#My dad is a rock star chili con carnage movie

said he was working up a few cars to introduce Gaslands to a buddy of his, the game vaulted to the front of our club's queue. I had picked up the rules a few months ago, and was hoping to get a chance to try them, but I have so many games in the queue that it's hard to ever know what is destined to hit the table next. Last Saturday night, the game Gaslands scratched that dormant itch. But the idea of tearing across a post-apocalyptic desert blowing up other cars, especially when you can do it in the comfort and safety of your dining room, has an undeniable appeal. My desire to hang out the window of moving vehicles throwing water balloons at buddies in other cars while barreling down old Route 4 on the outskirts of town has fortunately waned. Being an under-stimulated kid with an imagination in the Midwest only fueled such foolishness. YouTube is now littered with the shit you do when you think you're invincible and have yet to be seriously injured in your life.

I remember a winter evening convincing a tough, sweet girl I was in love with (but too afraid to tell her) to drive me and Casey up and down an ice covered Dayton street while we clutched the back bumper and tried to stay on our feet as she picked up speed. It's a little odd decades later recalling how as a teenager I spent far too much time on the outside of moving vehicles, scrambling around on the hoods of cars driven by friends, trying to recreate the thrill of the insane grappling depicted in Road Warrior. I've watched both movies countless times since that afternoon, for years on worn-thin VHS tapes as a teenager chasing the dragon of that first taste, and later as an adult, admiring the immense amount of craft and artistry that went into their making. 'Is this what R-rated movies are going to be like?!?'Д«etween the brutal and beautiful vision of Howard's Conan as depicted by John Milius and that fever-dream trailer for the Road Warrior, it was akin to letting a 12-year-old try his hand at freebasing. It was a nightmarish hi-octane rock-'n'-roll vision of the future that both thrilled and scared the hell out of me. The stage was set with the first preview: A gang of wild mad men went roaring in ramshackle death-mobiles across the screen against the backdrop of an apocalyptic wasteland unlike anything I had ever seen. I couldn't help but wonder what my first 'R' theater-going experience was going to be like.

So.one Saturday afternoon my dad took me and my school pal and fellow 'D&Der' Casey Dean to see Conan at the Salem Mall in Dayton, Ohio, letting us sit huddled together with our popcorn a couple of rows ahead of him. Smart call.though it eventually became a favorite horror film, it still scared the hell out of me years later when I saw it on HBO.) (For example, when one of my closest pal's mom was taking him to see John Carpenter's The Thing, my parents put the kibosh on me joining them. My parents weren't heavy-handedly strict in my media consumption, but they were responsible parents and very much believed that certain images, themes, and subject matter were and weren't age appropriate. It didn't take much wheedling to convince my dad to let me go, but he definitely wanted to accompany me. Filmic images seemed to have an express route straight to my amygdala, undoubtedly fostered by growing up in a home of cinephiles (though they weren't the kind that would have known to describe themselves as such). My parents knew that I had always been impressionable and more sensitive than your average kid. It was 1982, and I had convinced my dad that because I was a devoted reader and collector of the Conan the Barbarian comic book and Howard's short stories, I had to see the first-ever cinematic adaptation of the pulp hero.

#My dad is a rock star chili con carnage movie

I remember vividly going to see my first R-rated movie in a theater at age 12.