Yesterday afternoon, my boyfriend and I were browsing a local Barnes and Noble for general bemusement purposes and I stumbled upon what can only be described as my new favorite miniature book (other than this book, which I also found to be disproportionately hilarious). As I read (well, if you can consider following my boyfriend around while shouting questions aloud in between bouts of irrepressible laughter "reading") this book, I had a sudden flash of insight. Okay, well, to be fair, my boyfriend actually suggested the idea to me (probably in an effort to quell the aforementioned following/loud reading in public areas/unstoppable guffawing), so I should probably make some effort assign him credit where it is due. (In case you missed it, that was it.)
The book is Would You Rather? by Justin Heimberg and David Gomberg, two Bergs after my own heart in terms of non-sequitor absurdist humor. I am sure that many of you have previously encountered this book in some capacity and are unimpressed by my so-called "discovery" of a title that has lined bookstore shelves since 1997, but this will not stop me from touting its glorious hilarity and ripping off its general underlying premise in a completely copyrightedly acceptable way.
Without futher ado, I proudly introduce the frequency as-of-yet-to-be-determined Children of the Nineties feature, Would you Rather? (tailored 90s-style for your nostalgic enjoyment):
Would you rather...
Have the resourceful ability to conveniently stop time in a Zach Morris "Freeze!"-style fashion
or
Possess Alex Mack's toxic waste-induced mutant powers of transformation in a puddle of movable metallic goo, telekinesis, and long-distance electronic zappage?
Possibilities to Ponder: Ability to plead your case directly to the audience, chance to briefly rearrange others in compromising positions, short-listing for Capri Sun commercials.
As kids, there were certain outrageously expensive toys that we just couldn't help salivating over. With a limited understanding of cost-benefit analysis, it was difficult to understand our parents' decision to feed us in lieu of providing us with lavish, overpriced luxury toys. There was always one kid on the block whose parents would buy him every hot new toy that hit the market, and it was the rest of our jobs to whine mercilessly, "But STEVIE has one!"
Perhaps at age six, logic was not our strong suit. While I couldn't tell you offhand what my once-coveted 1993 Fisher Price/Mattel Power Wheels Barbie Jeep cost, a quick trip the current Power Wheels website reveals that a 2009 Barbie Cadillac Escalade Custom Edition (and yes, this exists) costs $374. I'm sorry, maybe you didn't catch that. Three hundred and seventy-four dollars. For those of us who know have some basic grasp of monetary value and/or are faced monthly with important financial choices, we can hopefully all recognize that this is absolutely insane. I don't think my parents made that large of a down payment on my first real car.
The 2009 Barbie Escalade
Power Wheels were remarkable little battery-powered machines that allowed children a level of neighborhood street-roaming autonomy that bordered on potentially negligent. A closer examination of the Power Wheels brand indicates that their vehicles are typically marketed toward children ages 12 months to seven years. I don't know about you, but one year after I pop out an infant, I don't plan on letting him tear recklessly through the cul-de-sac in a miniature Ford Mustang. These children can barely walk, and we're letting them drive? Maybe it's just me, but something about this seems a tad askew.
Regardless of my current staunch anti-insanely-dangerous-toys stance, back in the day I would have killed one of the neighbor kids for one of these babies. Really, I would have. I'm sure there was one bad apple that no one really liked and wouldn't be missed. In this fantasy, the kid's last will and testament would be read publicly near the swings at the local playground and I would receive his now displaced Power Wheels Kawasaki Ninja rider. It was a beautiful dream, but unfortunately none of the kids in my neighborhood were rich enough or had the type of buy-your-affection parents to warrant such a glorious, though ultimately tragic, outcome.
While nowadays parents make a big fuss over gender neutral toys, dress their children in yellow, and encourage boys to play with dolls to theoretically increase future sensitivity, back in the day we had more clear cut lines of gender differentiation. If a boy ordered a Happy Meal, he received a Hot Wheels toy. For a girl, the Happy Meal contained a Barbie figurine. It didn't matter what your preference was, toy marketers chalked it up to basic biology and that was that. This theory was certainly a cornerstone of the Power Wheels marketing campaign, with distinct gender specific targeted ads.
For girls, we had Barbie, our alleged doll role model and favorite cheerleader/soccer player/teacher/fairy princess/dentist we knew. What can I say, she was a pretty accomplished gal. We can only assume that on the merit of all of the aforementioned achievements, she was rewarded with a significant toy car endorsement deal:
For those of you stuck at work or othrewise incapacitated on a watching-videos-without-being-caught-slacking front, let me transcribe the ad song's lyrics for you:
The buggy's all packed, so here we go Headin' for the beach with my best friend Flo My Barbie Beach Buggy's really puttin' on a show!
Pow Pow Power Wheels! Pow Power Wheels! C'mon Flo, let's really go!
Pow Pow Power Wheels! Pow Power Wheels! Power Wheeeeeeeeeeels! Now I'm drivin' for real!
Power Wheels Barbie Beach Buggy. What a way to go!
...(Adult supervision required).
This really begs the question, how can I get set up with a lucrative children's toy ad campaign writing gig? I can't imagine less work going into, well, anything. I guess they knew how much this product spoke for itself in terms of desirability, allowing them to rhyme the word "go" with itself two additional times. Nonetheless, watching this ad even as an adult, I'm completely sold on it. I could care less what she's singing, just insert me into the Beach Buggy and I'll be on my merry way.
For the more glamorous first graders, Power Wheels had a different Barbie model:
First things first. This thing comes with a car phone? Most of our parents couldn't afford these amenities yet, and we're giving them to six-year olds? It sounds as if this was recorded by the same jingle singer as the first, we can only assume they paid her for a two-fer. This is essentially a remixed version of the first song, only this time, our girl got some lines. The only problem? She's six and an adult woman's voice is coming out of her mouth. I do love the way her mom sort of shakes her head at her daughter as if to say, "Oh, you!" Hey Mom, you bought the damn Lamborghini, don't act so chagrined by her endless gloating. On an aside, the star's Blossom-style hat was a major staple of my wardrobe at the time.
And for those of you out there with a Y chromosome, well, this one's for you:
The gender role stereotyping is a tad over the top here. You're not in a crappy little kid's battery-powered Jeep, you're part of the CHEIF ADVENTURE TEAM! I can see why they'd want children with their ineffective slow vehicles on board for such an important rogue underground organization. For some reason, these ads also feature adult voices emanating from children's bodies. I don't quite get what was going on here. Was this supposed to represent the required adult supervision notably absent from the ad? Could these kids not be trusted with their two-word lines? We may never know. All we know is how bad-ass those kids look with those walkie-talkies. For some reason, they also drive through an oddly assembled configuration of doves. Had they just been released for a wedding? Again, this is a question perhaps best left to professionals. We can only assume that's highly classified top secret CHIEF ADVENTURE TEAM business.
It wasn't all fun and games with these marvelous machines, though. Lucky for us who are still pouting over our parents' inability to magically produce one of these under a Christmas tree or at a birthday party, these things certainly had their dark side. What's a good 90s toy without some form of parent-sponsored reckless endangerment?
In 1991, the 18 Volt Porsche 911 was recalled for defective parts. Before we ask what people are thinking buying their children a miniature version of a car with a six-figure price tag, let's examine what exactly went wrong here. A defect in the foot pedal could force the car to stay running while disabling the braking function. I don't know about you, but there's something decidedly humorous in the image of a five year-old child barreling at top speed (at a maximum rate of two point five miles per hour) with no end in sight. An honorable mention for hilarious visuals is awarded to the once-distracted parents, now chasing their kids down the street and attempting to extract them from the miniature vehicle before it makes a crash landing into a freestanding mailbox.
Power Wheels issued a second recall in 1998 on a different model for potentially faulty battery connections. The most amazing thing about this recall was in the instructions it gave for repairs; they required you to bring the vehicle in to an "authorized Power Wheels Service center" What, are there many garages out there performing black market repairs on kids' toy cars? Is it that difficult to regulate the industry?
As you venture into adulthood, the choice to buy or not to buy a Power Wheels car for your child is yours and yours alone. The real question is, is it worth dipping in to the college fund to allow a 12 month-old infant a shot at driving practice?
Just an Everyday Bitch tagged me as a fellow Queen of All Things Awe-summm. I'm honored, thrilled, and still salivating over the glorious pronunciation guide-type spelling of "awesome".
The rules are that I am supposed to list seven things that make me (in this case, all children of the nineties) awe-summm and then pass the award on to seven other people who you think are fabulously awesummm.
Seven things that make children of the nineties Awe-summm:
1) We had it first.
Flannel. Headbands with enormous bows. Jelly sandals. These kids today may be unaware, but we know the truth.
2) Nickelodeon.
I know it's been said time and time again, but reiteration never hurt. The network that gave us a talking popsicle stick, Weinerville, and Roundhouse will forever live in our hearts. Okay, well, it's still on the air, but it's magic has faded substantially.
3) Young adult book series.
Sweet Valley High. Animorphs. Babysitter's Club. Goosebumps. A million Full House series. These book people knew how to market.
4) Pluto.
In our day, we knew to call a planet a planet.
5) The internet (1.0).
Children growing up today will never experience the magic and wonder of listening to that dial-up modem noise as they watch the running AOL logo bring them to pure chat room heaven.
6) The economy
I think the picture speaks for itself.
7) Irresponsible advertising
Why not sell cigs to kids with a super suave cartoon camel? Or use scantily clad teenagers in provocative poses to sell jeans? It made perfect sense at the time.
