Retroist Retro Podcast

I start this podcast episode by talking about my own trips to Action Park. I was so excited to go as a kid when I visited and got to go because it was close to where my uncle lived in Northern New Jersey. My mother was not a big fan of amusement parks unless they were connected to Disney, and she had started reading enough about Action Park to be worried. My uncle did not have the same concerns, so he took me there and I had a great time. I rode what I could, brought home brochures, talked about it all summer, and assumed I would keep going back. That didn’t happen.

Then I talk about how Action Park came to be. The story starts with Gene Mulvihill, Great Gorge, Vernon Valley, and the problem of what a ski resort is supposed to do when the weather gets warm. The Alpine Slide came first, and from there the place kept growing into something much larger. Action Park was built around participation, which meant you were not simply strapped into a ride and moved along. You had some control, or at least the feeling of control, and that was a big part of what made the park so exciting.

Of course, that same idea also made the place dangerous. In the episode, I get into the rides people still talk about, including the Alpine Slide and the Cannonball Loop. I also spend time on the wave pool, Motor World, and some of the other attractions that helped make Action Park feel less like a normal amusement park and more like its own strange world. Looking back now, it is much easier to see how quickly excitement could turn into something else.

The darker part of the Action Park story is impossible to avoid. I talk about the deaths and injuries connected to the park, along with the lawsuits and insurance problems that followed it for years. Some of what happened there is shocking even if you already know the general reputation. The park has become famous as a place that probably should not have been allowed to operate the way it did, and there is plenty of truth in that version of the story.

But I did not want this episode to be only about the worst things that happened there. For a lot of kids from New Jersey and the surrounding area, Action Park was a summer trip people talked about afterward. It was a place that felt enormous, especially if you were young enough to believe you could eventually get to everything. The danger is part of the story, but so is the memory of wanting to go back.

That is what makes Action Park such a strange subject for me. The stories about the park are real, and some are worse than I understood when I was young. At the same time, my own connection to the place is still tied to being a kid who thought he had found the most exciting park in New Jersey. My last trip there had already happened before I knew it, which may be part of why the place stayed so large in my mind. Action Park does not fit neatly into one version of itself, and that is why it still feels worth talking about.

I begin this podcast episode by talking about the strange timing of television in our lives. Sometimes a show arrives at just the right moment, and for a while it feels like part of your weekly routine. Then you get older, your habits change, and without really deciding to, you stop watching. Years later, you come back to it and realize there was a whole stretch of the story you never saw. Perfect Strangers was one of those shows for me.

Then I talk about Perfect Strangers, including its creation, the people in front of and behind the camera, its place as one of the anchors of ABC’s TGIF lineup, and the full run of the series from its mid eighties debut through its final season in the early nineties. I also talk about how the show changed over time, how Balki and Larry grew from mismatched roommates into family, and how Perfect Strangers helped lead to one of television’s most successful spinoffs, Family Matters.

Perfect Strangers worked because Bronson Pinchot and Mark Linn Baker were so right together. The show could be very broad, and sometimes very silly, but their chemistry kept it grounded. Balki and Larry were funny because they were opposites, but the show lasted because you believed they cared about each other. That friendship gave all the physical comedy, misunderstandings, and catchphrases something warm to hang onto.

Metagirl is also back this week with a Top 5 list of the best episodes of Perfect Strangers. If you watched the show years ago, it is a nice reminder of why people loved it. If you never really watched it, it might give you a good place to start.

I first saw the Game Genie at a friend’s house just after Christmas in 1991. We were doing the usual thing, seeing what everyone got, trying out games, handing controllers back and forth. Then he brought out the Game Genie and plugged it into the Nintendo. The second I saw what it could do, I wanted one of my own. It was that simple. If you spent enough time with games, you knew their rules pretty well, and this thing seemed to step right past them.

On this episode of the Retroist Podcast, I talk about that first time seeing the Game Genie in action and why it was such a revelation the moment it was plugged in. Until then, games felt locked. They were hard in the ways they were hard, and if you could not get past something, that was that. Then this little cartridge adapter shows up and suddenly you can start with extra lives, make impossible jumps easier, or see parts of a game you had never been able to reach on your own. It did not feel like a normal accessory. It felt like you were getting access to something you were not really supposed to have.

From there I get into how the Game Genie actually worked, by changing the values a game was reading without permanently altering the cartridge itself. I talk about where the device came from, how Codemasters developed the idea, how Galoob brought it to the United States, and how Nintendo saw it as a real threat almost immediately. A big part of the episode is the court case that followed, with Nintendo arguing that the Game Genie created unauthorized derivative works and Galoob arguing that players were only changing the experience temporarily on games they already owned. It is a fascinating fight because the whole thing turns on a question that sounds simple but wasn’t clarified at the time.

What still makes the Game Genie worth talking about is that it sits right at the point where childhood excitement, technical ingenuity, and corporate control all ran into each other. For user, it was a way to bend games that had always seemed rigid and unforgiving. For Nintendo, it looked like somebody else stepping in between them and their product. And for anyone looking back on it now, it is a good reminder that this odd little device was tied to much bigger questions about ownership, software, and who gets to decide what a game is once you bring it home.

There were a few cars that could stop me in my tracks when I was a kid, and the DeLorean was near the top of the list. We had one in my town, parked outside a dentist’s office, and just knowing it was amazing. It was not something you expected to see in everyday life. It looked like it had landed from somewhere else, all sharp lines and brushed metal, like the future had somehow ended up next to where I got scolded for not brushing properly.

On this episode of the Retroist Podcast, I talk about what it was like to grow up with that kind of local landmark, a car that felt larger than life before I knew much at all about how it came to be. Back then, the DeLorean was just the DeLorean to me, a machine that stood apart from every other car on the road. Later on, of course, I came to understand that behind it was John DeLorean himself, a figure who was just as unusual, ambitious, and complicated as the car that carried his name. That is part of what makes this story so interesting to revisit. You cannot really separate the man from the machine.

From there I get into both sides of that story. I talk about the car itself, why it looked the way it did, why it made such an impression, and how it managed to become iconic even though its actual time on the market was so short. I also get into John DeLorean, his rise in the auto industry, the image he built around himself, and the strange and sometimes messy path that led to the creation of the company. It is one of those stories where big ideas, personality, timing, and unexpected trouble.

What makes the DeLorean worth talking about now is that it carries two stories at once. There is the car people remember, and then there is the man who willed it into existence. One became a symbol, helped along by pop culture and memory, while the other remains a much harder figure to pin down. Bringing them together in one episode felt like the right way to do it, because the DeLorean was never just a car. It was a dream, a reputation, a gamble, and for some of us, one of those unforgettable sights from childhood.

Back to the Future didn’t feel like a property that I expected to be turned into a cartoon, at least not to me at the time. By the time the animated series arrived, my interest in Saturday morning television was already starting to slip. I had not entirely left it behind, but I was no longer meeting it with the same excitement I had a few years earlier. That made this show an interesting one for me, because it landed right in that moment when a longtime habit was beginning to feel more like something I was outgrowing.

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On this episode of the Retroist Podcast, I talk about that stretch of time when Saturday morning cartoons were still part of the routine, but not quite the center of it anymore. I was still watching, still checking in, still curious when something tied to a movie or character I liked showed up on the schedule. But it was different. The feeling had changed. Back to the Future The Animated Series came along right in that space, where I still wanted one more visit with Marty and Doc. Even if the form it took was one I was slowly beginning to leave behind.

From there I get into the show itself, how it tried to carry the spirit of the films into a television format, and how it fit into that later period of Saturday morning programming. It was not trying to recreate the movies beat for beat. It was finding another way to keep the characters moving, with bigger concepts, broader comedy, and stories that could send the series anywhere each week. I also talk about the people behind it, the strange balancing act of turning a successful film trilogy into a cartoon, and the way the series now feels tied not just to Back to the Future, but to the last years when Saturday morning still had a real hold on popular culture.

What makes the show worth talking about now is not just that it extended a movie series people already loved. It also caught a very specific moment, both for the franchise and for the audience. For me, it arrived just as my own relationship with cartoons was changing, which gives it a feeling I probably would not have noticed otherwise. It was familiar, but also a sign that things were moving on. That makes the series more interesting to look back on, because it is not only about keeping Back to the Future alive a little longer. It is also about one of those points where childhood interests do not vanish all at once, but begin to loosen their grip.