I Walk Right Through the Door

Travel back in time with me.

We're in my childhood home in the suburbs of Wichita, Kan., and it's 7 a.m. I'm getting ready for school, seventh grade to be exact. My room is in the basement because I'm almost a teenager, and teenagers like to live as far away from their parents as possible. The walls are covered with pictures of my friends and posters of Michael Jordan. (The NKOTB decor came down a few months ago.) I'm writing a note to my BFF with juicy details about last night's phone conversation with the boy I like. We are obsessed with finding out who he wants to "go with." My BFF says he likes me, but I am skeptical. It is junior high after all and there is a lot of gossip.

When I moved into the basement room I inherited an old black-and-white TV on which I would watch early episodes of "90210," but over the summer I talked my parents into a small color TV that we hooked up to the cable. You know, for MTV.

I'm "fixing" my hair while watching videos. By "fixing" I mean creating windmill bangs and cursing the perm I am letting grow out. I'm wearing a silk shirt with shoulder pads and stirrup pants with my Eastland booties. (Quick aside: I spent forever looking on the Internets for a pair of these booties, and I'm pleased to announce that even though my particular pair was a darker brown, I FOUND THEM.)

These are the videos on rotation that fall in 1991. All playing at 7 a.m., which seems a little early for Alice in Chains, but who am I to judge when a man should be buried in his $hit?