An Adult's Guide to Children's Entertainment

One of the most overwhelming parts of parenting or babysitting a youngster is choosing from the vast array of materials that have been created for consumers under the age of 18. Without discussing the quality of these offerings--*cough*Hanna Montana*cough*--Disney alone is responsible for an astounding number of movies, shows, and CDs that exist today, and that's only one very fertile fish in the proverbial sea.

So as a companion and/or refresher to what many new parents and caregivers may consider a difficult time in navigating children's literature, movies, and music, I've summarized in a more adult fashion some of the old and new offerings available today.

In books:
Green Eggs and Ham--a commodities trader learns that the only way to overcome impossible quotas is to harass his prospects with rhyming sales propositions until they agree to try his unique product line. In an attempt to pitch Sam, his targeted potential customer, a variety of settings, including certain modes of transportation, were exploited to bend the consumer's will. What we learn here is that you can get people to do just about anything--even eat green meat--if you ask them over and over. (See also: my husband.)

In movies:
The Little Mermaid--our heroine, in the throes of lust, fails to retain legal counsel prior to signing certain iron-clad agreements with other mythical human/fish hybrid creatures. Let this be a lesson to fathers of young celebs everywhere: Had King Triton put a promise ring on Ariel's finger, instead of assigning a flamboyant crab to escort her into dodgy situations away from home, she would have simply been married, divorced, and dating Tony Romo by now.

Cinderella--a young woman enters the high-caliber dating scene and learns under high-pressure circumstances that part of getting the guy is hanging out with girls who are significantly less hot than you are. Also, everyone loves clear shoes. What I'll never understand is why the fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage for sending Cinderella to a ball, instead of turning a zucchini into a cell phone for calling social services on the wicked stepmother. Whatever.

Sleeping Beauty--either invite everyone you know, or don't let anyone crash your daughter's christening: That's what we learn from this tale of a young princess, Aurora, whose Sleep Number is changed from 45 to infinity the day she turns 16. This narcoleptic curse is exacted by Malifico, and becomes manifest when Aurora pricks her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel. Not only did the debacle ruin the entire spinning wheel industry, but sources close to the family reveal that Aurora and Malifico orchestrated the disagreement as a way to distract TMZ from covering Aurora's leaked sex tape with Prince Phillip.

In music:
"Little Bunny Foo Foo"--The People's Republic of Field Mice hires a mercenary with a heart of gold, the Good Fairy, to launch a counterstrike against The Foo's endless reign of terrorist tactics of frequent head-bopping, and perhaps, according to NPR, covert waterboarding.

In music/TV:
The Wiggles--Four dudes from Australia don a creepy sort of Star Trek system of color-coded outfit, to boldly go where maybe a few men have gone before, if you know what I mean. Most mothers agree that the television show is fine as a distraction while they're trying to prepare dinner or make out with the FedEx guy on the front porch, but listening to The Wiggles in the car is proven to cause severe suicidal tendencies, resulting in the urge to either drive your family off the nearest cliff, or park the car in a closed garage with the engine running.

Since this is just a sampler of the kinds of awesome entertainment available to kids today, look for future installments of An Adult's Guide to Children's Entertainment.

Fictional Ad Campaigns: Metamucil

Dear Metamucil,
Please call me regarding a new ad campaign I have in mind, the focus of which is targeted toward the aging Generation X population and its collective love of the Young Guns trilogy. I have it on good authority that Emilio Estevez, a huge fan of the Berry Burst flavor in your product line, is excited about the opportunity to step in as Metamucil's new spokesperson; further, Jon Bon Jovi has expressed an interest in writing and performing your next jingle, in the tradition of his contribution to the Young Guns II soundtrack, "Blaze of Glory."

In furtherance of providing an example of our totally fictional campaign strategy based on the imagined relationship opportunity that exists between you and a sizable segment of what journos everywhere are calling The Next Best Generation, I'm sending you this poster to present at your next marketing confab. Until then, stay gold loose, Pony Boy.

Smelebrity Number Nine

Paris Hilton, Jennifer “J. Lo” Lopez, Liz Taylor, Britney Spears, Sarah Jessica Parker, and even Donald Trump: These are all celebrities with a fragrance on the shelves of your favorite department store. To date, it’s hard to name a celebrity who hasn’t thrown her scent to the shelves, as if she’s a dog at a park, madly spraying every tree, bush and swath of grass possible.

As a soap and water gal, I’ve never really taken to perfume. Everything I try on overwhelms me, and I end up fleeing a store called something like Scents for Cents with my eyes and nose watering. I drive home with the windows down, wondering how anyone determines what their favorite fragrance is, and if I’ll ever feel like spending the equivalent of a tank of gas on something I’ll likely tuck into one of my toiletry bags at home, forgetting it until airport security officials confiscate it the next time I travel. And how do you shop for the stuff without trying a bunch of it on?

I know it must be hard to pull together a commercial for something so intangible, but the television advertisements only serve to bemuse me. And they’re a treasure trove of information compared to the copy that goes into each print and catalog ad. I was thinking that what’s in the bottle either smells like something or it doesn’t, but that’s me: A fan of the “You’re soaking in it!” campaign.

One designer scent goes so far as to claim that it’s “A new fragrance interpretation that is the essence of enchanting femininity…” I’ve always wanted to know what enchanting femininity smells like, and now I can find out by driving to the nearest Sephora. What a relief.

I admit that I’m a cynic, but really—haven’t we exhausted the possibilities? Aren’t there a finite number of ways that one’s wrist or neck or cleavage can smell, and haven’t we formulated them all? With its textures and variations in preparing it, and its visual context, food is much more complicated than perfume, and if you ask most people, it always “tastes like chicken.”

So in the spirit of stopping the insanity, I’ve devised a plea and an opportunity. Forget “enchanting femininity,” let’s get back to basics, back to the beginning. Call it appealing to the lowest common denominator if you want. Call it dumbing things down if you want; I call it getting back to basics. I call it keeping it simple and real, and when word gets out, Jeremy Piven, it’s going to be huge, and you missed the boat.

Celebrity perfumes account for 7% of the US prestige fragrance market, a $2.8 billion business. That’s some pretty good scratch, and shoot, if someone can get away with pushing a bottle of liquid claiming that it’s a new “fragrance interpretation,” there must be a way for someone genuine to grab a piece of the action.

Introducing my idea for a new smelebrity fragrance: Sniff This, by Snoop Dogg.
Instead of calling it an “olfactory experience,” I plan on making this marketing plan a no-brainer, targeting Snoop Dogg’s loyal—if impaired—niche demographic. Sniff This is a unisex fragrance with bong water high notes, Cheetos middle notes, and a malt liquor base note, and I plan to roll out this scent-sational stuff at the next Widespread Panic show. So if you want to work this one out, Snoop, give me a call. You’ll find me in the book, I’m living on Shakedown Street right now.

And P.S., Dogg,
Don’t limit yourself to perfume, G. Have you seen KY’s new offerings and super-high production value TV advertisements for products from your personal lubricant aisle? We could call it celube-rity. Don’t forget to thank me when you’re a gazillionaire, yo.