We live in some bankrupt times, folks. Every day we wake up, cut our mouths on a bowl of Captain Crunch and prepare for yet another day of wandering aimlessly through life. All the while there are wars going on. There are wars in the Middle East, there is a war on Christmas, there is a war on drugs, poverty, etc. Life, much like love, is a battlefield. But this latest war in society cuts into me like an adamantium claw - it is the war on my youth. How many more quality ’80s and ’90s children programs have to be brought back, ruined and sold to a younger, less sophisticated audience? As Owen Hart once said, enough is enough and it’s time for a change.
I was furious about the Garfield movies, but I laughed them off. The Scooby Doo movie didn’t bother me. I was even semi-interested in the Transformers movie that I don’t care about seeing. Then the TMNT movie came out. Much to my surprise, that stood for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I guess the text-messaging generation didn’t have enough time for the actual title. This movie looked like a computer-animated abomination. I’m not saying that making the movie computer-animated instead of using the actual, real-life Turtles themselves like the original three movies was an abomination. The abomination comes from the blatant commodification of culture. Yes! The commodification of culture, I say!
Commodification of culture may look like a 10-dollar term that I learned in a graduate Theory course, and that’s because it is. This theory basically says that The Man steals the purity of a local culture and sells it back in a bastardized version. For example, The Man took the proud, urban art form of rap and made Ja Rule. Well, now The Man is taking bits and pieces of my cherished, childhood memories, putting them in a pile, taking massive dump on the entire thing and feeding it back to the masses. Recent examples of these turd filets that made me reach my breaking point are the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie and Underdog the movie. In the latter example, they’ve taken a concept that was humble and loveable and turned it into a mess more hideous than Jaba Chamberlain’s flea ridden, fifth chin.
Am I comparing the raping and commercializing of urban culture for suburban America to the repackaging of a previously commercially-packaged culture for a younger audience? You bet your collection of Yin Yang Pog slammers I am.
Look, I didn’t have the chance to grow up in authenticity. I owned 20 WWF action figures, Sega Channel and a Cavs Starter jacket. My week was only complete with an episode of X-Men on Saturday morning and several hours of SNICK at night. When I matured from Squeeze-Its, Mondos and Hugs, it was time for Orange Soda, Surge and Dr. Pepper. I was a proud member of the Burger King Kid’s Club. My childhood was fully commercialized. I accept that, and I embrace it. All of it was sold to me in a neat packaging in hopes that I would line the pockets of corporate big shots. I did, and I still do.
Regardless of its shallowness and commercialization, it was and is me. I like reminiscing about Salute Your Shorts, Pete and Pete (which I own on DVD by the way) and all of the “good” Nickelodeon shows. I like watching bad reality shows. I own shirts that made me laugh at Hot Topic. But seriously, what else is there? How can one become socialized in an authentic way? I declare that it’s impossible in a modern, capitlalistic society. And since that’s the case I am only asking that The Man and his fellow Powers That Be package something, sell it to me, and then leave it alone. Don’t REpackage it in a crappier form and REsell it back in a lamer way. Stop commodifying your own culture!
This is why I’m upset. This inauthentic inauthenticity is the new form of inauthenticity. MoneyMike can become this generation’s Captain Planet and champion the environment; AHB can become this generation’s Recurring-Villain-That-Had-A-Beard-On-Are-You-Afraid-Of-The-Dark and scare little kids with his face - but those aren’t for me. Since I can’t think of a mildly amusing, mid-90s comparison for “preserving mid-90s amusement from the commodification of culture” I will become this generation’s Darkwing Duck, simply because he had a badass theme song. (But no theme song will ever beat James Bond Jr.’s. None.)
The pinnacle event that may be the official donkeypunch in the coffin of my romanticized, inauthentic youth will occur when Hulk Hogan hosts the reincarnation of American Gladiators. It will be a once awesome concept that The Man regurgitates to the public in a turdtastic form, only with the added depression of seeing my hero, The Hulkster, completely kill anything that’s left of the most unstoppable force in the world, Hulkamania. It’s an utter debacle ontop of a tragedy. I may have to symbolically remove my Hulkamania Livestrong bracelet, put it in a sleeper hold, lift its arm three times, and declare it dead.
Shame on you, Powers That Be. It’s one thing to steal and conquer underground cultures for their authenticity - no one really knows that you did it - but it’s wholly another to do the same thing with mainstream stuff because everyone is well aware. What arrogance!
Well, I’m fighting this the only way I know how - staying truly inauthentic. Right now, I’m going to watch the ORIGINAL Garfield cartoon on DVD on my brother’s Playstation 3 and eat some Taco Bell while simultaneuosly watching a replay of the Shot at Love finale on a second TV. And there’s no telling what civil disobedience I come with after my post-Taco Bell nap! Fight the Power, everyone. Fight the Power!
We should hold a remembrance day at our apartment where everyone will wear black and light candles and eat small sandwiches and relish trays and watch a Garfield/Pete and Pete marathon and talk about important issues such as the damage done to third-wave feminism when Hannah Montana replaced Clarissa.
And continue to search for the answer to enternal question: why was patty mayonnaise’s dad in a wheelchair?