Tuesday, June 2, 2009

An Unpleasantly Generational Experience

Okay, I was introduced to this show by a couple in Phoenix, Arizona, with whom I crashed while touring the country, whose daughter's autism may have been due to their extreme hipness at the time of conception. Their living room featured a painting from the wedding, in which Mr. Husband was in full Al Jourgensen mode. Yes, they were married a while ago. More recently, Mrs. Wife, "The Greatest Punk Rocker" according to a close friend of mine, signaled the end of the relationship by physically abusing her husband. Suffering is, indeed, an integral part of life. Spouse abuse by a woman is an act far ahead of its time. Anonymity in blogging is irritating.

The show is called Yo Gabba Gabba.

It helped that the couple got rid of their daughter for a few minutes, using some pretext or other, and smoked me out.

Common wisdom would have me reject the label, "Generation X," but am I more GenX if I accept the label? After all, it comes from that fool Billy Idol's original band, which is responsible for the mind-expanding observation that even people in the Pentagon use Kleenex. Like wow man! We're all one!

So anyhow, I found myself with remote control in hand today, and I chose said show. As if it weren't bad enough that the program seems to have been formulated to appeal to GenX parents, who will instill a taste for the show in their offspring, I found myself eating (vegan) cereal out of the box while I watched it. I have been programmed, and I'm always trying to find the new Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! so that I can eat sugary cereal with a lotus-eating movement from box to mouth, inducing a deep, spiritual peace. There will never be another. It's pretty sad, particularly considering the mercenary attitudes of the "classic" show's producers.

I have not become a GenX parent, by the way, but I can feel sorry for myself about two divorces. Can you? Eh? Huh? Huh? Am I justified now?

Have I encapsulated all I feel in a concise, quick-witted, blogger's manner? Never mind, just check out the video. Note, particularly, the cyclops dildo. One-eyed. Yep.



That's right! The characters are action figures! Tell mommy or daddy to stop playing World of Warcraft long enough to order some from " the computer!" "Waste-o-Time Warcraft," the abusing spouse called it in an email to me. Zing! And who played with the slowed-down "Quiet Village" from the Pee-Wee's Playhouse intro? And while we're at it, who invited the Paul Frank monkey to the party? Hadn't that primate already enslaved a nationfull of Southern Californian minds?

As if life were not already characterized by confusion, how about a little Elijah Wood, so to speak?



I'm not sure I've made my point, but the time comes when one must let go. I'll leave you with this. Biz Markie's gonna getcha if you don't watch out!



By the way, I liked Phoenix.

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