And, thanks to Popeye, I grew up thinking that spinach was the most repulsive thing ever put on the face of the earth. (I also grew up thinking that the only vegetables God ever invented were frozen, but that's a post for another day.)
And as each child watched Popeye bust that can open and pour that green slime down his throat, even the most innocent of viewers would start to feel uncomfortable. . . instinctively knowing that something had gone terribly wrong with the marketing of Popeye. Oh yes, he and his spinach would save that bumbling Olive Oyl from the clutches of Bluto all right. But Popeye was never a hero you would emulate. In fact, you would run the other way if you ever saw him coming!
For who wanted to slurp some ugly green stuff from a raggedly-opened can? Who wanted biceps that suddenly pumped up to something roughly the size of the Holland tunnel? Who wanted to have anything to do with Olive Oyl anyway???
It was clear. Popeye was crude. . . tasteless. . .gauche. . .passe. . .
Cheering for his successes was hard.
And consuming his spinach was worse.
So how, someone please tell me, did this disgusting leaf work it's way into my daily diet? How is it that I'm adding it to soups? Eating salads? Frying spinach patties? (In olive oil, no less. . .)
Please tell me. . . How do I get in touch with the genius who reinvented Popeye?
'Cause if THAT body and THAT food can suddenly be in vogue. . . imagine what the same reinventor can do for A Mom on Spin's derriere and her beloved macaroni and cheese?
Oh to hope,
perchance, to dream. . .