There is quite a bit of champagne & speed sloshing about in my veins right now. This, combined with an intense preoccupation to ignore my brobdingnagian [*gold star for a cool ass word] pile of work, reminds me of one of my favorite rants:

toys these days.

I believe that there is nothing worse than a toy that lights up & talks &, in essence, plays with itself. I believe that it is quite possible that the tremendous surge in psychopharmaceuticals among children these days is because every material object that they know since birth has put on a show. Whether it is blinking colors, gurgling out silly sentences, or controlled by a mouse & and keyboard, modern toys leave no room for the imagination. How can a child honestly get out a thought with all of that distraction?

I know that ADHD drugs do help some people. I know that depressants help some people. But why is it that some children are subjected to, as it appears to me, just hyper-diagnoses. Doctors are quick to throw down a prescription for Ritalin because the pharmaceutical companies have their filthy arms elbow-deep into the American Medical Association. This is the same reason that we believe milk is good for us: simply because the Dairy Association will rear its ugly, lactard (b.n. not a real word) face on a commercial break and tell you that a respected physician says so. I will tell you, and you can quote me or fight me on this, that beer is more nutritious than milk. Empty calories; ask any nutritionist if you can find one who is not sponsored by Cheese™.

Back to business though. Teachers & school counselors are just as quicksilver to send a kid to the school nurse in the name of therapy when they really don't want to deal with a wayward child. Get a grip. Just because the precious schmuck has been staring out the window for the entire class doesn't mean he has a serious chemical imbalance that is going to fuck shit up in the future. It is not that unlikely that a teacher who refuses to give a kid the time of day would hold a terribly uninteresting, non-stimulating class. But the parents? With the divorce rate in this country these days, it is not all that shocking to throw the word "neglect" around in a therapy session. Also, the power structure between child & parent has been catastrophically severed, easily because parents are hyper-sensitive as to whether or not Jack still loves them enough to warrant giving him a Corvette for his sixth birthday.

In addition, I have an idea that there is a physical aspect to the destruction of the power structure. We learn that a flame is hot by touching it, no? Don't lie to me and say that it is something you have just believed whole heartedly ever since a grown-up has told you. I'll tell you to go suck an egg. You tested it. I am not advocating straight up abuse whatsoever. I'm just putting it out there that a light smack on the bum is exactly the way that a kid learns, man. Children are tactile learners. The first thing they know is to feel. There are some amazing characters out there that did not need to be taught in such a way, but it can't be guaranteed that every apple is shiny & crunchy & doesn't house worms. Generation Hooked-on-Pharmies mostly didn't get that because of the sensitivity about abuse & the fear of Dyfus since the mid-80s.

My train is way off track. I remember three toys from my childhood: a bunny rag-doll, a baby pool, & a sit n' spin. If any of these had ever started speaking to me in a voice that didn't come from my own brain, I would have freaked the fuck out & then rapidly fallen into a lulled content that I didn't have to do all the harsh work of imagination.

I work at a marvelous children's center. In this place, all that my tiny friends play with are jigsaws & rocks & paint & crayons & sticks & tiles & pieces that connect & pieces that break apart & pieces that can stack. Last year I had a buddy Matthew who was working very intently on a structure of colored blocks. When he stepped back for a moment to check out his creation, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to give him a little survey about his masterpiece. This is what I gathered from the wicked inquisitive two-year old:

-It was a museum
-People would go there on Sundays
-They would pay for a ticket
-They would sit in the dark
-They would read books
-They would spend all day until it was night in that building

I thought that existentialism was a crock of shit until I talked to this kid. He would never get that much out of a computer game or a plastic talking robot-dog.

It makes me whimper to think that children are being brainwashed by Ritalin (now, legally, beginning with the age of seven) & antidepressants when their brains have not even fully developed yet. I want to stomp on the ground, tear my hair out, & yell nasty things to parents & teachers & history & the world & every last detail that has given up on these kids.

Mostly though, I blame the toys.