Reading Rainbow

Were you aware that reading allows you fly approximately two times as high as a butterfly in the sky? And that reading enables you to simultaneously be both anywhere and anything? Powerful stuff. Thankfully, as an avid watcher of Reading Rainbow, I was keyed in on this kind of insider literate knowledge. That mesmerizingly soothing theme song drew me in time after time:

Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as high
Take a look, it's in a book - Reading Rainbow.

I can go anywhere!
Friends to know and ways to grow - Reading Rainbow.

I can be anything!
Take a look, it's in a book - Reading Rainbow.

Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow!



Hosted by LeVar Burton, Reading Rainbow was an educational children's television series created in the 80s to encourage elementary-age children to read. While initially a summer exploit, its popularity soon propelled it into a year-round venture. Reading Rainbow was a touchy-feely approach to children's book-learning, combating the evils of distracting adversarial forces of literature.

Like TV.

What's that you ask? Wasn't Reading Rainbow on TV? So what you're telling me is that kids were encouraged to watch TV as a measure to get them away from mindless television entertainment and into a cozy literate environment?

Yep. That's exactly what I'm telling you. Glad to see we're on the same page. Or in this case, channel.

Sure, it seems vaguely counter-intuitive, but Reading Rainbow was probably a welcome shift from the mind-numbing children's television entertainment that predominated the airwaves in the 80s and 90s. I suppose if parents were forced to choose a TV program to babysit their children, they may as well go with the lesser of two evils. At least the kid might get to see Billy Cosby reading an Arthur book in one of his trademark sweaters.

Everyone knows the best way to prove your love of reading children's books is to submerge yourself in them completely

Yes, Reading Rainbow featured a vast spectrum (insert groan here) of celebrity guest readers. Not just public television celebrities like Snuffleupagus or Lambchop, but real living, breathing celebrities that parents had actually heard of. People like Julia Child, James Earl Jones, Maya Angelou, Gilda Radner, and Richard Gere showed up to narrate a children's book, all in the name of child literacy. Admirable, no?

The show was more than just on-screen reading, though. Each episode generally reflected a single theme, featuring multiple books, children's reviews, and segments on issues like diversity, new experiences, self esteem, and most importantly, The Library. Reading Rainbow loved The Library. Like got-down-on-one-knee-and-proposed-to-pledge-eternal-love love. Every two minutes, we'd get another cheery plug for visiting our local library. God forbid any of us readers support the featured authors themselves by heading out to purchase the books.

Okay, okay, I admit I'm being a bit facetious. I love the library. It was one of my most favorite hangouts at a child. Actually, as a kid there's no way I would have noticed any TV show plugging anything. My favorite Saturday morning cartoons could have been surreptitiously selling me crack cocaine and I wouldn't have even an inkling that the show had been sponsored by the crack industry. I suppose there are worse things than a couple of relatively subtle nudges to go visit my local library. I retract my previous barb.


Reading Rainbow was more than adept at achieving its ultimate goal of encouraging children to read. It's format was simple, but it got results. Parents were pleased to see their kids getting excited about reading. Kids were pleased to see their parents excited about letting them watch TV. Everyone was a winner.

If your parents were either nerds or suckers for historical miniseries, they no doubt trusted deeply in the educational guidance of LeVar Burton. Known for his roles in both Star Trek: The Next Generation and Roots, Burton was a pretty credible source. That's not even counting his contributions to the planet as Kwame on Captain Planet. Oh, LeVar. Is there anything you can't teach?

If your parents did happen to be Trekkies, they were able to geek out with LeVar every now and then. In the segment below, he gives a behind the scenes look at the making of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Prepare to be beamed out of your minds:



Personally though, my favorite segment was usually the kids' very own book reviews, I am proud to present a short segment of a review, posted on YouTube by the star herself who no doubt now deeply regrets her choice in lenswear. But you don't have to take my word for it*:



Well, that's all we have for you today, kids. In the ever-wise words of Mr. Burton himself, I'll see you next time.**




*In the case that you were unaware, this was Mr. Burton's opening catchphrase prior to the children's reviews
**This was the closing catchphrase. I know, I know. My use of it in my own closing was pretty deep and symbolic. You don't have to tell me. Now it's off to enjoy my weekend after all of that deep-thinking about metaphorical reinterpretations. Oh yeah, and see you next time.

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