Fraggle Rock may, however, have left a more lasting impression on our generation than it first appears. What lessons could we possibly have learned from a group of singing Muppets that didn’t reside on Sesame Street? Fraggle Rock may well have shaped our generation’s (that’s Generation Y, by the way) view on the environment, helped us embrace our nontraditional spirituality and encouraged us to be more open-minded toward different social groups.

The cast of Fraggle Rock. Photo courtesy of Time-Warner Corporation

Let’s begin with the most studied and intentional of Fraggle Rock’s effects on our generation: environmentalism. Jim Henson, in conceiving Fraggle Rock, supposedly set out to create a show that would bring peace to the world (don’t laugh yet - he kind of succeeded). The world of Fraggle Rock is a precise and structured ecosystem with interdependent parts—the Fraggles depend on the Doozers for Doozer Structure nourishment and the Gorgs for their radishes; meanwhile, the Doozers need the Fraggles to eat their structures or they’ll have no room to build and thus no purpose in life. The Gorgs depend on the pool at the center of Fraggle Rock for their well water (a pool which the Fraggles keep replenished by banging on the pipes of Doc and Sprocket’s workshop). If any piece of the puzzle were to disappear or stop doing its job (and they do, for a short time in several episodes), all would suffer.

In this way, Fraggle Rock made us keenly, innately and unconsciously aware of our place in the world and of our duty to perform our task within the systems in which we live. In line with the Fraggles’ lessons of both ecology and idealism, an astounding 61 percent of our generation feels a “responsibility to make the world a better place,” according to a 2006 study by Cone and AMP Insights. Now who’s laughing at Henson’s dream to bring peace to the world through children’s television?

In addition to a deep-seated concern for the environment and a wonderful idealism, the Fraggles instilled in our generation an instinct to be spiritual, if not exactly religious. Only 44 percent of Generation Y considers itself to be “religious,” while another 35 percent claim to be “spiritual,” according to a Brookings Institution study entitled “OMG! How Generation Y is Redefining Faith in the iPod Era.”

How did the Fraggles influence our generation’s spirituality, you ask? The Fraggles, as you may or may not remember, were not a specifically religious people. There was, however, one notable figure to whom the Fraggles went in seek of life advice: the Trash Heap. Every so often, especially throughout the first season (I suppose before execs went, “Wait a second, the sage old character is a pile of garbage? Come on, Henson, write that out.”), the Fraggles, faced with a particularly daunting dilemma, would make pilgrimage to the Trash Heap in hopes of guidance. Though the Fraggles looked to the Trash Heap (Marjory) for guidance and generally followed her advice, they did not worship her; she seemed to merely be the one through whom they knew wisdom was channeled.

Similarly, many in Generation Y no longer feel connected to a specific religion or solidified sense of “God” and rather choose to allow their faith to manifest as a more abstract spirituality, much like that of our old friends down at Fraggle Rock.

Finally, the Fraggles, with their multi-colored felt skin and sexual ambiguity, encouraged us to embrace the plurality of our generation and to be more open-minded toward and accepting of the differentness around us than generations before us.

Generation Y is indeed more pluralistic than prior generations, according to statistics published by the Learning Work Connection of Ohio State University. In fact, one-third of Generation Y consists of non-white minorities, many of whom are immigrants. As a result, our generation tends to be more tolerant of race and sexuality (82 percent of our generation report having at least one gay or lesbian friend).

The Fraggles themselves were pluralistic in appearance and, beyond that, befriended many outside of their species (notably a few specific Doozers, Sprocket the dog, and the Last of the Lily Creatures and even the Gorgs, from time to time). Though all children’s shows encourage this kind of friendliness, the Fraggles embodied the ideals of acceptance on a level not often seen in children’s shows as the cast consisted of groups that clearly functioned on different levels of society, as opposed to the usual utopian equal playing field usually depicted in the genre.

Though we may not distinctly remember the Fraggles and their Rock, the wisdom they imparted on us has resonated to adulthood. We grew up with the Fraggles and, in many ways, Gobo (who, along with his Uncle Traveling Matt should now give you film kids a chuckle), Red, Mokey, Wembley and Boober, grew up with us. Fittingly, in 2009, the Fraggles will return to us in a big screen adventure in which they will, reportedly, leave Fraggle Rock for the unknown world of outer space at around the same time as the audience that knew and loved them graduates college and ventures into the unknown “real world.”

Big Pete Wrigley in all his glory. Photo courtesy of Nickelodeon.

Big Pete narrated his way right into my seven-year-old heart as the older brother of trouble child Little Pete on Nickelodeon show, The Adventures of Pete and Pete. His lackadaisical attitude and flannel shirts had me swooning before I even knew what the word meant. He was older, mysterious, a redhead: in short, my dream man.

Pete and Pete spoke to me in a way that other kids’ shows could not. I needed tattoos, superheros and aging punk rockers. I needed redheads I could look up to. The Petes took that awkwardness inherent to redheads and made it cool. They were rebels within society, forever fighting their parents and telling authority to wax their nose hair. And they were friends with Steve Buscemi, Iggy Pop and Artie, the strongest man in the world. Mostly, they were people I could relate to during a time in life where I felt I couldn’t relate to anyone. They were the kids I could play ding-dong ditch with, or, in Big Pete’s case, a kid I could hold hands with.

When I was offered the opportunity to interview Michael Maronna, the actor behind Big Pete, the child inside me was giddy. This is Big Pete we’re talking about, Jeff from Slackers, “Stewart” of the Ameritrade commercials. What was I going to ask him? Fortunately, Maronna doesn’t play into the hype. He’s not really sure why people get so excited about his characters, but he was able to give me some insight into them, the redhead perspective and growing up.

What it was like for you being on Pete and Pete? Can you sort of take me back to that?
It was awesome. I was 12 years old when the show started. For most of the show I was a teenager, and I got to play around. I learned about life, I met all kinds of very strange people and I had a lot of fun making a television show.

What prompted you to go up for the part of Big Pete Wrigley?
I had already been acting for a while and this was a show that specifically called for redheads, and there’s never too many of those parts.

Did you have any idea of how subversive or different the show was?
It fit in very well with my world view, I guess. Chris Viscardi and Will McRobb [the creators of Pete and Pete] don’t look outwardly like subversive people, but they definitely still think with a childlike mind. It was really great to be surrounded by kindred spirits that way. I didn’t realize how weird it was because I was already thinking weird. It was always wacky.

How did it feel to be a hero to redheads everywhere?
I understand that we do have the outside appeal because we’re outsiders. That’s got to be. I know that if I got in trouble in school it was because I was one of the few people the teachers saw. Redheads stick out.

A more mature Michael Maronna. Photo courtesy of Michael Maronna.

It seems that all of the characters you pick are sort of operating from this redhead perspective. First Pete and Pete, then you went on to do “Slackers,” where you’re again a sort of anti-hero, and then again with the Stewart role in the Ameritrade commercials. Is there something that draws you to these outsider roles?
It’s pretty niche. I don’t know that you could draw a common thread through those three specific characters, but they have been three major roles of this part of my life. It’s tough to put a name on it. I like that you’re coining the redhead perspective phrase, that’s a good way to put it.

Are there any commonalities that you share with these characters?
I guess, Pete was so long ago that a lot of that calm narrator personality has rubbed off on me, but he’s also more, I guess I grew to be more deadpan after doing a lot of Pete and Pete, because you were just supposed to look at a kid with a tattoo and a man in pajamas, and go, “Oh yeah, that’s normal.” Maybe I did grow more blasé.

I guess at the time, and still now, Pete and Pete both represent sort of, the two struggles of one person trying to grow up and not grow up. I, at the same time as being a person who was trying to grow up, was trying to play this character that was growing up at the same pace as me. Mannerisms or, the guys would always get on me for not blinking. I think that was just a reaction to narrating half the show. There are definitely pieces of Stewart that are pieces of me, because I’m definitely wisecracking and anti-authority. And the Jeff character [in Slackers], there’s definitely a piece of me, because I improvised a lot of that character.

What were your favorite TV shows as a child?
Well, I started off super-young, definitely been a TV addict for a very long time … I was watching the Garry Shandling Show, I was watching all kinds of cartoons left and right. I think I did an amazing amount of time on the couch. The things that came on after school, the cartoons and the abrupt jump to cop shows like 21 Jump Street. I watched ridiculous things when I was a kid, some educational things, I have to put that in there for my mom. The generation of TV shows, obviously they were better back then. I always watched comedy shows, The Simpsons. I conjectured at one time that there were two types of people, those who got The Simpsons and those who got Seinfeld. I’m not sure if that’s true anymore.

What are you up to these days? What can we expect to see from you in the future?
I’m working on a film with Woody Harrelson called The Messenger. I’m not acting in it. I joined the electrician’s union in New York City, and I’ve been working as an electrician doing lighting on feature films for the past four or five years. I wrote a screenplay. Not sure if people want to see me in it, or they just want to see the screenplay. And I have several unsolicited music videos running around on YouTube. I do get people sometimes who will volunteer to me that Slackers is one of their favorite films. Personally I’m scared by that, but I’m flattered.

Is there anything you would like to say to this generation of kids who grew up on Pete and Pete?
You know, they’re not really kids anymore. This is an important time for those former kids who grew up watching Pete and Pete, because not only is this show about that struggle, it’s about adults looking back and feeling like children. There’s going to be a kid in you no matter what, it’s just a matter of how much you let him out. And I think the people who watched Pete and Pete let him out more … Obviously every person has to figure this out for themselves. Growing up, it’s still something I’m trying to figure out.

Click on a book to start, well, reading.

Wedged between the multitude of action movies scattered on the table, my copy of Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure stood out like a sofa with eyeballs. It was Spring Break 2007, and my friends and I needed to select a film to watch that night. I lobbied for Pee-Wee, but everyone else laughed, brushing off my suggestion with “no way” and “I’m not watching that.” They opted for the hyper-masculine Die Hard, while I watched a man-child dance to “Tequila” in the basement.

This weekend, Northwestern’s Block Cinema will screen Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure alongside The Bicycle Thief, as part of a “Bicycle Double Feature.” The fact Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure is being shown with a film some critics consider the greatest ever made indicates that this “weird” character left some sort of impact. Pee-Wee Herman transcends typical nostalgia, and serves not as a hip talking point, but as a symbol of innocence in the face of adulthood.

Pee-Wee Herman, played by Paul Reubens, is one of the most identifiable characters from the 1980s. Reubens created the character in the late ‘70s and, after being rejected from Saturday Night Live, decided to create a stage show centered on Pee-Wee. The Pee-Wee Herman Show was born, becoming popular enough to warrant an HBO special and guest spots on David Letterman. Warner Brothers signed Reubens and commissioned him to make a Pee-Wee movie, leading to the greatest Herman-centered creation ever, the 1985 Tim Burton-directed Big Adventure. The next year, Pee-Wee’s Playhouse began airing on Saturday mornings, a kids’ show that captured 22 Emmys during its four-year run. A second film, Big Top Pee-Wee, came out in 1988. And then, in 1991, Reubens was arrested for whacking off in an adult movie theater, and Pee-Wee got brushed off into the cobweb-lined attic of pop culture.

University of Toronto professor Linda Hutcheon, in a 1998 essay, defined nostalgia as “the past as imagined, as idealized through memory and desire.” She expands on it, connecting the idea of nostalgia to the contemporary: “the ideal that is not being lived now is projected onto the past.” Apply this definition of nostalgia to Northwestern, and you’ll hit on why conversations about Doug and Double Dare are so prevalent. College, contrary to popular media representations, is a terrifying place. For many kids, it’s the transition from childhood to adulthood, the first time someone has to survive on their own. And for some, college introduces brushes with love, heartbreak, failure, pressure, sexuality and even maturity, all concepts more terrifying than a giant salesman.

Childhood, by contrast, was simple and carefree, the only fears present in silly encounters with bullies, crushes and Little League baseball games. We enjoyed watching TV shows where big turtles fight robot ninjas. But the shows of our youth, when viewed from adult eyes, become a lot less wonderful. Kids watch TV and don’t question anything. They just enjoy. Adults dissect, and once-simple pieces of entertainment don’t feel the same. I tried watching episodes of Salute Your Shorts, one of my favorite childhood shows, but Donkeylip’s capture-the-flag run through the forest no longer struck me as a triumphant victory for the underdog, but as a fat kid running awkwardly through a wooded area.

Pee-Wee Herman represents a different nostalgia. People flee to discussions about Hey, Dude and boy bands for sanctuary, a way to escape the present, but never re-engage them, as they yield no new wealth. As a kid, you watched Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and screamed real loud when the secret word comes up. You watch Big Adventure to laugh at Pee-Wee beating up a plump rich kid. Flip either on as an adult and you’ll find a goofy character constantly trying to hold onto his innocence in the face of maturity.

Lots of people get creeped out by Pee-Wee, besides the masturbation, because he’s an adult acting like a hyperactive six-year-old. He wears a slightly too-tight grey suit and walks around oddly. He screams and mocks others (“I know you are but what am I?”), and always seems in motion. He married fruit salad. No normal adult does that. When you are a kid, you see Pee-Wee as a friend who owns a lot of stuff. Revisit the Playhouse as an adult, and he becomes a role model on how to not fall victim to adulthood.

North Carolina State professor Melynda Huskey, in a 1992 essay about Pee-Wee, argues the Playhouse “offers us escape into the safe space of regression.” A fair point, but one that lumps Pee-Wee in Hutcheon’s definition of idealized nostalgia, which the show avoids. Characters bring all of their baggage, from self-esteem to relationship problems, into Pee-Wee’s pad, and even sex appears. Miss Yvonne, the busty head female of the show, flirts with everyone (even the talking furniture), while Pee-Wee tries to look up her dress and even fantasizes about scoring with her in one episode (Globey ruins his fantasy). The adult world lingers in the Playhouse; Pee-Wee just deals with it differently. He shouts and runs around and puts giant underwear on his head. Adults wear suits, take everything too seriously and plan out every detail. The Playhouse embraces childhood whimsy in the face of this, teaching us to have fun and just freak out sometimes.

I first saw Big Adventure when my family installed HBO, when I was about eight, and I just laughed and cheered for Pee-Wee to get his bike back. Today, it means a lot more. I slide the DVD in when I’m feeling immensely happy and want to keep the joy going with a plethora of “big butt” jokes. I’ve turned to this movie when I’m down and out, too. When my heart has been shattered by academic failure, future anxiety and, most painfully, girls, I turn to Big Adventure. Part of it is that I just love seeing Pee-Wee act ridiculous while putting tape on his face. But, unlike other nostalgia, this movie and character impact me today. Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure teaches patient viewers of any age to not give up on what they believe in and urges them to chase after it, regardless of how many setbacks and failures are faced.

It’s a simple message but an essential one, especially when so many sources of nostalgia exist to be talked about. Pee-Wee Herman wants us to have fun, but also not be afraid to foolishly go after what we love regardless of how scary it appears to be. Because when you get it, you’ll come home to the Playhouse and be stronger than ever.

Kirk Fogg and Olmec prepare us for the harsh realities of adulthood. Photo by agent_meg07 on Flickr, under Creative Commons.

Whoever said they learned everything they needed to know about life in kindergarten was totally cracked. At best, you picked up survival instincts. Wishy-washy interpersonal relations, maybe. An inherent mistrust for untraceable stickiness, perhaps (okay, so that’s a pretty important one). But if you ask me, the real lessons, the ones that can get you through your adult life successfully, came straight out of Nickelodeon. And some of the best lessons anyone could have learned from Nickelodeon lie in the obvious allegories of Legends of the Hidden Temple.

Easily one of the best shows from Nickelodeon-of-yore, Legends of the Hidden Temple combined the excitement of athletic competition with the crazy fun of made-up history and tribal folklore. Eliminating color-coded teams through a series of challenges based on the central myth of the episode, kids competed in Indiana-Jones-style obstacles until the final pair tried to make it through Olmec’s Temple, a task to be completed in three minutes. Although in its heyday Legends was easily the most exciting and intense game show on Earth (that kid had better hurry up, because that boulder is going to crush him to death or his sister will fall into a snake pit! Lives are hanging in the balance!), looking back now I see that it is also rife with very serious lessons that could guide us all when making life decisions. In fact, as America crashes into a recession, depression and suicide rates rise, and sites like eHarmony and match.com not only flourish but spur knockoffs, the best solution I can offer would be for the grownups among us to take a good look at the teachings of Olmec and Co.

Lessons on money, career and getting through The Moat

Some of the best financial advisers you could ever find might be the tiny kids running around in bright-yellow helmets. We know we all learned tons on Double Dare, Figure It Out and Clarissa Explains it All, but I think host Kirk Fogg was as much our first economic adviser as he was the first Bermuda-shorts-sporting adult to make us question the difference between okay and not-okay touches.

Bear with me. Starting out, each kid signs up for this show because he or she wants that prize. Sure, they might also want the acclaim, a free T-shirt and a day off of school, but for the most part you’re in it to win it. Of those lucky enough to get on the show (an unjust selection process in itself — don’t tell me you lost every single one of my entry forms), everyone starts out in about the same place: trying to make it across The Moat to qualify for the actual game. From there exist obstacles and pifalls that knock some out immediately; your shoelace is untied, you misunderstand the directions, your partner is a fat kid.

If you even get your foot in the door, there comes a time when your connections, athletic prowess or special-grip sneakers just aren’t enough and you need to prove you have the smarts to get by. The Steps of Knowledge can weed you out there.

The Temple Games were next. Now here’s where shit got real. The obstacles were always different, playing to some kid’s strengths while taking advantage of others’ weaknesses. Sabotaging the team evading the giant foam boulder next to you may be in your immediate interest right now, but what about the future? What if Kirk sees? What will your grandma tuning in think? As appealing as shortcuts may seem, they’re not usually worth it. So do a giant talking head proud; do the work, don’t let the man get you down, play fair and wear a helmet.

Dating, love and relationships or what’s with all those boy-girl teams?

Beyond the fact that getting through the show revolves around having a strong partner (sorry again, fat kids), Olmec might as well have been a loooove-talking-robotic-stone-head. Like most college students obsessing over Nickelodeon game shows from the nineties, I am an expert in the field, so let me explain.

Pretty much every dating column on this earth ever created will tell you how important communication is in a relationship. Know when else communication is important? When your partner is stuck in a relay temple game, time is running out, Kirk’s narrations are getting progressively snarkier and you only have one Pendant of Life. And you thought getting a date to your dorm formal was stressful.

Now no matter how much you may have learned about dating from celebrity couples like Doug and Patti, Alex Mack and Ray or Clarissa and Sam, not even the most embarrassing self-help books can lay out the basics towards maintaining a stable, healthy relationship like two pre-teens running through a Styrofoam temple. It starts out well; they pair is comfortable enough with their attachment that they can do things on their own. When one needs some guidance, the ol’ ball and chain shouts out the assembly order for the silver monkey (although if that one gives your partner trouble you should probably cut out soon). Most importantly, you stick together even if you don’t win the RC car. Even if he was the one who totally blew it in the Tomb of the Ancient Kings.

Lasting lessons for personal happiness that Kirk Fogg must never have learned

Everything you need to know about life and could have learned from Legends of the Hidden Temple:

Don’t be afraid to push yourself and try as hard as you can. The boulder chasing you is actually made out of foam. Team work is important. The kid waiting on deck is just as important as the kid racing through The Swamp. Get messy now; it could win you a bike later. Follow the rules. Always wear a helmet. For the love of God, remember how to assemble the Silver Monkey.

And whether you’re in a Nickelodeon game show or that great big obstacle course that we call life, it’s still always harder when you’re the fat kid.

Hanson, then and now. Photos by blue yonder dreams88 and kurtmania16 on Flickr, under Creative Commons.

I’d be lying if I said a piece of me didn’t die when I found out that the rumor of Hanson coming for Dillo Day was just that: a rumor. They are on tour, they do have a relatively new album out — hell, they’re going to Bloomington, Ill., on April 18, why not Northwestern? Damn you rumor-starters for getting my hopes up.

What was it about Hanson, the boy-band of brothers from Tulsa, Okla., that made them international pop icons before most of the group members could drive? Hanson pretty much permeated every aspect of my life as a ten-year-old: influencing what I read (biographies), listened to (their albums, and bands they liked), played (there may have been three months of piano lessons to impress Taylor) and watched (seriously, I taped all of their talk show appearances) and I know I’m not the only one.

Before *NSYNC, before the Backstreet Boys and way before 98 Degrees, there was Hanson. Hanson had the power to make elementary-school girls scream and swoon with their boyish good looks, golden locks and infectious pop songs. Isaac, Taylor and Zac Hanson won the hearts of most, while annoying many, with “MMMbop,” causing listeners around the country to ask one another the million-dollar question: Just what the hell does “MMMbop” mean? While the answer may differ depending on whom you ask, the band’s first single solidified their status as grade-A hotties among the 9-to-14 crowd. And who really cares what it means when Taylor is the one belting out the words? Not me, that’s for sure.

The appeal of Hanson for me and other adoring fans, though, goes beyond just appearances. Sure they were cute (not Isaac) with long hair and innocent eyes that could pierce your soul, but they were, more importantly, young and talented. When their first album, Middle of Nowhere, dropped in 1997, Isaac was 16, Taylor was 14 and Zac just 11 years old, making them the same age as many of their admirers, which only made them seem more attainable. Girls everywhere (alright, myself included) convinced themselves that chasing a 14-year-old star was more likely to yield a real, fairy-tale romance than going after, say, an older Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, which was released the same year as Middle of Nowhere. Sadly, the fairy tale didn’t come true for some of us, though we’re not bitter at all.

Unlike lip-synching professionals such as Milli Vanilli and dear Ashlee Simpson, Hanson was and is a truly talented group. All you haters, stay with me. At ages when most kids are still sincerely convinced the other sex has cooties, these kids were not only playing their own instruments, but also contributing to writing songs about situations and emotions that in reality they likely knew little of. “MMMbop” may not be the most profound song ever written, but other songs discuss love, lust and loss. And I’ve tried playing drums — trust me when I say it is not the easiest thing to master. I’m pretty sure I hit myself in the face more often than hitting the actual drum, yet Zac managed to play along with his older brothers by the time he was 11. And I’m sorry, but they have good voices. There I said it. They used to be high-pitched, but somehow it worked. They sounded good, they played their instruments well, and they knew how to please their audience. Yes, they were fantastic.

Now older, wiser and married (and yes, even Isaac) with shorter hair, Hanson still seems to please the masses. Rather than aiming at a young audience, the three brothers grew up with their fans. Their voices have only improved with age, as has their abilities on their respective instruments. Now recording on their independent label, 3CG Records, which they started in 2003, Hanson is still experimenting with its sound. Take a listen to “Penny & Me” to hear the band’s new sound, it is delightful.

Hanson is now using their fourth studio album, “The Walk,” to raise awareness and funds for a good cause; the first single was available through iTunes with funds going to raise money for AIDS/HIV hospitals in South Africa, and fans are encouraged to walk a barefoot mile with the band before shows on their current tour around the country. Isaac, Taylor and Zac show no signs of slowing down or selling out, and if you ever need a taste of the old band, we’ll always have “MMMbop.”

And even though he got married when he was like 19 and okay, he has three kids, I’d just like to say: Taylor, I am totally available. Until then, I will play “Where’s The Love” on repeat and dream of what could have been.