Pop Culture Details From My 6th Birthday Party

This year marks the 35th Anniversary of my being 6 years old! A remarkable achievement, I know! But that's not what this is about, nor is it about celebrating some milestone that's divisible by 5. This is about an exploration of some photographs taken on a Saturday night in mid-February of 1989 and the evidence therein to corroborate that context. Come with me on this journey. 

Sadly, though unsurprisingly, my attire remains timeless, which was a conscious decision even then; the shirt-and-tie combo was just how I dressed, much to the bemusement of peers and family, but in my mind it was a neutral cosplay I could pull off in plain sight while I pretended to be whatever hero or villain I chose to be on any given day. And to think Nicholson's Joker was roughly four months away from validating and solidifying this fashion choice for me. 

It's weird to imagine my world before Batman, before Dick Tracy or Edward Scissorhands or The Simpsons or various other Danny Elfman-related things. What kinda vacuous, empty void were the 1980s anyway?? Certainly there must have been other outlets of entertainment, especially for someone my age. Fortunately this picture of my birthday cake exists, lest we forget. 

I included this photo in a STAR WARS essay I shared some years ago to illustrate the expanse of my love of the films (and particularly the character). But doing that math now raises the notable point that, at the time of this photo, there hadn't been any new theatrical movies in nearly six years and yet the Force was still strong in not just me but the culture; you could still go to Kmart or Woolworth's or wherever and get a Vader helmet cake pan as though it were just a normal baking accessory. (Credit to my Great Aunt Olly for the skills here.) 

Typically a child's birthday party will have a consistent theme in which everything falls under the same pop culture canopy: the cake, the plates, the cups, the napkins, the hats, the piñata, sometimes even the gifts are all Looney Tunes, all Scooby-Doo, all Paw Patrol. Now I don't know what kinda input I had (if any) when it came to these party supplies, but each bit of tableware has been pulled from different areas of my 6-year-old mind and I don't know how that was accomplished. Let's start with the Real Ghostbusters paper plates.

While wrapped and sold separately from the other accoutrement, I'd have to assume they were all sold in the same aisle and probably the same shelf, and yet whomever purchased these disregarded a potential set and looked beyond, went further, cut deeper when it came to something as significant as, say, the napkins.

Again I choose to point out that had I required a full-blown California Raisins bash I coulda whooped it up in style - and I would've been perfectly fine with that; their inexplicable burst of popularity captivated me as much as it did the rest of the nation (world?). Though on this particular Night to Remember I settled for a mild paper accent of Raisin and a box of delicious Colorforms. 

And beneath the cake and plates and napkins and wicker bowl of Kit Kats and Peanut M&Ms lie the paper cloth that really tied the function together. 

DuckTales rounded out this collage of consumables and ephemera that was eaten/discarded just hours later so this photograph lives on as an emblematic coat of arms representing only this very narrow gulch or interests. And they were about to meet their match. 

I was late to the game with this toy of toys. But I was aware of it (as my GTFO face suggests) - I'd played one before and understood its addictive colors and sounds and it stayed with me, though I never believed I'd have a System in my living room that I could play whenever the TV was allotted to me. And for the entirety of the following day, it was: I woke up and began playing Super Mario Bros. in my pajamas, and continued to do so until it was time for bed. I never got dressed and I had food brought to me, and most of that day was spent trying to conquer World 1-1. But there it was - I would be able to cross the finish line of the 80s on the right side of history; I was Charlie Bucket no longer, deprived of this millennial birthright, and the central thread of The Wizard would eventually have a more relatable context. This is why childhood nostalgia is so powerful; life would never be this good again. 

If anything, this lengthy series of photos illustrates the immediacy of youth obsessions and their fleeting endurance, as it was always onto the next thing. It seems narcissistic to suggest that it was a blessing to be this age during this period of time, but as I now have a nearly-6-year-old son whose primary interests are STAR WARS, Ghostbusters, Batman, and Nintendo makes me feel as though I was in on the ground floor of pop culture - as it was and as it (apparently) forever shall be. 

- Paul

TOYS ARE US : Colorforms Learn 'N Play VCR Adventures

I'm pretty certain Colorforms were invented just for me. A more honorable way to put it would be to say that they were invented for people like me - but really, they're for me. 

If you're unfamiliar, Colorforms are vinyl "clings" that you can easily stick and unstick to a surface to create a unique piece of art. They're stickers without the longterm commitment - which dulls the anxiety brought on by real stickers, but also offers no sense of closure or accomplishment. I digress. Ever since 1957, anything and everything that was ever popular culture got its own Colorforms. They had licensing as far-reaching as Funko has today, and it lasted for decades. 

They were invented by Harry and Patricia Kislevitz in 1951, and before it became a brandname, their Colorforms were simple, colorful geometric shapes. And even more than a little plastic Winston Zeddemore or Lydia Deetz decal, the concept of "shape and color" turned me on immensely - much as it does to this day. Incidentally (or was it fate?) my first set of Colorforms were exactly that - with a twist of modern technology. 

You ever get that "generic child's gift" from a relative who knew nothing about you? I've gotten a few, and when you're 4 years old, you're less picky. Regardless, I was given such a gift by such a relative for Christmas in '87, and it became a formative treasure that I immediately recognized as such: Colorforms Learn 'N Play VCR Adventure from Karl-Lorimar Home Video.

A movie that came with its own props that I could have & hold?? Why couldn't this be more common? The video is called Journey to the Magic Jungle (which apparently was only Volume One) - a 30-minute puppet show that follows Max and Suzie into an imaginary wilderness in which they use their bag of Colorforms to get them out of various conflicts. Additionally (and this is the important part) they have a map that instructs them to find 4 "special shapes" scattered throughout the tangled vegetation that are meant to somehow save the jungle.

Whatever, the plot isn't important. What was and is important were the illusive shapes that they'd find at the end of each short scene; they looked like precious stones, crushed and pressed into hard candy.

I needed these in my life - I still do. Alas, they were not included with the video. What it does come with is a sheet of characters and objects depicted in the show (one of which I have tattooed on my arm), a sheet of generic neon-colored shapes, and a cardboard background representing the "magic jungle" environment. Seen below is the first published creation from the youngest member of Bennett Media. 

These artifacts are a wonderful celebration of some of my most concentrated nostalgia. And in broader, more objective terms, Colorforms were like bold, arresting tattoo flash before I knew or appreciated what that was, and time has only cultivated that assessment - sometimes in the most physical manifestations.

But for this particular set, it was all about this video. For whatever amount of camp it seems to have, that's because it's basically for toddlers - I can't say it's inherently "dated" because everything still works (especially those shimmery shapes). For however long they'll allow it to be, the entire tape's been uploaded to YouTube. Skim through it at the very least, but you'll be poorer for not indulging in the handful of musical numbers. And if nothing else, watch the opening Karl-Lorimar logo to experience a sound and visual that will make you question whether or not you're currently in the middle of a fever dream or a waking nightmare. Welcome to the jungle. 

- Paul