Curse You Jack Black

In spite of growing protests from both grandmothers I had no intention of drastically reducing my son’s intake of television.  He is a fan the Nickelodeon Network.  He has his favorite shows – SpongeBob, Fairly Odd Parents, CatScratch, and even Danny Phantom.  And I am there with him.  I enjoy watching the shows by his side, often laughing at what he finds funny, as opposed the show itself.  Except of course for Fairly Odd Parents and CatScratch where I often find myself laughing alone.  My own mother’s protests in particular fell on deaf ears.  I recall that when I was a kid I viewed grade school merely as the interruption between the two hours or cartoons I watched in the morning and the four hours of sitcoms I watched in the evening.  But recently I wondered it myself; was it possible that my boy is exposed to too much TV?  Yes Jack Black, he is.

Curse you Jack Black – I know you are to blame. Last week my son was watching a commercial for Nacho Libre.  It was a spoof advertisement promoting the upcoming release of the Nacho Libre movie with pretend action figures.  In the commercial the children show the versatility of the toy: it flies (when you throw it against the wall), it’s a bookmark (when crammed awkwardly in a book) and you can pick your nose with it (which a kid actually does).  My son was so excited when he told me about the great new toy he had seen on TV.

“Daddy, you can pick your nose with it!” he beamed.  

“That’s not a real commercial son, they are just kidding,” I advised.

“No, it’s real,” he insisted.

“No buddy, it’s not.  You can’t pick your nose with it.”

His reaction was heartbreaking.  His shoulders slumped forward.  He head hung low.  He turned and took slow, dragging steps towards his room.  It was the kind of reaction you expect when you tell you child that they can’t have a puppy.  My son was disillusioned and downtrodden by the fact that he could not pick his nose with a miniaturized version of Jack Black dressed as Luchador.

Last night at the end of story time my son was drifting away.  In the twilight of consciousness he paused before slipping into deep sleep.   Dreamy eyes opened from the very edge of slumber as he leaned over to me to whisper his final concern for the day.

“Daddy, I miss that guy.  I don’t see him anymore.”

I knew exactly who he meant.  He meant Jack Black.  Yet I asked anyway.

“What guy pal?”
 
“The singer on the TV.  I miss him.  The one who sang that song.”

“Do you mean the guy that sang “Jack-Jack-Jack, Jacka-Jacka-Black on Nica-Nica-lo-deon?”

“Uh huh.”

Damn.  His final lucid thoughts for the day were about Jack Black’s commercial promoting the Nick Kid’s Choice Awards.   The grandmothers may have been right.  But then again, that song was really catchy.  When I think about it, it gets stuck in my mind for hours.  In fact, the TV set is still on.

Curse you Jack Black.