Magic Eye

These were so 'in' in the 90's. I stared cross-eyed into so many of these Magic Eye books when I was a kid, my nose pressed into the pages, it's no wonder I ended up needing glasses. These things made my eyes hurt--which, save for sticking something in them, is a rare occurrence.  And even if I saw the hidden image, I could never figure out what it was.

Remember, blur your eyes, look "through" the picture...or something.

Star Trek III: The Search for Spock

This may elevate my dork-dom to nerdhood status, but I think I've done worse. I am not a Trekkie by any stretch, but the fact is, before Jurassic Park arrived on the scene, my all-time favorite movie was probably Star Trek III, The Search for Spock. I didn't end up seeing the best Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan, until high school, but I knew the basic plot well enough to understand its sequel, which we had on tape. I saw the first Star Trek movie when I was six on the USA network, and all I could think was "ooh, pretty colors," otherwise, I was probably asleep after 30 minutes. I enjoyed The Voyage Home and The Final Frontier sure, but for some reason, The Search for Spock was my choice picture. Kind of like eating mac'n'cheese, you enjoy it more when you don't know any better. (Spoilers ahead!)

All I remember thinking when I first saw this movie was "when's he going to show up?" I don't think it clicked that the kid was Spock... I was just expecting him to come out of nowhere and for everyone to go "ah, there he is." Come to think of it, it wasn't much of a "search," seeing as they knew where he was, but then again, I guess they couldn't call it "Return of Spock" because that's a spoiler ... even if we could have figured that one out. They wouldn't make a movie and not bring him back. Nor were they just going to bring him back in the first two minutes and carry on. They can pull that crap within a movie in order for there to be a sequel but not when it ends with the character still dead. Ultimately, how they did it works... unless you think about too much.

"So you're telling me that... Spock's casket flew off into orbit around the Genesis planet, fell into the planet's gravity, and then fell thousands of miles through the sky at high speeds and crashed, I mean, 'soft landed' smack between two trees? Then while he was down there in the casket, his body was destroyed and somehow turned into Zygote Spock in the casket and grew into Baby Spock within the casket with no air-holes... and then somehow managed to open the space-sealed casket as a what... baby? child?... before running off naked into the woods?" Sheesh! You know what, I'm glad this movie was called the "Search for Spock," and not "Yeah... That Happened."

Maybe I like it because it's still a gorgeous movie. The score by James Horner is, well, it's just like the one from Wrath so it's excellent. But let's get serious, the real reason I enjoyed it so much was because the Enterprise self-destructs in an epic battle against the Klingon Bird of Prey (certainly the best time this happens). I can still hear the computer voice "5...4...3.."  "Get out of there!"  "...1". I also enjoyed how Kirk stole the Enterprise out of space dock in a grand orchestral swell, and how they had to sabotage the Excelsior and make it go "clunk-a-clunka-ka-dunk" in space to get away. It was all so well done you don't even care about the plot holes... ("wait, why do they need to go to planet Genesis to get Spock's body if it burned up in the atmosphere at the end of II for all they know?"...) My brain didn't work on that level at the time though. Heck, it barely works on that level now.

Anyways, loved the "goin' rouge" feeling, loved the humor, ("How can you be deaf with ears like that?" and [in an elevator], "Up your shaft!") ...can't say I loved the "talky bits," like the mind-melding and the close-ups on eyes and lips and such, but those were the bits I used for bathroom breaks or trips to the fridge. It's not the best Trek film, but it's the best odd-numbered Trek film by far and one of the most entertaining. I'd walk into elementary school and draw little Enterprises on my papers (I liked to draw), and walk around saying "Grissom! This is Enterprise calling, please come in!"

So I may have really revealed my borderline nerdhood with this one, but trust me, I was always more of a fan of the movies than I was of the TV shows, and I never really watched much of TNG, but this film was worth learning how to work a VCR for on a summer afternoon.

Doom By Asteroid!

To this day I can't hear Richard Kiley's voice without getting short of breath. I hold nothing against him personally, it's just his voice has come to be, in my mind, the voice narrating the Apocalypse. The only bad thing about the 90's was that with the new millennium fast approaching, out of the woodworks came all the doom sayers, and following close behind them, the scientists backing them up. Hollywood and science teamed up to inform us that... some serious shit was about the hit the fan, so we better buy out all the stores just to be safe.

After all, weren't we all treated to documentary after documentary, blockbuster Roland Emmerich movie after Roland Emmerich movie, low-budget Roland Emmerich rip off after low-budget rip off, all foretelling Earth's sure destruction through multi-character plot lines? There was nothing our parents loved to watch more than people running for their lives as New York City went up in flames, and nothing I hated more than being forced to watch it too, and I don't even live there!

Anyways, I single out the voice of Richard Kiley especially, for his narration of the 1996 Discovery documentary "Three Minutes to Impact,"--a film that planted the seed into this brain that not only are we going to get hit by an asteroid "the size of Texas", but it will hit a metropolitan area (preferably a world landmark), and it will hit sometime soon enough for people to still be driving around '96 Corollas (as featured during the animated impact scenes). And seeing as how people are still driving '96 Corollas, I can only to assume that doomsday is long overdue! Is it time for a change of pants yet?

Let's be honest here. The first thing anyone thinks when they see asteroids plummeting into Paris, London, or New York is, "thank God that's not close to me."

Every two minutes of this thing I was squished up on the edge of the couch, begging the scientists, "say it isn't so! Oh, say it isn't so. Say it won't happen to me!" And sure as the Apocalypse itself, they just kept retorting, "Oh yeah, it's a mathematical certainty. We will be hit again, in fact, fairly soon too!"

I think the 90's wore my disaster reflex out though. I've seen so many of these things pummel into New York, Vegas, Paris, Rome, London...etc., throughout my childhood, that I don't think the real thing is even going to shock me much. Let's get our hopes up that if it's going to happen though... it'll happen to all those sorry saps living in cities far, far away from me. I'm calling you out, Aprophis.

Kid Vid vs. The Egg McMuffin

Kid Vid was the ultimate gatekeeper. You want in on the Burger King Kids Club? Well, if you're over 4 feet tall, fuck you! (Or so the sign said at the BK play place). Thank you Kid Vid for keeping all the non-little-person pedos out of the playplace! (I tried to make a molestation joke about the older gentleman's "play place" I stumbled upon once in a BK bathroom, but... nah). Kid Vid was what every 90s kid wanted to be... needlessly accessorized! Future goggles from Star Trek, antennas, ray guns, fingerless gloves, shoulder strap and mounted tech thingy, watch, walkman?, sneakers, and only ONE knee pad... RADICAL! Burger King was Blast Processing your fast food experience! (And that ain't no diarrhea joke!) Forget McDonalds and the stupid big-hipped clown! Kid Vid is totally EX-CELENNNNT! Plus, he had his own cult, and you could be in it!

This has fueled my suspicion that BK has always been better than McDs. Since we can't really judge based on the quality of the food they sell on their respective kids menus (because seriously), McDs mascots were a bunch of magical pudgy PUSSIES compared to the awesomeness that was Kid Vid and his lazers! There, I said it, and I am not ashamed. Clearly Ronald McDonald was and still is evil beyond comprehension, but a worthy adversary nonetheless for Kid Vid and his heroic Kids Club in what should've been the ultimate fast food showdown! Unfortunately, Kid Vid and other relics of 90s radicalness bit the dust while the evil Empire of the Clown still reigns taco-supreme. Maybe someday things will become rad again and a true hero will rise from the flame-broiled ashes, but for now all we can do is dream, and resist! Seriously, while BK was making you a king or queen and signing you up for world domination in the lazer-crazed hotshot futureworld Kids Cult, the best McD's could do was make you sit on uncomfortable Hambuger-shaped plastic stools and get you raped by Grimace in the ball pit (that's what happens when Kid Vid ain't there to gatekeep). Well... okay... McD McPlayplaces were usually better than BK's, so maybe it might've been worth it.

My story isn't as much fun as that, but just as traumatic, because it has to do with the food. Let's just say, I did my part in the war effort against the Clown and embodied the spirit of Kid Vid in all his glory, but it has left me battle scarred to this day. Case in point, to this day I still can't eat eggs, and it's all thanks to McDonalds and their dreaded Egg McMuffin. They activate my gag reflex. Sure, I could probably eat an egg white, but I can not eat that gritty yellow stuff they tell you is the baby chick. It's not that I'm a persnickety vegetarian or anything, it's because the taste, the texture, the smell... it calls up the wet McMuck within.  Besides, I do like the sausage part of the McMuffin (probably because it had as much Styrofoam as the container and was as plastic as the Happy Meal toys), but something about that egg just made me wanna hurl. I could never understand how people could eat that which smells like a fart. Yuck! And yet, I was still forced to eat them (eggs, that is).

I was also condiment-intolerant. If you were buying the eight-year-old me a hamburger, you'd be wise to just repeat the following into the drive through talkbox: "two all beef patties... hold the sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, oinions, ketchup, mustard... leave the sesame seed bun." Spare yourself the headache and make it simple, otherwise, "no thanks, you can have it." And if it was hotcakes for breakfast, no syrup please. It was "too sweet." But my dad wouldn't hear any of this. Real men eat everything! So he'd buy me one of those Egg McMuffins every weekend when he had us, and every weekend I had to come up with ever more increasingly convoluted ways of removing the egg part without him knowing. Somehow, at some point, I had to pick off the egg and toss it with the wrappings when he wasn't looking. This usually involved me sticking the egg part in my pockets or hiding it somewhere in the backseat to fester and stink and be found at a later date hardened and crusty. Yuck! My mom was a bit more subtle and let us be picky, knowing that we'd come around eventually. Sorry mom, still can't stand eggs!

So screw McDonalds and your McDonaldland despotism. At BK, you can always "have it your way." The King was always a benevolent monarch. Long live the king! It's how Kid Vid would've wanted it. Seriously, the PTSD of being forced to eat Egg McMuffins against my consent is just... too much to bear. You never recover from the trauma. The spirit of Kid Vid once again reigns victorious in each and every one of us when we boldly say enough is enough and resist the Clown and all other food tyrants at all cost!

But then again, they did come with a tiny Hotwheels car, so... kinda worth it.

Paranormal Alien Junkies

By the time third grade rolled around, my friend Nick and I were a couple of paranormal junkies. I suppose "junkies" is the right term, as it's fitting of what that stuff really is (plus we definitely were paranormal). But don't tell me that aliens were junk back then. Those were the days when we didn't have the History Channel to give us our UFO fix. We had to rely on the infrequent sightings on the Discovery Channel (back then it was the "smart people" channel). I was hooked on all those weekend paranormal Lifetime Channel Unsolved Mysteries marathons. "Television for women" my ass! More like "television for 9-year-olds who love freaky alien paranormal shit"!

My friend Nick was pretty smart. In fact, we used to call him "smarter than the average kid" (in the Yogi Bear sense), or at least, that's what he called himself. He knew all the times tables. Quick... what's 5x7?? Too late! Nick's already answered. Oh yeah. He could tell you all about military missions, airplanes, explosives, and brain eating amoebas in your favorite waterparks. He also could burp on command like a champ, really loud and beastly, and even taught me some of his burping wisdom. So as far as I was concerned, he really was smarter than the average kid. He did sneak nunchucks into school on many occasions, so yeah, of course we were friends. Checks out. And so... anything he said was pretty much gospel. Nick was convinced they were holding aliens in Area 51 and doing autopsies, and I agreed, adding, "who do you think works there?" He suggested that people don't work there like a normal job, they are born, raised, work, and die there and never see the outside world. Yes, for us, Independence Day was a documentary. That's an 'unsolved mystery' our old Lifetime channel friend Robert Stack took to his grave.

Was Independence Day not a documentary? Wasn't that really area 51? I don't know. Nick did. His parents let him watch ALL the Alien movies, and he said they were all pretty badass, so ... he knows what he's talking about. And you know what else? He had some pretty sweet nunchucks.

This is all heavily ironic, for nothing terrified me more as a kid (and even now as I think about it), than being abducted by aliens... that and ghosts... and girls. I knew there was no monster under the bed, but aliens? I wasn't so sure. You could say this fear was also ironic because if you talked to my brother, he would've told you nothing would've pleased him more than seeing me get "taken." He would have held the door for them. Indeed, it might have explained a few things. The feeling was mutual. It didn't help that a new "aliens destroy humanity" movie came out every year in the 90's, and of course, my parents kept renting them... even the horribly terrifying Mars Attacks, which haunted my dreams for weeks. Those eyes, those brains, those ray guns turning people into skeletons, the totally wasted all-star cast, the death of Danny Devito! ("Look, don't shoot me, I'm a lawyer. If you wanna take over the world... you're gonna need a lawyer!") It was a horrible movie (and that's coming from a guy who likes Tim Burton).

Robert Stack probably was an alien, but I had my doubts about some kids at school. Humans? Or aliens wearing human skin? How could you tell? Well, it turned out that Nick seemed to know exactly how to spot an alien (because yeah, the kid knew everything). He told me, and this is 100% true, that if they tell you they're a pack of aliens living out behind the school eating "shiny paper foods" (the place was littered with potato chip bags)... it probably makes sense to play it safe and take their word for it. "Your brain could be next." But then I started having my suspicions about Nick... he seemed to know too much...

How else could you explain his advanced mathematics computer brain unless it wasn't some kind of... advanced alien brain or techno-implant? Wait... wasn't that him eating potato chips at lunch? Look at the inside of his chip bag! "Shiny paper food!" Wasn't that him wiping his boogers on the window? Hmmm... that specimen seemed a bit too green if you asked me. And all the ear-spliting burping on command? Sorry but I know the sound of a Xenomorph when I hear one! And the smell of his breath... whoo! Like sauerkraut and crusty gym sock! Yeah... definitely not human.

That did it. The kid was definitely an alien.

But I could never be sure, and I didn't want him knowing I might've been on to him. He never invited me over, despite telling me he wanted to many times. Seems suspicious, right? At some point in the 4th grade I remember we had some kind of falling out... probably because I was too close to uncovering the SECRET. I remember he threatened to use his nunchucks on me once, and I told the teacher he had brought them to school. After that, I was sure he was gonna come to school and pound me, or do worse, and I actually remember dreading going to school for a few days. But weirdly enough, he didn't show up. Day by day went by, and he was absent. And then for some reason I never fully knew, I never saw him again. Well, it was close to the end of the school year anyway... or maybe he just jumped back in his craft and went back to his planet. Either way, I want to believe.

Or as Home Improvement once put it, parodying the X-Files:

"The truth is out there..." -- Tim Taylor
"No Taylor, you're the one who's out there." --Jill Taylor

All About Reptiles

This is but a mere re-creation.

In selecting the new font for the glorious header of this blog, I came across this oldish Fraktur Nazi-esque one that reminded me of how much I appreciated the Old English font as a kid. I don't know why, perhaps it connected me with my humdrum "I say good sirs!" roots, but something about it could always class up any run of the mill school assignment. All those unnecessary lines, serif hooks, and random hairs, really made me think I was submitting something of quality when I handed in the 4th grade hyper-pixelated masterpiece "ALL ABOUT REPTILES" (in full caps, no less). Now that was fancy!

This was of course back in the day when computers were interesting. The one in the classroom had a really kiddied-up word processor that came with three fonts, and for whatever reason, Old English was one of them. It also had three sizes for header type: large, huge, and "make that, two pages." It allowed you to sort through what kind of image you wanted to adorn the header of your document from a list of severely pixelated and random clipart. Back then it was cool if you had a picture on your reports, whether related or not... so I went with the giant Indian with full feathery headdress.

Between these stylistic choices, "ALL ABOUT REPTILES" was complete at maybe 100 words, and it was pretty badass.

Pretty Sneaky Sis...

Let me drop some knowledge on you. I'll be honest (that's what this blog is all about after all), I'm an attention hog and always have been. Anything that could get me some attention, good or bad, I was down for. Whether I ended up everyone's hero (like the time in gym class I was a goalie and stopped a hockey puck with my CROTCH!), or was heralded as the best kid picked to lead the class in the "pledge of allegiance" ever (yes, I said "one naked, undergarment, in-the-visible" ...),  I was desperate to prove myself worthy of the stuff of legends. And of course, legends are usually built on fibs. So like most kids, I was very good at fibbing, and at being stupid... and for having a groin of steel. It came easy to me, and now it's no surprise to me why I never knew why.

All kids are pretty dumb... (heck, so is everyone...) and I don't think I'll find much argument there. Another statement I'm probably not gonna receive any argument about? The fact that, even among kids, girls are (and always were) little EINSTEINS ... compared to the average boy.

Yes, growing up male makes you dumber. That's science talking. I don't make the rules, I'm just a hapless crotch-scratching victim of them. We can be genius level IQ and still be pretty darn limp-brained where it counts. If we're not dumb in the classroom, we're dumb when it comes to relating to "fellow humans." If we're not dumb when it comes to book-reading, we forget to bathe, but if we remember to bathe, we don't know how to tell if we're using too much cologne. It's always something! We either struggle to read a book, or we read a book and struggle to remember our names when a pretty girl asks us. We can either recite the periodic table, or all original 150 Pokemon. We can either put our pants on the right way and flunk math, or we can ace math and forget how to zip up. We simply can not do both. And this is one area where I can say I don't just speak for myself. This was settled a long time ago. Girls can be mean or conniving or bitchy, sure... and sometimes not... but they're definitely not as dumb as the average boy. 

And not only is this not a problem, it's actually the best part of being a dude. We get to say that the opposite sex is smarter than us! It's the only thing we can do that girls can't. Can girls say that? Nope! Like being called a "moron" or a "dumbass," and a whole slew of other words for "idiot" (you never hear these things said for chicks)... it's the ultimate "boys only" thing! But forget what science says about how "girls mature faster" and "get better grades in school" (and other things that are actually true), because as many a dude has said before me: I got one better than science. I got 90s movies to be my guide in this. 

Now, any casual viewing of the medium will probably confirm this thesis easily, and the only thing you might have to say about any of what I've said is "well, yeah." As in, the "the sky is blue," "grass is green," "boys are idiots"... so what of it? However, some dudes out there might hop off their seats exclaiming "nuh-uh, that McCaulay Culkin kid from My Girl was pretty smart!" And you'd be right, when it came to school there's no doubt he had book smarts. The glasses tell you that. The hole in the theory? He died! Here he was actually getting a girl to like him, and I mean, really like him... and then he decides to just go and die one day. Not too bright if you ask me. And then he was too dumb to even keep his glasses on at the wake! I mean, come on. He can't see without his glasses! 

No. For this battle of wits, I realized I'm going to have to pull out the big guns, the two most intelligent movie kids from the 90s: Kevin McCallister from Home Alone, representing all boys, and Matilda Wormwood from Matilda, representing girls. Now, granted on the surface they are both "smarter than average." Kevin is practically a small adult who can manipulate anyone, not to mention rig a whole string of houses with traps to thwart bad guys across multiple movies. His drawback (besides, you know, not being psychokinetic... we'll get to her) is that he's very good at luring particularly indestructible bad guys into his traps! No matter how many electrocutions, sticky floorboards, paint tins, or toilets filled with explosives he hucks at them, there's always going to be a point where he's out of traps and the bad guys are still coming. And who's fault is that? Besides, how smart could he be if he's constantly getting left behind by his family?

Matilda Wormwood on the other hand is a math and reading savant who doesn't even need school to function in the genius level, and she can even move shit with her friggin' mind! Now that's "GIRL POWER" for you! Both Kevin and Matilda are very capable of taking care of themselves, as Matilda is basically self-taught in everything and Kevin does all his own chores and shopping. BUTT... Matilda also reads profusely, everything from classic literature to tax law, and absorbs everything, so she can figure out more "mature" and "grown up" ways to bust an opponent than silly little dumb boyish Matchbox cars on the stairs. And what about Kevin? He reads Playboy and watches gangster movies. Matilda's downside though is that she needs to get emotional before she can use her powers to their fullest extent, and it takes quite a torrent of Danny Davito parental abuse to charge up that battery!

So basically, you know where this is going...  In a battle royale between Kevin and Matilda, I'm still going to have to give it to the Matil-dog. She could easily out-maneuver all of the Kevlar's ingenious and psychopathic traps with just her mind, and also chuck heavy objects at him as well, without any preparation, so it's no contest. Girls rule. Boys drool. Case closed.

(And don't even get me started on Minkus vs. Harriet the Spy... She is a spy after all, she can sneak up on that obnoxious dork! Case closed.)

But fear not, being dumber is not necessarily a bad thing guys! All those nutshot challenges and off-the-roof trampoline jumps may look dumb, but it just means we take more risks. For some, it means you go off and build the first airplane or invent the first jetpack. For most, it means you get your head stuck in a chair in the 1st grade. All those idiot jokes we make? That just means we aren't so self-inhibited. For some, that means we're unafraid about what people think of us. For most though, it means that when you raise your hand in class and get called on, you will then proceed to let out a looooooong burp... loudly. Maybe we need all that brazen, reckless, death-defying, annoying stupidity so that eventually nature will randomly produce the one (and only) male Einstein. 

Me. Jr. Executive.

Don't worry though. I hold myself out as the archetypal example for the entire thesis about why's it's actually rad to be part of the dumber half of the populace. At school, the 8-year-old me had this "class clown meets Jr. Mr. Executive" thing going on, which is like, the epitome of showing off. Around the boys I wanted to be cool with, I was a rebel, a kid who'd eat the classroom fish food if it would cause a couple laughs (I don't know how fish eat that stuff). Around boys who already thought I was cool, I'd suddenly become more mysterious and entertain them with tales of the Cub Scouts I'd never witnessed (I made it sound like recruit training... like any of those all-time great war movies like Full Metal Jacket, swearing included!). I once wore an elastic band around my leg and claimed it was to show where "I'd lost a limb" in the "war games." Lies! The closest to war I'd ever come was to sit through all 90 minutes of Major Payne. ... (8yo me loved it, by the way.)

And no, it's no excuse for douchebaggery, I know. Around girls at school I liked, I basically just answered all their "what is your favorite animal"-type questions and watched them swoon whenever I randomly interjected "dolphins" (all the girls back then wanted to be marine biologists after Free Willy). What did us boys get out of it? "Haha... "free the willy!!!"... HAHA!... But that's no reason to be a douchebag, obviously. The point is, I had some sensitive sides... but I assure you, all my girl cousins got to see was the Ace Ventura part of me whenever my brother and I were around regardless. And, try as I might, I just never understood why girls weren't as impressed as I was about how I could make zany animal noises, stick things in my nose, crack good ole' penis jokes, and bend over and "talk" with my buttcheeks... 

Oh well. Their loss.

Around girls at school I didn't like, I was still eating the fish food, but for the opposite reason (although the little marine biologists among them might have dug my "sensitivity" for the fish). I guess the girls liked them because dolphins, like girls, are also animals that are "smarter than boys." And they are probably right... 

But what would I know?