Last night, at bedtime, I watched a few episodes of Kipper. It wasn’t ideal; ideal would be waking up to Kipper. But it was the first time that I got to enjoy the show on a normal television setup, with more picture and lots more sound than Will’s iPad cranks out. When I get back from Amsterdam, I’m going to find out more about this show, which is top-drawer in every way. The insouciant jazz is in the same key as the breezy animation. The design, while discreetly colorful, is plain, and it keeps the sugar content very low. Probably because I lead a quiet life physically, I don’t get much out of massages and other spa treatments. But my cerebral life is fairly active, and nothing, I find, calms me down like fifteen minutes of Kipper.

Every animated entertainment aimed at children has to have its rules, but I haven’t figured out Kipper‘s yet. There are four principal characters: Kipper, who is some sort of extraordinarily good-natured sheepdog; Tiger, a neurotic terrier; Pig, who talks, and his sibling, Arnold, who doesn’t. Silence is the key to Arnold’s charmed life; because he can’t tell the others what he has seen or heard, he is privy to all sorts of wonders. Sometimes, as in “Clouds,” Kipper can follow along, but it’s more often the case that, while Kipper and Tiger make their discoveries and get into scrapes, and Pig tries to stay out of trouble, Arnold is the one who really knows the score. Even though he likes to suck his thumb.

The scrapes that Kipper and Tiger get into, in most episodes, are sometimes fanciful and sometimes not. Kipper’s world is replete with marvels only some of which are available to human children. Everything seems sensible and realistic, but in the manner of dreams. A hose comes loose, and recoils, powered by the water streaming through it, against Kipper’s house. Suddenly it pops in through his window. By the time Kipper and Tiger find out what has happened (they can’t get any water pressure at their inflatable pool), Kipper’s house has flooded to windowsill height. The two doggies paddle around and come to rest on the stairs. “Don’t you wish it could always be like this?” says Kipper. Later, he calls out to Pig, “Don’t open the door!” But of course Pig does open the door and is knocked down by a tidal wave. No harm done! They were all meaning to go swimming anyway. Yes, I do wish it were always like that.

There are no authority figures in Kipper. Tiger is forever running into difficulties, having asked for it in most cases. (He will wear a red slicker when passing by a bull in a field.) But nobody gets into trouble. Nobody scolds Kipper for standing by while his house floods. Nobody scolds him for wasting water. Nor does anyone make the snacks that he and Tiger always seem to be picnicking on. (Come to think of it, Pig is a bit of a cook.) Everyday household problems are not unknown in this world, but they don’t arise with everyday regularity. I’m keenly aware of how different that is from a world in which everyday household problems are overlooked. I would find the latter extremely agitating. But Kipper persuades me, for minutes at a time, anyway, that there is no need to worry about providence.

There’s a cheeriness about Kipper that reminds me of A Hard Day’s Night and Help! — or rather, of John, Paul, George and Ringo. But I try to ignore that; it’s the sort of clever, sophisticated insight that clutters up a very simple pleasure.

***

What was a pleasure, waking up this morning, was realizing that I’ll be sleeping here tonight. Tomorrow night, I won’t be sleeping at all; I’ll be in a plane. (Although I may give Lunesta the supreme test; if it can lull me to sleep over the Atlantic, I’ll be knocked over with gratitude.) Tomorrow, I’ll pack. Perhaps I grew up a time when it took ten days to get to Europe and back, I have a hard time thinking that I can go to Amsterdam without abandoning the apartment for months. I will ask Ray Soleil to look in if he can, late next week, but it’s not vital.

Fire Island is completely different. Kathleen remains in town during two of the weeks, and in any case I’m only three hours away, door to door, at the most. I told my barber yesterday that I’ll have to find a good barbershop in Bay Shore, because I am not coming back into town for that kind of reason.

Kathleen will pack tonight — on the late side, as usual. She has just been asked to attend a testimonial dinner at the Waldorf that she thinks that it would impolitic to miss.

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
This entry was posted on Thursday, May 10th, 2012 at 10:29 am.