I found these in a 1989/90 issue of Pequod. The cropped set in color follows the same set uncropped in black and white. You can also view them on Flickr.
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Nickelodeon. The channel’s migration up our 80’s and 90’s dial is fixed in my memory: 27, 29 (later the Family Channel), 32, 34 (later Telemundo), 36 (or, as my sister called it, “three-six” as in, “oh brother, how about three-six!”), 42. I can’t even tell you what it is now because there are like seven of them, but they’re in the 260s and 270s, nimbly doing their thing around offerings from PBS and Disney. (Remember when you had to pay for the Disney Channel?)
The first time I saw Nick was at my grandparents’ house, a Special Delivery cartoon about the American Revolution (awesome). A few weeks later, at my other grandparents’ house, I discovered Nick at Nite. It must have been 1985 (the year Nick at Nite debuted), because I could read the word Nite but couldn’t figure out the context. In any case, it was way better than The Blanket Show.
A few days ago, I saw a commercial for the newest iteration of the Power Rangers franchise. The Zords are coming to Nick:
Yes, my first thought was: “Really, Power Rangers? 15 years later and you have the same exact production values? Even I don’t rock flannel on flannel these days.” 
Speaking of 1993, I was 13 when Power Rangers debuted in the US. I think I was 15 when I decided to start being ironic. And it was on right before Animaniacs (smartest cartoon masquerading as kid’s show of all time? check), so, you know, I caught a few eps. Plus I had a little sister (which was also my excuse for watching Eureka’s Castle, though I’ll never disavow my love for David the Gnome). It didn’t take long to realize the four main reasons the Power Rangers became so massive:
Production values? Uncheck. That old footage Saban had lying around happened to combine the three coolest things ever, and that’s all it needed. Speaking of which, later today or tomorrow I want to talk about two awesome blogs that I could spend hours and hours and hours on. Sports uniform history minutiae AND visions of a future that never was? Yes. Yes I will share that goodness with you.
A preview:
Billy Beane!
[Update: Read Part 2 here.]
February, 2011: Some updated liner notes. I mention below that I couldn’t wait for my 30s. Let me tell you, but the time December of 2009 came I was really, really ready. Ready to be done with my 20s, to be done with the 2000s and all the identity drama. Years and years ago when our grandparents were the Justice League, using your twenties for education and cynicism wasn’t something people did. They got jobs, had families, beat Nazis. They made things.
Somehow between their youth and ours, we got the idea that youth is better by default than maturity. And let’s face it, turning 20 in 2000 wasn’t perfect timing, with the dotcom bubble bursting, a war on terror looming, a subsequent recession that wiped away most of what the 80s and 90s taught us to believe we’d earned by getting into college. When the workforce could not absorb us, we went to grad school, law school, div school. Maybe joined the service. Certainly, many of us planned to pursue these things anyway, but the fact that being a professional student until one’s mid-20s or later is still so feasible for so many people is something recent nonetheless.
I don’t get sad about the 90s anymore. I’m in touch with long-lost friends (thank you, 10 year reunion and Facebook) and I’m over that whole quarter-life crisis garbage that I thought my first book had to be about. Certainly, there are other, better, adult crises now to conquer. So bring those on. And let them fear my beard.
I do still, however, dig on string theory and multiple universe hypotheses.
The original post:
The other day I tweeted (we’re really going with that?) a question about why so many people were recently finding my blog by searching “sad songs of the 90’s.” Some of the responses made me realize I need to be more explicit. I get why people come to this blog via that search, and I get why people search that phrase, (I heart the 90’s), but why the sudden swell in that particular search? My favorite from the past view days has been a variation of this: “how to not be sad about the 90’s.”
I’m sad about the 90’s all the time. And happy. All that good music. All those good times. All that bad music. All those bad times. I don’t know if it’s possible to not be sad, in general, about something you miss, especially a formative era that gets boxed up in your minds as having been a certain thing way, a long-gone context from some once-tangible point in the past. If you’re not sad about how awesome the 90’s were, you’re too young or too old to get why “sad songs of the 90’s” is even a search phrase to begin with.
Is plaintive, smart, adult contemporary music our blues? What’s your favorite sad 90’s song? I’d say more about why we’re all so wrapped up in these things but I’ve done that post somewhere.
Man, now I’m all sad, too. I feel better when I realize that time is fluid and so are we and that the best of anything is always a moving goal. I’m expecting my 30s to kick ass, so maybe the 2010’s will be awesome. There are some things I’m resigned to miss, ala Bob Seeger, and that’s okay even if it’s frustrating. We’re not used to elusiveness. I can watch any sad bastard song I want right now on YouTube. I can’t crash in the basement of the house I grew up in and find it on MTV. Maybe we don’t get contexts back. But they’re as fluid as anything. They’re as decision-dependent, moment to moment, as everything else. Believe in string theory and infinite universes and know that somewhere you’re living through all of those things again, going one way or the other, and somewhere in the fullness of time you become you. That all of this is your context, that all of it is formative, that you never stop moving or being or becoming. Rejoice and be glad.
Chris Cocca 