So the cast of The Brady Bunch was supposed to put on a reunion of sorts during yesterday's taping of The Today Show, but the effort was cancelled at the last minute. Some news moguls are claiming a scheduling conflict, to which I'm replying: a scheduling conflict that pops up two days beforehand? Yeah, right. Further fueling these flames of flippant facetiousness are several other news reports claiming the real cause behind the canceling to be one cast member who refused to show up.
Personally, I don't care any which way, because I wasn't planning on watching (having access to approximately zero television channels played no small part in my decision making). I, like anyone else under 40, grew up in a world where The Brady Bunch had already been filtered through the satiric lens of 1995's The Brady Bunch Movie and 1996's A Very Brady Sequel. I learned that Jan hated Marcia only through obtuse references to the original series, I thought that Alice the maid actually did have a thing for sadomasochism, and I never imagined that the original show actually tried to impart wholesome messages on living rooms full of hand-holding families when it aired a good 41 years ago - at least not until an ill-fated encounter with The Legit Brady's one evening on Nick at Nite.
But this isn't the first time the world seems to expect me to care about something or someone that possesses an entirely different slew of connotations for those born prior to 1975. Take, for example, Michael Jackson. I look at him and I see a monster, plain and tall, because how the hell am I not supposed to? Was I around during his golden days? No. Did I see him warp into a plastic nightmare who seduced young boys with a fantasty playground in order to sleep with them? Yes. Captain EO aside, the guy's creeped me out from day one. Same goes for OJ. And Pee Wee (admittedly more modern, but still never given a fair chance in my household).
Anyway, because I feel kinda crummy for this slightly excessive post (those carefully placed "kinda"s and "slightly"s should have cued you into something), how about I treat you to a Strangers With Candy clip? The only way you wouldn't like this is if you didn't want to witness Principal Blackman soliloquizing about melons. And then we wouldn't be friends.