Brought to You By the Letters OMG

April 2005

Forget about the war in Iraq. Forget about the sinking economy. Forget about Brad and Angelina (okay, I never really thought about them to begin with). There's a situation confronting the American people that we, as a nation, must rise up and take action against. Of course I'm talking about the new season of "Sesame Street" on PBS.

In an effort to curb child obesity, PBS announced the beloved Cookie Monster will no longer sing his theme song, "C is for Cookie." CM's new theme shall be "A Cookie is a Sometimes Food." He will also help teach kids to eat different kinds of food in moderation and to eat healthier cookies. Apparently, Cookie's typical method of eating cookies -- jamming a fistful into his gaping maw and growling in ecstasy as they explode in a shower of crumbs -- is just fine.

Are our modern little tykes so far removed from reality that they learn their eating habits from a blue fuzzball on TV? I watched the show over the years both as a kid and with my own kids. I've seen Cookie Monster eat pencils, pens, stationary, foam letters, flowers, rocks, every kind of toy imaginable, telephones, typewriters ("what's that, Daddy?"), computers, and even other monsters. And after all that, I have never even had the urge to eat anything that doesn't belong in my mouth. Well, okay, there was that New Year's Eve party back in 1990, but that doesn't count.

Let's look at the lyrics to "C is for Cookie," and analyze which lines will consign kids to a lifetime of "big and tall" shops:

C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me
C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me
C is for Cookie, that's good enough for me
Oh, cookie-cookie-cookie starts with C

A round cookie with one bite out of it looks like a C
A round doughnut with one bite out of it also looks like a C
And the moon sometimes looks like a C, but you can't eat that

Maybe I need a degree in child psychology, but I'm unable to find which lyric brainwashes kids into jacking up Mrs Fields annual profits. And there's three important lessons in those little lines: the shape of a letter C, a word that starts with the letter C, and don't try to eat the moon. That's good information.

What's next, do we start working over other characters and bring their behaviors in line? Will they start medicating Oscar the Grouch with Xanax and bring him on Oprah for a makeover? Or throw The Count in a therapy session with TV's "Monk" and have them work on their obsessive-compulsive behaviors? Or put Elmo on Ritalin to calm that hyperactivity problem? (Actually, I'd endorse that one.) How about changing Big Bird's name to Oversized Bird to avoid upsetting the self-image of much smaller birds?

And how about poor Cookie's self-image? He's the COOKIE Monster, for cryin' out loud. It's his name. It's imprinted in his DNA. We can't deny him his instincts. That's like telling salmon, "Don't jump up the stream to spawn. Just grab a mate right here and save the trip." Or telling a coyote, "We've been getting complaints from the neighbors. Please howl at the sun instead." Or to order a seagull, "Don't crap on Dan's car. He just washed it five minutes ago." All of these things are impossible because they go against the laws of nature.

If you're an '70s or '80s kid, you might remember they've tried this sort of thing before. An Ad Council PSA that ran between Saturday morning cartoons starred my favorite monster at a picnic table demonstrating the importance of the healthy food groups. But poor Cookie couldn't even finish the 30-second comercial without cracking: just before the end, a backhoe dumps a load of cookies on head, and we fade on Cookie's gastronomic war cry.

Let's not sterilize a 30 year-old institution. One of the great things about "Sesame Street" is the personality quirks of the characters. And let's face it, if you're on any real street in New York City, you're going to find people with some serious quirks. (Such as Larry the Crack Dealer, or Carl the Carjacker.)

And if people think kids' characters will convince kids to eat healthy, let me remind them that back in my childhood, grownups used to tell me to eat my spinach so I can grow strong like Popeye. Any picture of me over the last 20 years will prove this strategy didn't work. NO KID wants to be Popeye. He wrecks the English language, has a 30 IQ, smokes, and only downs the green leafies so he can kick Bluto's tuckus. And for what, Olive Oyl? If eating vegetables will give me a face like Popeye and attract stick-figure women with voices shrill enough to shatter glass, consider me off the vegan wagon for good. Cookie Monster and I will meet you at the desert table.

LEGAL STUFF: All content copyright © 1996-2006 Daniel O'Leary. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication, publication, or distribution.

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He has previously written online editorials to NJ-shout.com (RIP), Great Society.org, and Songsource.com, among others. He has also been featured in ShoreGuide and AbsoluteWrite.com.

Dan is a current member of the NetWits humorist's collective.

Since his early twenties, Dan's writings have also been prominently featured on the refrigerator in his parents' home. "Sure, they make no sense," Mrs. O'Leary comments, "but we're proud of him -- no matter what everyone else says."