Contra culture’s constant BE EXTREME urging, The Neilitist finds pleasure in placidity. Being a daughter’s dad encourages my gentler nature. I recall the teetering and the swaying where I could scarcely walk down the sidewalk because I wore a baby girl  in a perilous contraption on my shoulders, behind my head, where I couldn’t see her.  The contraption was quickly consigned to the attic (or basement, which are the same for me, serving as the liver of the house, effectively). More useful were The Teletubbies, a show for which I became a bit manic and quite the crushing bore at parent parties. Some things one didn’t do. I certainly would have stood no man or mom praising Barney, who deserves the derision because,well… really. Sesame Street–good especially with the retro bits thrown in. I like Elmo, probably because I can imitate him, though I have to go outside to do so. Aside from those, the rest was generally a bland stew of cheery moralism while the Teletubbies were delightfully and gently peculiar. I found the effect  similar to the side effects from cold medicine or certain bands or fever dreams where a key object hovers right in front of you, if you could just will yourself to grab it. But you can’t quite grab it, or the Teletubbies plotlines …you’ll slip right off. But one day the Tubbies will be seen as evidence of ours being an advanced society, no longer tied to anything as quaint as words to communicate (or enunciated words any way), except when the flowers start speaking to you. And there is a giant baby in the sky on the Tubbies and there’s a giant baby in 2001, A Space Odyssey, neither of which promote comprehension or wakefulness. Not to boast, but I can imitate all the Teletubbies AND The NooNoo, their vacuum-valet. The Teletubbies were also as golden as televised golf in inducing naps all around. Lots of naps in those days. We tried to like Boobah, created by the maker of the Tubbies, but I had neglected to get my daughter and myself prescribed the requisite Thorazine.

My son took to Thomas the Tank Engine, aka “crack” for three and four year-old boys. It’s like Shakespeare after the Teletubbies. Great narration, especially George Carlin though there’s a real charm to Ringo Starr’s familiar accent. Then at some point with two kids you hit the tipping point where the gentle afternoon naps are gone and one eye is now always open. At such point, controlled chaos is the best you can hope for. That was the cue for the Looney Tunes, the Tom & Jerrys, the Popeye’s and Woody the Woodpecker (a LOT more annoying than I recalled, but the kids love him). I like the crazy times now. I worry I foist too much of my likes on my kids. That one day a schoolmate of theirs will say, “Wow, if I didn’t go to school WITH you, I’d swear you were home-schooled.” Right now my kids spend their time riding bikes now that the weather’s nice. Riding around as Fonzie and Pinky Tuscadero due to a new Happy Days fixation. A 70s version of the 50s is about as far as I want to take the kids right now though. I know what’s coming, I know… but, I can play the ostrich till then.

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