the pieces of my life

As Adam says, Doodles is now as smart as a puppy. He also has similar interests. Doodles will eat food (as long as it’s Cheerios and Veggie Booty) off the floor. He loves to try and pull the toilet paper off the roll. He responds to simple commands (such as “Splash, Doodles!” in the tub). He rips up newspapers and magazines. He finds a toy and singlemindedly mouths it until it’s completely slobbered upon, and when he loses interest, he tosses it aside without a thought. Doggies like to swim; Doodles likes to swim. He even sort of barks like a puppy. If puppies spent their days trying to stand on their hind legs, the comparison would be complete. So I guess Doodles has one over the dogs.

I’ve got writer’s block of the blog. I need new topics to blog about. Any ideas?

This is the only scenario I can imagine: a group of TV creatives sat around a conference table, their careers at stake. The networks needed something new, something to compete with The O.C. and The Simple Life. Something to grab that 18 to 24 market. As the TV men (and they must be men because women would be smarter) drank their Chai Creme Frapachinos, they contemplated what the 18 to 24 set does.

“Summer time is approaching,” they must have thought. “What do these kids do over the summer? Who can we best sell our Doritos and Oreos and Mountain Dew to? Ah, the crowd that has the munchies! Let’s make stoner TV!”

Now, being respectable TV men, they weren’t sure what stoner TV would be like. So one evening they dropped a copious amount of acid and went to work. “There should be these space creatures!” one would have said.

“No, no,” says another, “not space creatures. They should be ‘five magical atoms of power, light and fun!'”

“Excellent,” says another. “And they should live in pods that whirl in an iridescent glow of rainbow light!”

“And they should dance!” adds yet another. “Hypnotic trance-like dancing to hypnotic trance music.”

“People can play with different household items, doing weird things with them.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” another says and they begin developing this far-out show. Psychedelic lights. Bright colors. The atoms of light.

So finally the show was done. And as networks everywhere must do, they tested their show. Nothing like a focus group to tell you what you’re supposed to think. Gathering a roomful of potheads, the network execs excitedly screened their new offering. Ah, the lights. Ah, the music. Ah, the dancing. Ah, the atoms of power, light, and fun. And you know what happened? Those potheads freaked out. Screaming, pulling hair, shaking violently. They just couldn’t take it. This show was way, way, way too out there for them.

The TV men began to freak. They accidentally out stoned the stoners. This show had to work. Their careers were on the line.

“So what do we do?” cried one in panic. “Who will watch our show?”

They huddled together and tried to salvage what they could. Their budget was nearly depleted so few changes could be made. They tossed ideas back and forth. Could it be the next Friends? Just add some twentysomethings. Maybe they should make it a reality show. Add in a live behind-the-scenes camera. Maybe it could become the next Law and Order ripoff. A few cops, a morgue, a little blood. Unfortunately, all of this was too expensive.

“What can we afford?” one asked.

“We can’t even afford minimum wage. All we can afford is kids. Really, really young kids.”

Eyes lit up. The “ding ding ding” was practically audible.

“Kids, hmmmm?”

In a matter of days the potheads were replaced with the under four set. Everything else–the psychedelic lights, the trance music, the weird storylines and odd narrator–remained the same. Even the name, Boohbah, still worked. Pop it on PBS, and the TV execs knew they’d hit paydirt.

Okay, so maybe that’s not really how the show came about. But I can’t figure out any other reasonable explanation for this show. Doodles loves the show. Again, he only watches TV in about ten minutes spurts on those days when I’m just beat (which tends to be those rainy days when we’re cooped up and I’ve exhausted every song and toy I can think of), so it’s not like he watches it daily or even weekly. But when it does come on, his eyes get that zoned out look that wouldn’t be out of place at a college dorm at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night.

I wish I could do this show justice in my description, but I simply can’t. It must be watched to be believed. However, if you’re over the age of two, you may want to get yourself into an “alternative” state first. It won’t make any sense otherwise.

Doodles and I were on one of our many walks, when I noticed that someone was throwing out a stack of National Geographic magazines. As Doodles loves to read magazines (in other words, flip pages and tear out random sections), I grabbed one for him to look at. It didn’t seem like a very old issue–it’s from June 1973. I remember June 1973. Okay, not specifically and not well, but June 1973 doesn’t feel that long ago. Until the other afternoon when Doodles became obsessed with the rattle on his stacker and yet didn’t want me more than three feet away. With nothing else in range, I grabbed his magazine and leafed through it. After reading the ads, I concur, 1973 was an age ago.

For starters there was the Ma Bell ad (not that any company name was given–just the little bell logo) advertising how cheap a three-minute station-to-station call between the U.S. and any number of countries is. 1) It wasn’t cheap. $6.75 to France. $9 to Japan. 2) Station to station? Does anyone even remember those calls? Those were just the plain old pick-up-the-phone call as opposed to person-to-person calls where the operator asked for the specific person you wanted to speak to and if he wasn’t there, you didn’t pay for the call. More things–along with rotary dials, turntables, and typewriters–that Doodles will have no knowledge of when he grows up.

What if you wanted a new car in 1973? Well, a Chevrolet Caprice Estate Wagon might fit the bill. Pure luxury. Doesn’t get any finer. “Roomy all-vinyl interiors, molded full-foam seats, new soft rim steering wheel are all standard.” Plus, they “improved its flow-through power ventilation and provided an electrically powered clock.” An electrically powered clock! Where can I get one of these babies?

Of course, there was one ad that even I didn’t understand. It was about “how Western Union is improving the nation’s communications.” Sure, I know what a telegram is, even though I’ve never seen one in action outside black-and-white movies. But what the heck is a Mailgram? They explain it, and I still don’t quite get it: “It works this way: you phone your message to Western Union, toll-free, and our computer instantly transmits it to a U.S. Post Office nearest its destination. Your Mailgram is put into a distinctive blue and white envelope an delivered by regular letter carrier.” If you’re at the phone to call in the message, why can’t you simply call the person you want to give the message to? Is there something here I’m missing? (Side note: you can still send a telegram. Who knew? There’s something very sad to me about Western Union holding on to the whole telegram thing. How many telegrams are really sent a year these days?)

It’s interesting to me; I have the TV on mindlessly in the background while I write this. What commercials are we going to look back on and laugh at the datedness of or at the supposed advancements that will seem so minor by the time Doodles is an adult?