This morning on PBS Kids…
When my boyfriend’s around, I usually don’t have the opportunity to watch morning television. He likes to wake up late, and since the TV’s in the bedroom–bad feng shui, I know–I’m outta luck, which is really sad because, like, I’ve been a closet fan of The Today Show since, like, Jane Pauley. With Jonno in the sweltering hotbox that is New York this week, however, I can gawk at Katie Couric’s unsightly–though vaguely ethereal–haircolor for at least an hour before I head off to the office.
This morning, as I prepared myself for another long day at work by donning my most officious looking shirt (a sartorial statement that might say “Leave me the hell alone,” but proabably reads more like, “God, I’m a self-important, anal-retentive loser, aren’t I?”), I happened to hit the channel button on the remote, and lo-and-behold, I came upon Clifford the Big Red Dog.
[Ed note: Since childhood, Richard has been addicted to PBS. He’s familiar with its various programs, their schedules, knows which ones have hot hosts, and so on. In the case of Clifford, he even knows some of the backstory–though he’s reluctant to admit it.]
So anyway, the scene is set at T-Bone’s house. The Sheriff has brought home a lady friend, and it’s their first date. The Sheriff comes out onto the back porch, offers the nameless lady a drink, and introduces her to his dog: “Everybody loves my T-Bone,” he says with a big grin.
And I thought to myself: When did children’s television become so vulgar?
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