Word World

Hey everybody! I'm having a good day, are you having a good day? Good. Cause I'm here to ruin another completely benign children's show for you.

I'm actually pretty okay with Word World. It doesn't annoy me and it's fairly effectively educational. Basically the idea is that it is a world where everything in it is made up of letters that are pressed together and then spontaneously form into whatever the word is spelling out. This includes the living beings.

The place seems to be populated only by animals, which I guess makes sense, cause seriously, trying to imagine a human made entirely out of letters is just super creepy.

The whole idea with the letters is that anything in the world can be produced at any given time provided that the characters have the right free standing letters to spell it with. All the characters here seem pretty benevolent, so we're not going to worry too much about the implications of the power they have at their hands. I doubt anybody's going to be getting the idea to put together a flamethrower anytime soon. What does worry me a little is the fact that everything is made out of the same material. Sure, get all science on me and tell me that we're all made of different arrangements of the same molecular substances or whatever, but really, those aren't big enough for us to see with our naked eye, and can't usually be arranged by us at will to be whatever we want them to be. I'm just thinking that, if I lived in this world, I'd feel a little bit uncomfortable living in or interacting with objects that were made of the exact same material as my body. I'm not going to say it's like living in a house made of body parts... but that's kind of what it's like...

Not only that, but all the characters seem to have boxes full of single letters sitting around their houses for whenever they need to make something. I'm really not saying that this is like keeping a box of arms in your closet... but really, it's a little bit like that.

The part that bothers me the most though, is that the dog (appropriately named "Dog" ) has, in his house, the Word World equivalent of a ball pit. Which in this case is a pit full entirely of free letters.

I wish I could find a better picture, but these goings on have been curiously under-documented.

Now I'm not saying that this is like diving into a pit full of various limbs and organs... but really that's kind of totally what it's like. 

So in the end I just can't get totally comfortable with Word World. Just for that. Make of it what you will. 

I was totally going to draw a house made of body parts to demonstrate, but then I realized that I've already done that, so I'll just refer you back to my Donald Duck and Goofy clubhouses from my Mickey Mouse Clubhouse post and leave it there.

Not to say I can't still be peer pressured though. That's up to you weirdos. 

Mother's Day Musing

My blog has very little place for anything that isn't dripping with the greatest amount of sarcasm that I can muster, you are all aware of this. However, since it's my blog and I can do whatever the heck I want with it, I'm going to write a completely straight bit because I feel like it.

I've posted about my mom here and there on this blog before, usually poking a bit of fun at her, cause she's a fun lady and can take it. Tonight my mom sent me a text message. It wasn't anything particularly special or significant. It was just asking where I was. I wasn't sure why she had asked, so I asked her about it and she replied that she just worries about me from time to time and wants to make sure I'm doing alright and not working myself too hard and the like. This shouldn't have been very significant, and it would have been very easy for me to smile and roll my eyes and say "I'm just fine, mom," especially since she just saw me earlier today and we live next door to one another, but something about it just struck me. My mom, with a million other things to think and worry about, still has time to worry about her grown daughter enough to send a text, even when she knows I'm fine. And, as it just so happened, I hadn't been having the best evening, and that one text was enough to remind me that there are a lot more things to feel good about than the stupid little things I was feeling down about.

I see a lot of kids out there taking their moms entirely for granted. It's usually some variation of "Ugh, my mom just doesn't understand." Sure, maybe that really is the case with some mothers, but I really don't think it's as widespread as any teenager or other free thinking youth I encounter makes it out to be.  Maybe your mom understands a whole lot more than you think she does. See, everybody emerges into puberty with their own set of complex problems that they immediately think nobody could ever possibly understand. This translates to the vast majority of adolescents and often young adults feeling like their parents "just don't get it" and are probably too old fashioned to understand anyway. But I'd be willing to put money on the bet that most of the people reading this have a mom who does get it. She may not go about responding to everything in the way that you think she should, because she's a different person than you and processes things in a different way, but in all likelihood, she really does get it.

At any rate, I just wanted to tell my readers how thankful I am for my mom, Wendy, for getting it, and for being one of the strongest and wisest women I know. And, if you like my blog, you should be thanking her too, because without her nudging me, I wouldn't have nearly enough push to even update as consistently as I do. And since I know she's going to read this: I love you momma! Thanks for worrying about me; I'll try not to give you too much to worry about. Though this is me we're talking about, so don't get your hopes up. But I think you're pretty swell, and if everybody could have you for a mom, I think the world would be in great shape.

In light of Mother's Day coming up this Sunday, I figured it was a good time to post this and to challenge my readers that, if you have the privilege of being able to, to call your mom and let her know you appreciate her, regardless of whatever differences you and she may have. Chances are, she's spent at least some time today thinking and worrying about you and would really appreciate the effort. I mean, really. She's worth it.

A Journey Into the Psyche of DJ Lance

A while back I did an overview of Yo Gabba Gabba where I spent a good deal of time poking holes in the premise, the characters, the execution, and just about everything else about it as well. I was convinced that I would have all my readers firmly on my side regarding my feelings on the show. Come to find out, however, that opinions about it are actually pretty split. I got quite a few comments informing me that I might not have been fair in my evaluation of it. The most vocal and well thought out of these opinions came from my friend Rachel who I suspect would probably watch Yo Gabba Gabba even if she weren't the mother of two young children, and who has the capacity to evaluate it more intelligently than should really be possible for what it is.

Among other things, Rachel seemed to think that my assessment of the situation revolving the orange-suited MC of the show, DJ Lance Rock, was not a very accurate one. See, I was going on the assumption that DJ Lance is being held there against his will by some unseen, malevolent organization, and Plex, the little yellow robot, is programmed to activate the torture device in the DJ's fuzzy orange hat if the man ever decides to misbehave.

A picture of the DJ for reference

Rachel, on the other hand, has done some thinking on this, and she is of the opinion that DJ Lance is not a victim at all, but is instead the benevolent god of the realm contained within the Yo Gabba Gabba box. 

This thing

She maintains that DJ Lance watches over and guides the mentally challenged residents of Gabba Land with Plex the robot as his magic disciple to teach them to stay out of harm and to do the right thing. She urged me to reconsider my position and to try and think about it this way instead, so I obliged her and opened my mind to new ways of thinking. I did a lot of research and watched several full episodes of the show to give it a chance.  And I did reach a conclusion. Just not the one she wanted me to reach. 

First off, I really can't ignore that DJ Lance really looks like he's in pain. And not the pain of a loving god having to watch his creations descend in to sin and chaos either. The stakes of this show are far too low for that. I'm talking real physical pain here, which is what led me to believe that he was being tortured in the first place. 

DJ Lance exists in a seemingly alternate level of reality from the others, meaning that he lives alone in a completely white space, while the rest of the cast exists entirely (at least to my knowledge) within the couple yards of cardboard diorama set up on the table in the middle of the space where DJ Lance exists. This, in combination with the fact that the DJ constantly looks frantic, pained, or disturbed but trying to hide it, leads me to one conclusion: DJ Lance is an insane man playing with his toys alone in a white padded cell. 

There could be many reasons for his confinement, but I'm not here to speculate on that. It should simply be  assumed that DJ Lance is somehow enough of a danger to himself or others that he had to be put away, and the only thing deemed acceptable for him to have in the room without hurting himself is his orange costume, the table, and his set of toys. You'll notice, if you look, that none of the Yo Gabba Gabba beasties really seem to have very sharp edges except for maybe Plex with his antennae, and they mostly all seem to be stuffed or made of some sort of foam.

And so every day, in a fit of psychotic hallucination mingled with loneliness, DJ Lance plays with his box full of friends and they have all the adventures portrayed in the show, learning lessons about basic human kindness, safety, and friendship. All of this is part of Lance's journey to recovery. It obviously isn't a hopeless situation. DJ Lance seems only concerned with doing good and helping his friends to be happy and safe, but there's a long way to go yet, considering that he does still seem to be imagining things like cheerfully suicidal bubbles that just looove to be popped, intimate details of each of the characters digestive tracts (the red one has three stomachs), and this thing: 

Speculation is that, as DJ Lance continues to work through his issues and become stable, the Yo Gabba Gabba universe as we know it will become gradually more tame, and then slowly disappear, leaving only the table, and DJ's five motionless toys. He will then be able to return to society, reformed and functional, and live out the rest of his life very happily, provided there are no relapses. 

At any rate, I  think there is a lot of hope for DJ Lance, and that this weird, terrifying world he has created is a very important step on his road to full recovery. He is headed for a bright future in which he will not, in fact, bite his friends. 

I wish him well. 

Terribly Festive - Follow Up

So hey. You guys.

You remember last time? When I mentioned that my sister had been talking about a song that contains the lyric "we shared a Christmas hug"? And how I totally thought that she was making it up? Well, we found it. And it is the best thing I have ever encountered.

A little background:
Apparently Utah Senator Orrin Hatch, when he's not doing his regular job, has a dream, and that dream is to be some manner of inspirational lyricist. So he, seemingly realizing he had the power to make this dream a reality, got in contact with sappy sentimental songwriter, Janice Kapp Perry. The two of them teamed up to make a Christmas album, and from that album emerged their collaborative opus, "The Christmas Hug". And now I am here to share that with all of you.

The Christmas Hug

Words by Orrin G. Hatch

Music by Janice Kapp Perry

Vocal by Gene Morford

We saw her through the window

Of her humble little home

The street was bright with Christmas lights

But she was all alone

She’s lived here in the neighborhood

For twenty years or more

But no one cared or no one dared

To knock upon her door

She opened up the door to us

And welcomed us inside

And though she smiled bravely

We saw tears were in her eyes

Her family was so far away

And could not come this year

The thing she needed most of all

Was suddenly quite clear 

Chorus

     We shared a Christmas hug

     We shared some Christmas love

     And felt the tender ache of loneliness depart

     We shared a Christmas hug

     We finally cared enough

     To feel the miracle of Christmas

     In our hearts

We held our simple Christmas gift

In ribbons green and red

But saw there was a greater need

And offered it instead

Our little girl ran to her arms

And hugged her tenderly

She said “there could not ever be

A sweeter gift for me” 

Repeat Chorus 

Christmas comes and Christmas goes

Doors will open, doors will close

So many Christmas mem’ries we hold dear

But the best of all the best

Always stands out from the rest

It’s one we will remember through the years 

Repeat Chorus 

A simple hug brought Christmas
To our hearts  

I will not mar this glorious moment by saying much else. But, Senator Hatch, I think you'd better keep your day job.

Every Single Time...

So the other day I woke up looking particularly haggard. Nothing abnormal, but it was a day when I had to deal with a lot of children (more than usual, cause the ones I nanny are already used to me looking frightening) and so I wanted to slap on a little bit of makeup so I would look less like an angry man. This is what I discovered: