All posts by Matthew Callan

Parental Guidance, Tuneage

Where Nursery School Meets Loony Bin

As a parent, you realize very quickly that you’re going to have to watch a lot of crap on TV you really don’t want to. At first, it’s because you realize a certain program can calm down a hysterical baby or hasten sleepy-time. (For my kid, that certain program was Predator.)

Eventually, your child will develop his/her own tastes and want to watch the same movie or show over and over and over again. And thanks to DVDs and video on demand, it’s easier than ever before to indulge this OCD. Of course, none of this stuff is meant for your adult eyes/brain, but some of it grates on you more than others.

Like many preschool kids, The Baby went through a Caillou phase, which I believe she has finally outgrown (knock on wood). If you don’t have children, you have probably never seen this show and I suggest you continue to avoid it. Caillou is about a four-year-old bald kid who is an enormous weiner. I can’t think of a better word to describe this kid; “weiner” covers it, with its implication of profound uncoolness.

There’s nothing really wrong with the show in aggregate, but the character of Caillou drives me up the wall. He has a squeaky little kid voice with a pronounced Canadian accident. He is preternaturally well-spoken and well-behaved in a way that no four-year-old has ever been. And everything in the world must revolve around him. If you remember The Kids in the Hall sketches with Bruce McCulloch as Gavin, Caillou is like a slightly younger version of that.

Oh, and Caillou has songs. Almost all little kid shows do, but these songs feel slapped together, both lyrically and musically. Really slapped together. I think they were all written by Garth and Kat.

This clip below is a perfect example. I can’t remember why Caillou is singing about being in a rock and roll band, not that it matters. The song clearly takes longer to listen to than the composer took to write it.

And yet, when I heard this song, it struck a chord. It reminded me of something–not despite its threadbare intellect, but because of it. It rattled at the back of my mind for a while, searching for a connection, until it hit me like a bolt from the blue: It sounds exactly like Wesley Willis’ “Rock and Roll McDonalds”. Don’t believe me? Have a listen.

In case you don’t remember or were too young to catch him the first time around, Wesley Willis was a schizophrenic who rose to “fame” in the 1990s thanks to songs he made with Casio keyboard presets, which he used to drive away the “demons in his head” that would take him on “hellrides”. Some of his songs were about how much he loved music, some were about beating up superheroes, and some were obscene rants involving animals.

Of course, since every Wesley Willis song sounds exactly the same, you could say “Caillou’s Rock and Roll Band” resembles any of them. But I think this comparison is more apt than, say, “Eat a Panda’s Ass.”

Politics Schmolitics

Biggest Revelations from George W. Bush’s Memoirs

  • bushdecisionpoints.jpgHis mother, Barbara Bush, was one of the first proponents of the child rearing philosophies of David Cronenberg.
  • Of his seven siblings, only three were confined to jars.
  • At Harvard Business School, successfully defended his master’s thesis on why kegstands are awesome.
  • In 1972, while serving in the Air National Guard, thwarted an attempted Viet Cong takeover of a San Antonio-area Fiesta Mart
  • On 1973 through 1988: “FATAL ERROR; SOME DATA MAY BE LOST”
  • First act as president of the Rangers was to acquire a totally bullshit Texas accent.
  • Catapulted to the Texas governor’s mansion by promising to legalize the carrying of concealed flamethrowers.
  • Got John McCain to drop out of the Republican primaries in 2000 by promising to make McCain turn his back on every principle he held dear.
  • In the heated moments of the Florida vote recount, planned a concession phone call to Al Gore that would have ended with him saying “psyche!” and hanging up.
  • Took so long to respond when informed of the 9/11 terrorist attacks because his mind was occupied trying to think of that one guy who was in that thing.
  • Considered himself a “dissenting voice” in the debate over going to war in Iraq, but rather than press the issue, opted to use his political capital to argue for pizza for lunch the next day.
  • Blames a printing press error for the “aircraft carrier” mess in 2003. The banner was originally supposed to read “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED…IS WHAT THIS SIGN WILL SAY ONCE THE WAR IS OVER”.
  • In order to combat perceptions that Dick Cheney was the real power behind the presidency, contemplated removing him from the ticket in 2004. Changed his mind after waking up in a ditch with no memory of the events of the previous week.
  • As the Iraq War spiraled out of control and more and more Americans were killed trying to bring democracy to a land that didn’t seem to want it, he had this weird dream where was in an ostrich rodeo.
  • Deeply regrets that, in the wake of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina, he allowed so many news networks to report on it.
  • Believes the Kanye West incident is “the lowest point of my presidency” because “any other choice is too horrifying.”
  • After Obama’s inauguration, as Air Force One took him away from the White House for the last time, he finally thought of that one guy who was in that thing. It was Bill Paxton.
  • Ends book with an anecdote about picking up after his dog because when you’ve committed war crimes, caused the needless deaths of thousands, and driven your country into a ditch, it’s good to laugh about it.

Baseball

Yes, Ronald, There Is an Abner Doubleday

budselig2.jpgMr. Keurajian–

Thank you for your thoughtful letter. As commissioner of Major League Baseball, I take its subject quite seriously. Regarding the identity of the “father” of baseball, Ronald, your little friends are wrong. They have affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. There is an Abner Doubleday.

How dreary would the world be if there were no Abner Doublday! You’d have to ascribe baseball’s existence to the slow evolution from earlier games that originated in Europe. And while that explanation might be more “plausible” and “probable”, who wants to do all the research to prove it?

There would be no childlike faith, no poetry, no romance, no belief in the crackpot theories of early-20th century xenophobic racists determined to prove baseball was a purely American game! No belief in the inherent superiority of human failings over technology that could easily fix such errors! No blaming of the players’ union for everything bad in the sport!

Not believe in Abner Doubleday! You might as well not believe that George Washington cut down a cherry tree! Which technically, he did not, but since I was told so when I was a small child, I really don’t appreciate being instructed otherwise by a bunch of eggheads.

Just because we have never seen Abner Doubleday, or any evidence he had anything to do with baseball, does not mean he does not exist. The most real things in the world are those that no one can see. Like a purple zebra. Just try to not think of a purple zebra now. You can’t. I’ve proven my point.

You could tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that have ever lived, could tear apart. Also, why would you tear apart a baby’s rattle? That’s messed up.

No Abner Doubleday! Thank God he lives, and lives forever in the hearts of everyone too lazy to think about accepted myths too much. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years, he will continue to make glad the heart of dumbasses.