John Stainton had word that a big croc had been frequenting areas too close to civilization, and someone had been taking potshots at him. “It’s a big one, Stevo, maybe fourteen or fifteen feet,” John said over the phone. “I hate to catch you right at this moment, but they’re going to kill him unless he gets relocated.” John was one of Australia’s award-winning documentary filmmakers. He and Steve had met in the late 1980s, when Steve would help John shoot commercials that required a zoo animal like a lizard or a turtle. But their friendship did not really take off until 1990, when an Australian beer company hired John to film a tricky shot involving a crocodile. He called Steve. “They want a bloke to toss a coldie to another bloke, but a croc comes out of the water and snatches at it. The guy grabs the beer right in front of the croc’s jaws. You think that’s doable?” “Sure, mate, no problem at all,” Steve said with his usual confidence. “Only one thing, it has to be my hand in front of the croc.” John agreed. He journeyed up to the zoo to film the commercial. It was the first time he had seen Steve on his own turf, and he was impressed. He was even more impressed when the croc shoot went off flawlessly. Monty, the saltwater crocodile, lay partially submerged in his pool. An actor fetched a coldie from the esky and tossed it toward Steve. As Steve’s hand went above Monty’s head, the crocodile lunged upward in a food response. On film it looked like the croc was about to snatch the can--which Steve caught right in front of his jaws. John was extremely impressed. As he left the zoo after completing the commercial shoot, Steve gave him a collection of VHS tapes. Steve had shot the videotapes himself. The raw footage came from Steve simply propping his camera in a tree, or jamming it into the mud, and filming himself single-handedly catching crocs. John watched the tapes when he got home to Brisbane. He told me later that what he saw was unbelievable. “It was three hours of captivating film and I watched it straight through, twice,” John recalled to me. “It was Steve. The camera loved him.” He rang up his contacts in television and explained that he had a hot property. The programmers couldn’t use Steve’s original VHS footage, but one of them had a better idea. He gave John the green light to shoot his own documentary of Steve. That led to John Stainton’s call to Oregon on the eve of our honeymoon. “I know it’s not the best timing, mate,” John said, “but we could take a crew and film a documentary of you rescuing this crocodile.” Steve turned to me. Honeymoon or crocodile? For him, it wasn’t much of a quandary. But what about me?” “Let’s go,” I replied.

Of course, no china--however intricate and inviting--was as seductive as my fiancé, my future husband, who continued to eat me alive with one glance from his icy-blue eyes. Who greeted me not at the door of his house when I arrived almost every night of the week, but at my car. Who welcomed me not with a pat on the arm or even a hug but with an all-enveloping, all-encompassing embrace. Whose good-night kisses began the moment I arrived, not hours later when it was time to go home. We were already playing house, what with my almost daily trips to the ranch and our five o’clock suppers and our lazy movie nights on his thirty-year-old leather couch, the same one his parents had bought when they were a newly married couple. We’d already watched enough movies together to last a lifetime. Giant with James Dean, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Reservoir Dogs, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Graduate, All Quiet on the Western Front, and, more than a handful of times, Gone With the Wind. I was continually surprised by the assortment of movies Marlboro Man loved to watch--his taste was surprisingly eclectic--and I loved discovering more and more about him through the VHS collection in his living room. He actually owned The Philadelphia Story. With Marlboro Man, surprises lurked around every corner. We were already a married couple--well, except for the whole “sleepover thing” and the fact that we hadn’t actually gotten hitched yet. We stayed in, like any married couple over the age of sixty, and continued to get to know everything about each other completely outside the realm of parties, dates, and gatherings. All of that was way too far away, anyway--a minimum hour-and-a-half drive to the nearest big city--and besides that, Marlboro Man was a fish out of water in a busy, crowded bar. As for me, I’d been there, done that--a thousand and one times. Going out and panting the town red was unnecessary and completely out of context for the kind of life we’d be building together. This was what we brought each other, I realized. He showed me a slower pace, and permission to be comfortable in the absence of exciting plans on the horizon. I gave him, I realized, something different. Different from the girls he’d dated before--girls who actually knew a thing or two about country life. Different from his mom, who’d also grown up on a ranch. Different from all of his female cousins, who knew how to saddle and ride and who were born with their boots on. As the youngest son in a family of three boys, maybe he looked forward to experiencing life with someone who’d see the country with fresh eyes. Someone who’d appreciate how miraculously countercultural, how strange and set apart it all really is. Someone who couldn’t ride to save her life. Who didn’t know north from south, or east from west. If that defined his criteria for a life partner, I was definitely the woman for the job.

But watch out to see whether new digital technologies can betamax even the VHS.

Do you think you ever went too far with these stunts? I might have done things differently if I could do them over again. There was one time when Scott Adsit [the actor who later played Pete Hornberger on 30 Rock] and I and the rest of our group were performing in front of an audience. This was when Bill Clinton was president. Scott came out and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have some terrible news. President Clinton has just been assassinated.” Scott’s a really good actor and he played it very real. The whole crowd completely believed it. We then wheeled out a television to watch the most up-to-date news coverage. We turned it on and the audience saw NFL bloopers—we had already inserted a VHS tape. One of us yelled, “Wait, don’t change it!” The whole cast came out and hunkered down and just started laughing at these football bloopers. The people in the audience slowly began to file out, dazed. That was the end of our show. And you know, that’s the kind of thing you do when you’re twenty-five or twenty-six.

Bob from the early days of Disney. They were conflicted, therefore, about using certain newer technologies—VHS videotape, for example—that had not existed in the studio’s heyday. If Walt’s Nine Old Men didn’t use videotape, Andrew remembers telling Bob McCrea one day, maybe he shouldn’t either. “Don’t be an idiot,” Bob said. “If we’d had those tools then, we would have used them.

Blank 8mm tapes VHS-C Tapes Floppy Discs Typewriter Ribbon 3.5mm Disc Toner Cartridges Printer Ink

DVD technology allowed Netflix to create a completely new business model. Rather than renting out individual movies and being charged exorbitant late fees if they failed to return the VHS tape in time, Netflix customers paid $20 per month for a subscription to “unlimited” movies—provided they checked out just one movie at a time. This allowed Netflix to eliminate Blockbuster’s widely loathed late fees and capture the powerful and certain revenue stream from the proven model of a subscription service. Netflix took off, and even went public as a DVD-by-mail service. But Hastings never lost sight of his ultimate vision for Netflix—on-demand television delivered via the Internet

The Captain, meanwhile, had been rifling through, of all things, the video cabinet. ‘Is anyone going to explain what’s going on?’ he asked, holding up a VHS cassette on which the Doctor could just make out … ah, that was his recording of the Daleks’ master plan. They’d dearly love to get that back, having lost their own copy centuries ago.

Dad’s youth minister salary was about $25,000 a year, so my mom was always looking for ways to supplement the income. This was the era of Jazzercise and she saw that Jane Fonda’s Workout was becoming the highest-selling VHS tape of all time. She thought, I can do that. Since we were always at church, she decided to start teaching an aerobics class there. She had to go talk in front of the whole deacon board to get approval, and she brought us along. There was this old country man who kept staring at her as she talked about aerobics. He finally interrupted her. “You gonna be doing acrobatics in the church chapel?” “Aerobics,” she said, overenunciating every syllable. “Working out. Good for your heart.” The men looked at each other. It was bad enough my dad had an earring, and now his crazy wife wanted people dancing in the church. Finally, she hit on the point: “I’m going to be helping women get their best bodies possible.” Again, the men looked at each other, but this time they were sold. She started the Heavenly Bodies company, and the class was called Jump for Jesus— No, I will not shut my mouth. That is really what she called it. Let’s continue.

There were VHS tapes of devout animated cucumbers and my mother's drawings of Lucifer, which bothered me until I had the vocabulary to know I was aroused.

Just a few days before, Jason had been part of the noisy street- scape, trying to talk to his aunt Joyce back in Shakopee, Minnesota. To avoid the blaring traffic and techno music, he’d ducked into a quiet construction site, phone pressed against his ear, eyes on his shoes. That was when a hard punch connected with his cheekbone. The phone went flying. Probably the worst text I’ve ever gotten was the one line, Jason’s been mugged. Accounting it later, he would say his military training must have kicked in. “Before I could think about it, I’d kicked the legs out from under one of the guys.” And that was when he said it. Jason uttered a phrase so outrageous, so utterly shameless, it can be used only once per life- time, and until then stored in a special box sternly labeled, In case of emergency, break glass. “It’s terrible; it’s right out of a Steven Seagal direct-to-VHS movie,” he admitted, as I coaxed the story out of him again. “Well, I mustered up my army drill sergeant voice and I barked, ‘Motherf*cker! You want a piece of me?’” Jason claims the second it came out of his mouth, he was already embarrassed. Embarrassed in front of what turned out to be teen boys, kids really, who clearly didn’t speak English. They ran off with his phone and Jason found his way back to Brian’s hospital room with a headache, a purple contusion, and a strong will to get his brother well—and the hell out of Asia.

La stratégie dominante du consommateur devrait être de ne jamais acheter une nouvelle technologie. Il suffit de se rappeler le prix d’un magnétoscope VHS dans les années 1980, celui d’un lecteur DVD dans les années 1990 ou celui d’un lecteur Blu-ray à son arrivée sur le marché. À cette époque, un lecteur Blu-ray pouvait coûter 1000 $ alors qu’aujourd’hui, on peut s’en procurer un pour 10 à 20 fois moins cher!

Have you ever stared at yourself in the mirror, and your eyes act like an out of focused camera? You keep zooming in on your face, and out again like you can’t believe you’re you. I get so lost in my own reflection my face starts looking warped. I feel as though I’m watching my life flash through my brain like a VHS being re-winded, and I can’t believe I’m me. All my imperfections are amplified back at me, and I know I can’t open my eyes as someone else. I feel ugly. Not the kind of ugly that someone feels because they don’t think they are beautiful, but the ugly that resonates from experiences. Remembering all the bad shit that you have done or that was done to you, and seeing the wounds of the past re-open through your imperfections.

Most live video footage was not permanently saved, often taped over to reduce costs (some of the only material that remains from this period was recorded by one private citizen—Marion Stokes, a Philadelphia woman who compulsively recorded and stored over 40,000 VHS tapes of news broadcasts between the years of 1979 and 2012, eventually donating the collection to the Vanderbilt Television News Archive).

Escute-me, povo meu; ouça-me, nação minha: A lei sairá de mim; minha justiça se tornará uma luz para as nações. Minha retidão logo virá, minha salvação está a caminho, e meu braço trará justiça às nações.

King knows what scares us. He has proven this a thousand times over. I think the secret to this is that he knows what makes us feel safe, happy, and secure; he knows our comfort zones and he turns them into completely unexpected nightmares. He takes a dog, a car, a doll, a hotel—countless things that we know and love—and then he scares the hell out of us with those very same things. Deep down, we love to be scared. We crave those moments of fear-inspired adrenaline, but then once it’s over we feel safe again. King’s work generates that adrenaline and keeps it pumping. Before King, we really didn’t have too many notables in the world of horror writers. Poe and Lovecraft led the pack, but when King came along, he broke the mold. He improved with age just like a fine wine and readers quickly became addicted, and inestimable numbers morphed into hard-core fans. People can’t wait to see what he’ll do next. What innocent, commonplace “thing” will he come up with and turn into a nightmare? I mean, think about it…do any of us look at clowns, crows, cars, or corn fields the same way after we’ve read King’s works? SS: How did your outstanding Facebook group “All Things King” come into being? AN: About five years ago, I was fairly new to Facebook and the whole social media world. I’m a very “old soul” (I’ve been told that many times throughout my life: I miss records and VHS tapes), so Facebook was very different for me. My wife and friends showed me how to do things and find fan pages and so forth. I found a Stephen King fan page and really had a fun time. I posted a lot of very cool things, and people loved my posts. So, several Stephen King fans suggested I do my own fan page. It took some convincing, but I finally did it. Since then, I have had some great co-administrators, wonderful members, and it has opened some amazing doors for me, including hosting the Stephen King Dollar Baby Film fest twice at Crypticon Horror Con in Minnesota. I have scored interviews with actors, writers, and directors who worked on Stephen King films or wrote about King; I help promote any movie, or book, and many other things that are King related, and I’ve been blessed to meet some wonderful people. I have some great friends thanks to “All Things King.” I also like to teach our members about King (his unpublished stories, lesser-known short stories, and really deep facts and trivia about his books, films, and the man himself—info the average or new fan might not know). Our page is full of fun facts, trivia, games, contests, Breaking News, and conversations about all things Stephen King. We have been doing it for five years now as of August 19th—and yes, I picked that date on purpose.

If you can’t paint a man falling from a five story building before he hits the ground, you will never make a monumental painting.

The tape says WATCH ME, so let’s see what happens when we do,” she says, sliding the video into the VHS machine, which swallows the tape whole. An image fills the screen, and it feels like the past is coming back to haunt us all.

Well, someone left this VHS tape and this note on the kitchen table,” he says. “The words didn’t write themselves.

In a world of instant clicks and swipes, there's a charm in the wait of a radio tune, the thrill of a letter's arrival, and the rewind sound of a VHS cassette.

The first skate video I owned was a VHS copy of Future Primitive and it pretty much changed my life. I guess I was never really into team sports much, and skating really promoted individualism in a way that resonated with me.

After the community theater years, I got my first big TV break at age five with a commercial for Velveeta cheese, charming people across America with my messy pigtails and toothless smile. I don't remember much from that job, just a lot of very bright lights. I don't even remember if I ate the cheese to be honest. I was a cute kid with a big personality, but looking back at the VHS (!) tapes, I can see just how precocious I was. I also see it in my daughter which both delights and terrifies me.

It took me miles of gentle puzzling before I worked out that the love was about my father and me. For weeks after he died, I’d sat in front of the television watching the British television drama Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy over and over again; hours of grainy 1970s 16mm cinefilm, soft and black on an old VHS tape. I’d curled up mentally in its dark interiors, its Whitehall offices and gentlemen’s clubs. It was a story of espionage and betrayal that fitted together like a watch, and it was glacially slow and beautiful.

Genesis,” God said slowly. “The sick fuck recorded it.” Genesis bent and picked up the box and shoved it at God’s chest. “Mom and I saw it all. She found this box buried in the attic. We must have just put it up there without opening it when we moved here. It shows it all!” Genesis’s tears were falling freely as he yelled. “The fights, the beatings, the threats.” Genesis dropped to his knees as if he was in agony. He cried so hard his body jerked with the sobs. “Oh my god, oh my god,” he groaned. Cash shoved the box of old VHS tapes to Day and dropped down to embrace his brother, and Genesis clung to him for dear life. “The

The best entrepreneurs don’t just follow Moore’s Law; they anticipate it. Consider Reed Hastings, the cofounder and CEO of Netflix. When he started Netflix, his long-term vision was to provide television on demand, delivered via the Internet. But back in 1997, the technology simply wasn’t ready for his vision—remember, this was during the era of dial-up Internet access. One hour of high-definition video requires transmitting 40 GB of compressed data (over 400 GB without compression). A standard 28.8K modem from that era would have taken over four months to transmit a single episode of Stranger Things. However, there was a technological innovation that would allow Netflix to get partway to Hastings’s ultimate vision—the DVD. Hastings realized that movie DVDs, then selling for around $ 20, were both compact and durable. This made them perfect for running a movie-rental-by-mail business. Hastings has said that he got the idea from a computer science class in which one of the assignments was to calculate the bandwidth of a station wagon full of backup tapes driving across the country! This was truly a case of technological innovation enabling business model innovation. Blockbuster Video had built a successful business around buying VHS tapes for around $ 100 and renting them out from physical stores, but the bulky, expensive, fragile tapes would never have supported a rental-by-mail business.

I’d only seen these famous K-1 fighters on VHS, and had certainly never been in a ring with one. I half-expected them to be superhuman, like Goku in Dragon Ball Z or Ryu in Street Fighter 2, and I hadn’t discounted the possibility that Le Banner might be about to hadouken me from across the ring

You will never be happy if your happiness depends on getting solely what you want. Change the focus, get a new center, will what God wills, and your joy no man shall take from you.