Prolly All the Time

tough love

Do you want to know one thing that I have figured out in the past eight months?  I am in the wrong business, people.

After several months of deep immersion in the world of preschool television programming, I now realize that writing for those programs has got to be the easiest and lowest stress gig, EVA. The whole freaking world is your subject matter, because these kids do not know shit and are likewise completely fascinated by dirt and their own toes.

I have envisioned what their "creative" meetings entail...

Someone says, "Well, we have a new season of "Weird talking animals engaged in completely unrealistic activity with little or no supervision" coming up...  what topics do you think should be on the list?  We need to kick those bastards over at "Inanimate objects living in complete socialist utopia"  in the ass! I am tired of them getting all the big merchandising deals."

"How about bathing, carrots, farm animals, and teamwork?"

"Well, that is interesting, but we need to take it up a notch this year folks...  we need to cook with gas!  How about EXOTIC farm animals?  Stacey, find me some llamas."

"OH OH! Cooking with gas, that gives me another idea! We should do a show on things that are hot!  and things that are cold!"

"OK, OK...  we are getting closer. We are halfway through the season, what else?"

"THE NUMBER 7, kids LOVE SEVEN!"

"YES!  That is what I am talking about.  Daytime Emmys, here we come!  I am totally going to translate this into a gig at Nick*leodeon...  Fairly Odd#parents, here I come!"

"Season finale... I have one word for you all. MUD!"

"[Weeping]  Stop, it is all too much...  perfection. I bow to your genius!

I guess that if I am truly offended by the lameness of the content, I could just turn off the TV. But I think that I have previously indicated that not only do we appreciate the TV at casa t'pon...  it is a valued member of the family. 

Just because you don't always like what a family member does, doesn't mean that you stop loving them.  I hate it when Bean is rolling on the floor whining about having to drink the blue juice instead of the yellow juice, but I haven't packed up his little bag, handed him a $20 bill, and sent him on his way...  I detest Banzo's high-pitched screaming at bedtime (as do all the dogs within a 50 mile radius of his bedroom), but I have not left him on the stoop of a kind, sweet smelling elderly woman with a weepy note stapled to his splattered onesie.  You move through the tough times...  and relish "Flight of the Conchords."

Look, I don't blame the TV...  it can't help the way it was raised. It only knows what it has been taught. The best that I can do, is let it know that I expect more from it.

And, lets be frank.  It is the best big sibling you could hope for.  Always available, no back-chat about a cramped social life or unreasonable curfews, and endless energy to entertain.

inside the box

This morning, before the stomach funk took hold, Bean was engaged in his favorite early morning activity -- turning on and off the TV.  I like to tell myself that his intense focus on this activity is not a sign of a budding love affair between a boy and his boob tube, but rather an exercise aimed at developing his sense of object permanence. 

"Here's Matt and Al on the Luge looking dumb, and now I turn off the TV.  Wait for it.... now, turn it back on... yep, there they are still looking dumb." (I have been told, many times in my life, that my ability to rationalize almost anything into a "learning experience" is truly a gift from God.  I believe this to be true.)

I digress... at some point in the course of this very important brain development exercise (the more times you repeat something, the truer it becomes...  I call this the WMD principle), something caught young Bean's eye...  it was a boxer that looked remarkably like our dog, Nugget.  I have mentioned before the love affair between these two. Bean became quite excited, banging on the TV as if he were making an attempt to get the dog's attention, much as he does multiple times a day when Nugget finds herself on the colder side of our glass doors.

At the sound of the banging, Nugget came prancing around the corner, throwing Bean into a tailspin.  Once again, we could see his little brain working overtime, smoke pouring from his perfect little ears...

"How could it be that Nugget is standing here in this very room with me, but also inside this box frolicking in what I can only describe as the largest sand box I have ever seen?  Do mine eyes deceive?  Is it possible that this mere dog has mastered the art of being in two places at once, and if so, I must convince her to teach this skill to me...  It could come in handy when those pesky naps interrupt my intense brain developing exercises with the TV?"

(see, Bean believes it... it is only a matter of time before y'all buy in and elevate me to Dr. Spo*ck status.)

I bring this little story up because it got me to thinking about the things that I believed as a child about the way that the world worked. For example, I, like (I assume) Bean, believed that everything that took place on the TV and/or radio was happening in real time.  If I heard a song on the radio, it was because the band was right there in the studio... and when I heard that same song 15 minutes later on another station, well, they must be making the rounds. I also believed that the song "Secret Agent Man" was actually "Secret Asian Man."  I figured out the whole radio/TV thing pretty fast...  "Secret Asian Man," however, followed me to college.

N. thought that when people died in movies, plays, or on TV -- they were actually dying.  He thought that, when you decided that you were ready to die, you could just show up and they would somehow work you in.  As such, he determined that his plan would be to die in the production of "Bluejacket," a show about the Shawnee Indians in Ohio.  He wanted to be the guy that got shot by the arrow and fell off the cliff, because, that would be a cool way to go.

Another friend, upon hearing that her baby brother was inside her mama's tummy and also hearing about the baby kicking and moving around, surmised that when she went to bed, her parents were opening up her mom's stomach and taking the baby out to play.  After a few days of wrestling this over in her mind, she determined that this most certainly constituted "not sharing" and was, therefore, in direct violation of house rules.

So, what did you believe as a child?  Come on, you can admit it...  we are all friends here.  We only mock because we love you and it will make you stronger.

Also, for those of you interested in creating real mind expanding opportunities for your children and exploring all that the patented "T'pon's Guide to Better Babies through Remote Controls" and its companion study guide "Some call it 'glazed over', we call it intense focus," have to offer, please email me for additional information.  A seminar may be coming to your area shortly.

And another thing!

I used to be a loyal NBC viewer, and since they still run Law and Order, I continue to be beholden unto them.  However, I am irritated.

Why, oh why, are they pulling Contender next season, but keeping the Apprentice.  I am sure that I am about to anger many in the blogosphere, but Donnie has jumped the shark.  The contestants of the past season are just barely compentent and completely irritating.

At least with the Contender, we got interesting back stories and they got to beat up on each other at the end of every episode.  Instead, we will be forced to listen to individuals devoid of any self-awareness babble and whine about how their team members are mean to them for another season.

And Joey?  Please...  Friends was great.  That is not.

At least, I will still have Law and Order...  Thank the sweet Lord for ABC and CBS next season.  I can hear the USS NBC sinking.