My favorite holiday tradition is watching an old Fruity Pebbles commercial in which Barney Rubble, disguised as Santa, tries to steal Fred Flintstoneās cereal.
Right now, in the Pacific Ocean, is a widening gyre of plastic garbage, and among the junk food wrappers are heaps of forsaken toys, broken, exploded by firecrackers, and forgotten by spoiled children across the world. Intrepid explorers through this archaeological landscape will be able to timestamp their findings to the early to mid-1980s when they stumble upon the impressive figure of He-Man.
Science fiction writers of the past dreamed of futures, dark and bright, in which humans traveled to the stars, colonized other worlds, and encountered aliens both friendly and deadly. In all their imaginings, did they ever see their genre--ghettoized for so long as just that, genre fiction, said with a sneer--gaining prominence, even prevalence in the culture?