In the Garage

On some level, each of us feels that our childhood is unique. At least, that is, while we are children. Even though we ultimately venture out into the world beyond our front lawn, enter the homes of our friends, and discover strange and wonderful worlds via our televisions (and even stranger and more wonderful worlds through our radios and i-pads), during our early years we are necessarily self-centered. This leads to a persistent feeling that the particulars of our upbringing are a one-of-a-kind combination.

Periodically, though, we are jarred out of this illusion when we encounter someone else's experience that mirrors our own with chilling precision. Recently, I was reading Josh Wilker's terrific memoir, Cardboard Gods, and came across this description of the author's room:

"As I write this, decades later, almost all the things that made that room my room are long gone...The poster of Ace Frehley, his silver-painted eyes clamped shut, using his guitar as a .... conduit for the infinite wonder of the cosmos. The magazine cutout of Cheryl Tiegs... All the various lint-covered objects made of Nerf.  All the piles of hand-scrawled solitaire Strat-O-Matic scorecards. The only thing that remains is the heart of the room, the box containing all the baseball cards I ever brought home. The box I've carried with me through my life."

This hit so close to memories of my own childhood bedroom that I almost felt as if I had been "found out," as if someone had been spying on me as I, too, created my own secret Strat-O-Matic baseball world with only KISS and Farrah Fawcett looking on. But this sudden rush of vulnerability is also the thrill of shared connection, of realizing that I was not alone in my most treasured memories and "geeky" interests.
Somehow, I'm always surprised by these moments, and how excited I get about them, but I shouldn't be. After all, isn't that the true allure of literature and pop culture - the sense of being part of something bigger?

Sometimes, this goes beyond mere connection - and becomes vindication -  when famous people admit to engaging in some of the more embarrassing pastimes of my childhood. When I was in 7th grade, there wasn't anything less "cool" than Dungeons and Dragons.  My brother and I would play for hours on end. I loved being the dungeon master, because it was my first real chance to let my imagination run free in the process of creating something that felt real, that was real when we played the game. Sometimes, other kids in the neighborhood would come over and play, and we'd have a great time. Yet, there was almost this unspoken code: "Ixnay on the Agonsdray" - we'd never, ever refer to our gaming outside the confines of my basement.


That's why one of my all-time favorite songs from the grunge era is Weezer's "In the Garage." This one also speaks directly to my childhood experience, and in the chorus even gives a nod to the underground nature of the fun we had:

"I've got the Dungeon Master's Guide
I've got a 12-sided die
I've got Kitty Pryde
And Nightcrawler too
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

I've got posters on the wall,
My favorite rock group Kiss,
I've got Ace Frehley
and I've got Peter Criss,
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

In the garage
I feel safe
No one cares about my ways
In the garage where I belong
No one hears me sing this song

Notice, also, the Kiss poster connection. Posters like this one were as ubiquitous as I-pods back in the late 70's and early 80's,  and a huge banner like this one hung on the cinder block walls of the basement where my brother and I spent some of our greatest times as kids. It was only a dank, musty, 10X10 cellar, but with a little imagination it became a hockey rink, a bowling alley, and even a WWF ring, as we converted the arms of a moth-eaten couch into head-rammable turnbuckles. We'd labor for days on model cars and ships, the dizzying aroma of Testors plastic cement hanging in the humid summer air as we listened to the limited rotation in our slowly growing record collection. Alive, Alive II, Billy Joel's Glass Houses and Chipmunk Punk spun endlessly on our Mickey Mouse turntable, each scratch and hiccup becoming permanently recorded in our mental soundtracks.

It was amazing, innocent, all-encompassing joy. And sure, we were geeky. But it's nice to know that Rivers Cuomo was, too.

A Very Brady Surprise

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have always been a fanatical Brady fan. In college, I took great pride in impressing my floormates with the most obscure Brady trivia, and took any possible opportunity to convey the extent of my all-consuming Brady obsession. I can't look at applesauce without blurting out "Porkchops and Applesauce" in the voice of Peter as Humphrey Bogart, and I can't count the times I've admonished my oldest son: "mom always said don't play ball in the house!"

 I may have been an expert on Brady minutiae, but I certainly was not unusual in my cult-like worship of the program. The Brady Bunch was one of the first prime-time network shows to be syndicated nationally during after-school hours. During the mid-late 1970's, almost every elementary schoolkid in America came home every day to watch an hour of the Bunch. The show's warm, fuzzy vibe and innocuous plots combined with the relief of being released from the drudgery of spelling tests and dittoes (remember them) to create an hour of daily utopia. I've read many accounts of kids who grew up in troubled homes, and wishing they could live at 4222 Clinton Way. And even for those of us with happy childhoods, it was easy to get caught up in the fantasy world of silly problems that were solved in 20 minutes.

But over the years, I started to lose touch with the show. In the rear-view mirror of my memory, the show began to appear corny - a colorful, dated relic of the "groovy," "far-out" early 70s. In the cynical 90's and 2000s, it became easier and more fashionable to make fun of the show, laughing at it rather than with it. 1995's "The Brady Bunch Movie," while really funny and terrific in its own right, reminded all of us just how out of touch with reality the Bradys - and by extension, their die-hard fans - were.

Just a few months ago, I admitted to a friend that the Partridge Family was actually superior to the Brady Bunch - it was edgier, funnier, and more sophisticated went my argument. But during the week after Christmas this year, Walmart was running a special sale on Brady Bunch DVD's. For just over 5$ a season, I thought it would be worth reliving some of the childhood nostalgia, although my expectations weren't too high. I figured they'd be good for a viewing or two, and for a few laughs at the show's expense.

Two months later, though, I'm still watching the DVDs every day! My family and I have been through the entire series several times now. Not only has the show retained every bit of its after-school charm, but I was actually amazed to discover that it's also a good show. Sure, the plots are a little bit silly - but those kids can act! Or maybe it's not that they are even acting; maybe they were just very well-cast kids being themselves and having fun in the process. But whatever the case, somehow the Brady Bunch, against all reasonable odds, gets you to suspend belief for twenty-four minutes, and to accept that patchwork family as real.

Here are a few things that surprised me the most upon re-visiting the series:

1) The kids weren't perfectly behaved. Bobby acts like a real brat when he realizes he's the only one who didn't win a trophy. Marcia screams and throws tantrums, most notably when she's kicked out of the school production of Romeo and Juliet, and when she's mistakenly blamed for creating insulting drawing of her teacher ("Mrs. Denton, or a Hippopotamus?") Bobby, Jan, and Marcia all sneak out in the middle of the night. Peter wears a fake mustache to impress an older woman. Greg smokes, drives recklessly on the freeway, and brings the FBI to the house with his UFO fakery...

2) Alice was genuinely funny. Ann B. Davis made some terrific faces. It's like watching a skilled vaudevillian actress - every facial muscle is constantly acting and reacting. Sure, here jokes are hokey, but they fit the character, and Davis' hard work and artistry help to turn the corn into actual humor.

3) The soundtrack music was like an extra character on the show. There seemed to exist dozens of variations on the main theme...clunky, slunky, mischievous, serene, bright, groovy! On the DVD pilot commentary, Sherwood Schwartz mentioned that music director Frank DeVol could "make the music do anything." Watch just one or two episodes, and you'll see that he's absolutely right.


And a few things that weren't so surprising:

1) The show takes a laughably generic approach to pop/rock music! Greg is all bummed out when he gets grounded and can't take Rachel to "the rock concert." Whenever the kids listen to "groovy music" on their huge AM radios, you can hear what sounds like the Dating Game theme blasting out. When Greg becomes Johnny Bravo, his agent works for "Big Hit Management Company." And Davy Jones is portrayed by Bobby and Peter as a guitar-wielding rock god.

2)  The Brady's all live a charmed life. When Marcia loses her diary, Desi Arnaz jr. (the subject of many of her diary entries) shows up to return it. Greg's math teacher, Linda, just so happens to be dating Dodgers' first baseman, Wes Parker, who just so happens to stop by after school when Greg is getting extra help for math. Davy Jones honors a form-letter promise and sings at Marcia's prom. Alice has an identical cousin. And Joe Namath stops by to pay Bobby a deathbed visit, but agrees to play football in the yard after he finds out Bobby's faking...

Most importantly, though, I came to realize that there was no need to view my childhood love of the Brady's as a guilty pleasure. Maybe it's because, amidst the backdrop of the current recession and political turmoil, we all need something happy and safe, like the Brady Bunch. Maybe it's because I'm too old to care about what's cool. Or maybe it's because we Brady fans really had great taste all this time...

70's Horror Commercials

Just imagine...it's just after dinner, and you're settling into the couch to watch Gilligan's Island or the Partridge Family reruns.You've finished your spelling and multiplication homework, and life is good. You're relaxed, you have a snack, and you feel totally safe and secure in your childhood cocoon. And then, after the opening credits of your favorite sitcom, you see this: Horrifying tv ad #1

 The Suspiria ad really captures an essential element of growing up in the 70's: having to deal with terrifying shocks like this that would keep you away from the TV for weeks. No wonder we spent so much time outside playing baseball and manhunt!

This ad is very typical of the time period, in that you really couldn't tell that it was going to be a horror trailer in the first few seconds. It might have just as easily been an advertisement for shampoo or perfume. And the curiosity hooked us all just long enough to get burned.


Horrifying TV ad #2

The "Magic" commercial really screwed me up. The first time I saw it, I thought it was some kind of new toy or game. About 10 seconds in or so, I remember getting a gut feeling that something was amiss - but again, I had to look. For the next month or so, I had recurring nightmares in which the TV set would continue to power itself on, despite my vain efforts to unplug it.

Maybe the creepiest commercials of all, though, weren't even for horror movies. 1970's public service announcements were often sadistically frightening. This one starts off bright and sunny, but sours pretty quickly. Check out the way the music and lighting conflict with the voiceover to create a sense of panicky tension: Trauma-inducing TV ad #3


In many ways, the 1970's was a more innocent and (at least it felt this way) safer time to grow up than today. But these commercials really hit us where it counted - the safety and comfort of our TV couches.

5 Classic Toys (That Weren't Allowed in My House)

I don't want to give anyone the impression that I didn't have toys as a kid - my brother and I had plenty of them, and we had a great time. But there's a reason why "A Christmas Story" resonates so clearly with so many people; I'm sure we all had toy requests that met with unreasonable and forceful opposition. Here are my top five:

1.) Squirmles - My mom insisted that this was "a pipe-cleaner on a string" and thus we were never allowed the luxury of a Squirmles toy. The absurdity of equating Squirmles with a pipecleaner struck me as I watched friends on the schoolbus, magically weaving their "pets" in between their fingers and around their shoulders. I remember puzzling over just how I could accomplish such fluid and graceful movements with a pipe cleaner.

 2) The "Ready Ranger Backpack" by Aurora. Well, this one was allowed in my house, but very quickly became the focal point of my personal "Ralphie" moment.

Christmas, 1974. I had longed for this toy for months, after seeing the commercial, in which kids about my age and size used all of the cool gadgets and dials on this backpack to climb mountains, spy on each other, and survive in the wilderness. That black hose you see the kid talking into on the left was the backpack's "communication system" and the single feature that I was most excited about.

Well, X-mas arrived, and the backpack sat under the tree. I tore it open, and within seconds was ready to try out the bullhorn. I had my brother put other end to his ear, and then I proceeded to scream into the mouthpiece. Upon witnessing this, my horrified mom warned me that I'd "rupture my brother's eardrum" with this toy, and disconnected the hose. Minus the "communication system," this awesome gadget very quickly began to look just like what it was - a hunk of cardboard and plastic.

3) The Inchworm. Everyone, it seemed, had one of these in the 70's, but for some reason my dad was convinced that this innocent-looking riding toy was a deathtrap. I'm still mystified by this one...

4) Micronauts - These were the greatest toys ever! Colorful, plastic, and had interchangeable parts. Basically, the precursor to the Transformers, and they also had great space-age sounding names like Biotron, Gammaron, and Phobos.

My favorite aspect of these toys was that each had a spring-loaded launcher somewhere on its "body." The launcher would propel red plastic "torpedoes" with a rubber ball at the end. In order to be allowed to have Micronauts, my brother and I had to convince our parents that we would be vigilant not to accidentally launch the torpedoes into each others' mouths.

5) Sea Monkeys. Described by my mother as "crap." Good call, mom!