Lefty Limbo

Along with the Weebles Tub Sub came another long-lost toy from my childhood: A Nikko Nissan R382 Deluxe Radio Control Racing Car. Funny thing is, I barely remember seeing this when I was a kid, and I have no recall of actually playing with it.

Seeing the pristine condition that it’s in, especially having the box and instruction manuals, I’m convinced that I never played with it. Toy packaging and manuals never lasted more than 5 minutes in my childhood, once we read the instructions and put on all the stickers. How the heck we saved the box to my Millennium Falcon is beyond me, but that’s another story. This is likely one of those toys that my dad bought and stashed away, never getting around to sharing it with me, just like the Revell Javelin SST unopened model kit (©1971, suckaz!) in a previous post.

The reduced sticker price (also seen on the Javelin kit) is also a sure sign of a dad purchase, knowing that he’s super-duper frugal and doesn’t move a muscle until things are on clearance. I’m actually surprised he didn’t wait until it went down to $5 or something.

Nevertheless, it’s an awesome find; the petroleum-rich rubber tires still have that wonderful toxic smell which greeted me as soon as I opened the box. Mmm. Rubber.

The tinted windows ever so slightly mask the maze of electronics packed inside. Close up, the view through the window gives the toy a much more robotic feel, and the fantasy of a human driver is diminished. I get the impression that it’s being driven by a droid or something.

Actually, take a moment now to compare the toy to the box cover art. Isn’t that crazy? The fact that they enclosed the cabin actually makes it look nothing like an actual Nissan R382, but I think they did a darn good job keeping the design consistent and convincing.

Okay, okay, settle down. I’m sure the big question you all have is, “Well, does it run?” Dood. It does.

I was gonna put this up on Ebay, but it’s too fun to play with. Mine mine mine! =)

Back in 1983–’84, I was heavily into breakdancing. My younger cousins and I would get together as often as we could, trying to master and perfect our favorite moves, in preparation for any street battle we’d encounter (which never came). Back in those days, the hardest thing for us kids to accomplish were Windmills, Handspins or better yet, Turtles or Bouncing Turtles.

To learn these moves, there wasn’t much to go by for reference, aside from the movies Breakin’ and/or Beat Street, which really didn’t highlight them that much.

Somehow one evening on KCAL 9 they televised a Knott’s Berry Farm Breakdancing Contest, which gave us a full glimpse of how (OC) local kids did their thing. It was also the perfect way for us to learn it ourselves, thanks to the “advanced” slow-motion tracking features on my state-of-the-art Panasonic VCR PV-6600.

Just to let you know, those two-tone Nike track suits featured in the above videos were the thing to have back in the day. Nothing could match the slickness of their nylon, which was perfect for those slipping, sliding, spinning maneuvers. I had a grey/blue combination myself. Apparently they seemed to be exclusive to the West Coast scene.

We spent countless hours during sleepovers staying up and watching this footage over and over. The Tut routine by Dr. Pop in the video below was a huge inspiration for me.

It was by far the most-watched video footage that year, until my dad accidentally taped over it with our visit to Sea World. Thanks, Dad.

Gotta thank YouTube for bringing it back. I don’t think I’d ever had the chance to see it again if it weren’t for the internet.

Bonus: Yet another golden nugget I discovered on the internet awhile back: A feature-length documentary on the So-Cali breakdancing scene in ’83, at the height of its reign (in my opinion): Breakin’ and Enterin’. Click here to see my original post and download the movie.

Yet another surprise summoned from the depths of my childhood home’s garage. A Weebles Tub Sub.

My brother actually found two of them, both in their original boxes (unfortunately, one was missing the see-thru dome and Weeble). My only guess is that my parents had these saved up as potential gifts for my younger brothers or relatives. The copyright date is listed as 1979 so I was too old for them. Nevertheless, the toy’s in superb shape for its age. It’s too bad the box hadn’t aged as well.

My favorite part of this toy sub is that hatch wheel atop the see-thru dome. The hatch wheel turns; it has no function in the opening and closing of the dome, but it’s the perfect finishing touch. I could totally see it making that characteristic squealing metal sound and opening the dome with that FSSSST! sound of sudden depressurization.

Totally dig the font for Weebles Tub Sub. Suuuper ’70s. And that Romper Room logo is always a classic.

Something about the word “Briny” immediately sends the taste of sea water and sand in my mouth. Ptoo.

Quite a find indeed. I actually had quite a few Weebles playsets growing up in the ’70s. They were fun, but nowhere near as fun as the Fisher-Price Adventure People playsets which I totally loved. One super favorite of mine was The Adventure People And Their Sea Explorer (#310), whose box back panel below is a treasured find in That ’70s Box, which by now desperately needs a blog of its own (there’s simply too much material in there!).

I would typically hold onto stuff like this, but I’ve decided to try to find this sub a new home where it will be loved and cared for by (hopefully) a true Weebles fan. Good luck!

Update Feb. 23, 2012: The new home’s been found. Congrats to the lucky recipient! =)

Thanks to The Wayback Machine, I’ve been able to find my long lost blogs from as early as 2002, when I first began, with Paramecium Parachute: Worldly and not-so-worldly observations from the constantly adrift.

Ah, what sweet days of promiscuity those were, before life really grabbed hold and made me realize that, as much as I loved to write, blogging wouldn’t pay the bills.

I posted several essays back then in fond recall of my ’70s/’80s childhood, complete with illustrations. Collectively I called them Recess Pieces: Tales From The Blacktop. One of my favorite “episodes” was The Arcade Cocoon, which came to mind after my last post regarding Mattel’s handheld electronic games of the late ’70s/early ’80s. Unfortunately the original illustrations have been lost to the wind of cyberspace, however I was able to retrieve the text as it was originally posted in January 9, 2003. Wow, almost 10 years ago.

So what the heck is an Arcade Cocoon, you may ask? It’s what I called the improvised “personal darkrooms” created by kids who wanted to play their handheld electronic games in the broad daylight of our elementary school playground, which hardly had any shade to begin with.

Because of the nature of the handheld game screen and its light source (LED lights), they were impossible to play in direct sunlight. Then one of my classmates came up with the clever idea of using their hoodie (or, preferably, a larger one belonging to an older/larger family member) to create a dark and private environment to enjoy their game to the fullest, and this technique spread like wildfire in my 5th-Grade class. It was the perfect solution for a bunch of us boys who had smuggled our electronic games from home, and wanted to play them without being seen nor disturbed.

So, without further ado, here is the article, resurrected from nearly a decade of dormant slumber. Enjoy.

Recess Pieces: Tales From The Blacktop

This Episode: 1981: How We Made Arcade Cocoons

	First, you needed a fifth grade boy. This was me in the fifth grade. A lil shrimp. You also needed a large jacket or an oversize cotton hoodie (pullover). Either or, but definitely something that stretched and was made of something that blocked the light out well enough. You’ll see why later on. For this example, I’ll use a cotton hoodie.
	Then, you needed to have a handheld game. Folks, this was 1981, ages before the Game Boy. One of my favorites was Mattel Electronics Basketball. Did it have 3D graphics in color? Hell no! I had red LED blips for my Larry Bird and Julius Irving. Nevertheless, it was addicting as all hell.

Then, most importantly, you had to have a vacant school bench out in the schoolyard, and a sunny day. It had to be sunny, otherwise you wouldn’t have had to make an arcade cocoon.

This was especially useful in Spring and the verge of Summer, when the sun was out almost all the time. Plus, we were going to an elementary school which was only two blocks away from the beach. So you know it was sunny almost all the time. Anyways, here’s the drill – first, you had to be on that vacant bench, then…

	First, you took the oversize pullover hoodie and pulled on the hood strings until the neck opening was closed shut. Otherwise, if you had a jacket or hoodie with a zipper, you zipped it up to the top. Then you sat on the bench and brought your knees up close, placing your handheld game in your lap. You turned the jacket backwards and started bringing it up and over your head.
	You’d fit your head through the jacket and continued pulling it down, being sure to keep your knees up. The world would slowly darken and the schoolyard sounds of fights and dodgeball games would slowly fade as it went over your ears.
	You would keep on pulling, stretching it over your knees. This is why it was important that you had something oversized and stretchy, ‘coz bringing it over the knees comfortably was the hardest part. By now, the sounds of frolicking kids and bouncing balls became muffled whisps of wind.
	You brought it down as far as possible, until you were completely enclosed in an Arcade Cocoon. Your whole world was dark now, and that little LED display lit your face in all its glory, the bleeps and blips filling your ears for the whole lunch or recess period until the bell rang.

There was a point where quite a few of us were doing this on a daily basis. There was a whole assortment of games we had, from Basketball to Football, to Space Invader-type games. This handy secluded privacy chamber never had an official name; the “Arcade Cocoon” is something I just thought of now, ’coz sometimes you’d have a bunch of kids cooped up in their jackets/pullovers playing their LED handhelds, and it would look like a bunch of weird cocoons in hibernation. Kinda like Gremlins or Aliens. It made it tough to find your friends sometimes. They all looked like lumps. It was pretty surreal. I wish I took a picture of one of those days. Heh, what did I know or even care about photography back then. It was all about playing those games.

These were the best things ever, but it was simply a matter of time before the teachers caught on. Heaven knows what they thought we were all doing, cooped up in fetal positions in oversize, backwards hoodies. When they found out we were smuggling handheld electronic games to school, they put up a strict ban on them, threatening immediate confiscation if we were to be found with one in our possession. I remember one of my classmates had a really, really nice one which he got taken away. I’m not sure if the teacher even gave it back.

Despite all the hype and scandal they caused, the electronic handheld game craze would soon meet its doom, with the arrival of the Atari 2600 and Intellivision, which would have us glued to our family’s TV screens rather than tiny LED ones.

Fellow ’70s/’80s retro-activist 2 Warps To Neptune has gotten me started on a conversation regarding the remarkable difference between box cover art on old video games and the actual game play and appearance. An excellent example, as discussed on his blog, would be that of Atari’s Asteroids game for the Atari 2600. Here’s the box art and a screenshot of the game below.

The funny thing is, though, as a 10–11 yr. old boy shopping the Toys ‘R’ Us shelves for Atari games back then (1980–’81), this magnificent box art was what caught my eye (and had me promising my dad I’d get straight A’s on my next report card if he bought it for me), even though I knew full well that the actual game would look nothing like it. How about Missile Command?

Check out that box art! Huge, menacing ICBMs incoming and outgoing, and a cataclysmic fiery explosion! Heck, the “missile commander” even has a hot assistant! But the screenshot? The fiery explosion is nothing more than a blocky golf ball, and the vapor trail a jaggy pixelated streak. But I still spent countless hours on this game, imagining I was the sole defender of six cities, whose millions of innocent lives depended on my instincts and split-second decisions under immense pressure. I still remember seeing the box at Toys ‘R’ Us, with a price tag of $39.99 with a vinyl ticket-holder beneath it, from which I had to fetch a ticket to bring with me to the counter to purchase the game (yes, security measures were intact).

How was this possible? In the days long before the hyper-realistic graphics now standard in home video games, us youngsters simply “filled in the blanks” with our home entertainment systems, connecting our own cosmic fantasies with the pixelated graphics presented on the screen. And it worked. I’m sure you’ll hear countless testimonies from other ’70s kids.

Incidentally, this threw me even further back, to my pre-Atari days of handheld LED electronic games, specifically Mattel Electronics Basketball, which I used to play religiously in ’78–’80, often until the unit’s plastic casing was blazing hot from being held in my palms for so long. Here’s an even more extreme example of box vs. in-game art.

Yes, those tiny red LED blips on the court were indeed basketball players, and I (the brightest of the LEDs) struggled against these defenders for 2-point and even 3-point shots from Downtown.

A more popular handheld game amongst my friends was Mattel Electronics Football, which some kids would smuggle to school to play secretly at recess instead of real sports like kickball or 4-square.

Oh, and when Coleco came out with a 2-player version? Dood, it was on. We re-enacted our own Super Bowls on a daily basis. How’s that for filling in the blanks, huh?

I remember in 5th Grade (1981), these handheld electronic games were so popular and prevalent on the schoolyard that the teachers banned them from school. Click here to read how popular these games were at my school back then.

Geez. Would you believe that while I Googled the above images, I discovered iPhone apps by touchgrove that replicate these games down to every last detail—even a price sticker on the box??!

Aw heck, there’s even the 2-player Football for the iPad???

I’m actually totally speechless to how they were able to replicate these in such amazing detail. But, as virtual as they are, for me there still is no substitute for the tactile feel of the real handheld game—from the audible, noisy frenzied clicks of the buttons to the distinct glow of the LED lights, which allowed me to play the game in the complete darkness of my room, long after my parents thought I was asleep. Nevertheless, the folks over at Touchgrove sure know how to market themselves to us ’70s kids. Wow.