BOYCOTT BABY SHARK!!

"BA-BY SHARK---" Okay. So if you're the parent or grandparent of a little person, you just automatically went DOO DOO D-DOO D-DOO, and if you pretend otherwise you are a big fat liar.

Now, some Baby Shark victims may actually think this song is cute. Others have accepted it as an excruciating but inescapable part of life. But in this age of conspiracy theories, I feel compelled to warn you that that Baby Shark is actually part of a diabolical plot against all humankind.

Let's begin with the basics. First, if you haven’t heard this little earworm from hell, here's your chance. But really, you should NOT, I repeat NOT, click on this link if you value your sanity. Seriously, don't do it. Okay, fine. But I've warned you. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqZsoesa55w&vl=en

 

Bet you're sorry now, aren't you? Anyhow, on the surface, the song appears to be a harmless ditty about a shark family that heads off for a fun-filled day of eviscerating happy little sea creatures. But it's more than that. The song is actually a subtle form of mind control. 

There is the aforementioned "Doo-Doo" reflex, of course. But now you will also find yourself having a Pavlovian response that forces you to start singing the song every time you hear the word "shark," see a picture of a shark, or sit down to watch "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel. This can be very humiliating in the wrong context. Meaning always. 

But worse than this, a thoughtful listener/observer will realize that there's some really nasty ageism at work  here. Let's look at the video a little more closely, shall we?

This adorable little fellow, you may recall, is Baby Shark. There is no denying he is very cute and extremely yellow. And then we meet Mommy and Daddy Shark. Daddy Shark is a handsome, virile fish with a deep voice, massive jaws, and sharp teeth, all expertly portrayed in the video by a truly terrifying boy-child. Mommy Shark is less threatening, perhaps due to her carefully applied mascara and lipstick. (Contact me if you would like to discuss gender bias.)

 

Now, here come Grandma and Grandpa Shark. Look at them closely. Then check out the kids’ hand motions. What do you see? 

THESE SHARKS ARE TOOTHLESS, PEOPLE! GRANDMA AND GRANDPA ARE TOOTHLESS SHARKS! This means that Grandma and Grandpa can't viciously rip apart other fish on their own. Which further means that little children (and Baby Shark) are being conditioned to believe that grandparents can contribute nothing to the family unit or to society as a whole, except, possibly, singing ability. This is completely unacceptable, except for that last part, which is good news for me.    

Now I wouldn't be so worried except that this freaking video has been played over 6 billion times on YouTube. You heard me. 6 BILLION TIMES!! And it gets worse. There are now sequels: Baby Car and Baby T-Rex. And to show you just how truly awful all this is, here's what Grandma T-Rex (TEE TEE T-TEE T-TEE) looks like:

So I'm begging you.  If you are related to a small child, BLOCK THESE VIDEOS!! Although tragically, for some of us, it may already be too late.

The COVID Effect

 Okay. I think we can all agree that this COVID thing has gone on for entirely too long. 

Now, I'm not talking about the fact that we have to deal with the depressing daily statistics, or the crisis in education, or the fact that Portillo's still has only a limited menu. No. I'm referring to the way this thing has affected the simple pleasures and routines of daily life.

 

Take fashion, for example. We used to study the latest clothing styles and trends, and then outfit ourselves accordingly. (Well, not me, so much, but I have it on good authority that lots of people did.) Lately, though, we've really lowered the bar. I personally overheard the following conversation between two women at Kohl's, where I was returning yet another Amazon package:

 

"Oh, wow, I LOVE your face mask! Where did you get it?"

 

"I made it."

 

"You're kidding! And did you make the lanyard too?"

 

"I did."                                                                                      

 

"Well, no wonder you look so put together!"  

     

Friendly conversation has also become less than scintillating. I have a gaggle of friends who identify as the Frentes, after characters on the TV show The Goldbergs. We used to meet for a hearty breakfast on Wednesday mornings--the somewhat ironic offshoot of our weekly attendance at Weight Watcher meetings--and chat about everything from jobs to family drama to world events. Now we still meet, but it's on ZOOM. And where once we still managed to have some high-energy gabfests, here is one of our more recent exchanges:

 

"So…what's new?"

 

"Nothing." "Nothing." "Nothing." "Nothing." "Nothing."

 

Silence.

 

"Oh. I did finally get to see my new granddaughter on Facetime the other day."

 

"That's nice! How did she look?"

 

"Blurry."

 

More silence. Finally, one of the Frentes brightened. "Wait! I have something. Did you hear about Barbara?"

 

We leaned into our screens. "No. What about her?"

 

"She went to lunch the other day and…she ate INSIDE the restaurant!"

 

"No!" There was a long pause as we absorbed the enormity of that statement. Finally, another Frente looked solemnly into her camera.

 

"We will never speak of her again."

 

Yep, it's bad. And because we're getting less satisfaction from social interactions, many people are hungry for new entertainment. For a time, summer provided opportunities for golf, bike rides, and socially-distanced outdoor gatherings. But now that the sun is already setting earlier and earlier, we find ourselves returning to ritual TV viewing. Unfortunately, people like my husband and me have watched almost everything we care to watch—Killing Eve, Ozark, and The Bachelor: Greatest Seasons Ever! (What can I say? We have eclectic tastes.) I didn't realize how desperate we were getting, though, until I turned on the TV the other day and felt an electric shock rip through my body.

 

"Hon!" I screamed.

 

"What? What's wrong?"

 

"Get over here!" He charged into the room. I pointed.

 

"The screen-saver pictures on U-Verse have changed!"

 

He plopped down next to me and we watched for twenty minutes with happy little smiles on our faces.

 

But there's something darker happening, too--something I call the COVID Effect. I define it as a tendency to want to inflict bodily harm on others for no good reason. For example, one of the creative mask-and-lanyard makers mentioned to me that she had made one hundred additional sets to give to friends and to people in need. I wanted to slap her. And little children no longer seem particularly cute, especially when they are screeching outside of an ice cream shop and are within kicking distance of me. And I don't want to name names, but one of my relatives, who has been endlessly knitting scarves, recently switched to nooses.

 

The vaccine can't come soon enough.

NEVER GIVE THAT MOUSE A COOKIE!!

I'm sure almost all of you who read this blog remember the delightful children's book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. You probably read it to your children, and may now be reading it to your grandchildren. 

The book is about a mouse who gets a cookie (obviously) but who then requires a glass of milk, and then a straw, and then a napkin and then… You get the idea. It's absolutely charming. 

Except it isn't. You see, sheltering at home and looking for ways to keep busy have given me an entirely new take on this book, one that is darker and much more sinister. I now see it as a tale of obsession, or perhaps the inability to ever be satisfied. In other words, it reminds me of me. 

For example…   

IF YOU GIVE A BON A PROJECT 

If you give a Bon a project…like freshening the upstairs bathroom… she will decide a bright coat of paint will do the job quite nicely! 

But once she paints the bathroom, she’ll start thinking about getting new shower curtains to match the nice, bright paint. 

And when she starts thinking about getting new shower curtains, she’ll have to visit many, many websites to find the very prettiest one! 

And after she orders roughly a million shower curtains and holds them next to the bright new paint on the walls, she'll finally choose one with a lovely spring green fabric and pale stripes and delicate white flowers. 

But after she chooses the lovely spring-green shower curtain, she’ll start thinking, “I'd better look for pretty towels to match the pretty shower curtain!” 

And after she visits many, many websites again, she’ll order maybe TWO million towels because, hey, it's not like her ability to make a decision has improved. 

And after she chooses the towels, she'll realize that all of the bathroom accessories look pretty old and sort of sad and that she needs to get new ones. 

But when she starts looking at accessories, she’ll get very pissed because she really, really likes the Angelou 5-piece Bathroom Accessory Collection. Except it doesn't match the towels! 

And because that collection does not really match the towels, she’ll have to choose new towels so that they match the accessories. And when all that is done, she'll realize, “Whoops! I forgot that the window curtains need to match, too!” 

But when she shops for window curtains, none of them look nice with the shower curtain and the towels and the accessories and the paint. And at that point she'll finally say to herself, "Screw it, I'm not going to go through all THAT again," so she decides to order another spring-green shower curtain and turn it into a regular curtain, which she thinks is pretty damn clever of her. 

But when she decides to turn a shower curtain into a regular curtain, she’ll have to go to JoAnns to get seam tape and a curtain rod and curtain hangers (and earring backings as long as she’s there, and maybe a couple of pictures that might work in the bathroom…) 

And after she does all that, you’d think she’d let herself relax for a couple of days, but NO, now she’s frickin’ obsessed, so she starts making the curtains and screwing in the curtain rod, and hanging the curtains, and putting up the pictures (which she’ll probably return). 

And then she'll finally be all done, and she'll survey the bathroom proudly, at which time her mind will start wandering to the bedroom, which of course is a whole 'nother project! 

BUT…IF YOU GIVE A BON A PROJECT...

THE 5 STAGES OF DECLUTTERING

My husband and I have very different approaches to decluttering. Mine is to grab a flame thrower and torch everything in sight. Oh wait, sorry--that's just an image that occasionally flashes through my brain. But I do admit that 1-800-GOT-JUNK appears at the top of my Emergency Contact list.   

My husband's philosophy is very different. He feels that every item that's in jeopardy deserves to be lovingly examined and thoughtfully evaluated. In fact, if he sees me anywhere near a full garbage bag, he will hurl his body between me and the bag until he has first examined the contents himself.  His conclusions, without exception, are "We need to keep this."     

I usually—okay, always-- disagree, and it is at this point that we begin our "discussion." This is also the point at which my husband begins his journey through Kübler-Ross's Five Stages of Loss: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. 

Let's pretend, purely for purposes of illustration, that we are examining this hypothetical shelf in what was hypothetically once our "toy room."   

"Hon," I say, "I think it's finally time to get rid of these games." 

"Why?" 

"Well, because they're pretty much garbage." 

He stares at me. "What are you talking about? These are vintage games. They could be worth a lot of money!"  (Please see "Don't Go In the Basement: Misguided Beliefs.") 

"Excuse me," I say. "I looked in the Trivial Pursuit box and there were only three of those little wheel thingys and maybe a dozen of the colored pie pieces." 

"So what's your point?" 

Now, an astute reader will realize that my husband has just exhibited signs of Stage 1 of the Kübler-Ross progression: Denial. So now we move on to… 

Stage 2: ANGER

 

"You know," he says bitterly, "this is like when we first got married and you made me throw out all my Aurora monster model kits." 

"Hon, that was 42 years ago. Plus, you'd already put the models together and thrown out the boxes. And the Creature from the Black Lagoon was missing an arm." 

Which leads to… 

Stage 3: BARGAINING 

"Okay, fine," he says. "I'll throw out Trivial Pursuit and Othello, but only if I get to keep Two for the Money and the $64,000 Question Quiz Games. You have to admit, they really MIGHT be valuable." 

"You mean the ones in the smashed boxes that got ruined in the flood?" At this point, he realizes he can no longer avoid the inevitable, which leads to a filled garbage bag and… 

Stage 4: DEPRESSION  

Or, as we call it in our house, Pouting. He climbs the stairs from the basement and takes refuge in his den, where he sits in the dark, not moving, and silently watches the Godfather trilogy for comfort. And it is from there that he finally moves on to… 

Stage 5: ACCEPTANCE 

  

Which is where he will remain. At least until it's time to declutter the garage.

DON'T GO IN THE BASEMENT!

About a year ago, my husband and I decided it might be time to downsize. We have a too-big house on a too-big lot, and making our way to the second-floor bedroom had begun to feel a bit like climbing Masada, but without the spiritual payoff.

 

We consulted a local realtor who told us that Step 1 of Getting the House Ready to Sell is "decluttering." Now, "decluttering" is a very misleading term. It sounds like something a cheerful, plump woman in a gingham housedress might do in her country kitchen over the course of a few hours. It is not.

 

Take our basement, for example. We told ourselves we'd handle it on "the next rainy weekend." Remembering that moment now, I would just like to say "AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!" and indulge in some bitter weeping.

 

You see, we didn't realize until we actually got started that, for decades, we had suffered from CHD—Compulsive Hoarding Disorder. (And yes, that's a thing. It's actually mainly my husband's thing, but he says I'm making too much fun of him in these posts so I'll pretend it's me, too.) We also have the misfortune to live in a large house with a great deal of storage. 

That is a very bad combination. It allows us to keep items based on the following Misguided Beliefs:

• We might need these some day. (We won't. Ever.)

• Our kids will get a kick ouf of these when they're older. (They will not.)

• These will be great to bring to class reunions! (No, because we'll have forgotten where we stored them.)

• We can pass these on to the grandkids. (We won't, because they will have become breeding grounds for the plague, to be disposed of by experts wearing hazmat suits.)

• These are going to be worth a lot of money. (See below.)

 

(The last item refers to thousands of lovingly preserved comic books, Happy Meal toys, and vintage games that my husband has stored in the basement for years. He might very well be might be right about their value. But it's clear he will never sell them. No, eventually they will be moved to a storage shed, and then they will be left to our sons, and then our sons will leave them to their own children. 

Finally, the by-then abandoned storage shed will be featured on "Storage Wars," where the lucky buyer of the unit will gleefully announce that he paid $100 for collectibles that he'll be able to sell for 50 bazillion dollars. And somewhere, in the Great Hereafter, I'll be pummeling my husband and screaming "Dammit, we could have had a home in the Hamptons!")

 

Anyhow, our initial survey of the basement revealed 

• the aforementioned collectibles
• a tower of paint cans in disturbing colors that match nothing presently in our house 
• stacks of ancient slide carousels containing vacation pictures of people we do not know
• columns of warped LPs; 
• boxes of plugs, cords, and remotes that fit no known equipment
• cartons of craft supplies used when we were doing the boys' school projects for them 
• a fleet of Pinewood Derby racers
• an infinite number of boxes with unsorted, unlabeled photographs
• huge containers of unusable holiday decorations and wrapping paper 
• several dozen mystery boxes that had not been opened since we moved in twenty-some years earlier.

 

And that was just the beginning.  You see, I haven't yet described the decision-making part—the what-we'll-keep-and-what-we'll-toss stage. That's the next blog. And it will reveal why it's a miracle my husband and I are still married.