If I were to insinuate that women can get what they want by crying, people would consider me a shallow, sexist piece of bacteria who is just trying to be controversial to help sell newspapers.
And yet, here we have Hillary Clinton, who got misty eyed in public right before the New Hampshire primary. The media went nuts, and she somehow came from behind in the polls to eek out a win over Barack Obama.
But Mitt Romney has been noticeably teary-eyed for weeks now. He chokes up during stump speeches, interviews, even Toyotathon commercials. The newspapers have barely paid any attention, and he still trails in the polls behind McCain, Huckabee, Guiliani, and Chewbacca the Wookie.
What kind of lesson is this for our young people? Clearly, if a man cries, it's no big deal.
The average man bawls regularly. It's usually a function of some hormonal imbalance connected with the cycle of his favorite team's inexplicably awful draft choice.
But if a woman sheds her chilled composure for just a few seconds, it's some big deal. Suddenly, her tough, stoic persona develops depth and compassion, proving she can show just enough vulnerability to seem human.
These tiresome gender stereotypes are irritating, but what bothers me more is the fact that this is what passes for drama in our political landscape.
No wonder people aren't interested.
We need to start paying attention to third party candidates. We know how entertaining they are because we've watched them try to articulate their views in 45-second yelling matches often featured on cable “news” shows.
You don't have to limit yourself to the “major” parties. Here's a quick guide to the three alternative parties who have managed to prop up some Presidential candidates:
Green Independent Party: Traditionally identified with environmentalism, the Green Party also stands for social justice, fair trade, peace, fair access to health care, and a variety of other Anti-American ideals.
Consumer advocate Ralph Nader has been the most viable third option in recent elections, but he is no longer an official candidate, possibly because he has died.
The Greens are now looking to hip-hop artist and freelance journalist Jared Ball, former Georgia Rep. Cynthia McKenney, and a team of zombie research scientists desperately attempting to resurrect Nader.
Libertarian Party: Ardent advocates of “small government,” each of the dozen Libertarian candidates for President are less than three feet tall.
The official party platform calls for the capitol building to be torn down and re-built out of a used coffee can. With legislators and bureaucrats reduced to near microscopic size, any of their excessive intrusions on our personal freedom can be conquered with a simple course of antibiotics.
Constitution Party: If you favor a common-sense, literal interpretation of the Constitution that dates from 1823, and if you are a Christian who thinks everyone else should be a Christian, too, then this particular group of nut-jobs may be for you.
The letters in “Constitution Party” can be rearranged to spell “Pointy Trout Antics.”
Check out the official web sites of these alternative parties
Each of these three parties claims to be the third-largest political party in America. The only other thing they have in common is that they insist the two-party system isn't truly democratic because voters don't actually have much of a choice.
But until they start crying about it, nobody will care.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
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.
“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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
