indefinite articles

The golden age of Nickelodeon was a seminal period of development for 80s babies. If you are capable of reminiscing about the age before e-mail, then you probably remember the very first time you flipped to Channel 12 to see a blue-nosed manx cat showcasing his nose goblins to the world. It’s also likely that you remember the cultural significance of an orange couch, a bucket of slime, and a noble teenager by the name of Donkeylips.

The early 1990s was indeed a vital juncture for the little children’s network that could, which, thanks to twin juggernauts You Can’t Do That on Television and Double Dare, had just achieved a magical balance between commercial appeal and artistic freedom that spawned a variety of cult hits. Destined to be deposited in the nostalgia banks of millions, this critical mass of live action, animation and absurd competition took America by storm and established the network’s platform for preteen pop-cultural hegemony.

Central to this creative explosion was the Nicktoons roster, the flagship of which was the ongoing saga of a sixth grader in the throes of self-consciousness. Nickelodeon’s attempt to re-center its diverse-by-default docket of imported programming, Doug began as an unambitious portrayal of the everyboy. Its mundane plots took a Seinfeldian approach to storytelling, the key exceptions being that Doug traded in cynicism for daily bread, and Seinfeld was much more frank in its treatment of sexual mores.

The only thing not Funnie about this photo is the immigrant labor.

Doug’s simplicity is apparent in its first episode, “Doug Bags a Neematoad.” From the first frame, the key elements of the series are clearly established: Billy West delivers the internal monologue of the new kid in Bluffington, a suburb populated quite literally by all the colors of the rainbow. His life, a revolving door of daydreams, anxieties, and anticlimactic realizations, is charmingly punctuated by a blend of bedroom guitar pop and hand-to-mouth foley. In the space of two eleven minute episodes, Doug learns how to order cheeseburgers, deal with the neighborhood bully, and have a panic attack over possibly spilling catsup on the shoes of a pretty girl. The entire story is funneled to us through the narrative device of Doug’s journal, which will one day be mined for all kinds of embarrassment and half-wisdom. And while our hero is no doofus, his vegetarian dog, Porkchop, is clearly Doug’s moral and intellectual superior.

“Dear Journal: Today I realized that my eyes lack scelerae.”

Can a show so deeply anchored in nostalgia, universality and two-dimensional personalities survive the test of time? As I begin vicariously reliving the memories of Doug Funnie, though, we’ll see just how much of Doug is cultural artifact and how much should be left to conversation filler and Quailman Halloween costumes.

Next: “The Things a Guy Has to Go Through to Keep from Being a Loser”