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Check out Mari Kasurinen's absolutely amazing My Little Pony mods. Warning: may cause violent geek-gasm.

Among my (predictable) favorites:holy pony paradise batman )
zenithblue: (Default)
Poll #xxxx Awesome or Lame
Open to: all, results viewable to: all

Would a My Little Pony tattoo be awesome or lame?

awesomely lame

Would it be awesomer if the My Little Ponies were battling dragons?

Only if the Ponies were also wearing armor.
I'm still going with lame.

Bonus Question: Which Pony?

Cotton Candy
All of the Above





zenithblue: (Default)
I'm not saying I didn't love Muppet Babies as much as the next six-year-old, but was anyone else ever creeped out by Nanny? Specifically the implication that the Muppet Babies were locked up in the nursery and never went out into the rest of the house? What the hell is Nanny doing with ten-plus muppet infants locked in one room of her house? Whose Nanny is she? Where are the muppet parents? Is this some kind of black market muppet baby ring? 
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I turned twenty-seven yesterday, so it made me quite happy to come to work at the library today and find my hold--season one of Punky Brewster--waiting for me.

Many of you know my longstanding eighties nostalgia obsession, which is at heart pure and simple regression therapy. This is the same impulse that led me to purchase several My Little Ponies well into my early twenties and that has led to not one, not two, but three separate Eighties Fantasy Film Fests at various dorms/apartments/houses in the last several years. After being teased and lured by[profile] punkybrister69's icon for a while, I finally decided it was time for a spin back through comfy territory.

Punky Brewster was the first television program I watched religiously. I believe Punky was intended to be my age at around the time the show came on--maybe a little older--and it was one of the only children-oriented live-action shows of the time. My aesthetic sensibility was informed by her clothing choices long, long after it was even remotely appropriate (indeed, I have a theory that the grunge movement was a result of teenagers with Punky in their collective unconciousnesses). Also she was one of the first heroines I encountered who "looked like me" (even though the resemblence stopped at brown hair/eyes and freckles).

I remember far more of this show, without re-watching, than anyone could care to read about. So I will not go into the blissful rantings that I have been promulgating at my cats for the past hour. The cats have to listen to me. You can un-friend me.

Here, though, if you care, is a brief list of the obsessions and values that can be traced back to my early obsessive love of this show:

1. Foster families--tI'm not sure why this caught my sympathy and imagination so much, but I've written tons of fiction that seems to revolve around transitional homes or foster parents.
2. Unlikely connections. In the adult world we read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter or Mary Gaitskill or Flannery O'Conner. But as a six-year-old, the idea of this tiny perky orphan and a curmudgeon loving each other and changing each other was deeply affecting.
3. Mis-matched socks and shoes and clothing is always stylish.
4. Pigtails, also, are cool. Even as an adult.
5. Pain and sadness are appropriate material even for children--especially for children. Seriously, I think the number one thing that grabbed me about this show was the fact that the characters all had genuine heartbreak, and while of course the aesthetic was sanitized and cute, the fact that the program ventured into a very real abandoment fear I suspect I was not alone in, and the fact that all the families and characters were damaged and truly sad, was pretty ballsy of the producers. This is at heart a story about making the best of what you have, finding love not necessarily where you look for it. This is a theme that I obsess on, that every story I write seems to be about, and I half wonder if I can thank my early exposure to something that challenged me to truly understand tragedy.

Also: she has a super-cute animal companion that at one point she calls back from the brink of death with the Power of her Wuv. Totally the best.

So: I will stop horning in on your territory now, [profile] punkybrister69. ;) I do have you to thank for reminding me this is a good idea.
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Once upon a time, there was a wee lass in a small city in Alaska by the name of zenithblue. This was that halcyon decade known as the eighties, when Jim Hinson still strode the earth as a mortal man, when the Goonies hijacked a defunct pirate ship, when aliens ate Reeces Pieces and twelve-year-old Navigators flew through the air with wisecracking Paul-Reubensesque alien technology. Zenithblue, a daydreaming and overly imaginative child, afraid of the ghosts in the closet but strangely drawn to them, was made for this decade, or at least for this decade's fantastic cinema. Movies like The Neverending Story or Return to Oz lived in this era, movies ostensibly made for children, but movies that (unlike any children's movies made after 1995) did not pander to children, that respected children as small beings with aesthetic sensibilities and rich and complex internal lives. Labyrinth created an unshakeable lifelong attraction to cruel men in eyeliner. The Dark Crystal, with its Froudian gelflings and terrifying Skekses, introduced her to an evil profoundly black and bottomless, an evil she had always suspected to be there all along, that explained the vast hollow darknesses of the world better than any Christian hell could. Even Willow, good solid fluff from Lucasfilm, was a satisfyingly violent and scary adventure that allowed for real danger and drama without being overly sanitary.

The eighties fantasy films were often surreal (the oracle in the Neverending Story, for example, or the Escheresque staircase in Labyrinth, or the men with wheel hands in Oz), frequently terrifying (the Nothing, the headless empress, the concept of having your essence removed from your body, etc.), and often heartbreaking (I will never forget Atreyu pleading for like ten minutes as Artax, his beloved horse, dies slowly in quicksand, or the rock man looking at his hands after his friends' death, saying: "They look like such big, strong, hands."). These movies took children through fantastical allegories of courage and devastation and loss. Frequently they were incredibly artistic--German expressionism, for example, was obviously an influence. And they saved my little life, gave me an imaginative world to overlay over a world that was sometimes much more scary and much less battle-able than the movies my mother thought possibly too scary for me.

And now, no one makes movies like this anymore. No one except the Japanese. This is why it is imperitive, if you pine for these films as I do, to go and see The Great Yokai War.


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