Headless Horse

Memories of waking up in a sea of wrapping paper, indulging in the material joys of childhood, are all in the past now. As an adult you are no longer drunk on the strawberry scented plastic of your youth. You are now stuck in that frozen half smile of "is this gift a punishment for something I did?" for the holidays. At the end of it all you are broke, exhausted and you truly like about 1% of all the gifts you have received. What do you do with all of the extras? I happen to live by a landfill (which explains why my fish have lived so long) and my desperate attempt to avoid becoming "the junk lady" has lured me to the gate of that seagull-circled castle of waste on more than one occasion .
I may die a cat lady or alone eaten by dogs a la Bridget Jones, but I will never be the "the junk lady". You know, the kind of person who buys gifts and stows them away in a room which is impossible to walk through and that looks like a massive land feature from far away. Up close you see that the mysterious crag is actually a collection of millions of useless things like novelty alcohol sets that come with a bottle of whatever and two cups labeled with the brand, turning you into a walking, talking, sample-giving advertisement. But I digress...at great length.

As an adult, gift giving is for the kids. We can vicariously watch them get the things our apparently non clairvoyant caretakers did not get for us. My dreams were shattered as my two year old cousin ripped opened fake food and cabbage patch dolls. I guess it's better that no one bought her the mechanical mare that I had been both entranced and horrified by. Here is what the wonderful patrons of Amazon.com said about the plaything:

Or you can view the Assembly Video

" What a great product?, December 3, 2006

Reviewer:

J. Downing (Columbus, OH USA) - See all my reviews

"You may wish to not open the box around your children if they may be frightened by a box with a decapitated horse inside."

Isn't that all you need to know? I wish more products carried this disclaimer. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. "


and

" Great fun for my grandson- and Me!, December 25, 2006

Reviewer:

J. A. Stump "karma mama" (Ellicott City, MD USA) - See all my reviews

We got the pony for our little grandson- although it is marketed for girls, he saw one at a store and fell in love with it early in the fall. I was able to get one for the retail price, thankfully; and my husband and I put it together with no problems, once we laughed at the obvious "Godfather" deja-vu of the horse's head detached in the box!
I have had a BLAST with this "animal"; the only complaint I have is that it does not walk and cannot follow me around the house! When Noah first saw it, he just clapped and squealed, he was so happy! This has been worth evey penny already."


Ahh, crappy reviews and spelling mistakes aside, I guess the Butterscotch Pony horrors are not just figments of my overactive and morbid imagination. There definitely IS something very wrong with life sized robots posing as animal friends.

Playthings that Play Back

Wal-Mart. You either love it or loathe it. It is either the your safety net for cheap essentials like curtains, plungers or wedding rings, or it is the very apex of “The Man” pandering to the ever evolving sense of convenience our society demands nowadays. What other venue offers low quality chicken cutlets and paint thinner in the same location? One stop shopping – everything you ever wanted including toys.

No matter how old I get whenever I pass the toy aisles bursting with bright plastic encased in cardboard display boxes, I feel a small heart skip. An old conditioning gnaws distantly in the back of my mind now cluttered with new objects of lust (like decorative lamps and smelly candle holders). But no matter how domestic my tastes have become, I still do a quick search as I walk slowly past the “girlie girl” rows for distinct reminders of what fun used to be. Lisa Frank, Barbie and My Little Pony, all familiar labels, that I could recognize from a Hubble spacecraft, no longer create the walls of pink uniformity that would send elementary me into a salivating state. New names and swirlie logos and different candy-scented lures now line the aisles and it feels like I forgot an entire language. But the other day – the toy aisle delivered.

The kid in me awakened in Strawberry Shortcake pajamas and jumped from the top bunk to get lost in a pile of boxes with plastic windows, molded faces and yarn hair fastened tightly inside with clear ties stronger than steel (a chain that only my father's teeth or a steak knife could break). The feeling of twelve Decembers came over me.

What was this? A PONY! A life-sized pony without any traits that were often the clincher in the case against buying your daughter a pony. This pony did all the things a little girl would want sans riding it around Flutter Valley or having it trot down a Rainbow that sprang from the dust in your pocket. Oh my God, they did it.

I had never even suspected that the very male oriented predecessor would evolve into what is essentially a little girl's Valhalla.

I watched as a daughter approached the pony, goaded by her overweight and unnecessarily sweaty father. The pony moved at the touch of her hand and nuzzled close to her.

In complete terror I dropped my merchandise and ran from the store.

My reaction was what I would estimate what my mother felt when, as a little girl, she begged for a “My Size” Barbie.Upon the nightfall of that holiday in which her prayers were answered, she lay awake, gripping the covers over her head so as not to see the artificial whites of her new friend's eyes and the static smile now converted into something much more in the blanket of of her own midnight imagination. After one terrorizing night of being stared down in the bluish horror of her plaything, now big enough to play back, she threw the monstrosity into the basement and never looked upon it again.

This horse, a robot mimicking a live animal is so convenient, I thought when I first saw the little girl touch the faux fur. No pooping, no dieing, no riding accidents, no evil pack of wild mares...just cute, respondent pony. The ideal audience for such a product, a mousey eight year old, picked up the little carrot made just for pony and shoved it into its mouth and the only image I conjured up was.....

A pet that is a machine. A relationship with a computer programmed to emulate another being. Are we no different than baby monkeys that cling to their chicken wire “mother” feeders or a parakeet talking to its reflection in a mirror? We laugh at it and say “he thinks there's another bird there” because he responds to cue and signals of interaction.

I am not suggesting that the little girl fall in love with the horse, but will she not mourn the toy when it breaks? Will she not remember it always? When we learn more and more about what makes us react, bringing imagination to life can be very creepy sometimes.

Case in point- The Chimp with a Chip

...And if you want more where that came from