Friday, May 17, 2013

Saturday morning fever.

So...if Sunday meant Church and all-day-dinner, Saturday meant:


In the late ’70’s we did not have the luxury of entire networks and channels devoted to cartoons. We did not have small discs showing up in the mail with animated goodness for us to watch. Nope. Our asses had to wait in footie pajamas for Saturday morning to roll around so we could get in a few hours of cartoon satisfaction.

My brother Mike is four-years-younger than me. On Saturday morning we would wake up at the crack of dawn like it was a school day, throw on our bathrobes and tip toe down the plush avocado staircase for our favorite time of the week.

Footies! Robes!

We knew we had to keep quiet and keep the volume looow as not to wake a sleeping mom and dad. Dad would be up in a few hours to make us a weekend feast of cheesy-eggs, pancakes and toast with butter and jelly. Mom would sleep in, sometimes until like ten or eleven as this was her only day of rest. Remember we have church and a full day of eating to get to tomorrow.

Mike and I had our morning cartoon ritual that ran like clockwork every Saturday starting around 6-something-a.m.

Turn TV on.
Go into kitchen and use a stool on top of a chair to climb up onto the counter to reach where the cereal was.
Use same extremely unsafe method to grab two ceramic coffee mugs from another cupboard.
(Mike spotted me. He was like only four-years-old but he was all I had.)
Pour Apple Jacks into said mugs, jump down off counter, kind of hurt ankle but shake it off.

This is a picture I took of our television. No shit.
It's an RCA, you got up and turned that dial to change the channels.

Once we were settled in, mugs of sugar in hand the cartoons could begin.
Here are a few of my favorite shows Mike and I watched together:

Super Friends.
By far my most memorable, most important cartoon. Other girls who didn't have brothers didn't have the pleasure of being big Super Friends fans, but I think I would have watched it even without Mike. They were saving the world from the Legion of Doom and Aquaman was teaching me magic tricks and sometimes a craft project. Wonder Woman was of course my favorite, I had the set of Underoos that paid homage to her, they were way better than my Betty and Veronica ones. The little actor in me loved the drama of the Super Friends, the over-the-top narration, the mad scientists and space alien villains, and the fantastic bright capes and costumes. As a little girl I didn't even need that Wonder Dog or a space monkey named Gleek. The theme song still makes me misty whenever I hear it. And if I hear Ted Knight doing the voice over I'm a goner. That's not weird, is it?

Tom and Jerry.
I LOVED and still love Tom and Jerry. Very little talking, some cool jazz music, clever/weird one liners (DOOON'T YOOOU BELIEVE IIIIT) and humans shown only from the waist down. Tom and Jerry was like watching a silent film. A silent film where a cat and mouse are constantly trying to dismember, disembowel and be-head each other. Ahhh, so funny. I gotta admit, I always rooted for poor Tom, even though I knew he'd never outsmart that cute little mouse. He'd end up with the crap beat out of him, face flattened by an iron, beat up by Killer the bulldog or kicked out on the back porch for the night while Jerry sat inside by a warm fire doing that little laugh that sounded like a violin.

School House Rock!
Holy crap, don't get me started on School House Rock! - it's kind of hard for me not to devote like 900 blog posts to School House Rock! I learned all about adjectives from a girl and a turtle who went on a pretty weeeird camping trip. A fat little train conductor with no eyeballs taught me about conjunctions and their functions. And that superhero movie Verb! looked pretty happenin'. Thanks to School House Rock! I can also recite The Preamble to our US Constitution, I know what the hell an adverb is and of course I know that a little bill can someday become a law.

Knowledge is power!

Between my Saturday morning cartoons these three-minute-long gems snuck their way into my brain and stuck through adulthood. I can still recite the Preamble, but I have to sing it to you, if that's ok.

Years later Mom nixed the whole mugs of cereal unsupervised in the living room thing.
Mike and I were forced to sit on a plastic tarp, with tray tables while wearing
old backwards work shirts of our Dads if we wanted to eat anything in there.

I wish there was a picture of me in my shirt. It was the worst shade of red,
like canned tomato soup when you make it with milk instead of water.

Back in the here and now, we just finished dinner and the boys are in the living room watching
SpongeBob SquarePants. They have that instant cartoon gratification Mike and I never had.

But doesn't it make it more fun if you have to wait for it? The anticipation?
Like if everyday was Christmas that would kind of suck. Right?

They are in there eating their toast or "night bread" as they call it, which is basically bread, eaten at nighttime.

No yellow tarp or backward shirts. Yet.

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