Wednesday, April 28, 2010

An Average Day in 1985


I grew up in the 80's, so naturally I think of it as a magical time. But the more footage from those days I see, the more I realize...maybe it really was magic. Not Patronus beardy magic but magic nonetheless. One of a different sort. An intangible, unseen power affecting the world around it, invisible to the naked eye but perceivable through the observation of the people, places, and things influenced by it.

For example, take a gander at these fucking guys.

The 80's power is truly awe inspiring. The fact that the video STARTS with a forward moonwalk is enough to make me wonder if I've been taking psychotropic drugs secretly behind my own back. How did he do that? If I ever went to a party and saw that dance move I'd spontaneously lie on the ground and go brain blank. The sheer awesomeness would put me on the mat and touch my brain in a not-so-good way, like a Russian fist smashing Carl Weathers inside his face. It would literally Apollo Creed me.

I'm not exaggerating in any way, shape, or form. It's a moonwalk. Forwards.

How those kids aren't totally stupefied is beyond my comprehension. I'd react no less severely than if I'd seen a living, breathing dinosaur in front of me with a look in its eyes warning me of my impending death via face and body eating, promptly followed by my life going away on a trip to the dead person place. Seriously. That dance move is more than a move. It's the Mortal Kombat finishing move of the dance world. If I managed to not throw up from the shock of seeing it, I'd quickly excuse myself to the upstairs bathroom to cry silently, then slump in the corner, hugging myself nervously like the Mom from Poltergeist holding her baby who just returned from a demon Hell ride she took inside the slime-filled ghost closet upstairs.

I wish I could do the forward moonwalk. I wish I was that kid doing it. It's literally the most amazing thing ever done by a white teenager since Michael Fox turned into a wolf and played the sport of basketball with other teenagers (who, unlike Mr. Fox, were not wolves, nor were their spectating parents and loved ones watching from the bleachers. Yet somehow, these non-wolf, normal humans remained totally calm upon seeing a motherfucking lycanthrope
loose in their gymnasium.)

To put it less simply, I think of the 80's as the cultural equivalent to a cloaked Klingon War bird dressed in corduroy pants with the bottoms cuffed and a multicolored Australian Coogi sweater made out of lasers, cocaine, and Ronald Reagan. Which sounds a lot like the character bio of Max Headroom if you think about it.

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