A Little Knowledge...

A Little Knowledge...
Using the smallest number of verifiable facts I could find, I have constructed irrefutable proof that our government is in cahoots with the terrorists.

Follow me closely here.

It all starts with that terrorist, Rachael Ray.

The daytime cooking show host made some ads for Dunkin' Donuts, apparently in an attempt to ruin her image. In one ad, she wore a black and white scarf that sort of resembled a keffiyeh, which is a traditional head piece warn by Arab men.

After an uproar from right-wing bloggers and pundits, Dunkin' Donuts pulled the ad off the air.

I took two logic courses in college. I even passed one of them. My expert position is that this ad should never have been made in the first place because Rachael Ray is a terrorist.

I hope my proof is not too advanced for you:

Rachael Ray = Scarf Wearer
All people who wear scarves = Terrorists
All Arabs = Terrorists
THEREFORE, Rachael Ray = Terrorist

(And we all know terrorists don't sell donuts.)

Now that I've established that, let's look at the new federal regulations that ban all analog TV broadcasting.

In case you didn't know, it would seem Time-Warner hired a bunch of lobbyists to force people into buying cable. Starting next February, you won't be able to use your old fashioned antenna to receive programming. Your analog TV will be worthless, unless you get some insidious-looking converter box that secretly emits God-knows-what-kind of brain-altering gamma rays.

With rabbit ears no longer an option, many people will simply say, “might as well get cable.” This is what the government wants.

Why is this a problem? You see,

If Government = Cable, and
Rachael Ray is on Cable
Then: Government = Rachael Ray;
THEREFORE: Government = Terrorists.

How can we protect ourselves against the evil and corrupt officials who have absconded with our first amendment rights without forming a backwoods militia with more artillery than a Marine Corps infantry unit?

Get rid of your TV altogether.

It's not as hard a it seems! My household has been without one for more than two years. You'd be amazed at how quickly you get used to finding other forms of entertainment.

Our family evenings are filled with laughter and games, reading and story-telling, listening to the radio, and uncontrollable sobbing over not being able to see the Red Sox or Celtics in the play-offs.

Sure, it has been hard sometimes. But it's worth it, because we have a three-year-old in the house, and for some reason there are a lot of TV networks who like to show their violent COPS or CSI promos during seemingly innocuous programming, like “American Idol.”

(Actually, I suppose there's nothing innocuous about “American Idol,” but that only enhances my point.)

McKay = Amish

No, no! Getting rid of my TV does not make me a Mennonite!

In fact, much video entertainment can be found on the Internet, which gives us way more control over what we see and will therefore make broadcast television obsolete, possibly even before this column appears in print.

See? I use computers, so I'm not necessarily a....

Aw, who am I kidding.

McKay = Amish
Amish don't use computers
Therefore: This column = done.

Toddler TV Trauma

Hi, today, I'm Emily Elizabeth, and this is my two-year-old daughter, Clifford. If I slip up and call her by her real name, she will patiently correct me.

“No, I'm Clifford!”

“Right, sorry. Clifford, would you please hold still for your diaper change?”

This scenario results from reading Clifford the Big Red Dog books, and then watching Clifford shows on Youtube.

Our daughter pretends to be every fictional character she encounters, and my wife and I must play along – all day, every day -- or face dire consequences.

It's wearing a little thin.

Thankfully, she's not yet making me wear a short skirt and knee-high striped socks like Emily Elizabeth.

But even if she did, it would still be a huge improvement over her “Little Einsteins” phase.

The child characters in “Little Einsteins” obsess over classical music and famous paintings so that yuppie parents will think the show is somehow making their children smarter.

In truth, the show is causing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, because the characters constantly holler about some impending crisis, such as the fact that the Mona Lisa is floating toward a giant waterfall, with dramatic, doom-connoting classical music playing in the background.

Not surprisingly, this hyped-up behavior rubbed off on our daughter, who spent a couple of weeks saying everything at maximum volume.

“NO, I'M JUNE!!!!”

Of all the Little Einsteins, June is my least favorite, because she wears make-up and earrings, and her eyes are shaped a little seductively, like she's about to wink. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Often our daughter combines themes, taking on Little Einsteins personalities while engaged in a crucial animal rescue mission inspired by the children's TV series “Go Diego, Go!”

Diego is the masculine spin-off of Dora the Explorer. They are actually the same character, with the same voices, speech patterns, thirst for exotic adventure, enormous mechanical eyeballs, and annoying habit of asking you questions and then staring cryptically at you for ten full seconds, waiting for your answer, whether you've already finished giving it or not.

At the end of every show, Dora asks, “What was your favorite part?”

My daughter's answer: “My favorite part was giving water to the thirsty flower.”

My answer: “I liked not pretending to be a vaguely sexualized two-dimensional six-year-old for 20 minutes so I could sit and read the sports page.”

Diego does not have time for such pleasantries. He is busy rescuing exotic animals from waterfalls (of course).

As a direct result, our couch is now a waterfall, and anyone who sits on it is in dire peril and must be rescued immediately.

(Not much of a change, come to think of it).

It all makes me long for the days of Barney, when our anthem was “I love you, you love me” and the biggest thing we had to worry about was how long it would take that tall kid to realize puberty had set in and it was time for him to scramble out of there.

I also reminisce about The Wiggles, when the world was full of frenetic, coked-up Australian guys dancing around like... like... frenetic, coked-up Australians, singing about mashed potatoes and pirates and everything else that is pure and decent in this world.

But at least we still have Clifford, that wholesome, good-natured, and laid-back dog who--

Hold on, I'll finish as soon as I get this skirt on.