I imagine you might see a post from me on your feed and think, “No! Amanda is posting another rolling in the deep missive about the reality that we’re all going to die and life is beautifully painful.” Yeah, I know, I’m the girl who thinks really deep thoughts. But alas, no! I’ve decided I need to give you poor beleaguered friends some fun, and since I’ve not one peeve I want to rant about in an open letter right now, I shall share our parental mission: Operation F-You Pickachu.
Let me begin by saying, I love(d) Thomas the Tank Engine and sat through many, many episodes. I read the books until we had them entirely memorized. I knew all of the trains by name, color, number and temperament and could sing along. The Wiggles made it into my book because they gave me some solace, and I once drove all the way to work listening to the Wiggles on CD before I realized I’d forgot to turn on NPR. In honor of my most beloved Grover, I even endured, gulp, Elmo . . . endured, tolerated, suffered Elmo. I’m sorry, but Elmo is not in the pre 1980 Sesame Street that I loved and he will ALWAYS be to the street what Cousin Oliver was to the Brady Bunch and Ted McKinley was to . . . well everything Ted McKinley ever stared in.
So, I allowed some Elmo action, even once allowed Teletubbies some airtime in casa de’ Adams, but I drew the line at Barney telling the preschoolers I created that it was “For Babies” and “You don’t want to watch a baby show, right?” Yep, Barney was my deal breaker. Fast forward four or five years and it’s Pokemon.
I can handle The Transformers CARTOONS, though Shia Labeouf is about as welcome in our house as an infestation of mice or an infestation of Disney Starlets, but I digress. I put up with Skylanders, I can stomach Ben Ten Alien Force. Honestly since the recent Pokemon Renaissance, I miss Ben Ten. But Pokemon is my pre-middleschool Barney. I don’t mind the cards collecting or game play (until the kids fight over it), but the cartoons . . . OMG the cartoons.
Not since Gleek and the Wonder Twins has there been such vapid annimated characters on TV. The Pokemon cartoons are like a show made entirely of the worst cartoon characters ever, like Snarf (Thunder Cats), Brainy Smurf, Orko (He-Man), The Great Gazoo and Pebbles & BamBam’s band (Flintstones) led by Scrappy Doo and Gadzookie (Godzilla) all got together and started a multiplicities version of cock fighting. I mean really, Pokemon are wild animals captured to fight each other for some lame . . . I don’t even know why they fight each other. Michael Vick did hard time for this kind of crap, but it’s appropriate for children?
And the noises these Pokemon make and their horrific names. . . Suffice it to say, Jim and I are on the same page with regards to Pokemon, but since it’s all the rage in fourth grade we are limited in our ability to circumvent it. I can’t tell him it’s for babies when it’s the only topic of conversation in the school cafeteria.
Enter Operation F’You Pikachu
Jim had an e-alert for a price break on a Skylander’s Wii game and as soon as it went down to a reasonable price he bought it. We’re winding down spring break, and Liam did have the Holter yesterday, so we have had a Skylanders resurgence this week. Oh Skylanders who battle of your own free will, good against evil, instead of at the hands of human masters in a stadium, how I love that you do not resemble cock fighting in Tijuana. And Skylanders have normal voices and crack jokes lifted from old episodes of Seinfeld. For the past three days there’s been no mention of Pokemon. I’ve not been asked three dozen time what my favorite water-type Pokemon is (wtf, really?), and I am so very happy about it.
I know, I know, he turns ten next month. HALO, Call of Duty, and all kinds of violent crap will find its way onto his radar in the years to come with Middle School and beyond. I remember when he didn’t even know what a gun was, but for now, Pokemon are dead, long live Skylanders!