In which nowhere is safe

I’m writing this at 9 PM on Sunday.

Be aware that as of the time you read this I’m about 11 hours into a 24-hour internet blackout.  I won’t be posting again or even looking at the blog until after I’ve seen THE WALKING DEAD, and notifications for all my interwubz apps except for text messaging are turned off on my phone.

OMG RUN WILD EVERYBODY

Creepy children’s programming review: Color Crew

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So this “Color Crew” program is the new shizz around here for some reason.  TV for little kids is always deeply weird on one axis or another; this may be the weirdest program he’s ever wanted to watch, with the possible exception of “WordWorld,” which isn’t allowed into my house any longer.

Color Crew is the story of ten crayons.  The ten crayons are basically identical except for Purple, who is high as hell, and Green, who is… special.  The intro song sets up the basic premise of the program:

See, the whole thing is about competing for the hat, which has magical powers and allows the Color of the Day the power of speech.  The crayon’s only allowed to say its name, though, so it’s not actually that great as a superpower.  The crayons all hop around and compete for the honor of wearing the Hat, which always goes to the fourth crayon in line, a fact that they seem not quite bright enough to have figured out yet.  Then that crayon and the crayon to its left get to go color a picture.

Coloring a picture is very exciting!  The pictures exist in a  weird world without perspective, though, so it’s entirely possible that the piggy bank on the bed is 2/3 the size of the entire bed, or the two cherries on a plate are going to be the same size as the entire piece of cake on the plate next to it:

maxresdefaultNote the relative sizes of, say, the two oranges, the frying pan, and the carton of milk.  Which is, inexplicably, on a plate.  Somewhere underneath them will be some built-in shelves each holding a single carrot.

Anyway, as you can see, the Color of the Day gets to color some of the things in the picture!  This is very happymaking for everyone involved, and the crayons get rather indecently excited about it.  Like, there are crayon boners going on, I swear.  Sooner or later, though, the color of the day will stop shrieking his name over and over again and get a liiiitle bit too excited and color something the wrong color.  Objects in Color Crew world, you see, can only be one color, ever, and the other colors will tolerate no bending of this rule.  The mixture of horror and sadness on the face of the other crayon when something gets mis-colored cannot be expressed properly in language and must be seen to be believed.

And then the sinister purpose of the second crayon becomes apparent.  He’s the enforcer.  He’s there to make sure the rules get followed.  He’s there to summon the Angry Eraser:

The Angry Eraser is a terrifying mixture of a shop teacher from a 1970’s teen movie and Adolf Hitler.  He exists to destroy art and color and is perfectly happy with his role as Pure Evil.  He glares hatefully at the miscreant crayon, destroys their horrible mistake, and then grins like a fucking pedophile maniac and skids back off screen.  At which point the Color Overseer recolors the deviant portion of the page and everyone gets back to work.  Sooner or later all of the crayons zoom in, at which the picture unaccountably becomes colored with markers instead of crayons:

babytv4greenThe whole thing is weird and creepy, so naturally my kid loves it.  How long until he can watch Walking Dead with the wife and I?

 

This is as interesting as I can be right now

My day began with pork.  As it should.

My big goal for today is that when I go to bed I’m going to be able to feel like I got a lot done today.  Right now, as of 1:30, I’ve accomplished some stuff for school (not a lot, mind you) and managed to shower and get dressed.  Which isn’t much, but is more than nothing.  My to-do list for the rest of the day is mostly cleaning and organization, with some additional school stuff thrown in for good measure, because it’s not actually possible to go 24 hours without doing anything for school during the school year.

I really really really want a burger for dinner.  Or… meatloaf.  Something decadent and greasy, we’ll see.

Random griping:  The Walking Dead starts Season Four tonight, and on account of having kicked cable to the curb I’m not going to be able to watch it tonight.  I have an Apple TV, mind you, and I’ve already ordered the season on iTunes, so I’ll be able to watch it– but either through official policy or simple laziness on somebody’s part an episode on iTunes generally doesn’t become available until several hours after it actually airs, meaning that if I wanted to watch the premiere tonight I’d have to stay up until around 1 or 2 in the morning to do it.  This isn’t going to get me to add cable back– we’ve paid for entire seasons of The Walking Dead, American Horror Story and Sons of Anarchy for only slightly more than a single month of cable would have cost, and those three shows represent about 90% of what we were actually watching on cable channels– but it would be nice, since I’m paying directly for the show, if I could watch it when everybody else does rather than having to put myself on Twitter/Facebook lockdown until tomorrow evening when I can actually get to the damn show.   I’ll just have to get my zombie fix elsewhere– maybe from this huge stack of comic books next to me— until then.

Anyway.  I think I said something about getting things done and I’ve been staring at this screen for ten minutes, so… yeah.  Off to cleaning!  Woohoo!

Make up your mind, boy

900x900px-LL-22b397bd_gallery670031301074709Actual description of interaction with my son follows:

I get home from a grocery run (I’m cooking two full meals tomorrow!  Whee!) and my wife is sitting on the couch with the boy watching, as it turns out, YouTube baby videos on the TV.  She’s found a bunch of videos from the Baby First channel.  He’s watching a Bonnie Bear video at the moment.

I fucking hate the Baby First channel, folks.  I can watch Sesame Street all goddamn day long; Sesame Street taught me to read and I will be forever grateful to it for that.  I found the image over there by typing “FUCK HARRY THE BUNNY” into Google Image Search.  The fact that the people who commissioned this stupid cake spelled their son’s name “Jakeb” tells me everything I need to know about them, and I hate them almost as much as I hate Harry the Bunny.

But whatever.  I can put up with a few minutes of this insipid bullshit while she draws his bath, and he’s gonna age out of it soon.  As parenting problems go, this ain’t one.

Anyway.  Like I said, she’s not watching the channel (sidenote: we just dropped cable,) she’s watching YouTube videos through our Apple TV.  So she leaves the room and it’s over in like two minutes.  She’s done a search for “Baby First TV” that came up with a bunch of stuff.  I choose one featuring Rainbow Horse, who I also hate, but not as much as Harry the Bunny.

He starts screaming.  “BONNIE BEAR!  BONNIE BEAR!”  Okay, shit, fine, dude, I didn’t know you cared that much.  I locate another Bonnie Bear video and queue that up.

He starts screaming again.  “HORSE!!!”  I’ve just turned off the goddamn rainbow horse.

“You sure, kid?  You just said you didn’t want Rainbow Horse.”

“RAINBOW HORSE!!!”  The little shit’s actually tearing up.  Okay, fine, we’ll watch what we were watching RIGHT BEFORE YOU SCREAMED AT ME TO WATCH SOMETHING ELSE.  And I go back to the Rainbow Horse episode that was just on.

He’s fine with that, for two minutes.  I ask him what he wants to watch.

You ever had to tell the difference between a toddler saying “bunny” and “Bonnie” before?  Ever had to do it when even if you choose the one he just said he was going to immediately change his mind and scream at you to watch the other one?  Because I just had five minutes of that and it’s fun.  Oh, and he hates Rainbow Horse again so we can’t go back to that.

We finally landed on the fucking bunny, whose “episode” was three minutes of him determining how to put on a hat.  I hate you, Harry the Bunny.

How long until he’s sixteen?