In our household, when school is out for summer, that means it’s time to catch up on all the movies we’ve missed over the last nine months.  So, my boys and I stocked up on all of the hit flicks we could find.  Armed with a handful of DVD rentals, we parked ourselves in the family room and went to it. 

As we curled up on the couch with our popcorn in hand and the lights dimmed, we started the first flick.  A short time in-it went into slow motion and the screen crackled in the special way it does when you know the DVD is scratched. “Crap” I whispered. “Not again!” I grabbed the remote and started toggling between the “pause” and “stop” buttons but to no avail. 

So, I slowly hoisted myself out of my comfortable spot on the sofa and went over to the DVD player and ejected the fiesty son-of-a-gun.  Wanting desperately to be the hero that healed the disc from this terrible fate and permitted my kids to watch their movie, I inspected the backside of it and started rubbing it furiously on my flannel PJ’s. 

I smiled at the boys with that confident, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered” look.  Then I popped the sucker back in.  Twenty minutes later, after we were able to locate the proper scene and re-watch the lengthy part leading up to where we left off-the slow-mo kicked right back in.  This time it’s possible that “crap”was not the word-of-choice that exited my mouth in that regrettable moment.

Once again, I left the imprint of where I should be on the sofa and was desperately rubbing the disk. After some question whether or not it was a smart idea, I decided to add a little saliva to the situation.  So I licked my fingers and re-rubbed with this dubious “magic” solution.  Hey, if it works for dirt on kid’s faces, why not for this little guy? 

I popped that baby back in and “voila!” it got us at least five minutes further into the movie before that special slow-mo crackle kicked back in.  This pattern continued for a very long time.  Determined to watch our movie, our two hours of fun morphed into five with a real work-out for Mom every few minutes.  I felt betrayed by this sleek, shiny, compact disc that was suppose to hold the promise of improved technology. 

My thoughts drifted back to the good old days of VHS-where one could usually tell if the tape was warped just by inspecting it.  On rare occurances when the tape was in and the movie tripped up, you at least knew right then and there, you were hosed. Nothing could be done-jump ship now!  But at least it did not rob you of your time and compromise the rest of your movie. Perhaps they’re bulky and clumsy and passe but I say, “I want my VHS!”