The year was 1995. I was 12. Our living room was carpeted and had a boxy TV set. It was cold and flat and quiet outside, like always, in Central Minnesota. No Internet. No cable. Access to corners of the world beyond Stearns County came from network shows—TGIF on ABC, or Star Trek: The Next Generation (highly influential) on FOX; and, of course, from all my favorite VHS movies: Major League; French Kiss (also, huge); Father of The Bride.
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