Memory Lane Meanderings

 

Bionic Man vs. Sasquatch circa 1977



     During elementary school, someone gave me a G.I. Joe action figure. It confused me: How do I play with it? During those years all my play was solitary (my brothers were much older) so it's not like I could play war with other action figures. So, I improvised. One tragic night Joe drove my toy jeep off my miniaturized version of Niagara Falls. He survived but later went missing after a tragic, um, fire.     

     I guess I enjoyed simulating top news stories more than pretending G.I. Joe saved the day. When he melted, I moved on to other toys.

     But then someone gave me a Bionic Man action figure!

     Whoa.

     Now he could kick Joe's ass.

     And I could completely relate to him. His shirt was always inappropriately open. (See previous post.) His girlfriend was amazing. (She could throw a tennis racket at high speed while flinging her slow-motion blonde hair and being all angsty because she was rejecting her bionics.) And the Bionic Man could lift really big rocks before, during and after he fought the ever-elusive sasquatch! Plus, he had his own personal sound effect. Come. On. Who wouldn't want that?!!

     Anyway, nowadays I bet that boys would find it easy to relate to actions figures. Why? Because they can, a-hem, play with themselves. Let me explain.

     Custom designed action figures are available at That's My Face. Basically, send them a photo and they will create a mini-you, complete with your clothes, even replicas of your tattoos. Nothing sounds more egotistical, narcissistic or super-cool, if you ask me.

     I must admit that I especially like the concept of attaching my head to a buff professional wrestler-type action-figure body because currently my head seems to be affixed to a body with its own personal water-floatation device where my waist used to be. And, I could give this miniature version of myself to my son and then I would finally become his action figure hero. A Dad always wants to be his son’s hero, right?
     Uh oh. I just realized something. What if my son gets bored one day and pushes me off Niagara Falls? Or melts my feet off?