#11 Chicken Nugget Day?

•December 8, 2009 • 3 Comments

Not EXACTLY, but you get the idea.

I am a man of refined taste. I drink Miller High Life, I eat my canned cheeses on Ritz crackers, and if I had a cat or kitten, I would most assuredly read Cat Fancy (but just for the articles, honestly!). Because I’m a fancy-ass man with as much class as any John Malkovich character you might see, even the ones with swords, I can tell you that there is nothing richer than acting rich. Just walk up to some serf and pretend you’re wiping your nose with Andrew Jackson’s visage. They will no doubt give you a Dickensian look of despondency indicating the perfect time to say, “Stick that in your tulip glass and see how it noses.” At this point, the previous sad expression will transform into one of bewilderment and you have won the superiority game.

And it feels good to be a winner. Just ask me. I would not hesitate for a moment in telling you that I have been called a coquette by the French and a cretino by the Italians. I don’t know if you’ve ever been called italicized things by foreigners before, but it’s pretty much great. If you want to be lifeboat material like Billy Zane and Dolores Claiborne, you gotta make your life worth saving. Get some culture. Let me put it this way: I can chew my caviar and rub my cravat at the same time. I’m like some Donald Trumpeter of the high-end times.

But the savoir vivre I achieved did not come without tribulation, friends, for I was not born a child of elegance. I had to fight, you see. I had to food fight. Not necessarily fighting with food, though that’s always looked like a lot of fun. This was more of an internal struggle. Like my internals were struggling.

Like my belly was full of public school food.

Now I’m not saying that private schools had it way, way better than public schools, but we’ve all heard stories of Hawaiian Punch in the water fountains and go-karts and kidapults on the playgrounds. Or, at the very least, unrectangular pizza slices. I can only write on my own experiences, however, and they are difficult to swallow to this day. I still have Vietnam flashbacks of fish krispies. Vegetable medley night terrors. Weak knees from the mac-n-cheese. Have you ever cried over beef stew? Neither have I, but I saw a lunch lady do it once. I decided on that day that I was never EVER going to end up a lunch lady. And I made good on my self-promise (so far). I also decided on that day that I was never going to eat old lady tears in my beef stew ever again. Thank you for that, Ms. Rhonda.

But it wasn’t all bad up in the cafeterias. There were a few All-Star players in the lunch game. I’m thinking of some Hall of Famers like Cinnamon Roll, Orange Sherbert, and Beefy Cheese Nachos. Hell, even Ol’ Krinkley Fries had his good days. There was only one, however, that children checked for on their fridge’s lunch calendars in blithesome anticipation. Only one for which the ‘bring your lunch’ kids unselfishly awarded their PB&Js and Dunk-a-Roos to their classmates for a taste of savory poultry flesh bathed in luscious barbecue dressing. I’m referring, of course, to Chicken Nugget Day.

Let’s check out the line-up:

–5 tender nuggets

–mashed potatoes w/ brown gravy

–1 bread roll

–maybe a piece of chocolate cake or some ice cream (chocolate or vanilla) for dessert

–1 milk

–1 heaping helping of love

CND

CND, after the health pushers stole our dessert rights and ruined this country.

The dish too delish to diss. The combination made kids’ heads spin. It was like the ’92 Dream Team of cheap, unfrozen meals (think about it like this: chocolate milk = Patrick Ewing…see?). Chicken Nugget Day (henceforth known as CND) rendered the cafeteria a house of madness. You could compare it to the New York Stock Exchange, but swap out business suits for OshKosh B’Gosh and stocks for salty meat pieces. Kids became nugget pimps, trading tray items in shifty under-the-table dealings. But, trust me, it was no easy task convincing others to barter their fried hen skin (or any of the other complementary menu items) and it may have been even more difficult to curb incoming advances from pushy bully types. Why don’t you eat your own butt if you’re still hungry, T.J.?

What was it about those chomps of chicken that made children rebuff offers of Teddy Grahams or Fruit by the Foot to retain their midday refection? I mean, my God man, that’s three feet of fun! How could one keep all his own nugs and collect the nugs of others without nug consequences? It’s a nugly world out there and you can’t just outnug the system. What a truly bleak nug of war we pulled at all those years.

There was, however, one morsel of pure goodness that penetrated the darkness of our nugget-craving souls:

THE PERFECT BITE (also known as The Ultimate Bite in the Northeastern States and parts of Canada)

How to make The Perfect Bite—1.) Pull off a piece of bread roll, this will be used as the base. 2.) Apply 1 chicken nugget to roll base. 3.) Top bite with scoop of mashed potatoes. 4.) Place whole bite in mouth and chew.

I once knew a kid who didn’t partake in The Perfect Bite and now I’m pretty sure he’s dead or in Vermont or something like this. TPB was a beautiful, hopeful thing that brought truants to class and smiles to their faces. It was the excess before recess. A school time activity where even the dumb kids could feel special. Thanks to ye, CND!

So, as you can read, even some of the fanciest pants out there were once filled by starch packed comestibles. Though I’m glad I’m finished with that old lunch food, part of me still yearns for another cafeteria nugget (dipped in a coupe of grey poupon, of course).  Now I hear that school lunches are much healthier than their counterparts of eld. I can’t imagine that healthier means tastier though, so I suppose this doesn’t constitute an opportunity for me to bitch about the good ole days as I so often do in these situations. Well, bye!

#10 Gak?

•October 19, 2009 • 1 Comment

Some nights, in the pitch black darkness, I close my eyes and see the playdohvainglorious smirk of that awful little Play-Doh boy, devoid of all sympathy, and wearing his blue beret kind of sideways. Maybe that’s how you wear a beret. I’m not sure. But it’s definitely dumb looking. In this desolate vision I hear the blonde terror call out to me, longing to be in my digestive system where it can inflict the havoc of 10,000 pizza bagels.  Then I am roused to consciousness in a cold sweat, screaming like Nathan Lane at his worst, and then gagging ever so dryly. It takes me a few seconds, but I always remember: it’s 2009. I don’t eat Play-Doh that much anymore.

The tummy aches are mostly over, buddy. You’re gonna make it after all.

Play-Doh Pete was a cruel mistress back then. I learned the hard way but I didn’t have to learn it twice. After that, if you think I wanted my messy molding material from a company that can’t even spell the word “playschool” correctly then you are sorely mistaken, friend. I would much rather play with a substance from a company that makes up words willy-nilly because I’m watching Hey Dude and Salute Your Shorts, and a child who knows where his loyalties lie is a child to be reckoned with.

GakSplatsMom, Dad, I want GAK!

Nickelodeon and Mattel released Gak in 1992 off the success of the show Double Dare. Gak instantly became a huge seller as it combined children’s two favorite things: 1.) Slimy, yucky-feeling play mucus and 2.) Fart noises. You could utilize Gak in a number of ways including throwing it, pretending it’s snot, holding it, and squeezing it! And when the pressure of the science fair became too heavy, you could even roll Gak into stress ball that would emit flatulent sounds when you squeezed it. Can you think of a more
hilarious way to relieve anxiety (besides Margaret Cho)?

I’m still unsure as to how kids got Gak because parents had to buy it for them and one thing is certain about the Nick compound…parents DID NOT get Gak. How could they, what with their tax forms and Christopher Cross records? Parents just seemed oblivious to the several minutes of happiness Gak delivered, especially when it leaves grease stains on the wallpaper or ends up mushed in the carpet. I’m sorry, Mom. OKAY? SORRY! OKAY?! I guess I’ll just never have fun again.

Well, the brainigaks over at Nickelodeon/Mattel could have retired on the gakslimesuccess of their creation and moved into that summer home in Weinerville they’ve always dreamt about, but nay said those noble slime slingers. They researched when kids play with Gak the least, discovered it was at nighttime when kids are supposed to be sleeping (yeah right!), and advanced Gaknology to solve the quandary.

Nickelodeon Gak-in-the-Dark, thankyaverymuch.

There was also Nickelodeon Solar Gak (changed color in the sun) and Nickelodeon Smell My Gak. That was the Gak that came in a series of different odors. Aromas included hot dog, baby powder, flowers, vanilla ice cream, pickles, and sunscreen. I had the butter popcorn flavor. I couldn’t believe how close to kind of smelling like popcorn it really was!

gakYou might be saying to yourself, “Sure, Gak is an amazing, purposeful product, but I’m not sold. How could some old mooncalf (and appreciated reader) like myself have taken advantage of Gak’s greatness to the absolute pinnacle of enjoyment? Was there some sort of activity set that would have manifested all my wildest hopes?”

There’s the Gak Inflator–Pump that bastard into a big Gak bubble until POP! If you’re not having fun, then you’re dead!

How’z about the Gak Vac–If you guessed ‘vac’ was short for vacuum, you’re nearly right! Suck that Gak up and then squirt it back out again for some reason!

Of course there’s the Gak Copier–Magically write on Gak to give your friends Gak messages that say Gak things!

And for all you science-minded Gaksters, don’t forget about Magnetic Gak–It’s probably useful. Enjoy, nerds!

Now, if you’re still not convinced that Gak ain’t wack, just check out this laundry list of other Nickeolodeon materials inspired by Gak:

Goooze                                                                                                                                    Floam                                                                                                                                 Skweeez                                                                                                                                  Smud                                                                                                                                    Squand                                                                                                                                    Zzand

I hope you’re happy now.

#9 ESPN Presents: Jock Jams, Volume 1 (Part II)?

•October 5, 2009 • Leave a Comment

PREVIOUSLY ON HEY, DO YOU REMEMBER…

Sports. Charles Barkley. The song from Friends. Jock Jams (please reference below).

The Official Jock Jams, Volume 1 Complete Track Rundown (cont.)

6. Pump It Up, Go ‘Head, Go ‘Head–If memory serves, this is a cheerleader cheer. You know, in case you’re not pumped enough after the first five songs. I appreciate a soundtrack that looks out for the best interest of the listener’s cranked-ness.

7. Come Baby Come by K7 (1993)–I know that some self-respecting women don’t care for rap songs that tell them what to do, and even the title of K7’s Jock Jams entry is imperative, but how are you ladies going to resist a song that rhymes ‘innuendo’ with ‘Nintendo’?

8. It Takes Two by Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock (1988)–Warning: NOT a cover of the Kim Weston/Marvin Gaye song. It may take two to make it outta site, but it only takes one to listen to this masterpiece on repeat in his bedroom until dinner time.

9. Gridiron Groove–Not a real song. Next.

10. Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now) by C+C Music Factory (1990)–Wikipedia credits this jam with the initiation of the early 90s house movement. I’ll see if I can find an address to post up so you all can mail in your thank yous.

11. Hip Hop Hooray by Naughty by Nature (1993)–Still trying to find some of those Naughty by Nature bedsheets. Damn you, Santa.

12. Pump Up the Volume by M/A/R/R/S (1987)–How can a track that seems so simple also seem so repetitive? If all I need is a drum machine, some scratch effects, and an Eric B. & Rakim sample, then I will single-handedly resurrect the Jock Jams series! Who’s coming with me?

13. The Power by Snap! (1990)–If you listen to this one and DO NOT feel like you’ve got The Power, I personally owe you $12.99.

14. Uh, Ungawaa!–No idea.

15. Unbelievable by EMF (1990 [U.K.], 1991 [U.S.])–A little band called Queen proved that a group of scrawny, pale Englishmen could write songs that would rock American sports arenas for years and years. Then EMF proved that a group of scrawny, pale Englishmen could write a song that would advertise a Kraft Foods product around the year 2005. Crumbelievable? Believe it!

16. Y.M.C.A. by Village People (1978)–Whether you hear this classic at a Chuck-E-Cheese or The Bloke Stroke Bar & Night Club, you’re doing the dance. You know you’re doing the dance…

17. Pump Up the Jam by Technotronic (1989)–This song went triple platinum. Triple. Platinum. This song, Pump Up the Jam, it went triple platinum. 3X platinum.

Triple. Triple platinum.

18. Twilight Zone by 2 Unlimited (1992)– You unlock this door with the key of UNLIMITATION. Beyond it is another dimension: a dimension of SOUND, a dimension of SWEAT, a dimesion of BOOTY. You’re moving into a land of both BASS and RHYME CAPABILITY, of GRINDS and AROUSALS; you’ve just crossed over into the TWILIGHT ZONE BY 2 UNLIMITED.

19. The Old Ballgame by Ray Castoldi–Ray Castoldi tickles the organ keys for the New York Knicks, the New York Rangers, and the New York Mets. I have to thank ESPN for presenting a compilation that includes a jazzed up breather track like this one right before the electrifying finale.

20. Rock and Roll Part 2 (The Hey Song) by Gary Glitter (1972)–This tune has been an institution of sports culture since it first played at a Colorado Rockies game in the late 70s. Hands down one of the most recognizable songs you’ve ever drunkenly swayed back and forth to. My friend Corey and I once double-handedly initiated the Wave at a hockey game to The Hey Song. We literally did the wave over and over again by ourselves until we finally got our entire section standing up. Then sitting down. Then standing up. Then BOOM! The Wave, son.

I won’t go into the details, but it turned out that Gary Glitter is a freak. You can look up the specifics elsewhere. Suffice it to say that many teams no longer play the song during their events and if they do then it’s usually a cover version. But, hey, don’t let that keep you from enjoying this live performances of Rock and Roll.

This video contains the fabled Rock and Roll Part 1 before Part 2. Part 1 is similar to Part 2, but there is one major difference. Can you spot it? (Hint: THERE’S LYRICS!)

I wrote in Part 1 of this post that Jock Jams was the greatest moment in the marriage of music and sports. I believe the runner-up deserves an honorable mention.

Ladies and gentlemen, John Tesh’s Roundball Rock! LIVE IN CONCERT!

#9 ESPN Presents: Jock Jams, Volume 1 (Part I)?

•October 4, 2009 • 2 Comments

Sports. I’m watching them right now. Is there a more effective avenue for sheilding our weak minds from the misery of life? Movies are cool, yes. Books? Sure. I like books. I’m an avid book-looker. Friendship? The company of a dear friend is assured relief probably. Does music help? That depends on how much Mariah you have. What about love? You didn’t read the question correctly.

But there’s something you just don’t get from the aforementioned answers: PURE ATHLETIC DOMINANCE.

Humans are competitive by nature. Show me someone who is completely uncompetive and I’ll show you the South American brown-throated sloth. Because that would be the same thing that you showed me. Get it?

Of course you do. Furthermore, BOOYAH!basketball-dunking-on-someone-250x300

I apologize for being somewhat instigative there, but that’s how it goes in the Wide World of Sports. You talks da trash and then you brings da ruckus. That’s why the planet Earth loves sports. Who wants to button up their day with some adult contemporary when there’s a power forward out there eatin’ dem nutz?

If I haven’t convinced everybody on the internet to agree with me (which is always Objective #1), then surely you agree with me on this: A great game of sports is only as great as the music that pumps up the fans.

Not many sports fans are aware of the historically documented moment in which the marriage of music and sports surpassed the awesomeness levels of all other sports-related crowd-pumping techniques. This list includes cheerleaders, mascots, foam fingers, mini-helmet ice cream jockjamsporringers, face paint, nachos, Charles Barkley, and even arduous high-fiving. Do you know what this moment was? If your answer contains the words “marching” and “band” in it, get the hell off my website.

Jock Jams, Volume 1 is my favorite loosely sports-themed album of 1995. It collects the hottest crowd-pumpin’ grooves of all time for God’s sake. If I was going to throw something on my boombox back then, it was usually a tough choice between JJ1, The Lion King soundtrack, and The Rembrandts‘ L.P. If I wanted the choreography of a stadium dance rapped to me, there was no choice.

Who knew almost all of these crowd-pleasers were actually love letters to casual sex? You know, besides adults.

The Official Jock Jams, Volume 1 Complete Track Rundown:

1. Lets Get Ready to Rumble by Michael Buffer–If you’ve never seen or heard this, you need to hook up cable to your igloo.

2. Get Ready for This by 2 Unlimited (1991)–Have you ever listened to a song that made you want to decapitate adversity more than this one?

3. Whoomp! (There It Is) by Tag Team (1993)–“Point blank gin and juice I drank, gettin’ bent and bent as a puff on a dankt. Rock a mic. Uh oh, I crave skin. Rip shit, find a honey to dip it in. Slam dunk it, stick it, flip it, and ride that B-O-DOUBLE T-Y. Oh my. Oh, that’s it. Come on, come on. Whoomp, there it is. I’m done.”–DC

4. Strike It Up by Black Box (1991)–Opening this box reveals gift of smoothness. To: White people. From: Italy.

5. Tootsee Roll by 69 Boyz (1994)–Directional moving and hip-dipping in the name of ASS. Also, turns out group name is more suggestive than impressive. It would be difficult to argue with that many dudes who all wanted to see it.

To be continued…

#8 Dancing Flowers?

•September 15, 2009 • 5 Comments

Being the middle class comic book reading white young person that I am, you better believe I can dance. You might even consider me a student of dance. I mean, if you consider Mr. Miyagi a student of Karate.

Not likely.

Now you’re probably saying out loud to your computer, “Kev, you’re no braggart. What gives?” It’s true. I can’t toot my own horn, no matter how hard I try, but when you’re a maniac on the floor, sometimes you gotta get a little maniacal. And braggy. J.C. Chasez will tell you the same thing.

Some people call it ‘cutting a rug.’ I’m not so mirugynistic. I call it ‘making hot love to the rug with my feet penis.’ I get a lot of weird looks from people when I say that. You know, a lot of people told Picasso that he painted eyes and mouths in the wrong places. Guess what? It’s supposed to be like that, dummy. Being an artist is tough.

dancingflowersNow, I’ve never had any formal training in my art of choice. I’m self-taught. Like Bob Dylan and Mark McGrath. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel what Ernest Hemingway says the Spaniards call aficion. I feel a ton of aficion. Butt loads. That’s why I can appreciate the grace and passion and sexuality of dance in everything I see. But especially in dancing flowers.

As you might know, I’m usually very professional when it comes to these posts. It takes weeks of research on each subject before I even feel halfway close to beginning a new entry. Chalk it up to my upbringing. I was always taught, “Be thorough, or don’t.” Not a lot of options there. However, I feel that in this particular instance I’m just going to go with my gut. Wing it. Since when did a ballerina care about who wrote the ballet? She just feels it in her dainty bones.

The dancing flower was invented sometime in the 80s by a millionaire. It became extremely popular because it was probablyDancing Flowerpink scientifically PROVEN to turn all frowns upside down. All you had to do was put that bad boy next to a speaker, pump out the jams, and, voilà, seconds of entertainment. But what if I’m walking from my car into work and I don’t have a way of producing music for a mid-trip flower dance pick-me-up? Don’t worry. You can sing a little tune yourself. Or just speak. Snap your fingers a couple times even. That flower will boogie back and forth regardless. Hell, you could just sit all day insulting the thing–it’s still groovin’. Can you say the same for Beyonce?

Also, the dancing flower wore sunglasses so you know it’s cool. Plus, it usually held some type of instrument so it’s almost as if the flower is playing the music it’s dancing to. America hadn’t seen that much BIG_wriggling coca cola canthought put into a toy since the Glo Worm.

You might remember that the dancing flower wasn’t the only dancing novelty toy on the block. That’s right! There was also the dancing Coca-Cola can. The dancing Coke can also rocked the sunglasses, but wore headphones instead of playing an instrument. Whoa. Talk about upping the ante. The success of the dancing flower and Coke can affected society to an unexpected degree, inspiring other inanimate objects to “dance” such as the Green Machine frog band, the toaster in Ghostbusters II, and Al Gore.

If you think the dancing flower was a stupid idea then I don’t want to hear about it. You obviously don’t get it. Go back to watching something sit idly. An artist can become jaded with his art. I understand this. I doubt the winner of American Idol plays American Idol: The Video Game to relax, and a sculptor most likely doesn’t grab some Play-Doh when he’s feeling down, but, as a dancer, I can tell you that there’s nothing better than coming home from a hard day, throwing on some Huey Lewis, and swaying back and forth with your favorite floral friend. And that’s what matters most. You can’t put a price on comfort. But if you did, it would probably be around $14.99.

I haven’t seen a dancing flower in years but I know in my heart of hearts that it’s waiting in the wings. Waiting for the perfect time to make its wobbly move. And when it does, don’t call it a comeback.

The quality of this video sucks, but the flower just rocks so hard. GET IT, FLOWER!

As for this video, it’s like the internet knew exactly what I wanted.

Lastly, I would like to dedicate this post to Swayze. The dirtiest dancer of them all. RIP.

John Hughes

•August 7, 2009 • 1 Comment

John Hughes on 11/28/90 in Chicago, Il.

We will remember.

#7 Cloak & Dagger?

•August 7, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Ever get the feeling you’re being watched? Ever get the feeling that you were always meant for something great, but you just can’t quite put your finger on what that ‘something’ might be? In approximation, how many episodes of “James Bond Jr.” do you normally watch a day?

Instead of those questions, let me ask these: Have you ever wanted the life of a spy? How badly? Would you divulge confidential information for such a life?

Oh, see there? Terrible spy.

Are you wondering what I’m smugly getting at? You don’t understand anything I’m typing, do you? It was the codes, old friend. You didn’t think of the codes, did you? No, I suppose not. I suppose you’ve been feeling sorry for yourself. It was me, you know. It was me who redirected Agent Z71’s coordinates for off that cliff. She was beautiful. Absolutely perfect. Well, except for that whole defecting to your side thing. But nevertheless, I shall miss her. Won’t you? She had such big…perky…microfilm. Too bad I’m not ready to unveil Project Alastor just yet. Well, no need to worry, dear nemesis. You two will be reunited SOON ENOUGH!

cloak_and_daggerHello. That was a mission I just made possible. But don’t worry! We’re not going to be getting into TOO much tomcruisery today. Nope. Today we have much bigger helicopters to hang from. What I’m smugly getting at is a little movie I like to call Cloak & Dagger. In fact, most everyone likes to call it Cloak & Dagger. Except, of course, for those people that take some sort of pleasure out of retitling movies for seemingly no reason. I don’t know anyone like that. Do those people even exist? There’s no real way of telling, but a good agent always assumes the worst.

Cloak & Dagger is a 1984 movie that includes (but isn’t limited to) foreign agents, Twinkies, the Alamo, terrorism, invisible friends, betrayal, the little girl that takes a photograph of John Lithgow in the Twilight Zone movie, Atari 5200, gunfire, a three-fingered lady, river walks, explosions, and role playing games. I know. That’s a lot of awesome. Now we’ll take a moment for those visiting their Netflix accounts. Just wait one second…and…

Queued up, everyone? Great.

Cloak & Dagger starred Henry Thomas and Dabney Coleman. Henry Thomas was still riding his post-E.T. wave of mega stardom, signing autographs for people sticking their fingers in his face, and phone homed in this oft forgotten classic. He stars as Davey, a young boy who loves an Atari 5200 game called Cloak & Dagger (no relation to the movie) featuring a black operations agent named Jack Flack as its protagonist. Davey also plays a role playing version of the game with his enormous mouthed friend Kim and C&D expert Morris. This version of the game is similar to Dungeons & Dragons, but with Soviet operatives instead of wizard gnomes. Why don’t they make a game with BOTH Soviet operatives AND wizard gnomes? Davey is good-hearted but imaginative-to-the-point-of-irritating and has trouble communicating with his father, played by the somehowdabney2 always excellent Dabney Coleman. Davey’s penchant for spy-related gaming and make believe allows Dabney Coleman to fill another role as Davey’s imaginary friend and star of his favorite game, Jack Flack, which I’m actually seriously thankful for. Think of it like this: Two Colemen are better than one. It’s double the Dabney, and baby, triple the fun.

We learn that Davey’s mother has recently died and his father is often away from home for his Air Force job. Davey fills his time by playing the two versions of Cloak & Dagger and, out of loneliness and grief, using his imagination to put himself into make believe spy situations. One day, Davey and Kim visit Morris, an oafish gaming authority and somewhat of a computer hacker. Morris is a plump fully grown adult man with a thick beard who works at a game store in a San Antonio mall and often spends his downtime hanging out with children and loftily holding his 15+ years of life (or, I guess, no life) experience over their head.

At one point, Morris sends Davey and Kim on a “mission” to buy him some Twinkies. The two take a bus across town to an office building and split up. Davey takes the stairs, hears some strange voices on his walkie-talkie, and then walks one more floor up. He notices some suspicious activity through a window between floors. Two men pummel another man while a fourth man watches. The man being attacked escapes and the two other men fire their guns at him as he runs away. Moments later, a man who may or may not be the man who was attacked earlier, dressed as a scientist for obvious reasons, busts through the door and limps down to Davey. He hands the boy a cartridge of Cloak & Dagger and tells him to keep it from the three other men. He is then shot to death by two of those three men and falls down the stairway hilariously.

c&dtitleI apologize if that description was a little confusing, but a good operative should always be on his toes. Davey just needs to not get murdered. Tell a grown up, Davey!

Unfortunately, no adult believes Davey Osborne’s story, not even his father, and he is all alone in his mission. Playing the game. Playing for keeps.

Throughout the film, Davey receives all of his spy-related advice from his resourceful, imaginary friend, Jack Flack. Probably my favorite feature of the character Jack Flack, besides looking exactly like Davey’s dad who in turn looks exactly like Dabney Coleman, is that he can sometimes interact with the real world. He can throw things to Davey and move real objects though he is a fictional character and a manifestation of Davey’s imagination. At one point, he even runs and dives to push Davey out of the way of a speeding vehicle. I know what you’re thinking–that’s just bad writing. I submit, however, that Davey just really, really believes with all of his heart. Feel better now?

The film wasn’t a big success at the box office, but it became a home video phenomenon. Kids love movies where other kids livec&darcade out their fantasies. Had I ever been given superpowers, I wouldn’t’ve minded a few kid-murdering jokers chasing me around for an hour and a half. But I was never given superpowers. And that is my cross to bear.

Atari was in development of a game called Agent X, but when the producers of the film realized this game would go hand in hand with their movie, they struck a deal with the company and thus the game was released under the name Cloak & Dagger. It was only released in arcade form, however. Atari planned to release a 5200 version of the game, but with the video game crash of ’83, Warner Communications sold the company and the game was never made. This means that the Cloak & Dagger cartridges in the movie are other Atari games with C&D labels. I know, pretty crazy. That’s just movie magic for you.

Unfortunately, like The Wizard with Nintendo, a lot of “critics” saw this film as a giant Atari 5200 commercial. I don’t mind seeing an Atari being played, even if it is a 5200, or some footage of the newest Super Mario game in a movie. If they had made a ColecoVision movie starring the kid from D.A.Y.R.L., I would have watched that too. Movies can product place these things. These things are good things. Hell, more commercials should be made into movies. Why not?

Where’s a pen? I’m about to start writing Pine-Sol Lady Begins.

This video will clear up some confusion, but not all of it. Later in the film, Davey actually puts on more bright red camouflage. Good thinking, Davey!

 
fighting fire with unlit matches

Gonna raise me an army, some tough sons of bitches /// Recruit my army from the orphanages