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Rating: Italy, last decade of the twentieth century.
The boy asked his father to insert that worn-out cassette back into the car stereo. He knew those songs by heart, he loved cartoons. Years later, he would look back with a bit of nostalgia at the cartoons of that time, while the new generations imitated improbable miniature warriors with a drip on their noses or small and awkward singing mermaids with mostly laughable powers.
The father fulfilled his small wish; the car was once again filled with the raw wails of "Bim Bum Bam" and the beautiful voice of she-who-sang-the-themes. The boy began to sing with his little sister.
My house, September 11, 2007
The boy from back then is typing these naïve words on a computer keyboard, the notes of "Man Erg" now and who knows what next to keep him company, since then a lot of water has flowed under the bridges and a lot of crap through the water. He doesn't watch cartoons anymore, not just for lack of time.
He cannot understand how anyone who tried to follow the mystery of the blue stone - moreover, without understanding a damn thing - can have the same interest in an -ugly- toad or in the -widely censored (not that Geordie wasn't, to be clear) - lopsided stories of girls all the same and all complexed. He doesn't see how a man who at the time rejoiced and suffered with Romeo and his patches of sky among smoke mustaches could be passionate about the adventures of a cracked infant detective. However, he sees that any reference to friends and relatives is purely coincidental.
Too drastic, you will say. Too exaggerated, you will say. Sure, you're right. It is true, however, that he adored his childhood, and this also thanks to the cartoons that accompanied it. Nothing, be clear, wants to take away from perhaps smarter kids, although too often ignorant: they argue about whether it is worthwhile to change sim cards, he at their age - dirty with mud and reeking of the stable - decided with his cousins whether it was better to play hide and seek or blindman's bluff. Other times, yet only ten, maybe twelve, years ago.It is true that he would never trade Heidi or Pollyanna for a bulbasaur or even a rare Mew; it is true that the Star of the Seine would gobble up in one bite the skinny girls drooling over failed Digimon trainers, absurd card players pale copies of Magic, or scattered kids in top spinning tournaments (which says a lot already); it is true that the twins of destiny were exciting, far more than the pseudo-psychodramas of "Hunter x Hunter"; it is true that even The Simpsons have gotten tiring by now; it is especially true that Sailor Jupiter or, why not, Nami Aiase were much cooler than Nami-the-buxom of "One Piece".
Italy, last decade of the twentieth-century.
The journey back home continued; the themes - "A Sword for Lady Oscar", "Kiss Me Licia," and "No Fear, There's Alfred" just to name three - were from Fivelandia 8, but for Stefano, it wouldn't have made a difference to hear others; anyhow, the important thing was knowing they made a good boy happy, thought the parents in the front seats. Years later, they would be delighted to find out that, in the end, he was still such, just a bit more grown-up.
Dedicated to my sister, treasure of my life.
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By JpLoyRow
It’s a pleasant trip down memory lane for those who grew up with these songs.
Fivelandia 8 shines when the nostalgia hits, but doesn’t break new ground.
