I fell into plastic crates again in search for old pictures today. And by old, I mean--it's a relative term--I'm talking 2000. Late 1990s. It's old for myself, because I was born in 1998. But anyway: the boxes. It's never good to look through those. This is not because the containers reek of dust and buried teratogens, but for the sole fact that it reminds me of what was.
The boxes scare me.
Her hair is sunflower blonde and pig-tailed. In another, she's wearing a Powerpuff Girls party hat in a park. The girl's cheeks are flushed with California heat. I'm small, and I grin toothily into the searing disposable flash. These memories are elusive. It's as if the flash is like a memory wipe, like those used in the movie Men In Black. This makes me think of what my idea of pop culture was back then, too.
Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, and Disney Channel were my world. One thing I can still recall to this day is trying to figure out how to use a VHS tape to record the Powerpuff Girls episode, "Paste Makes Waste." You know, the one where Buttercup bullies a kid for eating glue. Then, said child turns into a glowing paste monster. I did end up recording it, I think. And I could only find a dying pink gel pen to write with, so I used that to scratch the contents of what it was onto the black plastic of the VHS. That was really what I knew of TV at the time, and it was all I cared about.
It currently boggles me that so much of what I love now is from an era that I was a baby in. I love The X-Files, Friends, Scrubs. So much of what made a lasting impression on television was happening when I was too dumb and too little to acknowledge it. But even so, I existed. That's a weird thing. I guess it's a stupid thing to bring up too, because of course I existed. What I mean is, it's like, I've envied the '90s so much for its trends, lack of social media, fashion, and TV...it's always seemed like this distant realm that I was never there for, and yet I was. But I don't remember it. This is what it all comes back to...the fact that memory fazes me like no other.
Will I remember writing this blog post in twelve years? Probably not. Will I have new concerns? Hopefully, yes. Will nineteen year old me later seem innocent and untouched like seven-year-old does to me now? That, I cannot truthfully answer. Seven-year-old me was so happy. Now I'm all depressed and mopey and I do not like dogs. My only hope is that future me doesn't nosedive as I have in recent years.
Ugh.
I hope that you will be okay too.
The boxes scare me.
Her hair is sunflower blonde and pig-tailed. In another, she's wearing a Powerpuff Girls party hat in a park. The girl's cheeks are flushed with California heat. I'm small, and I grin toothily into the searing disposable flash. These memories are elusive. It's as if the flash is like a memory wipe, like those used in the movie Men In Black. This makes me think of what my idea of pop culture was back then, too.
Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, and Disney Channel were my world. One thing I can still recall to this day is trying to figure out how to use a VHS tape to record the Powerpuff Girls episode, "Paste Makes Waste." You know, the one where Buttercup bullies a kid for eating glue. Then, said child turns into a glowing paste monster. I did end up recording it, I think. And I could only find a dying pink gel pen to write with, so I used that to scratch the contents of what it was onto the black plastic of the VHS. That was really what I knew of TV at the time, and it was all I cared about.
It currently boggles me that so much of what I love now is from an era that I was a baby in. I love The X-Files, Friends, Scrubs. So much of what made a lasting impression on television was happening when I was too dumb and too little to acknowledge it. But even so, I existed. That's a weird thing. I guess it's a stupid thing to bring up too, because of course I existed. What I mean is, it's like, I've envied the '90s so much for its trends, lack of social media, fashion, and TV...it's always seemed like this distant realm that I was never there for, and yet I was. But I don't remember it. This is what it all comes back to...the fact that memory fazes me like no other.
Will I remember writing this blog post in twelve years? Probably not. Will I have new concerns? Hopefully, yes. Will nineteen year old me later seem innocent and untouched like seven-year-old does to me now? That, I cannot truthfully answer. Seven-year-old me was so happy. Now I'm all depressed and mopey and I do not like dogs. My only hope is that future me doesn't nosedive as I have in recent years.
Ugh.
I hope that you will be okay too.
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