Hypercolor

Oh, thermochromic dye. You've been so good to me. I really enjoy the way you point out my topographical sweat and body temperature patterns to everyone within a 2 block radius. Don't even get me started on your uncanny and limitless ability to entertain myself via the imprint of my own hand. Thermochromic dye, you've done us proud.

We all know fashion and function are often mutually exclusive concepts. The basic Maslovian need for clothing to keep us warm and relatively unexposed is pretty far away from the actual items lining department store racks. The aesthetic isn't always our reliable guiding principle. If you grew up in the 80s and 90s, you certainly know that clothing was not meant to be flattering. What, you mean people actually wear clothing to accentuate their finer physical attributes? Don't make me laugh. I'm talking a strict clothing diet of zebra-stripe Zubaz and oversized eye-burningly neon t-shirts and that's that.



Hypercolor was a perfect example of alleged fashion over function. The novelty factor on these items of clothing was high, with the practicality registering remarkably low. Hence the hottest (pun intended) fashion necessity came in the form of a temperature sensitive t-shirt with a remarkable ability to change color. Sounds harmless enough, right? That is, until every soon-to-be-traumatized-for-life kid on the playground learned that sweat is indeed warm. There's nothing quite like a blue shirt with pink armpits to highlight your body's more embarrassing modes of temperature regulation.

Regardless of potentially awkward social scenarios, hypercolor t-shirts were activated by all types of forces, each of which we immediately manipulated upon discovery. All sorts of otherwise unexceptional stimuli--a warm breath, a sweaty palm, the blast of a hair dryer--suddenly morphed into incredible modes of self-entertainment. Not to mention they made great party tricks*.

The dancing in this commercial makes me want to go get a hi-top fade haircut and don some Hammer pants, stat

Novelty clothing like hypercolor has the effect of immediately producing a frenzied response among sheep-like consumers. That is to say, people couldn't wait to get their hands (literally, for its inevitable ensuing color variance) on these t-shirts. Unfortunately for hypercolor producers Generra, these frantic trends tend to fade pretty quickly. In this case, the fade was often literal as hypercolor t-shirts soon hung languidly in our closets, far, far away from the sunlight needed to activate its powers.

Hypercolor left great temporary evidence on inappropriate gropage. He looks pretty pleased with his results.

None of us were particularly used to our shirts having their own unique chemical balance that was highly sensitive to outside stimuli. Children were major target demographic for hypercolor, and we all know how careful kids are with their clothing. Considering these t-shirts were prime sportswear options for all sorts of mess-necessitating experiences, our colors were frequently warped through accidental misuse. One minute a kid's drinking a hearty cup of hot cocoa, the next his shirt is permanently splattered from heat damage.

This doesn't even begin to cover the ensuing hypercolor effects found in one of Generra's other significant markets, ravers who would later appear blurrily on Dateline NBC. Though Stone Phillips could blur the ravers' faces out, their shirts had already done the work for him. There's nothing quite as appealing as scoping out potential rave mates as they dance maniacally to European techno, thus soaking their shirts with multicolored sweat. Then again, those kind folks had the glowsticks and ecstasy to distract them, so it may not have been as serious a factor. Bless their hearts.



The washing machine was another veritable adversary of the hypercolor t-shirt. Anyone who's ever done laundry for a child knows the frighteningly unhygienic mountain of germs that awaits with each load. It's only natural to combat this dirtiness with its natural enemy: the hot water setting. Our poor hypercolor shirts walked the laundry plank, blissfully oblivious of the sad fate they would meet in the deadly spin cycle. While they ignorantly assumed they would be unaffected by the harsh inner-washer climate, they soon were unintentionally subjected to permanent damage. You know what thermochromic dye does when it interacts with heat? Changes hues. You know how much heat is in a washing machine set to "hot"? You don't even want to know. The permanently crappy tie-dye-esque resultant t-shirt was evidence enough.

Despite these obstacles, hypercolor enjoyed significant popularity at the height of its color-changing fame. It was a fad at its best; unreliable, unnecessary, and unexplainable. Just as quickly as Generra's innovation had risen to schoolyard fame, it rapidly waned to the unfortunate point at which the company declared bankruptcy. Lucky for us, however, this did not forever close the book on hypercolored garments.**

According to the LA Times, just one year ago hypercolor was slowly creeping its way back into circulation. Who knows? By next summer, it may be everywhere. We can all be grateful they're taking a different approach, like these Puma sneakers. Hipster paradise American Apparel has also taken a wiser route to the now-retro hypercolor t shirt: by referring to it as Thermochromatic. While the word "hyper" appealed to our early 90s raver eurotrash raver mentality, the current technology-crazed generation much prefers technical terms they don't understand. So go forth and enjoy your reinvented thermochromatic t shirt. Just don't forget to slather on the deodorant.

Next stop on hypercolor's whirlwind comeback world tour: thermochromatic toilet seats. Best way to avoid sitting on a grossly warm recently used toilet seat. Take the plunge into the latest hypercolor technology here

*For fourth graders, at least
**I know, I sensed your panic there for a second. Don't worry though. Just find your way to an American Apparel and your hypercolor craving symptoms should clear up in 6-10 business days. Or however long it takes you to become an ironic irreverent hipster. Either one.

Push Pops and Ring Pops

Tracking lollipop trends can be an arduous undertaking best left to professionals. With all the ups and downs in the hard candy market, it's tough to say which models will stick. Figuratively, that is. Literally, everything will end up pretty sticky.

Novelty candies were all the rage in the 80s and 90s. Everything had a gimmick. It was no longer enough for a candy simply to be delicious; now it needed to have entertainment value as well. Competition in the confectionery consumer marketplace was fierce, meaning candy companies were under pressure to produce new and innovatively packaged materials that would appeal to children on multiple levels.

To do so, candy makers had to think outside the box. That is to say, they needed to alter the packaging to make it externally palatable (though with the hope that children would not attempt to consume that as well). Suddenly, sweets weren't just sugary junk food, they were toys: bona fide sources of classroom distraction and playground entertainment.

Of the new* multifaceted lollipops available, ring pops had a pretty widespread appeal. And the convenience! You didn't even have to hold anything, as the candy itself was cemented to the base of a plastic ring. And of course, here's nothing quite like teaching a girl to grow to expect the equivalent of a 20 carat rock on her finger from a young age.


Ring pops were novelty as its finest. You got to wear your food. Short of candy necklaces, this was pretty much the most exciting jewelry-themed treat on the market. The commercial below, however, is the tiniest bit disturbing when that little boy proposes to the girl by means of a ring pop in a velvet box. I'm sure they were going for cute, but it comes off a tad creepy. I mean, these kids are about seven years old. Why are we pushing candy marriage proposals?

That jingle is pretty catchy though:

"It's a lollipop, without a stick!
A ring of flavor you can lick!"

At the end when they display the hands bedecked in ring pops galore, it looks like a dream come true. It looks nearly as satisfying as decorating myself with all of the jewelry that came with my Pretty Pretty Princess board game, only it wins additional points for edibility:




You also have to love the way they redid this commercial for the late 90s. It's almost the exact same thing, only the teeniest bit jazzier. Maybe there had been some recent develop in synthesizer technology by the time this baby aired. That's the only plausible explanation for not rereleasing the original:

Ring Pop Ad (1999)
Uploaded by a90sfan. - Full seasons and entire episodes online.

Ring pops were admittedly on the girly side, so luckily the same company came out with a more gender neutral lollipop release. The Push Pop was supposed to be practical with its "save it for later" plastic cap, but looking back that whole concept makes me want to Purel the hell out of every corner my mouth. Sure, you had the ability to eat a candy over an extended period of time, but the sanitary/hygienic component was questionable. On the other hand, it sure beat my friend's pastime of preserving a jaw breaker over several days by leaving its spit-covered carcass in an open bowl on his desk. At least with push pops, the covers could keep out a higher percentage of the dust bunnies.

The underlying concept behind the push pop was that you could actually push up the candy from within the plastic tubular packaging, allowing you as the eater to control how much pop you'd like to expose. Theoretically you could cap the pop, call it a day, and come back to it later that week. It seemed, though, that this candy was made from the stickiest substance known to man. Not only that, but it seemed to form some sort of chemical glue-like bonding reaction when coupled with spit, its major means of disintegration.



Both Push Pops and Ring Pops came in all sorts of lab-created flavors that had relatively little in common with flavors found in nature. The cherry flavor had the added bonus of applying an unintentional bright coating of red color on your lips sans lipstick, but had the unfortunate downside of tasting like cough syrup. Another wildly popular flavor was blue raspberry, which for some reason has caught on in a big way as an artificial flavor. I'm not sure how to break it gently to these flavor scientists, but raspberries aren't blue. Ever.**

Later incarnations came in flavors that definitely appealed to us as children but sound a little repulsive in our current state of well-advised judgment: bubble gum, cotton candy, green apple***, and the intentionally vague "citrus". Each of these flavors was ostensibly a huge commitment, as the amount of time and effort to consume the sheer quantity of hard candy available via ring or push pop was immense.

Truthfully though, this was the way we and our parents liked it. The candy had a two-pronged approach to keeping us occupied: the effort involved in actually consuming the slowly diminishing hard candy and the added value of its novelty features entertaining us. I must admit now it all seems a little overrated, but what do I know? I was more of a Chupa Chup girl.



*Okay, so they were introduced in 1977, but they were a novelty to children throughout the 80s and 90s **At least as far as I know and am too lazy to research otherwise ***Yes, I admit lots of people like green apple. But I challenge you to have a semi-traumatic experience with Smirnoff Green Apple vodka and not feel at least mildly repulsed by the flavor

Shining Time Station

Yes, I'm aware Shining Time Station was a spin-off of Thomas and Friends and that this introductory picture is thus misleading. Thanks for pointing that out.

Quiet telethon-hosting public television giant PBS has a lot more balls than for which we generally give them credit. Okay, so maybe their sunny broadcasts of Antiques Roadshow and breathless pseudo-historical reality show trashiness of Manor House aren't winning them any edginess points, but they did have the gall to cast comedian George "Seven Dirty Words" Carlin as Mr. Conductor on Shining Time Station. You have to admit, that took some pretty serious cajones from someone down at PBS HQ.



Of course, they had to ease into a big step like this. No, no, we needed to start a little smaller. Alright, alright, so the character is already minuscule by definition, as Mr. Conductor was a tiny man who lived in Shining Time Station's signal house. Are you with me on this? Good. Great. Grand. Wonderful. Anyway, the original Mr. Conductor was played by none other than former Beatle Ringo Starr, who can be seen in the clip below drumming with some wooden spoons. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.



Though past my prime Shining Time days, it does please me that in the 2000 big screen version entitled Thomas and the Magic Railroad, our friend Mr. Conductor was played by none other than my favorite 30 Rocker/angry voicemail designator Alec Baldwin. Really, what a feat of casting on all three counts. Thomas and friends were pulling in some pretty big names.



A decade before Alec Baldwin was running out of Mr. Conductor's magic gold dust, the old-fashioned style kids show was warming hearts and instilling a deep-seated love of train travel within children of the 80s and 90s. The original Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends premiered in Britain in 1984. Impressed by the show's success, producers in the US decide to create an American version five years later.

As a child, I watched the movie Grease on repeat for approximately two years straight (right after I'd emerged from my unfortunate but long-sustained Sound of Music stage)and was delighted to find my Pink Lady pal Frenchie starring in this show about trains. Frenchie (okay, fine, her real name is Didi Conn) starred as Stacy Jones, the perky manager of Shining Time Station. Shining Time Station seems like a pretty run-of-the-mill train station until we meet Mr. Conductor, the tiny magical man who lives in the signal house in the mural painted on the wall and reveals himself to share stories about Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends. You know. The usual.

The station's old and rusty when Stacy goes back to reopen it, but it certainly has its high points. For example, a jukebox featuring a full internal puppet ensemble band. Not bad for an abandoned train station. There's also an arcade, run by a man by the name of Schemer. Schemer's favorite for coining the phrase "Genius time!" as he marveled over all of his less-than-genius ideas to make more money and preserve his valued arcade.



Beginning of the first US episode, in case you need a refresher course from 1989. I can't imagine why.

They had a few more tricks up their sleeve with this cast of characters. Season one featured an engineer named Harry, whose grandchildren (along with Stacy's nephews) make up the child population of Shining Time Station. Season two veered a little more toward good old 90s multiculturalism, featuring a new engineer named Billy Twofeathers. You know, if we're going to have Native American characters we can't be subtle when it comes to names. No matter he's played by a guy named Tom Jackson--this guy's getting a legitimately multicultural moniker.

The show also had the convenient trick of making the stability of major characters flexible. Whenever a cast member dropped out, they simply replaced him with a long-lost cousin or are transferred to a new station. While this type of Dukes of Hazzard/Brady Bunch Cousin Oliver-level tomfoolery may have jumped the shark in other shows, it was pretty well-suited to children's entertainment. After all, children are pretty fickle by nature. So long as they consistently fed us old-timey train-themed entertainment, we were pretty content to eat it up without question.

The show's concept was sweet and uncharacteristically set in a more traditional premise. It taught values in not-so-subtle ways, but at least surrounded the arrow of its moral compass by a sturdy backing of comedic wit. It introduced a whole new generation of kids to the joy of trains and managed to supplement that love with a slew of corresponding overpriced merchandise to boot. How can you blame them for milking this concept, though? This show had it all: trains, puppets, animated segments. Oh, and George Carlin. You can't forget George Carlin.*

RIP, Mr. Conductor

*Unless you were more of a Ringo fan, in which case I scoff at your choice. Scoff!