Some dude bro on the internet talking about the new She-Ra reboot: Ugh SJWs are taking over cartoons and making them all preachy. I hate it when shows try to push an agenda on kids. Why can’t they be like they used to be, you know?
Original He-Man, looking straight at the audience: We had a lot of fun here today, but you know what isn’t fun? Judging others based on how they look. Not liking a person because he or she is a different race or religion is wrong. Also, plant a tree, and don’t do drugs.
Lou Scheimer was born to a German Jewish family and believed that his cartoons had a responsibility to teach children kindness and respect for everybody.
Back then there were also MILITANT divides between “boy’s” and “girl’s” entertainment but when he found out He-Man had at least a small following of little girls he pitched the concept of He-Man’s sister She-Ra and was insistent she be as tough a warrior as her brother. He saw that girls actually did like “scary” sword and sorcery and had a WHOLE NEW FUCKING SHOW made so they could feel acknowledged and have a heroine to look up to with her very own series.
Later he would help design a whole new sci-fi fantasy setting with the most creative control he ever had, Bravestarr, and was adamant that the hero be a Native American man, the first ever in a starring role on a kid’s action show. He also wanted Bravestarr to be a positive role model by being a patient, gentle, soft spoken man who abhors violence and avoids using guns at all costs.
These cartoons are remembered as schlocky toy commercials and they ARE entertaining that way but real love went into them by a guy who wanted kids to grow up more sensitive and caring. Some of these same geeks crying about THE SJW’S were raised by even more bluntly progressive media than we’ve almost ever had and they didn’t even know it.
The fuck these dudes thinking? Why do they think we are SJWs in the first place? She-Ra made us that way.
One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.
Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.
That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”
I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?
(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)
But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.
When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”
Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.
I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.
He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.
I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.
“Fencing?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)
“Which weapon?”
“Uh. Foil.”
“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.
Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)
So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.
The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.
All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.
As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.
I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.
Sunshine and Shit Jokes 