Undercover Robot Lover

Television is a language.

It connects us in ways that are hard to relate into words. You sit there on a date. You ask what shows they watch. You go and visit your family. You ask what shows they’re into these days. You have an interview. You ask what shows are in the que… most people are fairly honest. They go with the safe shows, the shows that they know they can’t be judged on because everyone else watches it. The Office. Seinfeld. Bridgerton. GOT. The Real Housewives, duh. Generally, television is a window into who another person is and we pride ourselves on figuring out others based on their entertainment preferences. But, like with all things, truth is in perception. I can be perceived as smart if I say I watch Jeopardy. Cute if I watch sitcoms like That 70’s Show. In tune if I (God forbid) watch The Bachelor. Even geek chic if I claim I watch Attack on Titan.

Then, there’s the facts.

The one show that I will not readily admit to. The one show that I feel would annihilate my social standing. Kill my date-ability. Murder my attraction. Decimate my career. Label me as untouchable. So, obviously, I have to come clean. The guilt is too heavy. The fear of discovery, too great. My addiction isn’t going anywhere, so now’s the time to accept the consequences.

I’m a 28 year old, heel wearing, lipstick applying professional. And I affirm that I am addicted to…

TRANSFORMERS, robots in disguise! And I’m not talking about the movies. Especially the last few wack ones (thanks, Markie Mark). Nor am I talking about the surprisingly awesome Earthrise Transformers on Netflix.

No, I am talking about the OG. The precipice of Saturday morning cartoons. The show that trumps all shows. The show that should automatically come with a cold piece of pizza.

Transformers: Generation 1. Circa 1984-1987. The badass cartoon that uses language like ‘dump these chumps’ and ‘annihilate the fools'.

I mean, come on. I can’t clackity clack up to the water cooler and be like “hey girls, did you see what Thundercracker did last night?”

Number one- that’s a porn name waiting to happen. Matter of fact, there’s a whole subcategory of Autobots called HEADMASTERS. Ask me how many jokes are in that one! Trust me, my boyfriend and I had a whole moment of using the robot names interchangeably in a not so sexy porno enactment. Thrust. HotRod. Seaspray. Rumbler. Megatron. All viable options for sweet talk.

Number two- I have boobs.

Watching Transformers is the female equivalent to a guy readily admitting to watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians. (somebody check on Kourtney and her taste in men)

“God, Rebekah, you’re kind of a cornball, huh?”

And let me tell you why

because it’s far worse than you think.

Did you notice my age? Seems kind of young to have watched the cartoon in real time. Because it is! I didn’t start watching this amazing piece of animation until about a year back. So well into my twenties, I actively chose to watch a cartoon made for children, no longer in syndication.

I blame my guy. He’s the real nerd. It’s his fault. He’s the one who introduced me to it! God, I sound like a drug addict. I have to take accountability. I was by myself, in a dark room. Candle-light twinkling. Hot tea steaming. App screen scrolling. And then, I cashed in the last bit of dignity I had in reserve to click the remote. Appreciate ya, 2020, you win.

Transformers! More than meets the eye…

The story line is so cut and dry. Nonstop action. No useless melodrama. Lots of yelling plans into the cosmos. Trash talk. Robots literally transforming! Voice acting so bad- it’s great. And the good kind of animation. The hand drawn, speaks to my inner child, kind of animation.

Do you understand how refreshing it is to eat Captain Crunch and rally with Optimus Prime, formerly known as Orion Pax (hello, fellow nerd) against Starscream (he’s a punk) and Megatron (who looks nothing like the movies) when you’re an adult with real world problems? Sometimes, it’s nice to just be a kid. Adulting sucks. Transformers allows an almost escape. It’s a portal to nostalgic safety. Plus, Soundwave is like the coolest Transformer ever. (he changes into a freakin’ boombox. Please, “eject. Eject” yourself if you don’t think that’s dope)

I suppose I’ll have to change my name now. Maybe move. Probably burn the whole internet. Can’t really go lunching with the crew if they knew that I had a romantic experience involving action figures. (because of course I buy the toys too.)

Transformers! Robots in disguise.

…….. Sorry, world. I’ll do better.