The Nightmare Before Christmas

Well, ladies and gentlemen, the holiday season is upon us. Like it or not, each year stores start pushing their Christmas wares earlier and earlier. In a couple of decades, we'll probably be stringing lights in July. Despite the overcorporatization of Christmas, I always love the holiday season. No matter how cynical you are, it's tough to not feel even the tiniest bit festive. The music, the lights, the trampling of shoppers on Black Friday. It just makes my heart smile.

The Nightmare Before Christmas, however, did not make my heart smile. Or at least not at the ripe young age of 8 upon its theatrical release. It gave me not only the Nightmare before Christmas but also the Nightmare on Christmas and for about three weeks afterward. It's pretty safe to say all my Christmas cheer evaporated the second I saw that stop-motion animated child pull a severed head out of its gift box. I don't even celebrate Christmas, so I can just imagine the impact it had on those who did.

Now, of course, I recognize that the film is brilliant. It's a pretty magical movie, if you're willing to overlook some of the stomach-turning visuals and sight gags. Literally, the sights made me gag. I have a tiny admission to make, but you have to promise not to share this information. It's classified. Can we pinky-swear on this? Great, thanks. The truth of the matter is that I have an unnatural fear of stop-motion animation. Between this movie and James and the Giant Peach, I maybe got four hours of sleep between 1993-1996. Whew, I'm glad I got that one off my chest. Seriously though. If you ever so much as flicked a camera on and off between frames, I was not watching it. Period.

Somewhere around 16 I finally conquered my fear and watched The Nightmare Before Christmas the whole way through. I adored it, but I can certainly see why Disney pushed to release it under the guise of its Touchstone label. The movie is pretty unsettling, overall. It's dark--both visually and thematically--and it's a little heavy for children. Against the backdrop of upbeat Disney films like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, Nightmare was definitely the odd one out in their animation offerings. While the other Disney films were touting feel-good just-be-yourself messages, Nightmare had a much darker message on hand.



When I watch the trailer now, I marvel at the wondrous world created through the magical minds of Tim Burton and Danny Elfman, the respective visual and musical geniuses behind the film. When I saw the trailer back in '93, I'm pretty sure my only reaction was "AHHHHHH!" It may also have involved running out of the theater, hysterical crying, and the eventual breathing into a paper bag.

The movie opens on "the holiday worlds of old" with a fairy tale air of mystery and enchantment in the voice-over. It segues quickly the the impaling of pumpkins on spears and monsters lurking under the stairs in the apt setting of Halloween Town. Their Pumpkin King, Jack Skellington, leads them in the Halloween festivities during which the residents of Halloween Town rejoice in their scaring antics. We soon learn that Jack's grown tired of his lot in fright-inducing life in "Jack's Lament":



While wandering Halloween Town's forests, Jack accidentally slips through the conveniently local space/time continuum into a mysteriously cheerful place called Christmas Town. The whole place is aglow with twinkly little lights, ice skaters frolic around a giant pine, elves sing cheerfully from their racing sleds. Jack is confused by the warmth and feeling of Christmas Town and its contrast to the horrifying head-throwing pastimes of Halloween Town.



Though he does not completely understand what exactly he's seen, Jack presents his discovery to his fellow Halloween Town residents. Halloween Town is, on the whole, not impressed. They point out everything awesome about their own beloved holiday and have complete tunnel vision against the happiness and joy of Christmas Town. Tough Luck, Jackie.



Despite their disinterest, Jack becomes completely obsessed with Christmas and hatches a plan to kidnap Santa and take his place. Sounds pretty foolproof, right? I really can't imagine any way this plan could possibly go awry.



Because it's a Tim Burton movie, we're to believe a crazed scientist (awesomely named Dr. Finklestein) cobbled together and then brought to life a rag doll who begins to develop romantic stirrings for Jack. Then again, we're in a magical Halloween-themed town teeming with spooky bats and roaming mummies, so that's probably the most realistic of our plot points. The movie allows you the luxury of complete suspension of disbelief, as you find yourself wanting to believe that it might just be the right thing to kidnap "Sandy Claws" and replace him with a blood-chilling skeletor. In the context of Halloween Town, it almost makes sense. This rag doll chick, Sally, has a vision that Jack's plan will end disastrously and attempts to warn him of the dangers of his Christmas-stealing mission.

Ignoring his fellow townspeople's ambivalence, Jack eagerly assigns new and exciting Christmas roles to his neighbors. They still don't totally get it, so you've got to admire their stick-to-itness.



Jack thinks crazy kids Lock, Shock, and Barrel (voiced by Paul Rebeuns, aka PeeWee Herman) would make excellent accomplices and enlists them to kidnap Mr. Sandy Claws:



Again, they're not totally on board with the real spirit of Christmas Jack is so adamant they find. Instead of bringing him back, they bring Santa to the even crazier Oogie Boogey. Oogie's a bit of a gambling man, and he's not against implicating our buddy Santa into his irresponsible debauchery.



Jack is one of those misguided good-intentioned saps that just won't quit. He boards his coffin sleigh and rounds up his skeletal reindeer, eager to do Santa's good work. He doesn't quite know what the children of the world will want, so he's pretty sure shrunken heads and poisonous reptiles will do the trick. Done and done. Sally, on the other hand, is not so pleased with the way things are turning out, especially regarding the increasing levels of dementia enacted by her would-be beau. Catherine O'Hara does not disappoint as Sally, though it's no A Mighty Wind.



The people of the world realize that there's an impostor Santa polluting their skies and filling their stockings with terrifying trinkets. The army shoots down his sleigh, after which Jack is presumed dead (or deader, I guess, considering he's already just a skeleton). Jack quickly realizes he needs to set things right, free the real Santa, and enjoy his own lot in life as the Pumpkin King. A quick revelation, sure, but this is a Disney film so it's all par for the animated course.



On their way to set things straight, Sally is captured by the vile Oogie. In an oddly chivalrous act, Jack acts even viler and breaks apart Oogie's outer shell to reveal the revolting insects inside. Excuse me, I'm going to go vomit. Be right back. Okay, still here? Anyway, Santa gives them a harsh talking-to before going on his gift mission, but gives them some happy snow to show that he's not holding a grudge. All seems to be as it was again, with the added bonus of a brewing Sally and Jack romance. I never thought I'd say a fictitious romantic affair between a skeleton and living rag doll would be adorable, but the movie really sells it.



Nightmare manages to be all sorts of contradictory things at once, both sweet and vile, sentimental and cruel, cute and frightening. It's Tim Burton's unbridled imagination at its best, giving us a well-developed fantasy world to scare and delight us. His signature style and attention to detail makes it almost like a real world all unto its own. Which is probably why I was so scared of it in the first place. I hope the ensuing nightmares are enough to tide you over until his version of Alice in Wonderland debuts next year. Then you'll get a whole slew of new things to fear. Until then, though, just enjoy the Nightmare.

Unintentionally Creepy Toys of the 80s and 90s

Creepiness is a pretty vague concept. You can't quite put your finger on it, but for some reason someone or something makes you feel a little bit uneasy. As a child, there were certain toys that I was sure were live and in action when I wasn't looking. Not in a cute, Toy Story way, but rather in a oh-my-God-they're-going-to-kill-me-in-my-sleep sort of way.

Perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration. I doubt these toys were actually out for blood, but they did seem potential candidates for ascendance to global domination. Their cuteness only mollified us, pacifying us for their inevitable toy rebellion. You didn't quite know when or where or why, but somehow, at some point, these placid little plushies were going to turn on us.

While none of these toys have actually confirmed my panicky suspicions, I remain on edge whenever I see their glassy little eyes staring at me with what is supposed to be innocence but more closely resembles blind, spare-no-prisoners ambition. I won't be fooled, creepy toys. I'm onto you.


Teddy Ruxpin



Geez, even this commercial is terrifying. At what ad agency are the idea people sitting around, asking each other, "What kid does not love a Frankenstein-style reanimation with the probes and the levers?" I'm guessing these ad people have never even seen a child, or else they would know that this is not the way to their story-loving hearts.

My uncle bought one of these for my sister back when they came out. He was so excited to finally see her reaction when she ripped off the Happy Birthday wrapping paper. Unfortunately, that reaction was irrepressible panic. She screamed, she cried, she hid under a table. Eventually I inherited the thing, and we were pals while it was light outside. As soon as the sun went down though, you can bet Teddy was shackled to a table in the playroom.



Furby



We've all heard urban legend-style horror stories of these things developing personalities or talking after their batteries had been removed. Furbies were intelligent toys built to learn and grow each time you interacted with them, meaning they became more and more capable of global domination with each passing play-date. One day they're learning basic words, and the next they're conquering militarily significant regions of Turkey. Scary.

Furbies are, of course, inherently creepy by design. Those giant, blinking eyes and moving mouth are enough to make even the most scare-proof among us a little bit jittery. A friend of mine had a Furby that mysteriously turned itself on in the middle of the night, babbling happily from its secluded location on the shelf. This, of course, marked the end their toy/owner relationship. After an ill-fated attempt to light the thing on fire, we settled for a proper burial in the dumpster behind the mall. I'm pretty sure it still knows where I live.

To read the full post on Furbies, click here



Puppy Surprise



The puppy dolls themselves aren't so inherently creepy as is the action of reaching up inside of them and rifling through their baby-filled innards. These hollow stuffed animals contained an indeterminable number of babies (that was the surprise) that you could extract by unhinging a velcro flap in its nether regions. The toy was cute, yes, but I always felt a little dirty after shoving the babies back in for storage.


To read the full post on Puppy Surprise, click here



Creepy Crawlers



I'll admit it, these gooey insects made the list largely on moniker alone. I mean, the word creepy is right there in the name. How could I exclude them? They were, to their creepy credit, stomach turning in their own way. I wasn't afraid my oozy bugs would come to life, but was more just generally grossed out by their existence. I don't like real centipedes, so why do I delight so much in playing with semi-solid gelatinous ones? It's one of life's little mysteries.

To read the full post on Creepy Crawlers, click here




My Size Barbie



What more could you want from a doll than the chance to share clothes and tiaras? My Size Barbie stood at around three feet tall, so "My Size" is pretty relative. Sure, now I tower over the thing, but back in the day she was like a peer. We could sit around for hours chatting about the latest fashions in ball gowns and whether or not they'd ever make a My Size Ken so she wouldn't have to die plastic and alone. Well, she'd probably be plastic regardless, but you get the idea.

Looking back, this thing scares the crap out of me. It's like a little person.



Glo Worms



Introduced in the 80s, these Glo Worms were supposed to serve a surreptitious nighttime function as a nightlight for wimpy children. The idea was that you put your kid to sleep with the cute little snuggly worm and its internal glow would somehow comfort them in the night. I don't know if you've ever woken up next to a glowing doll, but the effect is pretty eerie. What was cute during the daytime becomes a sort of radioactive alien life force cohabiting in your bed, shining its unnatural light from a mysterious place deep within its plush frame.




My Twinn Doll

This video is more recent than the 90s, but I just couldn't deprive you of the creepiness. Seriously? Are you watching this? Run!

I'm all for self esteem and liking oneself, but to create an actual tangible doll version of yourself to befriend? A little creepy. Created in 1992, the process behind My Twinn is you basically send them a photo, choose your specifications (see more at their website here) and you get a doll that looks exactly like you within 3-4 business weeks. You can even buy matching outfits. I know we're supposed to be teaching kids how special they are, but $150 for an eerily twinned doll is probably overkill. You might as well have just gone for the pony. Sure, there's more cleanup involved, but you won't have to deal with your child's eventual raging narcissism. Sounds like a good deal to me.


No doubt the makers of these toys had the best intentions in mind when formulating these ideas, something just went a little haywire in the implementation. Some frontiers just aren't meant to be explored, or at least not by impressionable young children. It might seem cute at first, but don't be fooled--these toys will probably eat you in your sleep. Don't say we didn't warn you.

Please Welcome the Next Entrant in the Glamour Shots Challenge

Please welcome to the ring our next formidable force in the Glamour Shots Challenge, Emily! Though her parents were obliging enough to let her take some Glamour Shots when she was in just third grade, her mother wisely censored the more suggestive poses. Here's the result of that compromise between Emily's mother and the JonBenet-leaning stylists:


The accompanying description Emily sent in was so funny, I just had to include it:

I got these taken in the third grade around Christmas '93 and I distinctly remember being able to choose from 4 different looks. I could get either the fuchsia sequined blazer "jacket nab", the purple boa "over the shoulder", the studded denim blouse and biker cap "resting on one arm" or this...thing. I call it "I'm going to be a sensible Realtor when I grow up".

Needless to say, it's obvious my mother picked the most conservative image. Too bad because I was really gunnin' for that purple boa look. I was also disappointed in the lack of Xuxa inspired 'fashions' on my visit to the Glamour Shots closet, Xuxa being my idol at the time.

For the record I am now neither a realtor, nor sensible.

While the amount of hairspray in her hair could probably set an entire building aflame if she stepped to close to a flickering candle, the GS staff definitely did give her the toned-down version of their usual suggestive offerings. Emily's description is certainly apt, as her clothing, jewelry, and facial expression give a message that falls somewhere between "Let's go check out the refurbished breakfast nook" and "I'm looking forward to your vote this coming election day." Her hair says, well, it says gravity is simply a suggestion. A suggestion her stylists chose to not only ignore but defy with their scultptural scalp-top piling methods. I'm not even going to mention those mini-mall bangs*.

Thanks to the non-sensible, non-realtor Emily for her fabulous submission. Remember, if you have any old 80s or 90s Glamour Shots laying around the house, scan 'em and send 'em in to childrenofthe90s@gmail.com for the Glamour Shots Challenge!


*Except right there, when I mentioned it.

Perfection

No pressure, kids, but we're going to give you this game called Perfection. I'm not trying to drop any hints or anything, but don't mess up. If you do, everything will literally blow up in your face. It's a lesson that will serve you well for life.

This was a harsh reality type of game. It wasn't here to stroke your ego or tell you how special you were. It was here to show you what a colossal dimwit you were. What's that? You don't have the fine motor skills and nimble fingers to place all of the shapes in their corresponding slots in your slated 60 second limit? Well then, too bad. This thing's going off, and your minute's worth of hard work is going with it.

The game Perfection was originally launched in the 70s by Milton Bradley, but was repackaged and marketed anew to children in the 90s. They gussied it up with a catchy jingle and we were all more or less powerless under its time-bomb ticking charms. The jingle went a little something like this:

Put the pieces into the slot
make the right selection
but be QUICK! You're racing the clock
POW! Pop goes Perfection!
This piece here and that piece there
Put those pieces EVERYWHERE!
But be quick, or beware
POW! Pop goes Perfection!

It was a nice touch of them to include those Batman noises, it really adds to the effect. The enthusiasm of this commercial was nearly infectious, if the plethora of exclamation points above are any indicator. The only problem was, once you heard the song, it was stuck with you for life. I'm warning you now out of the kindness of my jingle-conscious heart: if you watch the commercial below, be prepared to hum it all day long. Your cubicle mates better not come after me.



I'll be the first to admit I was a little bit scared the first few times I saw this commercial as a child. Why exactly were the game pieces exploding outwards from that gentleman's chestal cavity? It's all just a little unnerving. I'll tell you one thing, though--it was a great cautionary tale against swallowing the tiny, undoubtedly delicious plastic pieces. Forget choking hazards, I was just afraid that every time that timer went off, the pieces would burst forth from my chest in a starburst formation.

There's nothing quite like seeing a child verging on a level of stress akin to a neurosurgeon before a big experimental procedure. I'm almost certain my heart still beats to the rhythm of that incessant building tick-tock of the Perfection timer. If this game taught us nothing else, it was that sometimes we work better under pressure. Other times, we're just that more terrified when the board inevitably explodes and interrupts our intense concentration. While the game was fun, no doubt, it had a sort of dark side that to this day makes me shy away from kitchen timers. I just don't trust them. It seems as if the second they go off, the inevitable next step is for my entire batch of cupcakes to leap forth from their metal pan prisons. I know I did not use that much PAM.

On the plus side, the game certainly dishes out a fair helping of excitement and healthy competition. At least that's what they call it, healthy competition. "Healthy" is really just a qualifier to justify our actions when we go all WWF on our little siblings when they beat our record. Everyone who's ever been around children for more than a few minutes knows that timing little kids is what makes them tick. You know, like a clock. If you tell a kid, "Clean up your dishes," they'll stare blankly back at you, wondering what exactly is in it for them. If you say to them, "You have ten seconds to clean up your plate," be prepared to see some lightning speed dish-washing.

Unsurprisingly there's something inherently enticing to children about winning, and adding the element of a timer gives kids something to strive for. A little competitive spirit never hurt anyone. Unless, of course, he was in too close a range to the Perfection board during that fateful pop! Then he's pretty much a goner.
The 90s version of the game came with 25 little yellow plastic pieces, each featuring their own miniature "handle" with which to maneuver the shape into its intended slot. If our hand-eye coordination wasn't yet especially well-developed, we would definitely be struggling with this one. As a depth-perceptionally challenged individual who frequently swings her tennis racket at absolutely nothing, this was more than a challenge. It was a serious obstacle, and my time suffered. While some of my classmates were reveling in their under-60 second record performances, I was still trying to shove the little star about an eighth of an inch too far to the left of its slot. It was, in a word, humiliating.

The board was an attraction in itself, featuring a springboard-type foundation that allowed you to depress the board in preparation for gameplay. When the timer went off, the board reasserted it initial upright position through the use of heavy force. I say "heavy" mainly because I was once struck squarely in the forehead with the little S-shaped miscreant. I'm just lucky the mark finally faded.

Perfection was simplicity at its finest. Sure, the game had a few bells and whistles on the updated version, but compared to many of its up-and-coming game rivals in the marketplace it was an incredibly straightforward concept. Discount all of the stress-induced headaches, residual internal ticking, and fear of TV commercial-style perfection pieces exploding from your chest and it was, in a word, perfection.

The Ultimate Glamour Shot

Though Shannon's been the only brave soul so far to grace us with her amazing personal photos for the Children of the 90s Glamour Shots challenge, I did just receive a stellar tip from reader Renata. I could not live with myself if I didn't share this with my loyal readers, for fear of depriving you of the most spectacular glamour ever shot by mall studio stylists. Are you ready? I really hope you're ready, because there's nothing I can say that could prepare you for this moment of pure Glamour Shots glory.

I have long been a fan of Awkard Family Photos, but somehow I must have missed this Glamour Shots gem. There's really no excuse for me dropping the ball on this one, because it's far too precious for me to have ignored. Bless me, Awkward Family Photos, for I have sinned. It has been 2 months since my last visit, and in this time I missed the mother (and daughters!) of all Glamour Shots.

Disclaimer: None of these fine jacket-nabbers are my readers, though I wish they were. If you ladies are out there, I implore you to make contact. You are my Glamour Shot posing heroes.

Behold the queen of all 90s Glamour Shots, a look Renata has wisely dubbed the "Quadruple Jacket Nabber." That's right, not one, not two, not three, but four simultaneous signature GS jacket nabs. I think the dead-eyed get-me-out-of-here expression on that girl second from the end says it all.

And look, that girl on the far left has the very same jacket they gave Shannon in her photo shoot. I guess their national wardrobe consultant felt this was an item each store simply could not live without. "Alright guys, it's going to be the studded jean jacket with the lace sleeves for all of our major markets. Let's throw some triple-reinforced collars on those babies while we're at it. These beauties have got to have the strength to withstand the constant nabbing."

If any of you are still harboring Glamour Shots, I urge you to surrender them for the greater good of 90s children everywhere and email them to childrenofthe90s@gmail.com. Many thanks to Renata for the GS tip!

Daytime TV in the 90s

If you believe daytime TV is growing increasingly trashier each year, raise your hand. If this is a toughie, I'll give you all a minute or two to think it over. All right, time's up. You ready? Heads down, hands up. No peeking, I'll take a count.

It's officially unanimous. I know it, you know, the American people know it. Elsewhere across the globe, people are scratching their heads and saying, "Wow, is it just me, or has daytime TV really taken a turn?" That's just a rough translation from Estonian, of course, but you get the point.



Ricki Lake



Slimmed-down Hairspray alum Ricki Lake hosted this eponymous daytime talk rag, tantalizing us with the tawdriest of topics. Ricki's show was trashy, pure and simple. We loved dragging out the alleged perpetrator--be it cheating or, in the above case, cousin marryin'--and hissing and booing them to our hearts' collective content.

The satisfying thing about these shows wasn't so much that they were scandalous, but rather that they made us feel better about our own vanilla Wonderbread mundane lives. Sure, we weren't out there wrestling alligators and winning Nobel Prizes, but we also weren't marrying our cousins. Ricki's show served as a sort of trashiness litmus test, and unless you're gazing at a current photo of you and a close relative locked in a passionate embrace, I'd say you passed.


Geraldo



We all like a good fight now and then, but Geraldo really knew how to drive the point home. Early in his series (1988), he invited a slew of ideologically mismatched hate spewers and social activists to duke it out onscreen. Geraldo put skinheads and neo-Nazis onstage with Jewish and black activists and surprise of surprises, it got ugly. Remember, this was just the beginning, but you've got to admire him laying it all out there so early in the game.

Geraldo started strong, but went soft on us by the mid-to-late 90s. They re-spun his show as the more formally titled Geraldo Rivera Show and attempted to showcase a softer, more serious host. Clearly their hosts had missed the memo that people watched tabloid talk shows for the trashiness factor. I mean, we all got the memo. Also, I heard they forgot to file their TPS reports. For shame.



Jenny Jones



Jenny Jones was a Springer-like daytime offering, with only slightly less skeezy topical content. It was, nonetheless, absolutely ridiculous. I mean, there was a show called You May Shake it for Money, But Leave Those Sexy Clothes at the Club, Honey! I'm not saying I wouldn't watch it, I'm just disparaging the writers' poor rhyming scheme.

The Jenny Jones show is now infamous for its implications in a murder case, the crime committed following an appearance on Jones's show. The Ambush was a popular 90s talk show trope as unsuspecting guests were confronted without warning. Michigan native John Smitz came on the show to learn of a secret admirer only to find that the mysterious source of affection was not a woman as he expected but one of his male acquaintances. Reportedly "humiliated" by the incident, Smitz fatally shot his male admirer just days after the episode was filmed. And you thought those episodes about wayward teens bombed. Talk about putting a damper on things.



The Phil Donahue Show

Yep, that's Donahue getting told by Marilyn Manson. Sorry, pal, he only likes the trashier talk shows. Tough break.

Yes, the snowy-haired Donahue we knew in the 90s had already racked up a good twenty years in the talk show business at that point, but his show was pretty adept at keeping up with the times. Despite his increasing resemblance to that old guy from Up, Donahue kept with it for awhile.

Unfortunately for our boy Phil, the incredibly overstocked marketplace of daytime talk shows eventually squeezed him out. While once he'd reigned over the airwaves, new and more salacious (read: shameless) shows eventually got the better of his once-loyal audience. Once upon a time they may have been shocked to hear about the dangers of reverse vasectomies, it seemed pretty tame in comparison to stories of incorrigible six-year olds hell bent on becoming strippers. Or, you know, whatever other filth his opponents were cooking up and serving to us in our daily dose of daytime dirt.



Jerry Springer



Jerry Springer is perhaps the most notorious of these daytime tabloid talk show hosts, if nothing else than for the sheer volume of fights per episode. You'd think his guest simply spend their lives looking for someone to punch in the face, yearning to be held back by a beefy humorless security guy.

Springer is pure entertainment and pretty much no substance, but it doesn't masquerade itself as much other than a sensationalist freakshow. It's like going to the car races to see a fiery fatal crash. You're horrified, but you also just can't look away. It's like some sort of magnetic force field that tugs your vocal chords and prompts you to chant, "Jerry! Jerry!" till everyone onstage has been sufficiently beaten up.


Sally Jessy Raphael



Sally Jessy didn't just have a fun-to-say name, she also had a fun-to-impersonate look. Inasmuch, her show sometimes paraded males costumed in Sally Jessy drag, each more huge glasses-ed and signaturely crop-topped than the last. Actually, tons of Sally's shows featured all sorts of drag queens, whether in pageants or singing showcases. I have no idea why. At least they had the kind sense to call them "female impersonators". Very professional.

Raphael was even spoofed by the usually benign Sesame Street. Now that's how you know you've made it, when there's a grouch character modeled after you:




Maury Povich



A long long time ago, in a galaxy lightyears from here, Maury Povich's show was not simply the who's-your-baby-daddy parade it is today. Back in the 90s, he also used to cover topics like out-of-control overweight babies and irrational snail phobias. These days, though, he's not quite so classy. I'm pretty sure he has some sort of autopilot mode that intones deeply, "The lie detector test determined that that was a lie. You are not the father!"



The Montel Williams Show


Montel pulled what shall now be referred to as a "reverse-Maury" or a "Geraldo special" depending on your point of view and/or preference for well-groomed mustaches. The show started out trashy and actually moved out of the genre rather into the gaping void of the morally empty abyss. The show's later years were characterized by inspirational tales of overcoming adversity and succeeding in the face of life challenges. In other words? It got boring. Bring back silicone breast implant nightmares!



Oprah



How can you not love a woman who brings out a big ol' barrel of fat to document her own embarrassing diet struggles? That's just good TV.

No one can deny that Oprah is one of the most powerful and influential women alive. She tells us what our favorite things are and we dutifully go purchase $50 cookie dough and cashmere ponchos. She tells us what to read and we eagerly seek her sanctioned stamp of approval at bookstores everywhere. Everyone wanted to talk to her. Even the often elusive Michael Jackson (video above) opened up to her. She's like a good girlfriend we all just want to spill our guts to. In front of millions of people. To possibly get a free car. Thanks, O.


Love them or hate them, these shows expose a deep inner part of our human nature, one for which we yearn to see the complete and totally ridiculous humiliation of others to make ourselves feel better. Some of these shows have grown more salacious with age while others have tamed their trashtastic inner beasts, but in the 90s, the tabloid talk show ruled. Heck, we grew up with it, and we turned out okay, right? Now excuse me while I go file a slew of paternity suits.

90s Catch Phrase Mash-Up: Movie Edition

We all know those people whose daily utterings are littered with movie quotes. It's almost as if these folks can't think in any terms outside of the predetermined language of film. While those people may be endlessly irritating, we've all been guilty at one point or another--especially in our younger years--of parroting unforgettable movie lines at whatever we considered to be an opportune time. Behold, some of the most quoted movie catch phrases of the 1990s:



"Show Me the Money"/"You had me at Hello"/"You Complete Me" (Jerry Maguire)





Talk about wide-ranging quotability. Jerry Maguire was the kind of movie men and women could see together and both enjoy. Rather than grumbling at being dragged along for the millionth time to some tearjerker romance or inspiring football story, we could go see both elements squeezed into a single movie. Now that's efficiency.

These lines encompassed both the tear-jerkingly sentimental and big beefy tacklingly manly sides of Jerry Maguire. It was a simpler time, a time before Cuba Gooding Jr. was starring in hot messes about accidental gay cruise vacations and Tom Cruise wasn't accusing Matt Lauer of glibness. Back in 1996, there were no two people we'd rather quote.



"I'm the King of the World!" (Titanic)



To this day, I can't watch Titanic without feeling like I'm cheating a little bit. How dare I let these characters romp freely and happily, leaving steamy handprints on antique car windows and proclaiming their royal rulership over the world when I know what's in store for them? No one went into theaters thinking, "Hey, maybe they'll make it out okay this time," not just from our robust knowledge of nautical history but by the fact that most teen girls cried their eyes out at this one in theaters at least twice.

Jack's proclamation while written no doubt with good intention was just a tad over the top, and I'm not just talking about his physical placement on the boat. The line was actually voted the cheesiest movie moment ever http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6662425/, just edging out Dirty Dancing's "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" Let me just say, if you're coming in ahead of that one, you should probably be concerned.



"You Can't Handle the Truth!" (A Few Good Men)



Many a time have I wished for Jack Nicholson's indescribable coolness. He has a certain je ne sais quoi that allows him to frolick on beaches with his oversized gut exposed, balding head glinting in the sunlight, still inexplicably making you wish you could bottle just a fraction of his suaveness. His performance in A Few Good Men is no exception, as he makes all of us wish we'd all been the first to pound the courtroom table forcefully and accuse our underlings of overstepping their roles. Better yet, Nicholson nailed the scene in one take, meaning he got that right on the first try. Some people have all the luck. And the best sunglasses, too.



"Allllrighty Then" (Ace Ventura)



If you grew up during the 90s anywhere near the general proximity of a movie theater, it's pretty certain you quoted Ace Ventura nonstop from 1994 to 1995. While he's mellowed with age and taken more grown-up roles in recent years, in the 90s Jim Carrey was like catnip to children. We just couldn't get enough. If he talked through his butt, we would talk through our butts. If he christened bald bespectacled men "the Monopoly guy" we'd no doubt follow suit. Or in this case, Hawaiian shirt.



"Hasta Lavista, Baby" (The Terminator)



You may not know, but once upon a time Arnold Schwarzenegger was not just a mild-mannered California gubernatorial force, but a bad to the metal core ass-kicking name-taking robot. If only all of our politicians had gotten their start this way, maybe our senate chambers wouldn't be packed with flabby girlymen. If this line doesn't have you shaking in your robot-combative boots, don't worry. He'll be back.



"There's No Crying in Baseball!" (A League of Their Own)




Coach Jimmy Dugan obviously has a questionable understanding of women when they bring in the former major leaguer as a coach for the All-American Girls' Professional Baseball League. For God's sake, his team is called the Peaches. How can he be shocked when they're so thin-skinned?



"Houston, We Have a Problem" (Apollo 13)



In this true-story account of the plague-ridden Apollo 13 space mission, astronaut John Lovell (played again by Tom Hanks) utters this famous line. I'm sorry to be the ones to break this to you, but Lovell didn't actually say, "Houston, we have a problem." He actually said, "I believe we've had a problem here" followed by "Houston, we've had a problem." I know, it's sort of hair-splitting, but screenwriters really really wanted to push this line into the present tense to augment the action. Poor Lovell's going to be misquoted for life.



"Momma Always Said Life is Like a Box of Chocolates. You Never Know What You're Gonna Get" (Forrest Gump)



Were there any movies in the 90s that Tom Hanks wasn't in? Forrest Gump was the story of a simple Alabama man, and Hanks as Gump taught us to suspend our judgment by giving us little gems of wisdom issued by his mother (played by Sally Field." She said some other things, but I always liked this one best. If you can compare anything to chocolate, it will instantly become about two hundred times more relatable for me. Mmm, chocolate.



"Ya, You Betcha" (Fargo)



As a native Minnesotan, I feel the need to take a stand. Yes, Fargo is amusing, but it's also opened the floodgates of Minnesotan-directed mocking, namely at our alleged accents. We don't really talk like that. Uff-da, we're really just a bunch of normal people eating hotdish and complaining about our cars not starting in the winter, dontcha know?



"Whatever!"/"As if!" (Clueless)


Clueless brought us an entirely new teen lexicon based on the vacuous prattle of superficial young girls. Following in the footsteps of other great teen movies, it introduced a set of teen-specific vocabulary that quickly filtered into youth culture. You can even find Clueless slang glossaries http://www.jasa.net.au/study/cslang.htm online. So here's the 411 on speaking Clueless: all you Bettys and Baldwins need to stop buggin' and haul ass to your loca lvideo store (if any still exist) and check out this movie. It's like way famous. At least put it in your Netflix queue.



"Yeah, Baby!" (Austin Powers)



Mike Myers as Sir Austin Danger Powers poked fun at the dashing action heroes of the 60s and 70s, transporting a (literally) frozen-in-time spy into the 90s. Everyone knows you can't thwart an evil villain bent on world takeover without a fun-loving attitude and some signature catch phrases. For years to come--and through all of the subsequent sequels--moviegoers everywhere spouted off these signature lines at every turn. If I never hear another person ask, "Do I make you horny, baby? Do I?" it'll be too soon.



"Schwing!"/"We're Not Worthy!" (Wayne's World)



Schwing is still an awesome euphemism for a bodily reaction we have yet to name otherwise. When Wayne and Garth saw a hot chick or even discussed one on their show...schwing! If you're still at a loss, you either need to watch the movie or visit Urban Dictionary. Really, though, this is probably something you should have picked up on in the 90s. You're clearly not worthy.


Whether you loved or hated these lines, it's irrefutable that they were everywhere in the 90s. We may as well embrace it. They complete us.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Don't forget to enter all and any personal or family Glamour Shots in the Glamour Shots Challenge! Send your undoubtedly embarrassing photos to childrenofthe90s@gmail.com!

Speaking of things parents weren't all that fond of in the 90s, I'm pretty sure bone-chillingly terrifying children's television programming ranked pretty high up on their lists. It's almost shocking what kid's TV networks were able to get away with back in the 90s. Nowadays you're lucky if you can so much as say "boo" to impressionable and innocent young children without raising angry red flags amongst hovering parent watchdog groups.

In our day, however, things were a little different. Children's shows weren't afraid to be a little edgy, and by that I mean they put kids on edge. For life. No, really. I still have nightmares about that stupid clown Zeebo.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? was a show responsible for scaring the living daylights out of us while inevitably necessitating nightlights. The correct answer to the show's title question was yes, yes we are, and we may never sleep again. Thank you, Nickelodeon, for affording us a chance at nightmare-induced juvenile insomnia. As if our parents didn't have enough legitimate safety concerns for us, they were now forced to spend valuable worrying time reassuring us against the existence of mute child ghosts and evil spirit-filled magic wands. Time well spent.

There were a few episodes in particular that have stuck with me. As in they are forever stuck in my brain, briefly terrorizing me whenever they bob to the cerebral surface. Just for you, though, I'm willing to temporarily forget how pants-peeingly scary these episodes were and share them with you for the greater good of horror-themed nostalgia.

Submitted for the approval of the Children of the 90s Society, I call this story *tosses handful of potassium nitrate into imaginary roaring campfire* The Tale of the Scariest Episodes:

Tale of Laughing in the Dark



I'm with the Rachel Blanchard character on this one. I too suffer from what Kiki describes as "Bozophobia". Really, who isn't afraid of clowns these days? It's all just a little too John Wayne Gacy for me to handle.

Anyway, Cher sucks it up and we return to the ill-fated Playland, an amusement park home to the "spookhouse" called Laughing in the Dark. Catchy name, huh? I get the feeling that's going to play into things later somehow. Our story's stars are generally too chicken to enter, but like any normal kids they decided to do some good old fashioned academic research on the alleged clown haunting.

Apparently there was this clown Zeebo who was an all around bad guy, stealing money from the circus and eventually getting his comeuppance as he burned alive in the Laughing in the Dark spookhouse after an incident with his cigar. Tragic.

One kid dares another to steel Zeebo's clown nose, and the dare-ee agrees so long as the darer will wear the clown nose to school. What could be funnier, really?

Our pal Josh (the aforemention dare-ee) goes into LitD, and it's so-so scary rather than so so scary. At first, that is. Unsurprisingly, Josh is plagued by the clown's ghost, who does weird stuff like write his initials in pudding and sends threatening balloon messages. Josh obliges, returning the nose but leaving us to wonder what exactly we just saw. It may not sound all that scary, but we're talking clowns here. Clowns.

Tale of the Pinball Wizard

Are You Afraid of the Dark - S01E13
Uploaded by andrethegiant.

If we've learned nothing from these tales of terror, it's that when someone tells you not to touch something, for the love of God do not touch it! Is it really that tough a concept? Once you've erred the first ten or so times, you think that you'd realize they were probably warning you for your own horror story character good, but these fictional kids just never learn.

This episode isn't quite as scary as the others, but it definitely drew kids in with its enthralling premise. If you get locked in the mall late at night playing a forbidden pinball machine, you will inevitably end up in a life-size human version of the game. There's pretty much no other possible route from there. You're going to be in a living pinball game, and you're going to like it, dammit.



Tale of the Hatching





I used to think boarding school might be a fun option until I saw The Tale of the Hatching. It wasn't until Harry Potter that I could even think of entertaining romantic notions of boarding school. We're talking years of trauma to my prep school fantasy. Years.

Jazz and Augie are siblings sent to a mysterious boarding school. The school has all sorts of wacky (read: suspicious and inevitably terrifying) rules about being calm and quiet on the grounds. Plus, every meal consists of a substance called "spunge". If that's not a warning sign, I don't know what is. I mean, really. Spunge?

Turns out the headmasters are evil aliens (surprise!) and the spunge contains a trance-inducing mind control agent. Yikes. The kids are hypnotized into incubating the unhatched eggs. Once these mini reptillian cuties hatch, they feast on students for sustenance. I don't like where this is headed.

Luckily, our heroes are smart and realize that loud noises and certain frequencies are the auditory nemeses of these slimy overlords. They blast loud music from their walkmans and save the day...or do they? Like all good AYAOTD episodes, it's a sort of unsettling cliffhanger. In the last scene, we see a single ominous surviving egg. Does it go on to start a new boarding school? Will it inevitably eat Jazz and Augie? Will killing them off stop parents from giving their kids stupid names like Jazz and Augie? We may never know.



Tale of the Thirteenth Floor


We all know the thirteenth floor is reputably spooky, but we didn't know exactly why until we were scared witless (I'm going to say 'witless" and not a more appropriate alternative because this is a family blog) until we saw this episode.

Billy and Karin live on the twelfth floor of a creepy-ish apartment building. The kids like to go play up on the thirteenth floor because, you know, it's abandoned and spooky. Then, dream of dreams come true and a toy company moves in to the thirteenth floor. A toy company! Is there anything better?

Well yeah, if those toy company employees are secretly faceless space aliens. Just a teeny little hitch in the whole playing-with-toys scenario. They draw in our innocent little children and bam! they reveal they're really building a spaceship to take Karin back to their home planet. Billy's a wimp and can't take the atmospheric changes and almost dies, but Karin in an uncharacteristic show of heroism saves him. It's at this point we find out that (gasp!) Karin is actually one of them, a faceless alien. Ahhhh!!!!

Tale of the Dead Man's Float


As a swimmer, this episode really spoke to me. In my sleep. Through undead pool monsters.

I always thought this was one of the scariest episodes, if nothing else because the zombie thing is just so retina-scarring. Kids everywhere boycotted swimming lessons and refused to don those floaty-arm things for years after watching this episode. It's a true testament to how scary this show could actually be. I mean, even looking now at the picture of that pool thing makes me want to go hide in my office cabinets and arm myself with staple removers and letter openers.

Zeke's a nerd eager to win over his crush Clorice. They find an abandoned swimming pool at their school and think it's an excellent idea to campaign to have it reopened. Clorice is a swim team star and Zeke is working overtime to get into her good graces. Everything's going, er, swimmingly until they begin to suspect the pool is haunted, a notion later confirmed by a loner janitor type. Apparently the pool was built on an old cemetary and one body was left behind. I think we all know what's coming up next.

Because Zeke's a geek, he knows that the ghost's sulfuric smell means its acidic makeup could be detected will some good ol' methyl orange. Sweet chemistry lesson, AYAOFD. It's almost enough to lull me into a false calm until OH MY GOD THAT RED ZOMBIE THING IS THE SCARIEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN! I'm not even going to post the pictures here because I won't be able to look at my own blog if it's up here, haunting me. Just watch the video. But don't say I didn't warn you.


The show was great because it was not gimmicky. Sure, it sometimes relied on guest stars like Tia and Tamara Mowry as creepy chameleon girls or hunky Boy Meets World star Will Friedle as a guy thrown back in time by a locket, but the underlying value was in the show's uncompromising dedication to being truly scary. It haunts me still. I'm starting to wish I'd never Google Imaged "The Tale of the Dead Man's Float". Who knew such scary stuff could come out of Canada, of all places?

Frequently Banned Young Adult Books: 90s Edition

On an aside, this is my 200th post! That's a whole lot of 90s. PS don't forget to enter all and any personal or family Glamour Shots in the Glamour Shots Challenge! Send your undoubtedly embarrassing photos to childrenofthe90s@gmail.com.

Not only did I miss banned books week, this poster is from last year!

I know I'm about a month too late to engage in any sort of nationally conscious discussion during Banned Books week; my complete inattention to detail and timely pertinent bookstore displays is starting to show. It's an important issue at any time, though, and if it means we get to join in on mocking all those who seek to censor our allegedly inappropriate literary content, then all the better. If there's a bannedwagon out there, I'm jumping on it. Get it? Bannedwagon? Anyone?

*Cranes neck and shields eyes from monitor glare to gaze out at bewildered readers through their computer screens*

Painful puns aside, it's an issue many of us may not have been aware of as children but that continues to plague libraries and school systems everywhere. In any given society, there's bound to be a vocal contingency of uptight people engaging in the rectal transport of sticks. In a society that enourages free speech, however, the irony of their existence is no doubt lost on their closed minds. That is, the free speech stipulations that allow them to spout misguided uneducated drivel without consequence is the same ruling that upholds these authors' collective right to publish what they please. Quite a conundrum, huh?

Unsurprisingly, parents make up the majority of literary naysayers. It's natural for parents to be concerned about their innocent children's easily corruptible young minds, but the idea of each of us having our own parents is that families can make decisions for themselves and not society at large. Unfortunately, whoever yells the loudest often gains the widest audience, meaning these book banners garnered a lot of attention for their shouting and finger-pointing.

The most frequent reasons cited for protesting a book are sexuality, language, or "unsuitable material". In short, our intellectual freedom to grow and mature as eager young readers is most often suppressed by a bunch of prudes. Because why encourage a child to enjoy reading when you can teach them the value of complaining?

Here's a light sampling of the most frequently banned young adult books during the 90s. Many of the books were written decades earlier, but remained in the forefront of the censorship agenda:



The Giver


In this 1984-esque Utopian science fiction novel, Lois Lowry outlines a world of compliant individuals content to languish in their colorless world. The protagonist Jonas is stuck in a frightening sterile world where people are tightly controlled and exist without emotion. They even take pills to quell the sexual "stirrings" they feel beginning from puberty. You'd think our book banners would be all for that with all of their anti-sex rhetoric, but apparently what comes next is too inexcusable to give the book any merit in their eyes.

The Giver was banned largely for its themes of community-sanctioned suicide and euthanasia, the "release" characters receive if they fail to fit into the well-ordered society. Admittedly it's a pretty heavy issue for young children, but the book touts these behaviors as a negative consequence of an overly uniform society. In more common terms, they're saying it's bad. Don't do it. The book has a strong message of individuality and personal freedom, which we all know censors don't like one bit. It's no wonder they don't want us thinking for ourselves; they want us thinking for themselves.


Forever


Oh, and pretty much every other book written by Blume over the span of the preceding few decades made the list. Some authors really know how to cause a stir amongst conservative morally straitjacketed PTA types. Forever was a shoo-in for raising a ruckus with its explicitly sexual content, detailing the experiences of a high school girl and her boyfriend's foray into physical intimacy. Let's put it this way: the book was released in 1975 and remains in one of the top spots on the banned books chart. I'll give you a hint why it remains so popular among young readers: it's about sex.

On an aside, some statisticians speculate that the dip in popularity of the name Ralph is in direct correlation to the fact that that's what the protagonist's boyfriend names his, er, private parts. Now that's a lasting impact.

Go Ask Alice


This story has a seriously awesome punchline. After years of speculation over the identity of the anonymous author of this drug-addled teenage memoir, it was revealed that it was actually penned by a Mormon youth minister. One of the censor-mongers' own! Ba-Dum-Ching!

Okay, so that didn't really kick the censorship habit. If anything, it just added fuel to the fire. As an anonymous diary, the book was provocative in its depictions of sexuality and extensive drug use. As a book written by a Mormon youth minister, it lost a little of that street credibility. Just a tad. Author Beatrice Sparks allegedly based the novel on the diary of one of her real psychiatry patients, but still. Regardless of the fact that the book is a cautionary tale against drug use, some parents obviously their kids will be drawn to try drugs after reading descriptions of the main character trying to bite her fingers off on a bad trip. Right.




Goosebumps


Not all banned books were contested on sexuality. Some were just plain unsavory. At least that's what parents claimed of the wildly popular Goosebumps series. The books had kids delighting in reading, but apparently at the cost of exposure to some cartoon-grade violence. The horror!




Alice Series



A book about teenagers with sex on the brain? Why, I've never heard of such a thing! On her own blog just a few weeks ago, Reynolds Naylor addressed the issue of parents protesting the content of her book:

It’s usually parents who want their children kept “pure,” as many parents tell me, “from harmful influences.” The mother of a ten year old girl was very angry with me for talking about how babies are conceived in Lovingly Alice. She wrote that since her daughter read that book, “the words penis and vagina will be forever ingrained on her mind.” Another mother tearfully accosted me because she found the word “condoms” in a novel for teenagers, and said, “My eighth grade son doesn’t know what condoms are and I don’t want him to know.” Whenever I hear comments like these, my heart really goes out to their children.

Well put, Phyll. Parents are entitled to raise their children however they see fit, and they certainly don't need to check this one out of the library for their kids if it's in contention with their moral values. It's general right to exist, however, is a whole different story. (That story is called Achingly Alice, available at bookstores near you!)



The Boy Who Lost His Face


The Boy Who Lost His Face was written by Louis Sachar, the author behind the Wayside School books. The protests against insinuations of witchcraft I may support, but I can understand them. My favorite challenge, however, was the inclusion of "obscene gestures". Yes, you read that right. The reader doesn't actually see any obscene gestures, he or she just reads a description of them.




Harry Potter


This one is probably sort of a given. Sorcery, witchcraft, magic: all that good stuff is more than enough ammunition to set off religious protest groups. Despite the fact that the novels fell into the fantasy genre, many censors fear that that faithful children will abandon their Biblical aspirations in favor of a career in the dark arts.

Many parents also feared the books were a bit too dark and scary for young children, which is a reasonably legitimate concern. I'd advise for those parents to not let their six year olds read it. On the other side of the banning spectrum, some critics contended Harry and his pals set a bad example for their kids. He gets into all sorts of mischief and doesn't always obey his elders. You know, he has fun and he's a kid. Quick, hide the book!



Scary Stories


They're too scary. We get it. Let's move on.



The Face on the Milk Carton


The "sexual content" charge, though minimal, I can kind of understand, but the "challenging of authority" allegation? I mean, the book is about a girl who's been kidnapped by her own grandparents. Whose authority exactly is in question? Is it just the general notion that adults can make mistakes, commit crimes, or otherwise act unwisely? It's a bit of a stretch, to say the least.



Everyone has the right to their own opinion, and my disparaging remarks about the tightly wound moral crusaders is just another blissful exercise in free speech. Let me freely say that most of these challenges are the most ridiculous, asinine ideas ever to spew from the mouths of overzealous overprotective over-meddling parents. You, of course, have the freedom to disagree with me. That's the beauty of it. Embrace it. Freely.

Let the Glamour Shots Challenge Begin!

We have our very first taker in the Glamour Shots Challenge! I can only hope there are more entries on the way. Get out those scanners and send your most wildly embarrassing 90s Glamour Shots to childrenofthe90s@gmail.com!

Our first brave soul is Shannon, one of my favorite bloggers out there. For those of you who don't know her, she's the esteemed proprietor of a wonderfully snarky Sweet Valley High blog. She always has me laughing, and in her willingness to laugh not only at Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield and friends but also at herself she volunteered the following photos:


Who would have thought it would be so visually pleasing to pair the hair of a young DJ Tanner with the attire of Fred Flintstone? I'm telling you, these stylists are pure genius. Also, that's an A plus head tilt if I do say so myself.




Oh, oh, oh, there is totally a fringe on that jacket, too! Nice touch, GS. They gave Shannon the cowgirl biker look with pageant hair and earrings from the evening gown competition to match. An original pairing indeed.




The jacket nabber! You all knew it was coming, but who knew it would come with the added bonus of studded denim vest/cuff combo jacket with lace sleeves? That button glare could put an eye out, too. Well played, Glamour Shots.




The Over the Shoulder Smolder! Luckily her photo stylists had the good sense to let her smile in lieu of staring come-hitherly into the camera. After all, she was only fourteen. This shot gives us the full effect of the hair and the jacket, and let me just say it's a 90s Glamour Shot dream.


Obviously a huge round of virtual applause to Shannon, the first taker in what better be a long string of entries. I'm looking at you, readers. If you've got 'em, send 'em!