Analysis of Character

As the mother of a two year old, I spend a significant amount of time reading the same books over and over and over and then one more time, pleeeeeease mooooooom. I am also subjected to the same television shows for months at a time, before one is cast to the side to make room for the next. Barney was replaced by Angelina the Ballerina (who brought us an unshakable, illogical fear of cats), who was ousted by Caillou. Books have the same rotational pattern, and can be an obsession one week and discarded the next.


Most of the TV shows and books that get the toddler seal of repeating approval are not the newest or flashiest choices on the market. Sponge Bob Square Pants, for example, will catch Darling Daughter's attention, but she has never requested it specifically. But Curious George, who has been around since dirt was new, is a permanent resident in our house.


So I've been pondering what it is about the enduring characters that each generation of children continues to find so appealing. Husby was startled a few months ago when I put down our battered and torn copy of "Harry the Dirty Dog" and announced that the book was not about dogs at all. Harry, a white dog with black spots that got so dirty he became a black dog with white spots, is not really a dog. He represents a young boy, probably between 5 and 7 years old, that runs away from home and plays tag with his friends, hangs out at the railroad station, and slides down coal chutes. He then returns home to a family that doesn't recognize him until they give him a bath and he becomes, once again, a white dog with black spots.


The story is a fantasy that kids can totally relate to. Who wouldn't want to run away from home and do some super fun crazy things that your parents usually don't let do? But what if your family doesn't know who you are when you get back? Yikes. But then, the family realizes that what appears to be a stranger is actually a beloved family member, and everything is just fine at the end. Kid goes free, kid has tons of fun, kid gets home to unexpected rejection but eventually finds recognition. Sounds good, right? The fear of getting separated from your parents is something every child can empathize with, so reading about it happening to a dog allows them the opportunity to experience it from a safe distance. So the story works, and endures. And gets re-read five times a day for months on end. Mystery solved.


Onto Baby Bop, the incredibly irritating green dinosaur that follows Barney around. She is the whiniest incarnation of a three year old girl that could ever be represented on TV, but Darling Child adores her. She will pretend to be Baby Bop for ages, and is transfixed when the little green monster appears on TV. Of course! Baby Bop is just slightly older than Darling Girl, and represents the next stage in the developmental process. Who wouldn't want to watch someone who is playing on the next level up? It shows Darling Girl what is coming up next. The fact that Baby Bop is a green dinosaur and not a human girl is totally irrelevant.


So, what is the deal with Curious George? How old is he supposed to be? Sometimes, he is mature enough to solve sophisticated puzzles like a 10 year old, and sometimes he demonstrates attributes of a much younger child. But he sleeps in a full size bed, can be left alone all day in an apartment by himself and has free access to the entire city like a teenager. And who is The Man in the Yellow Hat? That guy creeps me out. Is he supposed to be the Dad? Confusing. And what about all the supporting characters in the stories that treat George like an adult?


I brought up my concerns about George and The Man at work a week ago or so, to see if anyone else had any insight into exactly what George was supposed to be. My co-workers collectively turned their heads to one side and raised eyebrows at me.


"He's a monkey, Jaime. That's what he is supposed to be."


"Yeah, but that doesn't make sense. Is he a ten year old, a teenager, an orphan or an adopted son?" I was thinking that I hadn't made myself clear.


"No, Jaime, he's a monkey. Just. A. Monkey."


I could tell that I hadn't been able to make my point about enduring characters and how they must appeal to children at a certain level, so I let it go. I recognize the combination of a head tilt, wide eyes and raised eyebrows, and I know it means that people have just added one more thing to the list of crazy things I've said.

But I'm sticking to my argument, that characters that endure resonate with us at a specific level that can cross generations. I'll just be quieter about reasoning it out, that's all.

Update on Today

Regarding my post about The Today Show, I was expecting a wave of laughter from the teeming millions of readers that hang on my every word. The reaction has been much more "me too!" and less "what the hell is wrong with you?" than I had anticipated.

Husby thinks that the anchors on the show are snobs and think they are better than everyone else. Others have mentioned being aware that Matt doesn't like Merideth for awhile. One reader remarked that she has felt sorry for Merideth for some time.

Another particularly astute reader told me to change the damn channel and find something else to watch. But then, I ask, how will I know how to decorate my holiday table on a budget or how to survive a plane crash? This is very important information, and I'm not sure I can trust the bastards at CBS to keep me updated.

Wrapped Around The Axle

We put up "Christmas" the other day, much to the delight/anguish of Baby Girl. Some stuff she is allowed to touch, some stuff is strictly off limits. Guess which things are more appealing? She claps with joy when we turn the Christmas lights on, and wails when we turn Christmas off.


There were some fallen soldiers in this year's installation of Christmas. A few wires fell off ornaments, a few random bits of glitter sprinkled the floor. So, being the dutiful wife that I am, I immediately vacuumed up the stray bits of cheer. I learned what an AMAZING noise one bit of wire can make when it gets wrapped around the bar of the vacuum. Good Times!


My original plan was to continue to chase the vacuum around until the room was all striped with cleanliness, but the racket caused by this little tiny wire was really quite distracting. So I turned it off, turned it over, and removed the offending bit of metal. All was well until I ran over another wire and had to repeat the process.


I'd quite forgotten about this whole episode until a few minutes ago. I've been wrestling with some spiritual questions for the last month or so, and continue to pester my fearless Dad for his perspective. In his latest message, Dad commented that he too has questions to ask God when the opportunity arises, but that he doesn't get so "wrapped around the axle" that he can't move forward. (He also mentioned going for a run and eating an apple, so we take what he says with a grain of salt.)


I immediately thought of the wire in the vacuum, wrapped around the axle and causing a huge commotion. I'm currently trying to sort out the cosmos while cooking a person, throwing off the shackles of religious dogma, and trying to figure out how to maintain some sort of identity whilst two children clamor for my attention. I've got fifty wires wrapped around my mental vacuum cleaner and the noise is truly astonishing.

It has been bothering me that I can't solve the problems I'm working on, and bogging me down in my daily shuffle. (It used to be a daily grind, but I go much slower now.) These lofty questions have gotten me wrapped around the axle, and I find myself getting stuck a few times a day.

Imagine a dog tied to a tree. Dog sees something interesting, walks over to investigate, and wraps another loop of leash around the tree. Dog walks over here, over there, sniff this, sniff that. Suddenly, Dog has three inches of leash left. How did this happen? Ruh roh, indeed.

The only solution is to sit down and stop winding, right? Flip the vacuum over or bark until someone comes to unclip the leash. I'm not sure I know how to do that right now, but it is nice to know that I'm not the only one.

Hey, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

What are you trying to say?

Every morning since the dawn of time, I have gotten up and watched the Today show with my cup of coffee. The anchors on the show have become a part of my extended family, even though they have no idea who I am.


This phenomenon is not without psychological merit, so all ye who are laughing at me can just knock it off. The human brain is theoretically not capable of distinguishing between people we see on TV every day and people we see in real life every day. In earlier days, survival depended on knowing what was happening in the tribe, so humans have developed a knack for watching other people and developing relationships. This quality is also partly responsible for our goofiness over celebrities and royal figures. The "leaders" of our tribe required extra attention to ensure our standing in the tribe. But I digress...


My friends Matt Lauer, Merideth Viera, Al Roker and Ann Curry and I sit down every morning to chat about the weather, current events, politics and how to choose a shade of lipstick that will compliment my skin tone during the winter months.


Recently, I have noticed a troubling undercurrent in the relationship between Matt and Merideth. It seems to me that Matt doesn't really like Merideth all that much, and can sometimes go so far as to be rude to her. Ever since she replaced Katie Couric a few years ago, Matt has been slightly contemptuous of her, but now it seems like their relationship is getting even more strained than it has been in the past.


Now, I realize that these people are professionals and Matt has certainly never said anything on air that would indicate that all is not well on the Today show set. There are very subtle cues, like a sideways glance that is almost an eye-roll, or an intro with one word drawn out, like "And now, baaaack to Merideth" that implies a secret 'yeah, and good luck with that'. Merideth appears to not notice any of this, though she does exude a bit of puppy-like energy that has a slight tail-wagging plea to be liked and accepted by the rest of the pack. It occasionally seems that Matt is responding to Merideth's eagerness be in the club by quietly reaffirming the fact that she isn't in the club.


This undercurrent is starting to affect the way I look at my dear friends. I'm getting angry with Matt, who is clearly just being mean, and feeling sad for Merideth, who just wants to be liked. I'm annoyed that Al and Ann haven't stepped in to make peace, or support Merideth against the titan of morning talk shows.


I realize that this whole thought process poses a few questions, like "How much time do you spend thinking about this stuff?" and "Seriously, have you ever had a life?" (Answers: Lots, and no.) This also raises the question about being sensitive, perhaps overly so, to the way people move around this world.


How do you know when someone is annoyed with you? When someone is secretly trying to tell you something? When does a random comment like "Wow, the trash cans are always empty at my Mom's house" from Husby really mean "I wish you were better at taking out the trash"? Or perhaps a casual remark about co-worker's weight loss really means "Wow, you've gained a lot of weight recently, hon."

Husby says that what he says NEVER means anything. He certainly never means to imply that I'm fat, a poor housekeeper, or a lousy cook. But I still say that we subconsiously communicate our true feelings to each other, and it is one of our jobs as members of society to dilligently decode those feelings.

As for Matt and Merideth, I'm thinking about writing them a letter so I can get some closure on this problem. They would write back, don't you think?