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Ah, nostalgia. I'm just starting my second thesis chapter on television animation, and I can't get over how much else it brings back, thinking about the old 80's cartoons. When I talk to people in their twenties or thirties about animation, somehow we end up singing the Captain Planet theme song and asking that simple, necessary question: "Do you remember...?"
I remember Saturday morning so clearly. My little brother and I had it all worked out. We weren’t allowed to get up until some appointed hour, 6:30 or 7:00 or 7:30 at the latest (my poor parents.) As that time approached, we would both stand in the doorways of our bedrooms like chameleons on speed, with one eye on our clock-radios and the other eye on the stairs. The instant that little red digit flicked from a nine to a zero, we would both launch ourselves out of the doorframes and take off pounding down the stairs at top speed. Speed was essential, because whoever got downstairs first got to pick the first cartoon. I had a double advantage: I was taller at that age, and also my room was right next to the stairs, while my brother's was down a short hall. But that was the system, the ironclad code of honor between us, and he did win sometimes, probably by pushing or ducking as we crashed down the stairs. (Really, my poor, poor parents.)
Downstairs, the winner of the Saturday Morning Cartoon Derby claimed the remote control and the best seat in the house at the end of our orange-and-brown-flowered velour couch. Then the cartoons would flow, the volume set by parental decree at something less than a dull roar. We watched a lot of different things, depending on what was on, what was popular, and who had the remote, but the one I remember best is The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show. We both liked it, and it was gender neutral (unlike G.I Joe or My Little Pony) so maybe we watched it most often as a compromise. When I got older, I was allowed to use the stove, and I would proudly make the one dish I knew -rubbery scrambled egg bits- to eat while watching Bugs Bunny and laughing not-so-quietly. That was Saturday morning.
I remember Saturday morning so clearly. My little brother and I had it all worked out. We weren’t allowed to get up until some appointed hour, 6:30 or 7:00 or 7:30 at the latest (my poor parents.) As that time approached, we would both stand in the doorways of our bedrooms like chameleons on speed, with one eye on our clock-radios and the other eye on the stairs. The instant that little red digit flicked from a nine to a zero, we would both launch ourselves out of the doorframes and take off pounding down the stairs at top speed. Speed was essential, because whoever got downstairs first got to pick the first cartoon. I had a double advantage: I was taller at that age, and also my room was right next to the stairs, while my brother's was down a short hall. But that was the system, the ironclad code of honor between us, and he did win sometimes, probably by pushing or ducking as we crashed down the stairs. (Really, my poor, poor parents.)
Downstairs, the winner of the Saturday Morning Cartoon Derby claimed the remote control and the best seat in the house at the end of our orange-and-brown-flowered velour couch. Then the cartoons would flow, the volume set by parental decree at something less than a dull roar. We watched a lot of different things, depending on what was on, what was popular, and who had the remote, but the one I remember best is The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show. We both liked it, and it was gender neutral (unlike G.I Joe or My Little Pony) so maybe we watched it most often as a compromise. When I got older, I was allowed to use the stove, and I would proudly make the one dish I knew -rubbery scrambled egg bits- to eat while watching Bugs Bunny and laughing not-so-quietly. That was Saturday morning.
