Childhood in the 90s - A Stallion With Pedals

Here is the second post pertaining to my Olympian-status childhood in the 90s. I feel like those were the days when forming a bike gang was cool, accepted, and feared by those not included. Fuck no we didn't wear bike helmets. That would have made us the Steve Urkel of bike gangs. My friends and I, including Audecdote, were much more better..

We would meet up in the morning, not on the sidewalk like any dumb old kid, we met up in a bush. You heard me. We had a completely concealed sanctuary shrouded in shrubbery, with enough room to stand. Eat your heart out sheet-fort kids.

Once we had met and written down a detailed account of the current and predicted weather forecast in a Harry Potter journal, it was time to ride.

I'm going to ask you to play this song while you read the next part:

Imagine the silhouettes of three comrades, faintly coming into view against the blazing backdrop that is the morning sun. We rode with conviction, plowing mercilessly over any ant or twig that came in our way.

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We fucked bitches on the reg. Or did we? No, we didn't. We glided over the concrete coming to our final stop. A final stop that only a regular Evel Knievel or Jackie Chan would dare attempt. What was it you ask? A poor excuse for a hill in my Grandmother's back yard.

We lined up our bikes as they whinnied and neighed in protest. Here's where I'm gonna mind fuck you. We pretended our bikes were horses, no, not horses, but GIANT stallions, their muscles rippling and their hooves the size of garbage can lids. The sweat dripped down the sides of our faces from the velvet riding helmets that sat atop our heads, secured by a delicate and choking leather strap. Remember when I said we were way too cool to wear bike helmets? T'was because we had access to fucking velvet riding helmets. Let me reiterate that we were the cool bike gang.

"HIYA, Lightning!" I shouted the name which I had bestowed upon my bike, pointing forward and then quickly retracting my hand to get it back on the bike handle.. I mean, mane. My stallion cautiously descended the hill that was at a near-90 degree angle, and by 90 I mean 35.

"Magnum, ride!" Audecdote shouted on my coattails. The name came from the brand of the bike, however, I now realize that it sounded like she was shouting some sort slogan for a condom campaign.

The third, in elegance as usual, simply acted as if she was giving the horse a firm kick to the sides to get her horse moving.

Down we rode in slow motion, the wind blowing in our faces, forgetting about the world around us and focusing only on the task of making the next jump: the drop-off of the driveway into the neighbor's lawn (a good 2 feet).
 

Most importantly, what happened when we came into contact with another bike gang? I'll tell you this much, the kids with the velvet helmets definitely owned.

It went something like this:

Clearly we were Liv Tyler. 'Nuff said.

Childhood in the 90s - Pokemania

I'm thinking that I would like to write a series of posts about being a child of the 90s. Probably one of the better decades to have grown up in. I mean, I did some of the craziest shit in the 90s. Crazy as in "would I dare attempt to swing from that tree like that nowadays?!" as well as "You're literally fucking crazy, Pokemon do not exist." (they might).

Speaking of Pokemon, I think that is the first thing I will focus on. Even typing the word gets me all excited and giddy, yearning to earn some official pokeleague badges! Rather recently, my family and I moved, thus requiring a thorough cleanup of my room and of course, the inevitable process of deciding what gets to stay and what goes.

So, I sat there and cleaned my room up, finding things like old pamphlets from musicals I had been in, books I had forgotten I had, old drawings shoved into a binder, and something that was a translucent purple. SWEET BEAN POD! I had stumbled across my old Gameboy Color! I was the cool (?) kid who had this one:

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I actually remember my step-brother once saying: "I want the one you have. That queer lookin' one." I simply believed he could not say "clear" and had some unheard-of speech impediment. Not the case.

I picked it up and held it with such care and reverence that it seemed impossible to me how indifferently I had treated it when I was younger; tossing it aside when I was done with it, allowing the screen to get all scratched up, losing the cover that goes over the batteries. What was once simply a toy was now a treasure and an all too tangible link to my carefree days as a child riding his Big Wheel with his Game Boy in his pocket. The nostalgia set in and I realized I kind of had to shat.

What was more glorious was what I found when I turned it over to inspect it:

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MY FRIENDS! That was the first thing I thought. I mean, how goddamn pathetic. But seriously! Every day I had played this game and trained my little monsters! It's like when there were all those articles in the paper that instructed parents how to care for their child if Harry Potter died in the final book.... only vastly different. There was no article about how to cope with the fact that Pokemon was technically on the outs and that young men in their late teens probably shouldn't be caught playing it in public.

Y'know whuh I says? I says FUCK DAT!

I started a new game and played to my heart's content. I'm still playing, in fact. I played this morning. I then found my Gold Version:

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This required some surgery, seeing as how the battery inside of it had died. Yeah, there is a battery inside of the cartridge. So, if your game doesn't hold a save, Google how to replace the battery and you'll be gold (pff... no pun intended). I went so far as to use a butter knife, two miniscule screw drivers, and a chopstick, I'm pretty sure, to pry that cartridge open and replace the battery by gracefully taping it into place with scotch tape. It worked!

My life became so much brighter! I had a REASON to finish my homework. I was training myself to get all of my work done by like, seven o'clock on a weekday (unheard of) so I could play my game. It worked wonderfully, my grades were steady As, I had time to relax, I was super happy. I even got sucked back into the TV show. Another throwback to my carefree days as a rockin' fourth grader.

 The 8 or 9 year old me was back. The one who adamantly supported the theory that Pokemon, in fact, exist. They just don't want us to see them because we're not ready for them just yet. I convinced a few and drove away a lot more.

My obsession grew and I ended up buying two games from the newer generations (not as good.. noooot as good Nintendo/Gamefreak). I even asked for one for Valentine's Day. Things got out of hand.. I refused a VERY nice offer because I was in the midst of an Elite Four battle.. I mean, you just don't mess with that shit. I tried to re-initiate the offer I had been given once I saved the game.. apparently the moment was gone.

My point: If you can find time to relive something that made you SO happy as a kid (in some semblance of moderation), you will be a happier person. I not only find fun in replaying the games but a sense of comfort in the nostalgia of it all.

Find the time to become a child again for a day or two. It puts trivial worries in perspective and gives you a chance to enjoy the day :)

To close, I shall provide you with the most epic song ever composed:

Comment back with your own childhood adventures!