In the sleepy west / of the woody east
Two things, Internets, and for once only one of them is television-based:
--Sesame Street. My kid is obsessed with it (we got her these two DVDs for Xmas, 40 Years of Sunny Days, which is a sort of best-of from all the seasons), so since we’re about to be driven nutbag by the repetition, we thought we’d TiVo a few current eps. First of all, it’s only on for an unforgivable ONCE a day. Remember when it used to be on like four or five times and you just had to sort of find something else to do while you waited out the horrible, horrible Electric Company and the meh Mr. Rogers in between eps? Secondly, it’s so … earnest now. The skits go on too long, they’re very draggy, there’s none of that punchy quirky jump-in, jump-out stuff they used to just throw in there, there are Serious Lessons all the damn time, Cookie Monster is basically shelved (listen, MY generation wasn’t the one with the childhood obesity problem – I don’t think it’s fucking Cookie Monster’s fault, so why does he get the blame? Why is HE sent off to the Old Age Home for Disgraced and Discredited Puppets? Fuck that noise), and to top it off, all the new characters are these uninteresting babbly little toddler-aged puppets who, like, mispronounce stuff – what kind of thing is that to teach a kid? GOD! Kid Gleemonex lasted about twenty seconds into the ep before she started in with the “I don’t like this one. Mommy, skip it! Want to watch monstos.” (Which is what she calls Grover, et. al. – clearly these fools weren’t monsters, and this crap wasn’t Sesame Street, eh?)
--My gal uncouth heathen linked to this totally awesome sorority rush dress code from some silly bitches at Cornell – srsly, you should read it, it is hysterical, and it totally validates (for the billionth time) my lifelong aversion to this particular subset of female relationship crapola, and besides, for real, girls, you’re at Cornell -- if you really had the mettle for some serious motherfuckin sorority life, you shoulda gone to Vanderbilt or something so give it up. But more importantly to me personally, the tone of this dress code – the intensely personal voice of the writer – put me immediately in mind of this person, the unnamed person from an unnamed part of the Gleemonex past. It could absolutely have been written by this person, with his/her egomania, prescriptive view of everyone else’s life, and unshakeable faith in his/her eternal and thoroughgoing righteousness. It is uncanny. For all I know, that’s actually what he/she is up to right now – yet another completely invented life, this one in Ithaca, New York, raining capricious and terrible misery into the lives of innocent, impressionable teens once again …
--Sesame Street. My kid is obsessed with it (we got her these two DVDs for Xmas, 40 Years of Sunny Days, which is a sort of best-of from all the seasons), so since we’re about to be driven nutbag by the repetition, we thought we’d TiVo a few current eps. First of all, it’s only on for an unforgivable ONCE a day. Remember when it used to be on like four or five times and you just had to sort of find something else to do while you waited out the horrible, horrible Electric Company and the meh Mr. Rogers in between eps? Secondly, it’s so … earnest now. The skits go on too long, they’re very draggy, there’s none of that punchy quirky jump-in, jump-out stuff they used to just throw in there, there are Serious Lessons all the damn time, Cookie Monster is basically shelved (listen, MY generation wasn’t the one with the childhood obesity problem – I don’t think it’s fucking Cookie Monster’s fault, so why does he get the blame? Why is HE sent off to the Old Age Home for Disgraced and Discredited Puppets? Fuck that noise), and to top it off, all the new characters are these uninteresting babbly little toddler-aged puppets who, like, mispronounce stuff – what kind of thing is that to teach a kid? GOD! Kid Gleemonex lasted about twenty seconds into the ep before she started in with the “I don’t like this one. Mommy, skip it! Want to watch monstos.” (Which is what she calls Grover, et. al. – clearly these fools weren’t monsters, and this crap wasn’t Sesame Street, eh?)
--My gal uncouth heathen linked to this totally awesome sorority rush dress code from some silly bitches at Cornell – srsly, you should read it, it is hysterical, and it totally validates (for the billionth time) my lifelong aversion to this particular subset of female relationship crapola, and besides, for real, girls, you’re at Cornell -- if you really had the mettle for some serious motherfuckin sorority life, you shoulda gone to Vanderbilt or something so give it up. But more importantly to me personally, the tone of this dress code – the intensely personal voice of the writer – put me immediately in mind of this person, the unnamed person from an unnamed part of the Gleemonex past. It could absolutely have been written by this person, with his/her egomania, prescriptive view of everyone else’s life, and unshakeable faith in his/her eternal and thoroughgoing righteousness. It is uncanny. For all I know, that’s actually what he/she is up to right now – yet another completely invented life, this one in Ithaca, New York, raining capricious and terrible misery into the lives of innocent, impressionable teens once again …
Labels: balls in YOUR mouth sir, bitch, cryin' amazacrazy, first-world problems, gee - your blog smells terrific, I'd rather take a beating, they ain't takin the TEE-vee
posted by Gleemonex at 10:42 AM
4 Comments:
A friend of mine from Cornell, who was very much IN a sorority, assures me that Greek life is a very important part of many students' lives there. It affirmed to me that I made the right college choice for myself - showing that I had SOME sort of smarts when I was 18 and decided against the "bigger" name school.
Oh. My. Freakin. Jeebus. That dress code nearly set me fetal. I sometimes have a hard time walking out the (bedroom) door without trying on three different outfits to see which works best. And that's with my admittedly low-key fashion sense. If I were held to these standards, I'd be paralyzed. And I can't remember when I felt such a weird mix of disgust and sympathy for girls/women who try to adhere to these standards. Just hand me a t-shirt and jeans, please.
My three year old, deliberately, WILLFULLY talks like Baby Bear from Sesame Street to make himself seem cuter. I'm sorry, did I say Baby Bear? I meant Baby Beaawuuuh. (You fehw in wuv wif me just den, didn't you? Because I'm vat cute, awen't I? I wuv weading youw bwog, by duh way. It's my favewit.) And yes, I remember the days of the endless miles of Sesame Street with those HIDEOUS bits of Electric Company thrown in. Haaated.
And don't even get me started about the whole CGI sequence with Abby Cadabby and her lame friends. I thought the whole appeal of Sesame Street was that it was comprised of furry little puppets. Fake in a good sort of way, but still much more "real" than anything created via CGI -- which robs the characters of all their charm. Shame, shame, producers. What's next? Renaming Oscar The Grouch Oscar The Situation? Moving from Sesame Street to "Jersey Shore"?
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