Sunday, October 17, 2004
Land of the Lost
It wasn’t supposed to be my own personal version of I Love the 70s, though it seems to have mostly turned out that way. What it’s supposed to be, rather - what it really is, I think - is a tidy octipuntal list of things that are locked so deeply in my mind that any reference to them, however oblique, tends to evoke something in me on a visceral level: I’ll remember a song (though I may be tired of it, wish to be free of it), or a catchphrase, or a range of experiences is colored in some distinct way, or sometimes these memory nuggets just arise unbidden in my mind, repeating themselves to me till I eventually mutter them under my breath to dispel them. They are the tinkertoys of my mental apparatus - not functional per se, but clinking along in a rickety, mainly decorative way alongside, somehow inextricably intertwined with, everything else. But Tinkertoys isn’t one of them. They are, in point of fact, in the order in which they occured to me:
I enjoy the occasional gumball, but I cannot put one in my mouth without thinking of the phrase, “Thanks for the gumball, Mickey.”
I still frequently remember songs from Wonderama, especially if someone says anything about having heard good news today (today, I want to hear what you have to say, so when we get to the count of three, just tell me all the good news you have for me, one two three; you can see how some people might even consider this a handicap).
I was a member of the Banana Splits Fan Club. Here is a photograph of the page in my old white scrapbook with the hot wheels sticker on it, where I pasted my official Banana Splits Fan Club poster, which is a little smaller than a sheet of typing paper. I still hear the “Na Na Na” song pretty much anytime the phrase “banana split” is mentioned.
My dad bought a Pinto new off the lot. He continues to insist that it was one of the best cars he’s ever owned. Dude drives a nice Acura now, as I recall. I mean, seriously, man. The Pinto was only good in comparison to the Fairmont and the Granada you subsequently bought. No, really. And a Zephyr for my mom. If I see any of those cars on the road I get whole-body memories. Not the good kind, either.
I saved up about $80 in 1973, when I was in the fourth grade, to buy a TI-2500 electronical calculator. It was a wonder of the modern world. Four functions, a floating decimal, and it was never wrong. It wouldn’t even make a good doorstop now.
I saw ads on tv for Star Wars when it first came out but it looked lame. It wasn’t till Al Schlaifer told me at religious school that it kicked total ass that I reconsidered my position. Al had a good head for this sort of thing.
I actually remember having a Winky-Dink screen and drawing on it; I think of the Winky-Dink theme song anytime someone says something’s “rinky-dink.” The show was on in the 50s, and then again for only a short time in the late 60s; I must have caught it during a very brief transparent green window of opportunity. But as I recall I found that window to be pretty cool. It represented some real quality time up close with the cathode ray tube, and that was always a good thing.
“Hi, I’m Marshall Brodien and these are TV Magic Cards.“
All these recollections move me in totally meaningless yet strangely fundamental ways. Eventually I’ll weave them into a religion. Right now I’m still hovering between “cult” and “fetish.” Which has its own rewards as well, of course. And that’s all I’m at liberty to say about it at present.
