sardine -- pre 10/2 -- en retard: Jenkins

“As a consequence of these new patterns of media ownership and production, there is pressure toward the technological integration of the various content delivery systems, which industry analysts refer to a convergence. Technological convergence is attractive to the media industries because it will open multiple entry points into the consumption process and at the same time, enable consumers to more quickly locate new manifestations of a popular narrative” (Jenkins, 553).

It seems I just cannot get beyond applying PoMo to my children. My identity as “Mom” has taken over. Just before my kids went back to school, I spent a huge amount of time searching for a Pirates of the Caribbean lunch box. My soon to be first-grader was determined that he could only carry his peanut butter, strawberry jam, and Nutella on whole-wheat to school in a Captain Jack lunch box. Finally, I found a lunch box at Publix, but not at Target or Wal-Mart. Their merchandizing teams missed out on a bunch of kids like my son who are obsessed with Captain Jack.

I am manipulated. My children are manipulated. We consume. The entertainment industry stays alive because of moms like me. My children are pre-instructed to whine the whine that drills into the head worse than any dental drill. “Give me… Give me…Give…” and “I need Captain Jack underwear.” (Or should it be Captain Jack's underwear?)

From a personal point of view, my family’s time and style is determined by the obsessed upon movie that my children are play acting, quoting, demanding Playstation games for, or requesting costumes for. My younger son wanted to go to school as Captain Jack, but he became shy and chose the regular clothes with the hand-me-down Star Wars T-shirt. When I drive into my garage, Orlando Bloom, as the elf, greets me in his six-foot cut-out form. He used to sit in my children’s room, but he has been replaced by Captain Jack. I recently cut my foot open at night on a five-inch Boba Fett. Darth Maul is in the bathtub. Sponge-Bob is on the walls in both the merchandised form and as the grassroots, fandom, kindergarten drawing.

Aside from Sponge-Bob, we have not gone outside the corporate dictates for the use of intellectual property and product. Maybe as a fan, in the land of grassroots fandom, we (my talented yet obscene children and I) should do something creative with the Godzilla underwear and the Spiderman underwear? Together they could fight the Ninja Turtles underwear and the Zorro underwear for territory. Sponge-Bob underwear will fart loudly and make crabby patties. I will put this slightly homo-erotic, stop-action film on the web and make a zillion bucks. After all the lawsuits and gender identity therapy, we will buy more entertainment industry underwear and live happily ever.