I’m too puny today to write a “real” post. Just when I thought I was in the clear from the sinus/cold/allergy/tuberculosis/plague that dominated my house last week and turned my kids into bitter, clingy, gun-toting monsters. I spent all last week cajoling them to buck up and stop being so crabby. Mean mommy. Now I know. Sorry, guys.
Anyway, this is a pseudo-post. If you’ve come to rely on the effervescence of original, if snide and self-important, commentary emanating from my blog, I’m sorry. I can’t help you today.
Instead we turn to the delightful, ineffable, incorrigible Anthony Bourdain, against whom I stand in diametric opposition in regards to politics, personal history, lifestyle and seafood. Which is probably why I love watching his show and think he’s freakin’ hysterical.
Bourdain happens to have a small child of his own, who happens, as some do, to watch her share of Nick Jr. And Papa Bourdain just happens to have some entertaining and strangely simpatico views on the shows she’s watching.
Including my arch-nemesis, Wonder Pets:
Is it possible to hate an animated character? Personally hate them? Because my loathing for guinea-pig Linnie and turtle Tuck is exceeded only by my fervent hope that one of these days, the disgustingly cute duckling, “Ming-Ming” will get sucked into a lawnmower or a fan, ending her reign of terror over my household. And if my little girl grows up pronouncing her “l”s as “w”s–as the disgusting Ming Ming insists on doing in a misguided attempt at cuteness? I will hunt down the producers of this show and do them terrible violence.
If you’re a parent of wee uns, read the whole post here. Please.
See you all when I emerge from the fog.