The Many Benefits of Anvil Therapy
Foghorn Leghorn is proof positive that roosters should not have free access to explosives.
That’s the conclusion I arrived at while sprawled across the couch, watching part of an all-week Looney Tunes marathon, and wishing I had a big bowl of some mega-sweet cereal that raises your blood sugar by 10% with every bite. I don’t normally get these cravings, but they seem to come with the territory when it comes to early morning toons. I settled instead for a steaming bowl of Malt-O-Meal, while curled up in my fuzzy robe.
I read an article recently arguing that comics (and by inferred extension, cartoons) are junk, and should have no place in our lives. But an opposing article summed up my opinion pretty well. Yeah, its junk, and we love it. (Although I do draw the line. It’s gotta be clean, otherwise, it’s putting poison in the medicine.)
Turns out that cartoons are something of an escape. And if there were ever a week that I needed an escape, it was THAT one. I had been spending the morning attempting to wrap my mind around political science. I’d be ready to put my fist through the nearest Congressman, walk into the living room just in time to watch good ‘ol Wile E. Coyote get pounded into the ground by a piano, and start to feel all better.
Ergo, anvil therapy.
There is something strangely comforting about watching a character get flattened by a train, blown up by four tons of TNT, fall off a cliff, and get every hair on their body burned off, and still be able to stand up at the end, relatively unscathed, and mutter those immortable words.
In a way, watching Elmer Fudd fire his rifle at Bugs, only to have the blast turn his hat into shreds, made me feel like what I was going through was somehow minuscule, and that I would get through it.
I don’t know a single American who doesn’t smile at the sound of the “MEEP MEEP!” of the Roadrunner (Speederious Enormius.) Of course, I haven’t met them all, so I’m sure some are out there.
Actually, there would have to be, for some dipstick to write that this sort of entertainment is worthless, and should have no place in our lives. That boy, I say, that boy is about as sharp as a pound of wet leather.
Cartoons are, simply put, an escape from our lives. They let us give our minds a break by filling them with two hours of KERPLOOIES. They’re mental candy, one could say. Best if taken in relative moderation, but essential to survival. (Did you know that a diet without any sugars or oils is actually bad for you? Don’t take it as license to buy a lifetime supply of Skittles, but don’t feel bad if you have a moderate slice of blueberry cheesecake along with that 30 calorie taco salad you bought after Pilaties class.)
In addition to being an escape, cartoons are something of a unifier. Whether you are a right-winger, a left-winger, or a wing nut, chances are you would have no objections to putting down your protest signs and sitting down with your political opponents for a couple hours of “I tot I saw a putty tat!” And whether you speak English, French, German, or Swahili, you’re almost certainly going to get a few belly laughs out of Roadrunner vs. Coyote.
I wonder what would happen if cartoons were played at peace talks? I wouldn’t be surprised if we all ended up sounding like Marvin…”Where’s the KABOOM? There’s supposed to be an earth-shattering KABOOM!”
So, go ahead. Turn off the cell phone, turn off the iPhone, lock the doors, bar the windows, and flip off 24 hour news station. You can always find out what’s up in the world. But you’ve gotta take the time to find out what’s up, doc!
As for me, I think its time for my anvil therapy session. No cartoons on tonight, so I’ll settle for “The Red Green Show”. I’m eager to find out what he’s gonna duct tape next.
“¡Andale! ¡Andale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! ¡Yii-hah!”