Highbrow Entertainment

Well, it took a while but Kiki has finally discovered the television.  Yep, our claims of "she doesn't even notice it" and "we don't even need to limit the TV" has all become, much like her diapers, a pile of shit.  Nope, she, like all good Americans, will happily watch the television for, well, at least 15 minutes or so (alright, so, sadly, not like all Americans).


But she won't watch just anything, no no no, she's quite particular.  The only shows that will hold her attention are Elmo related, Yo Gabba Gabba, and Little Bear.  For those of you without children (wait, why are you reading this?  Go out and do something, get drunk, go on a date, get laid, don't just sit and read the internets!), I'll make a simple analogy to understand these shows:


Elmo = Weed.
Yo Gabba Gabba = LSD.
Little Bear = Heroin. 


Now, before I get into this, just in defense of my clean drug tests I must say all this information is via hearsay and internet research.  I'm sure that will hold up in court.  Moving on.  


Elmo is fairly inoffensive, the shows are relatively short, they're enjoyed by most everyone, they're legal in California, and they're easily enjoyed throughout the day, as long as you don't have much to do.


Yo Gabba Gabba is more immersive, quite a bit more entertaining, but may convince you that dressing in a skin tight orange jumpsuit is perfectly acceptable behavior.  


Little Bear will pull you in, suck your will to live, and leave you wondering where the last four weeks, and, for that matter, your money, car, and family went.  


Now, given these choices we, as smart, resourceful parents, turned to that bastion of all parenting guidance.  The internet.  Well, more specifically, Youtube.  But not for a video primer on TV usage by children.  Nah, that's boring.  Nope, we just tried to find a substitute drug.  Behold, our methadone:

As it's known in out household; Dancing Zebra.  Entertaining but short lived, allowing you to continue your life and function in society.


You're welcome.

Package From Japan

So about once a month a care package arrives from my mother-in-law in Japan.  Filled with unusual foods and insanely cute toys for Kiki, it's a monthly little celebration in our household.  However this month things went, well, let's just take a look, shall we?


First we found these...

So, they're little fork-like utensils, you know, for kids.  Pretty damn cute too, right?  And useful for those still developing the dexterity required for chopsticks.  And yes, I am counting myself in that group.


Well, at least these two are cute, but then they started to get a little, well, weirder...

Still cute, but I must say the seal is slightly disturbing, and from the way the elephant is crouched I can't really figure out where that spike is emanating from, but from the look on his face I'm guessing I don't really want to eat off it.  


Then, well, they frankly just got inappropriate...

Seriously?  I mean, I know your pornography is all pixelated or animated or somehow just fucked up, but do you really need to sexualize these super cute little forks?  Really, from the county that invented the used panty vending machine I just expected more from you, Japan.  


Although, as far as plastic koala's with massive erection forks go, it is still pretty damn cute.


Oh, damn you Japan, I can't stay mad at you!

We Could Have A Problem Here...

So, you may have gathered from this blog that I enjoy riding my bicycle.  So much so that whenever I am getting ready to leave the house Kiki guesses either "Dada Bike?" or "Dada Work?" with pretty much even odds.  


But I always figured my biking was, as far as obsessive compulsions go, not too bad.  I mean, I get some exercise, get out in the fresh air, and relieve stress, seemed like a win win, but well, recently something happened that is making me rethink how harmless it all is.  


First let me provide a little background for those of you who don't ride.  Now, you probably know that most cyclists wear padded shorts when they ride, to protect their nether regions.  But you may not have known that some of us who get really into it discover that the shorts aren't that great, and turn to bibs.  Bibs are, well, they're a lot like a wrestling singlet, but, if possible, even creepier.  Let me illustrate:


A wrestling singlet:

Which for some reason I keep mistyping as "sniglet".  Just seems better to me I guess.  Anyway, for comparison, here are cycling bibs:

They're like a skimpier sniglet.  With a padded ass.  And yes, you have to strike such awesome poses when you wear them.  Oh, and for the women (and perverts), don't think you're left out:

Something about that photo just totally creeps me out.  Anyway, back to our problem.  See, Kiki grabbed a pair of my wife's underwear out of the clean laundry and pulled them on.  Harmless enough, and maybe even a good sign that our potty training efforts are gaining traction.  

But then she proceeded to pull the waistband up over her shoulders, like suspenders, and run around saying "Kiki bike!  Kiki bike!".  Needless to say my wife was concerned.  Needless to say I've never been prouder of my little girl.