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Serious muscle this week -- a Hot Wheel's 1969 Mercury Cougar Eliminator, decked out in yellow, white and red flames and presumably part of the Cranston Fire Department.
Firemen are a mainstay of childhood pretend games, as are robots. Even now, I would find a robot fireman cool. A robot fireman... that can fly.
And shoot lasers out of his eyes.
Yes, that would be cool. Maybe not as cool as the Eliminator above, but still very cool.
My youngest son, G, loves robots, the old school, 1950's I..AM..A RO..BOT type. A few days ago I had prepared a special treat with dinner (Stouffer's Harvest Apples, if you must know), and after we ate, G picked up the discarded red Stouffer's box and put it over his right hand.
"Boop.........Boop....... I....AM...THE....KITCHEN....ROBOT.........Boop...."
G moved about kitchen in classic robot style, fingers straight out on the left hand and probably straight out on the right, too, if I had been able to see them under the box. All the while, he continued to say "Boop.....Boop.....Boop....." at about five second intervals.
As it turns out, while the Kitchen Robot did a bit of pretend cooking, it primarily just said "Boop," and G never broke character. He booped easily for one-half hour (which would be approximately 360 Boops), and finally his brother Racer A got tired of the booping and told him the robot broke.
G's eyes began to well up tears as he fought to fight back his sorrow. I shot a furrowed eyebrow glance at A, who smiled and shrugged, and went into parental damage control mode.
"Oh, the Kitchen Robot isn't broken. Don't listen to your brother."
*Sob*"He is broken! *sob* The Kitchen Robot is broken! He doesn't work anymore." G had become so wrapped up in the character he had lost track of the pretend aspect.
We were seconds away from a meltdown, and I had to think fast.
"A----, quick, get me the number five robot wrench over there and the spare 4B circuit on the shelf."
If there's only one thing I have learned about parenting, it is that kids can't resist a pretend command given with minimal instruction. Like a type of magical summoning, kids will respond. Unless they are pouting.
Racer A wasn't pouting, though, and he quickly moved to the back of the Kitchen Robot, losening the pretend bolt and popping off the pretend plate to install the spare 4B circuit board, whatever it looked like.
"Great. Good job. Now power him down now and reboot him and we should be good."
Racer A made a "ZHouuuuuuu .. pop" noise with his mouth, and we both waited, watching G.
"Boop.......Boop.... Boop.... began G, his expressionless robot face looking straight ahead as he resumed his Kitchen Robot duties, apparently unaware of the temporary technical failure he had just endured.
Crisis averted.
Oddly, the Kitchen Robot returned the next day, and even the day after, but only when the Harvest Apples box was on his hand.
Such is the true beauty of a method actor.
Firemen are a mainstay of childhood pretend games, as are robots. Even now, I would find a robot fireman cool. A robot fireman... that can fly.
And shoot lasers out of his eyes.
Yes, that would be cool. Maybe not as cool as the Eliminator above, but still very cool.
My youngest son, G, loves robots, the old school, 1950's I..AM..A RO..BOT type. A few days ago I had prepared a special treat with dinner (Stouffer's Harvest Apples, if you must know), and after we ate, G picked up the discarded red Stouffer's box and put it over his right hand.
"Boop.........Boop....... I....AM...THE....KITCHEN....ROBOT.........Boop...."
G moved about kitchen in classic robot style, fingers straight out on the left hand and probably straight out on the right, too, if I had been able to see them under the box. All the while, he continued to say "Boop.....Boop.....Boop....." at about five second intervals.
 |
| To make a Kitchen Robot: 1. Purchase Stouffer's Harvest Apples 2. Eat contents. 3. Put empty box on right hand. Now you're ready for Halloween. |
As it turns out, while the Kitchen Robot did a bit of pretend cooking, it primarily just said "Boop," and G never broke character. He booped easily for one-half hour (which would be approximately 360 Boops), and finally his brother Racer A got tired of the booping and told him the robot broke.
G's eyes began to well up tears as he fought to fight back his sorrow. I shot a furrowed eyebrow glance at A, who smiled and shrugged, and went into parental damage control mode.
"Oh, the Kitchen Robot isn't broken. Don't listen to your brother."
*Sob*"He is broken! *sob* The Kitchen Robot is broken! He doesn't work anymore." G had become so wrapped up in the character he had lost track of the pretend aspect.
We were seconds away from a meltdown, and I had to think fast.
"A----, quick, get me the number five robot wrench over there and the spare 4B circuit on the shelf."
If there's only one thing I have learned about parenting, it is that kids can't resist a pretend command given with minimal instruction. Like a type of magical summoning, kids will respond. Unless they are pouting.
Racer A wasn't pouting, though, and he quickly moved to the back of the Kitchen Robot, losening the pretend bolt and popping off the pretend plate to install the spare 4B circuit board, whatever it looked like.
"Great. Good job. Now power him down now and reboot him and we should be good."
Racer A made a "ZHouuuuuuu .. pop" noise with his mouth, and we both waited, watching G.
"Boop.......Boop.... Boop.... began G, his expressionless robot face looking straight ahead as he resumed his Kitchen Robot duties, apparently unaware of the temporary technical failure he had just endured.
Crisis averted.
Oddly, the Kitchen Robot returned the next day, and even the day after, but only when the Harvest Apples box was on his hand.
Such is the true beauty of a method actor.
Boop....Boop...THANK...Y0U...PHIL...PEKARC1K....F0R....PH0T0...OF H0T WH33LS EL1M1NAT0R...Boop....Boop...
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