I was born in 1987. I was raised from the tail end of the eighties into the nineties, an era of neon colors, MC Hammer and eye blasting lunch boxes by Lisa Frank. I've also remained a loyal cartoon buff throughout my twenty-one years of life and it's come to my attention recently as my generation transitions into the joys of parenthood and some of my older peers, into their dreaded thirties, that some of the same things I enjoyed as a wee one are now being called things like "classic".
Cartoons I enjoyed are now being re-released, on new fangled DVDs (I remember having my VHS recordings of Shirt-Tales back when High Resolution was vocabulary reserved for images from the Hubble telescope) and on Youtube for another, younger, more obnoxious generation to enjoy. This also being said, it's sometimes nostalgic and even amusing to watch an old movie released into this format as well as some of the commentary from cartoon buffs like myself.
I watched a few things over the course of last night and this morning that have me gripping my childhood like the kid in gym class who took a hockey puck to the gonads. I watched first, a few clips from old cartoons that are so RIDDLED with sexual innuendo I realize there's no WONDER my parents were laughing along with my sibling and I at our heroes' antics. Then? Then I watched an anti-drug campaign movie involving a bunch of cartoons ranging from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (I never got to watch this unless I was sleeping at my cousins ; ) My mother said it was too violent), to Winnie the Pooh, to Muppet Babies, to Alvin and the Chipmunks and all manners of things in between (Garfield, Alf and a few others if I recall...).
Not only was it amusing to see my old old heroes helping children out with situations I haven't encountered until much much later in life than the protagonist of the story, but it was actually rather enlightening as far as drug jargon goes. I'd never seen what crystal meth looked like, nor knew the difference between a blunt and a joint until I watched Bugs Bunny rip a fifteen year old a new one about smoking mary-j. In any event, it was entertaining and so I went along my merry way to other animated persuits, watching the old literacy PSAs and commercials with McGruff the Crime Dog.
All of this spiraled down into about three in the morning and I'm sitting there in my underwear and an Invader ZIM t-shirt watching reruns of He-Man... Most were just doctored clips or not so doctored clips of those sexual innuendos I mentioned, complete with the lul-worthy commentary at the bottom as YouTube subscribers happily proclaimed their new found love for my old toonage. Then I spy...out of the corner of my eye, a link to the He-Man and the Masters of the Universe movie, you know, the old cartoon where Hannah Barbera decided to milk the franchise for all it was worth by doing a female rolemodel spin-off for all the girls. This was about the time Nintendo came out with the GameGirl, trying to compete with the GameBoy--we all remember how that turned out I'm sure. The horrifying pink things sitting on the end of a black and neon colored aisle right next to the Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake section.
Deciding to go where my nostalgia and sleep deprivation drove me, I clicked the link. Enthralled I made my way to clip eleven of God knows how many ten minute segments of the movie. I'm not sure how long it's been but I'm pretty sure my nose is bleeding and I've suffered some kind of flashing light induced grand mal seizure. If I pass out and die drooling on my keyboard it should be incredibly obvious why as I've got Pokemon playing in one window and a cheap Porn site in the other (probably featuring the same characters).
I can't understand how my mind had blotted out the horrible voice acting they gave to the sniveling Cringer, or the deep voiced manly stallion of a pastel colored unicorn SwiftHeart or Swiftwing or whatever his name was. Somehow I think my mind has tried to shield me from this despite validating my psychopathic fantasies of murdering Rainbow Brite with a Glow Worm doll (pretty sure theirs lead paint in those. YAY WALLCANDY!) and making me feel wholly justified in indulging in pixellated slaughter of anything that could come close to such horrific abuse of the spectrum of visible light. This could be hotly debated considering I rolled Horde instead of Alliance, but I won't get into that.
So my childhood spent worshiping She-Ra and He-man has come crashing down around my ears harder than the year my sister had her hair cut in the same trendy pageboy style Adam/He-Man wears with manly flair. My love for He-man left in a smoking ruin, I heft my Sun-Sword and bury myself in a quest for the Thirteen treasures of Rule in order to sooth my fel-tainted wounds and contemplate either sleeping the rest of the day, or spending the rest of the day using my ruined eye sockets as finger paint bottles.
We shall see dear readers, what this wet crappy day has in store for us...we shall see.
- Listening to: Aerosmith(Cover) -Dream On
- Reading: Nada...
- Watching: Nothing!
- Playing: World of Warcraft: BC
- Eating: My heart.
- Drinking: With a side of java.