Ugh - and how!

08. 29.00

HANNA-BARBERA has a lot to answer for, as far as I’m concerned. The Jetsons was crap, except for the overall concept and a couple episodes. (Saw one the other night that featured George unwinding after a hard day of button pushing - he entered one end of a machine a weary wreck, and came out the other end seated, holding a drink in one hand a cigarette in the other. In general, though: not funny. Not at all. Not hardly. Except for the Jet Screamer and Uniblab episodes, and they're amusing as cultural artifacts ONLY.) The Flintstones: really not funny. Betty’s hot, but it’s all annoying. All those gaddang stone puns. Ooh, Fred’s got Granite Fever; better give him some Rockacillin! Tom and Jerry? Overrated. Some good animation; some good bits, but Scott Bradley’s scores ruin most of the early ones for me. It’s so fargin’ literal.

Scooby-Doo - well, we shall speak no more of that.

Except to say that they owe me my childhood, or at least the Saturday mornings wasted watching that tripe. I love dogs, but I’d cross the street to put Scooby Down. Rooby rooby doo! [BANG]

Rooby rut shot! Rooby reeding rofusely!

It’s not just that I’m turning an adult eye on childhood pleasures; it’s the paucity of the product, the emptyness, the cheapness they were content to dole out to the kiddies. And we lapped it up, because there wasn’t anything else. Well, no - there was Jabber Jaws, a fish version of Scooby Doo. Of course, he was in a band; all these scrawny 2-D morons were in some wretched ensemble that played music so bland & sugary it made the Archies look like Black Sabbath. Jabber, who had only fins, no fingers, played the drums. Then they solved crimes!

Jesus! What was the matter with those people?

Well, they’re making it up to me now. Powerpuff Girls come out of the H-B studio, and it’s brightened a few 3:30 AM feeding sessions. You have to love a show whose villain is a zombie magician named Abra Cadaver. In Scooby-Doo he would have been Zombie Magician. I’m sure the little girls love the show because it’s cute and big-eyed and full of girl power, but it rewards the adults, too. If they’re stoned. Or feeding a baby at 3:30 AM. I don’t know; I don’t care. I just know it’s a hoot. And believe it or not I saw it coming years ago - in downtown Mpls one winter someone stuck up stickers with the Powerpuff Girls with the words GIRLS KICK ASS or something to that effect. A PG message, at least. At the time it annoyed me; I figured it was some cryptic sticker on behalf of a local band, one of those guerilla ad campaigns where success is measured by the complete inability of ANYONE to figure out what you’re talking about. It’s like the COST or REVS signs that went up in New York in the early 90s. I’ve never heard anyone discuss them, explain them, recall them. But every single phone poll in Manhattan, every construction site, had a piece of paper that said COST or REVS. Damndest thing. Even now, if you mention it to a New Yorker you get a glazed look. One of those glitches in the Matrix, I guess.

Anyway. The stickers must have been for a beta version of the sho before it got sucked into the mainstream. Now at Target you can buy Powerpuff Girls stamp kids, with statuettes of the girls, Prof. Utonium and their arch-enemy, Mojo Jojo. (I am enjoying his curious discursive dialogue that he is speaking!) I bought one, of course - Mojo for the office collection of Pop Statuary, and one of the girls for Nat’s Can of Memories. I have these big Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee cans, and I toss in items that sum up 2000. Little time capsules. Coins that say 2000, Fair tickets, just pop culture detritus. Since I watched the PPG while she slumbered on my chest or supped on the bottle, I added one to the can. It’s Buttercup, the most take-no-shite girl of the trio.

The set is for ages over 6.

Well, I certainly qualify, then.