Living word by word

Sesame Street

The New York Times issues a list, weekly, of their most-emailed stories. They are usually great reads.

Now they’ve issued a list of top ten for 2007. It includes recipes, an op-ed by Stephen Colbert, and, of course, a piece by Michael Pollan. But number one? A magazine piece by Viriginia Heffernan about the newly released “vintage” Sesame Street episodes, in which it is revealed that some content is now deemed inappropriate for small children.

I read this story in the magazine weeks ago and thought about blogging on it. Advent got in the way, but it struck me as a great commentary on the assumptions we make about children and what they need—then and now. Then, Cookie Monster was just every three-year-old’s id in action, no impulse control and lovable for it. Now, he is a reformed sugar addict who advises us to eat our carrots too. Then, Alistair Cookie had a pipe. Now, kids’ parents don’t watch Masterpiece Theater either, so the whole thing makes no sense. Then, Snuffleupagus was simply an oversized imaginary friend; now, we are too worried that parents seem out of touch, so he’s visible to anyone.

What’s fascinating is how this story is the TOP NYTimes story of the whole year! Who are these people reading this and passing it on? Gen X’ers like me who learned to read via Muppets? My parents’ generation trying to figure out their grandkids? Incredulous Gen Y’ers who can’t believe that Elmo wasn’t begotten of eternal God? I’m not sure what this story’s popularity means for the country, but it's a fascinating window into who reads the Times.

a confession

Friends, it’s time I confessed. My husband and I have a little problem. I could argue that it’s his problem and I’m just the enabler, but you could argue other way around too. The truth is we are both addicted. We have a problem with West Wing.

 

It started as simple escapism, a coping mechanism for getting through the Bush years. Leading up to 2004 the series at least gave us hope that an alternative to the Current Occupant could exist, that our flag would still wave beyond these dark times. We’re not big TV watchers, so it was easy to excuse the obsession with coming home on time Wednesday nights, and later Sundays, to see the latest installment. It connected us to our friends and to pop culture, of which we get precious little.

 

But now, I fear our little addiction has lost its social acceptability. We haven’t just watched the series once. We bought all the DVD’s. And we’ve watched them all – more than once. On any given evening as night falls and the kids are finally in bed, you are likely to find us huddling on the couch, self-medicating with the wit of CJ, the loyalty of Charlie, the gruff passion of Toby. (We almost named Johannes Tobias instead. . . I’m glad we didn’t).  

 

Does anyone know a way out of this little problem? I know admitting it is the first step. . .