I remember the first time I saw MTV.

Back in spring of 1982, traveling down the Baja California peninsula with my parents and brothers, we stayed a night at the La Pinta hotel in Guerrero Negro, a coastal town right on the state border between Baja and Baja Sur.

During dinner, I asked the man in charge if there was any chance of putting MTV on the hotel atrium television. He enthusiastically said yes, but they had to look it up, they'd never gotten such a request before, didn't know where to point the large dish out in the desert garden, which satellite MTV was in.

After dinner, I sat on the couch, a lone figure in the atrium, as hotel guests opted for the garden or their rooms. The VJs that night were JJ Jackson and Martha Quinn, played things like "Girls On Film" by Duran Duran, "China Girl" by David Bowie, "Feet Don't Fail Me Now" by Utopia, "Goodbye To You" by Scandal, "Escalator Of Life" by Robert Hazard, "Shock The Monkey" by Peter Gabriel, "Demolition Man" by The Police.

The ambiance created by this channel in this setting, was like an exciting shock of cool water, like being pulled from ancient times into a modern, more connected world. From my small-city, sheltered perspective.

This experience lasted for three or four hours, then at midnight it was lights out at the lobby and atrium, time to go to bed, and it was over.
I didn't see MTV live again for years, although 6-hour VHS taped recordings of MTV made the rounds among friends, the way tapes of recorded KROQ from LA did, our main connection to a larger world of music.

It was perfect, just enough to get my juices flowing at that age, like Harry Haller in Herman Hesse's "The Steppenwolf" - For Madmen Only, but for a teenager - but not enough for the rotation of videos to kick in and become repetitive. Right at that sweet spot that seared a mystique into my memory of the moment.