Last week here at work, a co-worker rattled off the definition of those of us in Generation X — taken from a blog taken from the almanac, because most things on blogs are taken from someplace else — as “obsessed with pop culture.”
Yeah.
Pretty much.
I mean, here I am — an adult with a wife, a mortgage, a career and a kid — and I went bonkers when I saw that the first season of “SuperFriends” was going to be made available last month for the first time since it aired on ABC in 1973.
Now, that predates even me, but all of Gen X was reared on the “SuperFriends” cartoon in one form or another.
It seemed to change names every other year: “The All-New SuperFriends Hour,” “Challenge of the SuperFriends,” “The World’s Greatest SuperFriends,” “SuperFriends: The Legendary Super Powers Show,” “The Super Powers Team: Galactic Guardians.” (I had to use Wikipedia to jog my memory, so with that said, some of those might not even be true.)
It was pretty much the same show give or take a Black Manta here or an Apache Chief there.
The animation was universally sucky.
But if Gen Xers are guilty of anything, it’s of letting nostalgia have her sweet way with us.
Every generation is susceptible to nostalgia.
The Greatest Generation loves to be reminded that they saved the universe from Nazis. Some of those guys still wear their uniforms around.
Baby boomers still actually pay to go see concerts by Crosby, Stills and Nash.
And we Gen Xers?
We think live-action movie versions of “Transformers” and “G.I. Joe” are somehow a good idea.
I have to respectfully disagree with my peers on the latter — but my God, I love the idea of watching this one cartoon I watched when I was 6.
So I begged for a DVD review copy of the two-disc “SuperFriends: Season One, Volume One.”
That was a month ago.
I’ve only made it through two episodes.
You see, that’s the problem with nostalgia — it’s like a time-lapse lobotomy.
Over time, it works to slowly and methodically cut out any remembrance of the way things actually were and leave you only with these false memories completely built around, oh, a few neat moments.
For me, it was the opening of “SuperFriends.”
The intro is still pretty sweet.
The music kicks in and I’m 9 again.
There’s Superman!
Batman!
Robin!
Wonder Woman!
Aquaman!
The Hall of Justice!
Yeah, man, yeah!
Quick, get me another bowl of Fruity Pebbles! Another doughnut! More sugar! Where’s my brother to fight with?!
Then the show starts and I’m 33.
Man, this show is awful.
“I could be starting my taxes right about now,” I begin to think.
Robin exclaims, “Holy psychedelics!”
And the kids “dig this” or “dig that.”
Each episode is an hour but feels like two. And true to the era, there are too few instances of violence and too many preachy “educational” moments.
Take the episode in which the SuperFriends go up against a man whose computer program has taken over all physical activity for people. (Hanna-Barbera, futurists?)
“I’m worried Superman,” Wonder Woman declares as the other SuperFriends stand around with their hands on their hips. “It’s not natural for people to be idle all the time. It could lead to trouble.”
This would’ve been kind of funny had I been watching with a friend.
But alone in the living room at 10:30 p.m. with two cats — me, a 33-year-old man-child — it’s just sad.
I can’t seem to bring myself to stick the DVD back in.
But here’s the funny thing. The SuperFriends’ base of operations, the Hall of Justice, was modeled after Union Terminal in Cincinnati.
I still want to go down there and get my picture taken in front of it — while wearing my Aquaman shirt.
Contact this reporter at (937) 328-0352 or amcginn@coxohio.com.
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