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Thursday, February 27, 2020 — 5B

They populate hallways of

high schools across the country,
sauntering to class in their
flannels and flared jeans. They
cry “like this if you’re a ’90s kid,”
while bopping out to hip hop
music on a vintage Walkman.
These lost souls were “born in
the wrong generation” and yearn
for days gone by. Fixating on any
time period from the 1960s to the
1990s, these angsty teenagers
often proclaim that the times in
question were “better days” and
that these past eras produced
the last truly “good” music.
Oftentimes, such individuals are
dismissed by their peers as those
kids who can’t stop talking about
“My So-Called Life” or “Sabrina
the Teenage Witch.” Of course,
the ’90s saw events like Y2K,
the OJ trial and a presidential
impeachment. But we also have
this decade to thank for beanie
baby hoards, those slap bracelets
that got banned and “Space
Jam.” What if these displaced
dreamers really were born in the
wrong generation, and the past,
particularly the ’90s, truly was a
better time?

Stephen Chbosky’s “The Perks

of Being a Wallflower” made me
consider this question. Published
in 1999, the epistolary tale takes
the reader on a journey with
Charlie through his first year of
high school and “the world of
first dates, family dramas, and
new friends,” as stated in the
novel. “Perks” is quintessentially
’90s, filled with grunge, angst

and feeling infinite. I am not a
’90s kid, but Charlie’s experience
truly resonated with me and
brought me back to my own high
school years. In many ways,
his journey was my journey,
and reading Chbosky’s novel
reminded me of the loneliness,
vulnerability
and
love
that

characterized my life. The story
is transcendent and universal,
“both
happy
and
sad”
and

written from the perspective of a
boy who is “still trying to figure
out how that could be.”

You could say I was lonely in

the ninth grade. Following the
dissolution of a close friendship,
and overwhelmed by my own
nervousness, I had a difficult time
making
friends.

I was quiet and
shy, terrified by
the prospect of
talking
to
new

people but racked
with a yearning
for
human

connection.
It

wasn’t
a
great

phase
of
my

life, but it was
a formative one
nonetheless. And
Chbosky captures
the
essence

of
this
period

nearly perfectly. Early in the
book, Charlie timidly befriends
Patrick and Sam, both seniors,
and becomes close friends with
them. But before this connection
is made, and after conflicts arise
between the friends, Charlie’s
isolation takes center stage. The
hopelessness
and
rumination

that
characterized
many
of

my days trapped alone in my
head are depicted with a scary
accuracy. At one point, Charlie
is promised a call from his
friend Patrick after a mishap,
but Charlie doesn’t receive one.
This one event begins to taint
the rest of his thoughts, and he
becomes increasingly distressed
the more he stews in his own
worries. That sort of poisonous
anxiety, the kind that paralyzes
you and seeps into the rest of
your existence, is not new to me.
That Chbosky is able to capture
this inimitable feeling of nervous
isolation only speaks more to the
universality of his book.

Thankfully, much like Charlie,

I was able to find truly life-saving

friends during the
ninth grade, and
coincidentally,
the
friends
I

made as a ninth
grader were all
older than me as
well.
Emotional

insecurity
and

anxiety don’t go
away
overnight,

though,
even

with new friends,
and
growing

into appreciating
these
friends

is a process in

and of itself. It’s a process of
teenage growth that I haven’t
seen
depicted
often.
Here,

“Perks” once again captures an
aspect of my adolescence with
precision and grace. Charlie’s
quiet sentimentality is both
beautiful and familiar. When
Charlie is first invited to hang
out with Sam and Patrick’s

friends, I saw a part of myself
in him. He passively intakes his
surroundings,
absorbing
the

presence of new, strange and
wonderful people just existing.
“That was me once,” I thought. I
remember when I was invited to
a house party for the first time,
and though I wasn’t fed any pot
brownies and we only listened
to “Kidz Bop” while we face
painted, my emotional state in
those moments was similar to
Charlie’s. Anything felt possible,
and the depths of love ripped my
chest open, baring my soul for
whatever pain or joy might come.

But I got much more time with

my friends than Charlie does
with his: My friends were only
a year older than me, whereas
Charlie’s are three years older.
But this doesn’t matter, because
even though Charlie’s journey
of friendship with Patrick and
Sam moved to a new stage much
sooner than my journey did,
both Charlie and I hold an acute
awareness of the rarity and
beauty of friendship. Our explicit
acknowledgement and tranquil
acceptance of the impermanence
of these times amplified the
highs of love and companionship.

There were times when I became
so acutely aware of how great it
was to have friends that I simply
cried out of joy and thankfulness.
Such sentimentality is familiar
to Charlie, and on this level I
connected with him. I distinctly
remember a moment driving
home from my friend’s house in
the eleventh grade. It was the
last year everyone in our friend
group would all be in high school,
and graduation was approaching
quickly. I came to a stoplight
and considered this fact for the
thousandth time, but while I was
thinking, a pretty song came on.
I don’t remember the song, only
that it was one I recommended to
one of my friends. But I remember
that I just started laughing. Then
crying. Love washed over me,
and I reflected on all the times I
felt infinite with them.

I still reminisce on these

times, but coming to terms with
the passage of time helped me
grow beyond who I was before
I met these people. I am still
awkward and shy, and sometimes
I avoid going to the same hair
stylist more than once because
I have already asked them
every question in my arsenal

the first time they cut my hair.
But I am not afraid anymore. I
carry on with the memories of
those I love in my heart. Steven
Chbosky’s “The Perks of Being
a Wallflower” is transcendent,
and it spoke to me and my
experiences over two decades
after it was originally published.
Each generation is defined by
the culture in which they grew
up in. The hippies of the ’60s,
the angsty adolescents of the
’90s, the political revolutionaries
of the 2010s. It is inevitable,
necessary, even, to move beyond
the past, but there is also value in
what has been lost. “The Perks
of Being a Wallflower” reminded
me of this. So slip into those Dr.
Martens and that flannel and
jam out to some Salt-N-Pepa,
and embrace being born in the
wrong generation. Embrace the
ability to look back on remnants
of times gone by while still being
able to appreciate what made
those times special. The wisdom
to be found in them is timeless.
“Perks” in particular reminds
us all to be aware of limitless joy
and opportunity, and, most of
all, helps us to remember to feel
infinite.

The perks of being a ’90s
kid: Chbosky’s timeless novel

SUMMIT ENTERTAINMENT

The
World
Wide
Web.

Scrunchies.
Y2K.
Pogs.
The

Clinton-Lewinsky
scandal.

Sitcoms. Need I say more? It’s the
’90s.

Many of my contemporaries and

I were either unborn or too young
to soak in the iconic ’90s culture
that oozed out of every fleeting
moment, but that doesn’t seem to
matter too much. The ’90s, while
we may never truly relive it, is still
so culturally relevant nearly two
decades later that it doesn’t feel
like we missed out on anything.
Scrunchies came back in full force,
Dr. Martens might never go away
and you can hear iterations of “I
did not have sexual relations with
that woman” in nearly any reality
TV show or celebrity scandal
today.

The unambiguous nature of the

’90s makes it easily imitated today
and many aspects of pop culture
take advantage of this fact. Shows
like “Bojack Horseman” have
created picture-perfect parodies
of the classic ’90s situation comedy
format through “Horsin’ Around,”
a template for what these shows
used to offer to the community.
Through its simple yet precise
usage of “live” studio audiences,
cheesy catchphrases and limited
filming sets, the essence of iconic
sitcoms like “Full House” and
“Family Matters” are flawlessly
captured. For those who grew
up with them, this combination
of features elicits warm feelings
of nostalgia and coziness. You’re
bundled up on the couch with your
preferred sitcom on, humming
along to the theme song, knowing
that no matter what conflict arises
in this episode, everything’s going
to be okay in about half an hour.

And yet, there’s a level of harsh

reality that simmers beneath the
feel-good appearance of sitcoms.
This optimistic facade is the
illusion that modern television
has tried to take down. We’ve
entered a phase in our culture
where mindless consumption is
frequent yet frowned upon, and
many new shows have tried to

incorporate social commentary
into their plot lines to make
television consumption a little
more meaningful. Shows like
“Bojack” centered their entire
plot on how unrealistic the idea of
quick conflict resolution is in real
life. Hardly anything in real life is
ever resolved within a half-hour
time span, and these shows know
this. A lot of us do too. Yet sitcoms,
especially those made in the ’90s,

gained so much traction and are
held close to the hearts of many to
this day. Why is this?

Simply
put,
sitcoms
are

comforting for the very reason that
makes them criticized by modern
audiences. Their lack of realism,
in the wake of decades of war and
uncertainty, provided a source
of repetition and structure that
people lacked in their day-to-day
lives. Superficially, most people
only
remember
the
positives

when it comes to the ’90s. That
is, the Spice Girls, barrettes and
“Clueless.”
We
often
ignore

the negative things — like war,
genocide and the Los Angeles
riots — that likely brought about
the necessity of these positives.
There’s a reason why people
needed sitcoms to distract them.

Reality
television
plays
a

similar role in modern society.
When it comes down to it, nothing
that happens in either genre is
necessarily groundbreaking or
surprising. They both take place
on someone’s couch, kitchen island
or bar down the street. Most of
the episodes are predictable and
the plotlines are shallow. If there
is any deeper meaning, it’s subtle
and hidden under layers of petty
drama and clever quips. It’s this
consistency we often look for
when we’re in times of distress
— similar to how I crave shows
that I’ve already seen when life
becomes just a little too much.
Distraction is a coping mechanism,
and “woke culture” tries to make
us feel guilty about this very
natural phenomenon. To a certain
extent, there’s not much we can do
about the macro, uncontrollable
dangers we face at every waking
moment. We can tote around our
reusable straws and take shorter
showers, but what is there to do
about nuclear war? About natural
disasters?

In recent decades, we have been

faced with so much change and
imminent doom (which I know
aren’t exactly new) that we’re
left with two options: choose to
remain blissfully ignorant, or
take on large-scale burdens like
they’re our own. Most people,
understandably,
choose
the

former. These shows transport
us to a world we wish we could
live in, where our most difficult
problems are having two dates to
the dance or not having a jacuzzi.
And change, whether positive or
negative, is constant and difficult
for anyone to endure too much
of. I’m certainly not suggesting
that you hole up and mindlessly
consume until your brain melts,
but don’t feel so guilty about
ignoring the tick tick ticking of the
Doomsday clock by watching a bit
of brainless television. Sometimes
all we need to cope is a half-
hour episode of television where
likeable and predictable characters
chat around the dinner table and,
no matter what, no matter how
nasty things get, everything’s
going to be okay.

‘Last Week Tonight’ makes
sense of the political chaos

Last Week Tonight

“Welcome!
Welcome!

Welcome!” John Oliver exclaims
with his signature opener as he
introduces his newest season
as host of HBO’s “Last Week
Tonight.” Over the past seven
years,
the
late-night
comedy

program has become known
for its savvy political satire,
cementing itself as a staple of late-
night comedy. In its first show
of the new decade, Oliver was
quick to note what global events
transpired during the show’s
nearly two-month hiatus: “We
nearly went to war with Iran,
the UK elected ‘BOJO’ Prime
Minister and the Coronavirus
has started spreading around the
world, and if you happen to feel
like you’re getting sick right now
you DO have it and you only have
hours to live.”

“Last Week Tonight,” more so

than other late-night programs,
has been able to maintain a
steady, high-quality production
of informational comedy through
formatted segments that debut
every
Sunday.
The
show’s

noticeably consistent strengths are
its larger segments, those which
tend to grapple with relevant
issues without sacrificing comedic
material. In a late-night landscape

where seemingly every comedian
has a Trump impression, Oliver
and his writing staff lay off the
easy dunks in order to make an
even greater political statement.
While the show’s segments can be
bleak in topic, each weekly piece
intends to expand upon a political
issue that may be unknown to the
general public. In past seasons,
segments have created social
action that has ranged from
harassing FCC commissioner Ajit
Pai over net neutrality to a highly-
publicized legal battle with a West
Virginia coal CEO.

From the vantage point of

February 2020, there is still
no guarantee that HBO will
renew “Last Week Tonight” for
additional seasons. HBO has
been generous to give “Last Week
Tonight’s”
creators
expanded

agency in the show’s production.
Oliver has expressed that he
has
“full
creative
freedom,

including free reign to criticize
corporations.” After all, HBO is
owned by AT&T. Whereas conflict
of interest could present an issue
when discussing the prevalence
of matters like robocalls or joking
about the demise of “Game of
Thrones,” (which also aired on
HBO),
“Last
Week
Tonight”

maintains its “No B.S.” slant.

In particular, his new season

represents a turn for the series as
John Oliver recently obtained dual

citizenship with the United States
and the United Kingdom. While
the question of Oliver’s citizenship
was never an important factor
in his expertise as a host, his
backstory as an immigrant sets
his comedic backstory apart. His
new American identity grants
a more personal, caring tone
than in seasons past. Despite
the inherently depressing flaws
of American society which he
carefully lays out every week,
John Oliver believes he is a patriot,
holding a soft spot for the ideals
and pursuits of a more perfect
union. “It was a big deal,” he stated
in a recent interview with Stephen
Colbert on “The Late Show,”
“not just choosing America, but
choosing America NOW.” The
landscape for this year’s season
of “Last Week Tonight” should
present
many
ripe
prospects

with the inevitable fallouts from
Brexit, the summer Olympics in
Tokyo, the upcoming Democratic
National
Convention
and,
of

course, the Presidential Election.

How Oliver intends to use

his new perspectives from U.S.
citizenship in order to engage
audiences is sure to be provocative
and hilarious, culminating in the
continuation of the finest that
satire television currently offers.
That’s just so long as Ajit Pai and
the FCC have nothing else to say
about it.

The ’90s sitcoms weren’t
great, but we needed them

TV REVIEW
B-SIDE: TV

B-SIDE: BOOKS

TATE LAFRENIER

Daily Arts Writer

SOHPIA YOON

Daily TV Editor

MAXWELL BARNES

For The Daily

These shows
transport us to
a world we wish
we could live in,
where our most
difficult problems

are having two
dates to the prom

or not having a

jacuzzi

It is inevitable,
necessary, even,
to move beyond

the past, but
there is also
value in what
has been lost