Unfocused Content

I am aware that in some circles, talking about television is akin to discussing religion, politics, or natural hair color; some things you just don’t talk about. But, in this instance, it’s funny, so I ask that you leave your broom of judgment at the door, and come on in for a laugh or two.

That said, in our house we typically allow our children to watch one television show a night. It’s called The Disney Channel. I am currently writing a piece about one aspect of that endless show, Hillary Duff, which I think I’ve alluded to, but which is in no way ready for you to read. Watching only one show has it’s advantages; you don’t need a remote, a program guide, or a brain. You just sit, and the television does all the work for you.

But, something happened. I don’t know how, but one night I came home from the store, and The Disney Channel was gone. The family was watching Fear Factor, featuring Joe Rogan. If you have never seen Fear Factor, possibly because you can’t find the remote, it’s a show where people have to do stupid and/or gross things to win. I’m not sure what they win, but I’m guessing it’s a Sultanship in Brunia, because the contestants will do anything to win. “And now, in addition to the scorpions and tarantulas already climbing all over your body, we’re going to add a bunch of snakes, for fun.” You know how bad I want a Sultanship, but I don’t think I could do the snake thing.

Fear Factor is not really aimed at 7 to 9 year olds, especially the two shows that we have seen; Fear Factor: Playboy Playmates and Fear Factor: Other Women with Giant Boobs. But, the kids seemed genuinely interested in the women eating raw crab meat, so we watched. And, then we watched again. Our girls seem to love Fear Factor.

So much so, that recently our broken-legged six-year-old, in an effort to entertain herself, because she had already seen most of what was on The Disney Channel that day, tied the cord from the blinds to a piece of furniture, and then tied her new Barbie to that cord. “What are you doing, sweetie,” I asked. “Playing Fear Factor,” she replied. The blind cord was actually dangling the Barbie over a shark-infested ocean. Barbie had to zip down the cord, and smash into the piece of furniture, repeatedly, for several hours.

As an aside, the Barbie was naked, as are all Barbies in our house. Before becoming Fear Factor Barbie, she was California Barbie, and she was quite tan. I know seeing this naked tan Barbie tied to a zip line should have had no effect on me. And it didn’t, really. Sorry, where was I?

How she made the mental leap from Playboy Playmate to Barbie is, well I guess it’s not that big of a mystery. What she knows of Fear Factor, based on the two shows we have seen, is that women who are built like Barbie, and smart like Barbie, do incredibly dangerous or stupid things for fun. That’s the show, and Fear Factor Groovy Girl just doesn’t seem right.

Sadly, I don’t think Barbie won. At least, we didn’t have to give her anything for winning, since repeated ramming into furniture left her mentally impaired. But, only slightly more so than before she started. Just like real Fear Factor.

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