Douglas Yancey Funnie: 90s Sitcoms, Revisited

One of the benefits of working frequently between the hours of 4 PM and 2 AM is that you are available to watch some great afternoon TV.  Recently, I discovered that MTV2, in addition to actually existing, shows two hours of Saved by the Bell and Boy Meets World back-to-back from noon til 4.  As you’d imagine, this was a revelation and ever since I’ve been reliving some of my favorite childhood shows.  What follows is the fifth of several look-backs at some of those incredible shows and what made them so (not-so) great.

So we’re moving to cartoons. If you’ve enjoyed this series, that’s great news. If you’re everyone else, this just reeks of desperation.

And I’m fine with that.

Thanks to a tip from a friend, I discovered that a bunch of cartoons from our youth (commonly known as Nicktoons) were being re-aired as a part of “The 90s are All That” on TeenNick. Obviously, I was all in.

In reminiscing about the show, I remembered that it was divided into two distinct sections, its Nickelodeon origins and its Disney re-boot.

No self-respecting child of the 90s preferred the Disney version to the Nick version. In fact, if you even so much as remotely enjoyed the Disney version, please stop reading this immediately and never return to this website (Unless of course you want to purchase a copy. Then, by all means, come back).

Beyond the fact that the Disney Doug simply wasn’t better than the Nick Doug, there was the fact that we were in prime cartoon age when the first one came out. From 1991 to 1994 (I was 5 to 8), Nickelodeon was pumping out fucking bangers and I was there for all of them (except the Ren and Stimpy Show, which I’ll get into at a later date, believe me). But it wasn’t just that. They changed the guy who voiced Doug and Roger (a fact that guy wasn’t happy with), they changed their clothes, and they didn’t make Roger as big of a punk to Doug as he was originally (I always maintained, if you weren’t supposed to hate Roger every time he popped on screen, what was the point of him as a character?).

Because this is our first cartoon look-back, let’s do this one (and all other cartoon ones in the future) a little different. After thinking about it for thirty seconds, I decided to use a rubric. Grades won’t be given out, but judgements will be passed.

Novel Writing For Dummies

So, I wrote a book.

Big fucking deal, right?

It’s been four years of writing, reading, editing, complaining, failing with women, and annoying random people (cousins, friends, friends of friends, etc.).  And now, as of November 8th, congratulations? is finally ready and available for purchase.

About a week has gone by since that day and I’ve had some time to think/reflect on this whole thing. The amount of support I’ve seen thus far from friends and family has been tremendous, and for that I’m eternally grateful. It’s one thing for people to say supportive things, but to actually take the time do things (be it liking a facebook page, telling a friend, retweeting, or even buying) is a whole ‘nother deal. From the depths of whatever heart I have, thank you.

A lot of people have told me how impressive they found it that I wrote a book, stuck it through to the end, published it, etc. And I guess, in a way, it is cool. But I think, more than anything, it’s a glaring indication of not having a girlfriend and/or children to suck the energy and time out of my life.

While I’m on the topic of putting myself down… the other thing I think I need to debunk is that because this book was based off my own experiences, I didn’t have to completely fabricate an entire world to write about. You want impressive? How about Chronicles of Narnia? You ever seen a lion wear a fucking crown? Doubt it. I haven’t read those books in a while, but I’m nearly certain C.S. Lewis doesn’t have a chapter called “Fuck Valentine’s Day” in any of his books.

The truth is that the process has been the most fun part. I always heard people say that about things that took a while to accomplish and I never quite understood what it meant. Now, after having completed a goal of mine that took a while to reach, I think I have an idea. The nights writing til three or four AM, the meetings with strangers (they’re not strangers anymore, but were at the time) in New York to have it critiqued, the collaboration on cover art, the scribbling on the back of napkins when an idea struck… that’s what made it fun. That’s what makes it rewarding, no matter how well this goes (and I’m talking as far as sales and reception).

Let’s be honest: I have a little too much time on my hands. But, if that extra time has given you something you can read and enjoy, then I guess it’s worth it. Otherwise, it’s been fun.

Thanks for allowing this one post that isn’t ridiculing women or reviewing old sitcoms. Apologies for the extended period of seriousness.

Let’s get back to work.

Chronicles of the Single Man: Episode 3, The Confused Female

You didn’t want to just buy me a round of drinks for no reason? You don’t buy drinks for all your other friends?

For the life of me, I just don’t understand certain things women do.

I can’t figure out how you put so much time into what you wear, how you purposely wear shit you know not many people will notice and yet is still incredibly uncomfortable, what you do on weekends when I’m playing sports, or how you don’t feel slovenly walking around all day in YPs (that’s yoga pants, or as I like to call them, Why Pants?).

But above all, one of the things that confuses me most about women is how little understanding they seem to have of the male intent. Let’s try to make this as simple as we can: if a man you don’t know is talking to you for any serious length of time (outside of work or forced interaction, i.e. the DMV), there’s a high likelihood he’s interested in (having sex with) you. And if that guy asks you out for drinks after not having spoken since high school? Well, then we have Episode 3.

Eddy Curry: Gone For Good?

If that’s not the look of a man frustrated that he ate Taco Bell before the game, I don’t know what is.

For some reason, I had the idea for this post in a dream last week. I’m not sure what that says more about… how fucked up my dreams are or how pathetic my life is that I’m actually dreaming about posts for a shitty blog. I’ll get back to you when I get an official answer.

As I’ve said before, I’m an NBA fan. Serious NBA fan. The kind of fan that would watch my team (the Spurs) play the Hornets in April over watching Syracuse (the school I attended) play any game outside of the Final Four. The kind of fan that avidly checks twitter to see if Eddy Curry is going to make the squad (sadly, he didn’t and this sort of puts his whole career into perspective), the kind of fan that thinks about rescheduling a date with a girl if it conflicts with his fantasy basketball draft, the kind of fan that is just as excited about the one game not on TV on opening night (Wizards and Cavs) as I am about the two that are (Heat, Celts and Mavs, Lake show).  You get the point.

I actually own (and I’m not proud to admit this) an Eddy Curry Bull jersey. A red number two, hanging in the former room of one Scott A. Spinelli back home with my parents. I remember, distinctly, taping the Baby Bulls games (remember when that was an actual thing? the idea that was actually ever, ever going to work… drafting two high school big men to compete together in the NBA, amongst men… jesus h. christ) to get a taste of who I thought was going to be one of the more unstoppable offensive big men during his career.

Now, 11 years later, it appears as if he’s just about done. And that’s a sad thing.