Saw Frozen with the kiddos. Other than some overly-quick plot movements and an odd choice in a Lion King-style piece of music, it’s quite a nice film. Lovely animation, endearing plot that focuses on the value of family love. There’s a romantic sub-plot in it between one of the princesses and a fellow she meets, but it’s secondary to the loyalty and affection between the two princess sisters. I wish Hollywood would make more kiddo-friendly movies like Frozen (and Tangled), but they don’t. Of course, John Lasseter had his hand on the ultimate helm, credited as executive producer. His story tastes are decidedly more family-friendly than the typical Hollywood hyena.

Speaking of kids, it seems like most of pop culture is arrayed in battle formation against me in the war to raise children. Slutty clothing? Check (the junior high girls walking down the streets these days seem ready to enter the Trade). Trashy music? Check (see: Miley Cyrus, Katy Perry, pretty much any rapper, etc). Violent video games? Check (from Grand Theft Auto and Halo on down). Depraved movies? Check (see: The Wolf of Wall Street–that’s the latest piece of gold-plated garbage to have oozed out of Hollywood). Mindless books? Check (compare most new youth books with those of yesteryear; I rest my case).

The thing is, it’s hard enough to raise kids in general. They’re strange little beasts at best. They talk a mile a minute, they have the energy reserves of a Tasmanian devil that’s been drinking espresso by the gallon, they have little perspective on the concept of safety (no, you may not have a flame thrower for your birthday, and, no, you may no climb on the roof of the house), and they think the baby is the perfect target for their nerf guns.

So, in addition to trying to shape and control their innate freakiness and power drive, I have to also combat pop culture’s attempts to influence my kids. I’m not complaining, because raising kids is a great honor (and my kids are insanely awesome), but, you, pop culture, can go take a long walk off a short pier over the Marianas Trench, your feet in concrete boots and a ten-ton millstone around your neck. May the hammerheads and barracudas attend you on the way down. Though, I suppose your teeth are just as sharp as theirs.

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