Yep. I’m pretty sure that this is the telephone my family had when I was a little kid. It had an actual, physical bell on the inside that literally rang when people called. (And you obviously had no idea who it was; you had to answer it to find out.) It was loud too.
The phone was a rotary — it made that weird sound in the earpiece when you turned it. The fancier touch-tone phones would arrive in abundance as the 1980’s arrived and gained a little steam. They eventually came to include “cordless” house phones — everyone thought those were especially impressive, even if there was some paranoia connected with them. “People can listen in in your conversations!,” the Luddites among us would warn.
The phone below was the “downstairs phone,” if I remember correctly. There was only one other phone in the house; it was in my parents’ room upstairs. (It was the same landline.) If one of my older siblings received a call and wanted some privacy, they’d have to ask for permission to to talk up there.
I actually remember learning my first telephone number on this phone — my parents had me practice it a couple of times by dialing it. If you dialed your own number on a rotary phone, you got a busy signal — as a little kid, I thought that was pretty funny. (I’m guessing I would have been in kindergarten or the first grade — this was about 1978, about the same time I was thrilled by “The Hardy Boys” and “Nancy Drew” on television.) I can still remember my family’s first telephone number.
Hey, if you think all this is archaic, you should have heard the stories my parents and aunts told me when I was a kid. They were old enough to remember the “party lines” of a few decades prior, where an entire street would share a single phone line. Weird, weird stuff.
Did anyone else have this growing up in the 1980’s? I got it for Christmas one year and I flippin’ loved it.
I swear to you that I want to play with it right now. It would be a terrific stress buster. The same goes for those moving sands sculptures and the Rubik’s Pyraminx. The 80’s were filled with cool thingamajigs that were not computerized.
“Fun Dip” was 1980’s excess tailored specifically for kids; the only way you could get a bigger sugar high was to inject it right into your veins. Yes, what you see below are indeed pouches of flavored sugar that you shoveled messily into your mouth. And, yes, that crude utensil was itself also made of candy — so you could chomp down on that when the the sweet powder was gone.
Hell, the stuff even looked like cocaine.
Okay, the Apple Jacks commercial below is a pretty regrettable example of 1980’s cornball marketing buffoonery. I’ll tell you what, though — I have fond memories of that wicked-cool glow-in-the-dark Wacky Wallwalker that came as the cereal box prize. (I am linking her to the DJ Nurse Annabella Youtube channel, by the way.)
Had I gotten mine as a prize with Apple Jacks? I guess. I know my mom had returned from the store with these for me once or twice. (They were the non-glowing variety, but they were still fun as hell.) She only partly regretted her decision when it became apparent that they left vague streak marks on white walls. When these cheap toys started losing their key adhesiveness, all you had to do was wash them with soap to make them sticky again. That might have had something to do with it.
That definitive treasure trove of information, Wikipedia, informs me that Wacky Wallwalkers are made from “elastomer.” And they raked in about 80 million dollars for the Japanese-American inventor who bought the rights to the toy around 1983 from their prior owner in Japan.
I swear I want to play with one of these right now.
This is just another strange ad campaign from the 1980’s — Spuds Mackenzie was the mascot for Bud Light. People went nuts for the dog — the campaign spawned a ton of merchandising. (People in the 80’s got worked up over the damnedest things.)
In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess here that I myself owned a Spuds MacKenzie button at the close of the decade. I wore it on my dark gray denim jacket — along with a bunch of other arbitrarily selected buttons that I thought made me look extremely cool. (It was a late-80’s thing.) Hell, I even wore that jacket-and-button ensemble during the first semester at Mary Washington College.
Weird world — Spuds was actually a female dog. She was a rescue dog, and she was named “Honey Tree Evil Eye.” (I feel certain there is an interesting story behind that.) And Mothers Against Drunk Driving lobbied against the ad campaign as it allegedly targeted children.
I just cannot be partial to slasher films. It’s never been my preferred horror sub-genre to start with, and, at this point in my life, these movies have become so predictable and devoid of story that I often find them boring. There are exceptions — some of the the original “A Nightmare on Elm Street” films (1984- 2003) and “Child’s Play” (1988) were grotesquely creative and had terrific supernatural setups that were well executed. But even the attraction of John Carpenter’s original “Halloween” films (1978, 1981) is still mostly lost on me.
With all of that said, I’ll still say that my horror fan friends were right when they told me that 2018’s “Halloween” was a superior sequel. It looks a lot better than the segments I’ve seen of of the campier followups in the 1980’s and 1990’s.
It’s far better filmed and directed, it’s occasionally scary and it benefits from a very good cast. (Jamie Lee Curtis is of course quite good as the film’s heroine and perennial “final girl.” I’m also always happy to see Will Patton on screen, and I like Judy Greer a lot.) The script occasionally shines unexpectedly, too — the screenwriters have a truly impressive talent for making minor characters vivid with funny throwaway dialogue. (One of the three screenwriters is actor-writer-comedian Danny McBride, who I liked quite a bit in 2017’s “Alien: Covenant.”)
I’d be lying, however, if I told you that I wasn’t occasionally bored by this latest “Halloween” — simply because its basic, boilerplate plot and conclusion seem endlessly redundant with those of other slasher films. There are few surprises toward the end — one “gotcha” moment was especially nice — but the overall story is just too tired. I’d rate this film a 7 out of 10 for its merits, but I can’t actually get excited enough about it to recommend it.
I was actually very surprised when I discovered this week that Carvel Ice Cream wasn’t a small, local chain that inhabited only my native Long Island. I hadn’t heard word one about Carvel since I was a kid; I always assumed that the strange, ubiquitous TV and radio ads for “Cookie Puss” and “Fudgie the Whale” were strictly a New York thing. But there were 865 stores throughout the United States in 1985; my friend in Texas even recognized the name.
I think my confusion is easy to understand, considering the weird ads that I mentioned above. The first thing that most people remember about Carvel usually isn’t the chain’s crude looking novelty ice cream cakes. The first thing they remember is founder Tom Carvel’s voice, which you can hear in the videos below. It … did not please the ear. Polite people almost always describe it as “gravelly;” the less charitable remember it with descriptors such as “phlegm-filled.”
The latter folks are not wrong. Seriously. I cringed when I heard it as a kid, no matter how much I loved the store’s wares. (And I did love it; it was an absolute treat when my parents took me there.) It sounded like a man dying of a chest cold was trying to sell me ice cream. I even remember my parents talking about it.
Carvel was a independent personality who insisted on recording the ads himself since 1955, and he recorded them unrehearsed — even going so far as to set up a production studio at his company’s headquarters, according to Wikipedia. Carvel Ice Cream was a true small-business success story, and many credit the brand’s popularity with Carvel’s extemporized, conversational voiceovers — even if they were awkward.
And that kind of makes sense. The commercials were memorable. Maybe the owner’s voice evoked images of Stephen King’s superflu in “The Stand,” but that didn’t dissuade you from visiting a store for its trademark soft-serve ice cream. (You figured he wasn’t actually working the counter, where he could cough into your dessert.)
I took this video a few hours ago, just before that brief thunderstorm over Roanoke. This looks like one of those AWACS (Airborne Warning and Control System) planes that the military uses, doesn’t it? (See the dish-shaped radar device atop it.) It was circling the area.
I remember seeing these in the 1980’s as a kid on Long Island (along with plenty of F-14 “Tomcats” buzzing our neighborhood), because Grumman Aerospace had a major plant out in Calverton. They actually designed and tested new fighter jets there — which the kids thought was pretty neat.) The AWACS aircraft were the planes that could detect incoming planes or missiles from Russia. (Nowadays, Senate Republicans would block funding for that sort of thing.)
I suppose this could be a civilian plane … I can only imagine that the radar technology has other applications. I honestly don’t know.
Here’s another ad that was a permanent fixture of comic books in the 1980’s. I myself was never interested in joining the advertised “Olympic Sales Club;” nor did I want to “GO, GO, GO WITH CAPTAIN “O”!” [sic].
I found this ad pretty patronizing, with its generic champion hugging his demographically diverse charges in the upper left-hand corner. What kind of superhero was “Captain O” supposed to be, anyway? Was he the protector of the company? The guardian of the kids who went door to door selling its wares? The hero of … salespeople generally? To me, this was really just an example of adults pandering to kids as though they were idiots.
But ads like this fueled a lot of conversation among grade-school boys. It really made it seem like you could earn some cool prizes for selling only a moderate amount of greeting cards or stationary. (The radio-controlled cars and planes were what all the boys eyed most eagerly.)
And 80’s kids often prided ourselves on our sales skills. Most of us had sold things door-to-door for school-related fundraisers — it was just a very common practice at the time, even if it seems needlessly dangerous to me as an adult. When I was in second and third grade at Catholic school, we annually sold candy bars door-to-door. If memory serves, we weren’t even required to do that for any particular fundraising purpose, like a school trip or a sports team. I think it we were just turning a profit for the school, in addition to what our parents were paying them in tuition.
I also remember seeing ads in my older comics that recruited kids to sell “Grit,” which was some sort of periodical that was oddly billed as a “family newspaper.” But I think that was primarily a 1970’s thing, and was just before my time.
Does anyone else remember these from the 1980’s? They went by a number of different names and brands — “Snaps,” “Snappers,” “Pop-Its” and “Bang-Snaps,” to name a few. They were basically little tissue-paper tadpoles full of the same stuff that was in caps for your cap-gun. (It was actually a trace amount of the impressive-sounding “silver fulminate high explosive.” I remember reading that off the box as a kid and being very, very happy with it.)
They were perfectly harmless, though. The Wikipedia entry for “Bang-snaps” has a rather admirable breakdown of their innocuous physics.
I and the other kids on my street loved them. We considered them fireworks, albeit very tiny ones. But they were legal in New York. (Genuine fireworks were not.) You could buy them at the drug store. It was like some glorious oversight in the world of adults that unwittingly allowed us fun that we shouldn’t be having.
Come to think of it … I’m willing to bet that a lot of kids these days don’t even know what a cap-gun is. Those were on their way out by the 80’s — I only remember having them as a tot at the tail end of the 1970’s.