Now Playing: traffic and motion
Current Mood : Slightly unsettled (memory flood)
Read a too-brief article in The Sun, a British tabloid that never backs down from its sacred mission - bustin' butt to cover the full spectrum of hard-hitting, but ultimately meaningless, investigative journalism. Its crack reporters revealed that the toy most adults want to play with again is the Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle.
I remember it. Most boys I knew had one - a figure that attached to a motorcycle was loaded onto a friction ramp base. Some generated launch via a crank, others a t-strip ripper. Knuckles were scraped and skinned either way. Once revved up, the cycle roared off, to smash into the trash, a neighbor's cat, their best friend's Evel, or down a deep crevasse conveniently located in most towns. Beloved Hubby had the t-strip version. And he speaks of it in fond tones, so it was amazingly easy to get him to tell me his memories and stories of the one he had as a boy. Turns out, Evel had several different suit colors, and the crank launcher was also sold in many color variations. And there was a near-Barbie-wide line of accessories for everyone's favorite late 70s daredevil. Huh. Here's the article - > http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article899521.ece
Barbie's not on this list. I wasn't surprised. Most anyone who wants to still play with Barbie can do so, anytime. Vintage abounds on websites worldwide, new dolls and accessories are available nearly everywhere, and a few dozen doll message boards reinforce that playing isn't bad, no matter your age. But, as it turns out, there is a new release EK Stunt Cycle, it retails for about $35., made from original Ideal molds. Several other things on the list - Baby Alive, Cabbage Patch Kids, and BMX bikes - are still available, too. Sure, they're not quite the same as what sold ‘way back when' (wasn't most of this stuff from the 80s ?), but there's places to obtain old toys in this brave new electronic world. I have to wonder who these journalists talked to - besides the other folks in the newsroom.
The article left me slightly confused, which is not an unusual occurance between Sun stories and readers. But ultimately happy that play is encouraged, as is reminiscing. The Fark.com discussion included a link to scanned Christmas catalogs of years past. Not sure if you're familiar, but if you wanna buy some holiday ‘wish list' memories, old Sears and JC Penney catalogs tend to run $20. to $50. on eBay. The late 50s ones are selling well, but more recently, if the year might show Star Wars toys, it's higher than the year prior. Catalogs from the 30s don't bring much interest, but don't we all wanna see the toys we yearned for back when Santa was gonna reward our best intentions !
I spent quite some time on the site. http://www.flickr.com/photos/wishbook/collections/72157600003636126/ . Looked at a lot of Malibu Barbies, some Fisher Price Creative Coasters, and some *really* vintage Raggedy Anns. Today's Timey Tell image, of course, was lifted from there. And I'll say it now : Timey had *pink* shoes, made of the same color plastic - if not the same exact plastic - as her props. Not those red things there. Hmpft. It was amazing to see the variety of items that existed back when there were more than just two toy companies. I leafed through one early 80s book idly, long past the dolls and skates and art sets...and saw the typewriters.
That's when I just had to sit back and let the memory tide crest. Back in my personal day, I was convinced I'd be a writer. I'd have a beach house, where I'd be inspired every day by the ever-changing yet eternally constant view. Oddly, I hadn't envisioned a husband or family, just this solitary house with me and a largish grey cat. After all, I'd been told often enough that I shouldn't marry or anything. Already I began to believe that love was something that'd happen to everyone else, but for some reason, it wasn't allowed for me. I didn't know what I'd write, either, but it'd be published and lauded and make me enough to live on and feed the cat and the mortgage. Well, I was twelve...
That year, in anticipation and preparation for my future life, I asked for a desk for my birthday. That Christmas, I asked for a typewriter. Because all writers use typewriters, and my handwriting was illegible, according to the Parentals. In my mind, a typewriter was big, grey, metal, and made tick-tick noises, especially if you pressed one key a bit too hard. You'd get a page filled with hundreds of ‘d' repeats in seconds. Never mind that I had no idea what ‘touch' had to do with ‘typing', or that I had no experience with typing other than several ‘d' pages. And the occasional play with the big antique one we had, for some reason. I think it was more for décor than functionality. It, too, required strong fingers.
What I got was a child's plastic play typewriter. When a key was slammed - really, you darn near needed a hammer for it - a piece of fishing line smacked the key onto the paper. If you studied the resulting blurred shape a bit, it might be the letter you just jammed your finger for. Um, what was I gonna do with this ? Because I didn't want the Parentals to think they'd wasted money (goss, the lectures I got on that !) on my whims, I dutifully pecked at it, but between its uselessness and my total lack of typing skills, it soon ended up in a desk drawer, when I thought the lecture period had safely passed. Probably around March.
A few months later, someone gave us a portable turquoise Smith-Corona. I was overjoyed, but my happiness soon faded. Y'see, I had no idea those big office typewriters were electric. And this one was about as hard to use as the kiddie one, and I didn't get to take typing class until my senior year of high school. At least the S-C worked and didn't have faces grinning at me while I pounded at it, so I hunt-pecked on cheap corrasable bond when I finished a story I didn't plan on rewriting anymore.
Abruptly, the memories broke and receded. I was free again, and it was almost time to wait for the bus. But I wasn't completely clear yet. While my life isn't near what I thought it'd be, it's better than I imagined. After three near-drownings in my life, it's probably best that I'm more than a day trip in any direction from an ocean. And knowing who I am and being fine with it is worth far more than an empty house. I never figured out what to write, and probably never will.
If I ever do, you'll be the first to hear about it !
