Reasons why I've decided I was cooler as a 9 year old.

Being at work allows me a lot of time to do, well, absolutely nothing. Most of my time goes into reading wikipedia articles. A lot of them. Because of this job so far, I am way more knowledgable on the topics of Conan O'brien, The White Stripes, The Soledad Brothers, Space Ghost Coast To Coast, Adult Swim, H. John Benjamin, Squigglevision, the first season line-up of UPN, Brendan Small, Michel Gondry, and a number of other unrelated, worthless subjects. But surfing through a lot of these pages has caused some hardcore nostalgia. And, I'll admit it, a little bitterness. The result of all this learning has lead me to realize this simple fact:

I was way cooler as an 8-10 year old than I could ever hope to be again in this lifetime. It's true. It's the simple truth. I was way cool. I was part of trends that didn't become trends until I started driving a car. I was part of a culture that was maybe 20 years older than me. Which is weird to think of. I'm not half as cool as I was back then. Not even. If I met myself, I think the 8 year old would blow me off and go back to playing with Alien toys and watching awful sci-fi movies. The reason for this coolness was almost certainly my innocent curiosity. If it was new and intersting, I wanted to be a part of it. This is the reason I started collecting old bottles. And sea glass. And out of date action figures. This is the reason I spent hours drawing up lists of the things I knew about, connecting television show writers to comedians to producers. I once linked the entirety of the Loren Bouchard/Brendan Small/H. John Benjamin collaborative work together. I'd seen every episode of Just Shoot me by the time I was 10. I was unstoppable. That's not all, in reflection, I've come up a lot of other reasons why I was way way way cooler as a young kid. Let's review:

I’d frequently stay up far too late watching new episodes of Home Movies, Dr. Katz, Dilbert, and Space Ghost Coast to Coast.

At the age of 8, I was enamored with Bob and Margaret, that Canadian-based show about the orthodontist and podiatrist. I’d stay up until 1 AM trying to catch it on the Sunday night slot, Oh Canada received.

I’d viewed almost every aired season of Brady Bunch, The Facts of Life, and I Love Lucy.

I was privy to the amazing guerilla marketing and creative take-back that was “What a Cartoon!” show. I gobbled up this new style of cartooning and ad marketing. It was new, incredible, and I think is the main cause for every single bit of neurosis, paranoia, and compulsive awkwardness. Think of it this way. Space Ghost was awkward. So I had to be.

I watched Baby Blues debut on the UPN. And cheered when it came to Adult Swim. And cried when it left.

I downloaded Barenaked Ladies songs for mixes that included Flogging Molly, Boyhitscar, Polaris, and, of course, the Transplants.

I was obsessed with Yu-Gi-Oh, Final Fantasy, and anime classics like Cowboy Bebop, FLCL, Outlaw Star, TriGun, and Akira. I was unashamed in everyway. I knew I was cool. I wasn’t just cool. I was badass.

Even I knew the PJ’s was a bad idea for a tv show.

I beat the hell out of a kid who called me gay one day. With my broken arm. I had broken my wrist by jumping off of a bmx ramp on a mountain bike. I flipped the bike and broke the wrist in two places. I then neglected the injury for two weeks, finally acknowledging its presence when I re-broke it in my sleep watching the UPN show “Bad Girls.” I got the cast on and decided it would be a good idea to use it as a weapon. It was. I was feared.

No shoes was a standard.

I watched Adult Swim evolve from its original air date. I was appalled when they deserted the original swimming pool bumps.

I constantly referred to Salute Your Shorts, Stick Stickly, and Hey Dude in middle school when it was apparent that everybody else was too cool to remember their childhood.

I was too cool to remember my childhood when it was cool to remember your childhood.

It's depressing to know you reached your peak so long ago. Maybe I'll go try and build a blanket fort. But even if I do, I know it won't be nearly as impressive as the one I constructed in the 7th grade (a whole basement. Like. the entire basement. With a sky light. An atrium. Auxillary entrances). It's impossible. I'm giving up. All that's left to do is write letters to the past, hoping one of them succeeds in breaking through time and space and ends up in the hands of former self. Here's the message,

"Never lose it."