The Fredösphere

Thanks to my mixed up friend for awarding me his coveted "quirkiest" blog award (runner-up).

Meanwhile, he awarded the prize for "most civilized" to the Bookish Gardener (hey, why didn't you give that one to me, zitbrain?) who has authored this inspiring post on alternative second lines to famous poems.  Let me add this one, quoted by Herman Munster of all people:

Life is warm, life is earnest;
If you're cold, turn up the furnace.

I survived Chuck E. Cheese.  I found the birthday party side of the room, with its video and giant animatronic mouse, far more distracting than the game and play structure side.  In fact, that giant mouse, whose mouth and eyes moved to the music, was strangely compelling.  And it came to pass therefore at the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltry, dulcimer, and all kinds of music, I fell down to worship the statue of Chuck E. Cheese, whose head was of gold, and whose arms and torso were of pizza, and whose thighs were of iceberg lettuce tossed in fat-free ranch dressing....

What?  What was I saying?  Oh yes.  I wasn't the only one affected by the giant mouse.  The Maharincess (now past her third birthday) and I huddled in fear in the corner whenever he appeared.  But everybody loved the play structure.  The kids loved the crawling through the tubes in the ceiling.  My question:  what lunatic decided those would be a good idea?  I have never seen an invention better designed to leach the authority right out of a parent.  How the heck are you supposed to get your kids out of that thing when it is time to leave, while retaining any bit of whatever dignity you had when you walked into that place?  I ask you.

First idolatry, then the breakdown of parental authority.  Those frustrated Disney wannabees, those imagineer rejects that got their revenge by getting hired at Chuck E. Inc., are evil.  Simply evil.