I watched everyday, entranced. There were cartoons and cheesy local commercials, but the best was kids who got to appear on the show and be interviewed on their birthday. The high point of my young life were the two times I got to be a part of the birthday scrum on Kitirik. The first time I was so little. I don’t even remember it, something about being on a carousel, but by the second time around, when I was 6, I was much more sophisticated and still cherish the memory.
By that time, the set had changed and she lived in a tee house (why?) and the birthday brats were interviewed seated in a big nest (again, why? A cat and a nest, creepy and nonsensical. The director must have been on drugs and drinking. Heavily. If your career had wound up here, wouldn’t you?) Kitirik came around and asked us some bogus questions to give us each camera time. “How old are you? What’s your favorite food? What’s your daddy’s credit card number?” Then she gave us a toy and a Hostess cupcake.
Because I was a boy, I got a toy gun. It was Texas, get real. But what a gun! A red and black space laser rifle, perfect for blasting aliens. “Look, mama, a drag queen stripper gave me a gun and junk food!” No wonder I’m gay.