She-Ra + Hulu = Crushing Ennui

I thought that watching episodes of She-Ra on Hulu would be a fun nostalgia trip, but instead it’s sent me into a spiral of shame, self-loathing and brutally honest introspection. I was 4 years old when TV told me She-Ra was important and good, so I watched it constantly. From age four to six I was a tiny angel of justice with my plastic She-Ra mask and sword. I begged for the toys, but my sadistic parents only bought me one She-Ra with a matching one for my sister*. But time makes you bolder and children get older and now and that adorable little blonde girl with the plastic sword is a highly educated twentysomething doing the liberated, cosmopolitan New York City Lady Geek thing.
And I can’t believe I can function at all having grown up watching such irredeemable garbage.

ALF’s real name was Gordon Shumway and he comes from Melmac. Mr. Belvedere’s first name is Lynn. I didn’t have to google those facts. I know them. They’re inside my brain. I can sit on the couch all weekend- neglecting all responsibilities, family and friends- and watch all eighteen hours of The Jacksons: An American Dream for the tenth time**. I love television so intensely that when I die, I seriously plan to draw my family close and whisper intensely: “My only regret is…I didn’t watch more television.” I want to jump inside it like Captain N or the Bowie song TVC15. Yet, I fully realize how destructive and base my love is. All those years, I could have been reading books or doing science projects in the yard, or making friends. Instead I have the attention span of a small child, a vague memory of every episode of Perfect Strangers and an autistic repertoire of theme songs. I know TV is what made me the sick and lazy character I am today. And after revisiting my favorite childhood show as an adult, I also know that She-Ra is a boring girl stuck floating in a soup of irritating ancillary characters that blends genres that don’t belong together with total idiotic abandon. That show did have a really great theme song though.

* This still enrages me to this day. When I became obsessed with Ghostbusters a few years later, they would only buy us an Egon and a Ray. So Egon and Ray talked to each other a lot about their lives and the creeping ennui of middle age because they had neither a vehicle, nor teammates, nor any tiny plastic ghosts to fight. Which could have worked except for the fact that television destroyed my imagination.
** I wish the subtitle was The Jacksons: ‘Fro’s in the Pool

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