A: It can turn a pop into a pope.
A few weeks ago I got an e-mail informing me that The Best of the Electric Company was coming to DVD. As I watched the trailer the hair on my neck stood on end, because it was as close to a Proustian madeleine as I'll ever experience.
The show embodied my youth as no other. It debuted when I was six, and I remember getting home from school and waiting impatiently for Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers to finish with their jejune prattle so I could follow my heroes, Easy Reader and Fargo North. And toward the end of the run, when Rita Moreno shimmied though the show's opening in that black, spangly cha-cha dress, I knew one day she would be mine.
My discs arrived last week, a Valentine's Day gift from my wife. (Is there any better feeling than knowing your spouse loves you enough to enable your utter dorkitude?) Even now, as I sing along with Tom Lehrer's lyrics for the first time in 30 years, it's clear these songs are embedded in soft recesses of my brainpan.
Robert is intrigued so far; I gave him a taste on Saturday, and he's twice asked to watch again. I figure that if the weather stays frigid and we're homebound for an extended period, he'll soon be literate enough to read the fine print on our lease renewal.
[Related: A Slate piece breaks down why the Electric Company kicks Noggin's ass, and why another litero-centric show like EC is highly unlikely.]
