Try, Try Again

“Okay Gus, it’s Friday night, we got a bottle of whiskey, a Tony Montana-sized-amount of coke and a laptop. Let’s come up with some reboot ideas!”

“Beautiful Stan. What cha got?”

“Alright, hmmmm. People liked Dinosaurs, right? That was a popular show in the 90s. Let’s bring them back.”

“Umm, I’m pretty sure they all died in the last episode Stan. Killed by a sudden ice age brought about by environmental pollution or some shit.”

“Who cares G-Dawg? Easy fix. They find a time machine and travel to our present time and try to live like normal dinosaurs in the modern world, trying to go to school and hold down jobs whilst wearing shirts but no pants. They have a stone house and animal appliances. Wait, was that them or The Flintstones with animal slave labor? Who cares, we can still make it work!”

“Alright Stan, I’ll put that in the ‘maybe pile. What’s next?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s see….Ooh! How about we reboot ALF? Everybody loves that little scamp and his acerbic sense of humor!”

“Well, in the last episode, he was captured by the government and it was implied that he was going to be experimented on and dissected.”

“Really? Wow, that’s some heavy stuff for a kids’ show about a small, fuzzy, adorable alien. That was the thing that drew everybody into that show! Tell you what, let’s say the government does experiment on him, but they turn him into a full-sized adult male? That way, we bring the nostalgic fans in with what they think they want, but instead we give them what they don’t want, there by telling them what they really wanted all along!”

“That doesn’t make any sense Stan.”

“Yeah it does! And as an adult male, he works as a P.I. using his knowledge of Melmac and what cats taste like, to solve murders! We’ll call it Gordon Shumway, PI!”

“Who’s Gordon Shumway?”

“Duh G-Man, that’s ALF’s real name.”

“So why do they call him ALF?”

“Sigh, it stands for Alien Life Form. You think ET’s name was ET? Nope, his name was Barry Schwartzberg. Get with it man.”

“Anyway, enough about ALF. But you do seem to be really stuck on rebooting tv shows with puppets.”

“Puppets! Yes! Brilliant! We’ll bring back Today’s Special? But make it edgier!”

“…Stan, only you and maybe five Canadians in their late 30s remember that bullshit show.”

“Exactly. This is the 21^st Century G-Wheezy, the age of the Millennials. The more obscure and pointless shit they know, the cooler they are in the eyes of their shiftless brethren. We could make it a web-only show. All of the puppets will be addicted to opioids, (so topical! “Ripped from today’s headlines!”) the mannequin guy is a gigolo, but only for men who are into stiff pieces of wood (get it?)  and the black chick is an inept hitman. We’ll make that shit viral!”

“These ideas are insane Stan. I love them! But tell me, why are we doing reboots of previously existing properties? Are the legends true? Has the prophesy come to pass? Is Hollywood out of original, creative ideas?”

“Of course not! Why just look at Jupiter Ascending. That was very original and creat…actually, forget that one. Rebooting previous franchises means we already have a built-in audience for whatever it is. Plus, there’s always the nostalgia factor. No matter how garbagy something was when people were kids, they only remember it with fondness. That, combined with bringing in a new audience and pushing merchandise is why you’ve got Michael Bay rebooting Transformers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“Oh, that seems kind of soulless and manipulative. Don’t you think? Aren’t we here to create fresh, innovate and entertaining works of art for people to enjoy? Or are we here to just make easy money and take sexual advantage of naive, innocent young women looking for their big break in ‘Tinsel town’?”

“Wait. Who hired you again?”

We Like To Party!

O brother, where art thou? Come back to us Mr. Six! Come back! We miss you ever so much. We miss your tuxedo, your fancy shoes, your suspenders, the classy red bow tie. And, of course, those ever so stylish glasses.

Your weird, creepy face though? Not so much.

The summer is nigh and this country needs the kind of solace and respite only a withered, insane old, over-dressed man can provide. Speaking of which, why are you wearing a tuxedo in the summer bruh? And even more so, why are you wearing a full tuxedo at a WATER PARK, my dude? You don’t see me wearing jams and holding a boogie board at weddings. It’s called decorum.

Anyway, I like to imagine a typical muggy D.C. area summer’s morning with people melting on the sidewalk like ice cream cones in the sun, when all of a sudden, a dated, gaudy red-and-yellow bus pulls up and a snazzily-dressed homunculus jumps out and proceeds to have a Grand Mal seizure set to bad 90s music. Who wouldn’t enjoy that? Doesn’t that just scream summer?!

This is why we need you Mr. Six! You embody summertime fun. Also, there have recently been less maimings and accidental deaths* at Six Flags’ 31 amusement parks than one would expect. Less than 50 people have been precariously trapped on roller coasters for several spine-chilling hours over the last decade. Less then two dozen children and senior citizens have been violently tossed from various rides only to land on the hard, unyielding concrete in the same time frame. Only around ten or so guests and trainers have been attacked and/or gored by tigers, elephants and other safari inhabitants.

I mean, some park workers have been killed by roller coasters, but they knew what they signed up for, so nuts to them.

Compared to that waterside in Kansas that decapitated an 11-year-old boy, (I almost included a link, but decided against it, you’re welcome) Six Flags (Motto: Would You Rather Waste Your Money At Disney?)  is doing pretty well. Who wouldn’t want to be associated with such a great safety track record?

But you don’t have to take my word for it, just listen to these true responses when I went to a local playground to ask kids if they missed Mr. Six.

“Who?”

“No, I don’t want any of your candy mister!”

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Baba Booey.”

“Help! Police!”

Ha ha ha! Those wacky kids. Truly, children are our future. But as you can tell, not only are you missed, but there’s an entire new generation of America’s youth that needs to be introduced to your manic and off-putting physical hijinks. You need to come back to inform and entertain (yeah, entertain is a pretty strong word for what you do, but I mean it!).

So until the glorious second (third?) coming of Chri…I mean Mr. Six, I’ll maintain a heart full of hope and keep the home fires burning.

HAVE A SUMMAH!

*Or were they…purposeful murders?

NO(!)stalgia

These are dark days. Murky clouds gather above us and blot out the bright light of the Esoterica. The light has been shut out to those who thrive in its radiance.

Basically, what I’m saying it’s no fun being into obscure or old stuff right now. Especially 80s stuff. That nostalgia shit is everywhere and will only get worse instead of better.

The 1980s were a decade. New decades seem to come around every ten years or so. It’s mysterious. That particular decade is similar to ones that came before and after it. People existed, they wore clothes, listened to music, had extremely specific hairstyles that were instantly outlawed by the following decade and they probably ate food.

So what makes the 80s different/special?

Well, in a way, nada. In other ways everything (I’m nothing if not specific). The 80s saw the dawning of the computer age, as exemplified in movies like Tron, War Games, D.A.R.Y.L. and Explorers. It was also the heyday of cocaine, as demonstrated by Scarface and everything that Stephen King was involved in.

But while I could easily write multiple columns about how tits the 80s were, they’d be incredibly boring to anybody who considers hip hop from 2000 to be “old school”. The question isn’t “why are the 80s so popular?” it’s “why are the 80s popular now?” Easy.

People who, as children, suckled on the teat of the 80s, (me and most likely you if you’re reading this) are the leading generation. We’re in charge now, and that means that all the garbage we grew up on is now, by law, bodacious and relevant again. No matter how obscure (or, let’s be honest, in retrospect --terrible) the pop culture of yesteryear was, it was ours goddamn it and we will drag it, kicking and screaming, into the 21^st century and shove it down everybody’s throats like a hot dog at an eating contest, (just sit there and picture that scenario for a minute.)

This isn’t fair for other generations, but too bad. I had to grow up living under the nostalgia umbrella of Generation X (motto: Our music can only be written in minor keys and all our rappers must have ‘MC’ in their names.) And they were forced to deal with their hippy drippy parents’ cultural memories. It is, as my friend Elton Jonathan once called it: “The Mobius Strip of Life”, never-ending and very unsatisfying.

The problem for people like me, those who swim in the waters of incredibly specific and pointless things from the past, is that the market has been saturated. Thanks to schlock like Ready Player One and Stranger Things, you can barely take a step without bumping into She-Ra or Hacksaw Jim Duggan.* There is no room for people like me. We used to gather in the secret places (comic book shops and bars) to discuss things like who would win in a fight between Airwolf and Blue Thunder. Because to let people know what geeky stuff we were into branded us as pariahs to our peers. But no longer. Now that which was niche is mainstream. But at what cost!

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a butthurt fanboy, mad that the rest of the world is finally being introduced to stuff I’ve been into for decades. I’m all about sharing the wealth. So far, my boy Mr. Brooks is the only dude I know who can rank Duck Tales episodes with me based on how spectacular Launchpad’s crashes were. I’d love to bring more people into the fold. That way my sister won’t look at me like a crazy jerk anymore. But let’s give the 80s a break, shall we? No more reboots, remakes, re-animators or rebuttals. We don’t need any of our beloved (and objectively bad) movies turned into tv shows, or our choking-hazards masquerading as toys turned into movies with three sequels. The let past go. Or pick another decade.

I’ve heard good things from my southern friends about the 1860s.

*And I feel cheap for even making those references.