I detest Barney.
I know. Please. I didn’t use the “H” word, but I would have. However, that word elicits a strong lecture from any parental figure in our house, and I just can’t stomach my husband having to give me a time out at the tiny thinking chair.
Actually, Barney’s whole concept is not so bad. I mean, he teaches a lot of great things on his show (this admission does tell you, then, that I have succumbed to afternoon public television viewing. Yes. I detest the purple dinosaur but he does visit occasionally. Barney comes on after Thomas the Train, ya’ll. I can’t lunge for the remote fast enough. The music starts tinkling away, and there are wee Red and Blonde all glazed over with purple love. I succumb. Cheap shot, Barney.)
Where was I? Oh yea. He is very educational and stuff. And yep, he deals with how to talk and be kind and crud like that. I’m down with that, I guess.
It’s his stupid voice.
Again. The lecture is forthcoming. I said the “S” word. I’ll just park it here on the thinking chair and hope it doesn’t break.
I’m a wee bit grumpy. Wanna know why? It’s 10:22 pm, and I can’t get Barney’s abominable SONG out of my head. You know it, but let me remind you, so we can all be in this together. SING IT LOUD AND PROUD YA’LL:
I love you…
You love me…
WE’RE A FRICKITY FRACKING SOMETHING…
It will be what I hear when close my eyes, and it’ll be there in the morning, like a sick dose of Groundhog Dinosaur Day. I can’t get it out of my HEAD.
In short, Barney is driving me crazy. And it’s not a long drive ya’ll. (Ba dum DUM. I know, thank you. I’ll be here all blog).
Some of you might think I might be overdramatizing all of this. It’s possible. I have been accused of making things a bit bigger than they need to be. Once. My husband never did it again. And great honk, Barney is bigger than he needs to be. I see him and I just want to bully him around on the playground. He is my white whale. I don’t even understand all this venom and insensitivity to a loving purple dinosaur who jiggles a lot when he jumps in the air and seems to like it that way. I just have sort of a visceral reaction to that song – like when I walk past the cat box. I’m sure there’s some deep seated reason in there somewhere… but I don’t care. Just call me Ahab and let’s harpoon us something big and purple.
It’s not in the cards, Barney, for me to ever really warm to your attempts to put your stubby dinosaur hands over your mouth as Coyly Creepy Barney, or when you respond to every saccharin and highly scripted (and extremely blank) statement of every single kid on the show with an astounding amount of patience and squeaky giggles. Every TIME. I don’t BUY it, Barney. Snap at one of ’em! Just once! They are all so grinny and HAPPY all the time! It’s not natural! I dare you, you styrofoam Jolly Elf of evil. And even Caillou has a better voice than you!
Ooooo. Went for the jugular on that one.
Caillou. Don’t even get me started.
Nah. I’m started.
Balding Caillou of Canada. With the voice that can be heard down in the states (or at least all the dogs in the southern states can, it’s just that high pitched). With his strange lispiness and no hair. And please don’t email me and tell me Caillou is in recovery from some horrible ailment – there has never been any Very Special Episode of Caillou that explains the lack of hair! And I would know! Because WE HAVE CAILLOU ON NETFLIX AND IT IS YET ANOTHER FAVORITE OF MY HORRIBLE CHILDREN. Tasteless minions. (My children, not Caillou. Although Caillou is pretty tasteless in his clothing choices. Really, lispy one? Only primary colors? Every day?)
I really would like to state for the record that I am not anti television. Ohhhh no, sweet mommies. TV ROCKS. It stupifies and quiets and leave lots of time for momsie to write and do other important things. I do a lot of important things! Like write! And clean and put laundry in and take laundry out! Things are on point over here. TV is my little helper. But whyyyy can’t my children go for a show that doesn’t get stuck in my brain like a popcorn kernel in your back molar?
Why not something catchy like Word Girl? Word Girl almost has a delicious sort of 70’s Patti Labelle, Lady Marmalade vibe going on. And yes, I do understand that a song about Creole love for nightly hire might not be the best model for my children (they can’t even use the “S” word or “hate” their peas) but heck, it gets a GROOVE on.
Word Girl, anyone? Anyone?
Ok, so where was I? Oh, yea. Barney. I still have him, circling my brain like a last bit of pasta in the sink, waiting for the disposal. Just circling along, in his gluey blandness. Peh. Take your song and put it where the sun don’t shine.
You’re welcome. Get some sleep.
This post was brought to you by: Herman Melville
He is currently spinning in his grave.