Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends
, a seemingly innocent 1980s cartoon
, is obviously to blame for causing me psychic damage of monstrous
proportions. I believe this stems from several reasons:
Long before New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle or Wuthering Heights would add their collateral damage, the Spidey cartoon brought the phenomenon of two guys existing in close proximity to a strong-willed and titillating woman.
Disdain for Authority
Sure, the trio had Peter's haggish Aunt May looming over them like a crazed Miss Havisham, but even in my preteen years I sensed a romantic rivalry between the arachnid hero and his mutie housemates and did not for a moment believe that she maintained the slightest shred of moral order over her "boarders." The biddy struck me as the epitome of cluelessness...I mean, what kind of person wouldn't notice the occasional sliding wall or piece of advanced electronics emerging from the couch or commode? As a result, I learned at a too-early age not to listen to my elders whenever my conscience and secret agenda seemed superior...just like my misunderstood heroes!
Skintight Spandex Fetish
Identification with Outsiders
The lonely lives my heroes led, operating from their secret lair outside the mainstream, taught me to identify with the fringe elements of society and empathize with those forced to keep secrets from their loved ones. Without a doubt, I would never have tried pot if not for these intrepid rebels.
I Can't Tell Aunt May, She'd Have a Heart Attack!
Ah, Spidey, how I felt your pain. During my later teen years, his angst was my own as I wrestled with the decision of telling my parents a similar dirty little secret of similar proportions. While Peter Parker struggled with the thought of telling his guardian he could lift cars, stick to walls and get all tingly when danger neared, I pondered telling mine I could coordinate colors, appreciate Abba and Diana Ross, and get tingly when football players neared.