Scooby Doo, Where Are You?

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Mornings. You shower, dress, pick up an Ethiopian triple mocha latte and drive on to work. That’s what you do in the morning. I watch children’s television.

Oh yeah, my daughter watches, too. Since she ascended to the monarchy in our house and her scepter is the TV remote control, Barney’s Friends is what reigns during Dad-on-duty stints.

Hey, it could be worse. They could bring Cop Rock back as an animated feature. Or do a kids’ exercise show with a giant green character named Bloopy. Oh wait. They did do that.

We watch the KPBS morning lineup. There aren’t as many commercials on public TV. Nonetheless, my daughter has learned to say “Juicy Juice,” “Baby Gap” and “KPBS is partially funded by viewers like you.”

KPBS morning stars range from a fuzzy blue hipster doofus who talks to the moon (you know him as Gonzo on Sesame Street) to an effeminate purple blob who exclaims “Uh-ohhh” every 10 seconds and seems to be tripping on acid (Tinky Winky from Teletubbies).

Sesame Street is fun. Though, after 30 years, why hasn’t Big Bird settled into a Soho loft and a job on Wall Street and cut out the morning hopscotch binges? I had to. For the most part, Sesame Street is entertaining for adult viewers. Stars like Jim Carrey, Danny DeVito and Paul Simon make cameos. And Oscar the Grouch never disappoints.

But there’s been a disturbing development. The last 15 minutes of Sesame Street is now a pseudo-spinoff called “Elmo’s World.” (Elmo is a furry red dynamo who talks like Melanie Griffith on speed and steroids, with a frog in her throat.)

In one “Elmo’s World” segment—recently rerun for two straight weeks—Elmo takes on jackets. Elmo puts on a jacket. Elmo talks to kids about jackets. Elmo’s goldfish, Dorothy, asks questions about jackets. Elmo chats with a jacket, who shows off her zipper. Then, Elmo sings the “Jacket Song” (to the tune of “Jingle Bells”). Lyrics: “Jacket jacket jacket, jacket jacket jacket, jacket jacket jacket jacket jacket...”

Did I mention that the jacket show reran for TWO STRAIGHT WEEKS!!! Blare Elmo’s “Jacket Song” over the skies of Iraq, and I guarantee Saddam Hussein would keep his air force out of any no-fly zone.

On the subject of using Sesame Street to bring about world peace, why not replace the Iraqi’s CNN feed with looped footage of Teletubbies? Featuring four blob creatures who’ve seemingly spilled out of a ’60s lava lamp, this show is more painful than a faceful of mustard gas. I don’t care that Jerry Falwell says purse-toting, tutu-wearing Tinky Winky is children’s television’s first gay character. What hurts is being the butt of a huge joke being played on the American public by the British producers of this farce of a show.

Brit producer 1: “This week, we’ll have the ’Tubbies spill custard on a pair of galoshes. They can look at the mess for three minutes. Then we’ll cut to a shot of a flower talking gibberish. Then they kick some bunnies and get on the scooters.”

Brit producer 2: “Blimey! I’ve smoked all my crack, too, and it’s not even noon.”

After the ’Tubbies kick a few barbiturate-fed wild rabbits and put on hats no self-respecting pimp would wear, it’s time for the five-minute reality clip. These clips feature kids doing things like skating, riding horses and making pasta. Fine. But after a clip ends, the ’Tubbies all yell, “Again! Again, again!” And the clip reruns in its entirety—no doubt while the director leaves the set to purge the effects of last night’s Glenlivet bender.

Mind you, not all children’s fare is this bad. On Arthur, the lead character is taught lessons—stealing is bad; you can’t mail away your little sister—in an entertaining way. (Though it is perplexing that Arthur, an aardvark whose teacher is a rat and best friend a rabbit, has a pet dog.)

And kudos to the creators of The Big Comfy Couch. This Canadian production stars a cute clown character named Loonette. She cavorts with a dolly named Molly and a bike messenger named Major Bedhead. The show’s a hoot for kids (and overwrought dads). Those Canadians know if they tried to get away with a Teletubbies, we’d come up there and kick some Mountie patootie.

Last but not least, there’s that big purple dinosaur. Contrary to mob mentality, I have no beef with Barney. Kids don’t need to learn to lip-sync like Milli Vanilli or dance like tiny Bob Fosse drones. But I like the purple lug’s joie de vivre. We’ve got Barney books, T-shirts, even Barney shampoo. I hear a Barney’s Brewpub chain is being discussed. I’d take my business there. But not if they serve Teletubby highballs.

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