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Somewhere along the way last week Buster crossed over from 7 years old to 8. Because this was viewed as a somewhat significant event, it seemed only fitting to celebrate in a significant locale. After very little thought and probably no prayer, Buster chose Chuck E. Cheese. A place loved by kids and, more or less, feared by parents. Being neither, I guess I was a sort of indifferent.

Sure, I could think of better things to do on a Saturday afternoon, discuss ways to improve the sewer system of some third world village, for instance. But I could also think of worse things. If my options were Chuck E. Cheese or being torn to shreds by bears, I would chose Chuck E. Cheese with little or no hesitation. A little known fact that before it was decided "Where a kid can be a kid" would be their slogan, some of the less stuffed shirts as Cheese HQ were hoping for "Better than being shredded by bears. Guaranteed."

Since this was Marisol's baby (so to speak), I didn't have to do much more than show up prepared for fun. This wasn't too much of a task since I'm pretty much always on standby for fun. A good thing since I'd hardly gotten in the door when Buster grabbed hold of me and dragged me towards all manner of sensory overload.

It touched my heart a bit that while his Mom was greeting his guest and getting everything ready to go he wanted me to share these moments with him. In return, I figured maybe I'd give him a few pointers in skee-ball or blow him away with my ridiculous skills at the basketball game. However, I quickly realized that the only part of me that was needed was my hands. His cup full of tokens and tickets wasn't going to hold itself now was it? Though I realize he would probably have grabbed the next familiar face he saw, I like to think he chose me because no one but no one could dispense a token faster than yours truly. Even after all these years college continues to pay off.

Either because they're good people or were paid to do so, Chuck E's cheesters handled all the set up, take down and provided the "entertainment". This they manage to do in a rather efficient but somewhat impersonal fashion since they manage to hold 6 (!) parties at a time. Each party has their own table, cleverly identified with a balloon with the birthday boy/girl name on it. The guests sit down, are delivered a pizza that rises to the level of edible but somewhat less than good and marvel at the fact that all the other tables are doing the exact same thing. Each table has a handler, ostensibly to ensure a smooth event. I strongly suspect, however, they're really there to ensure that each table stays on schedule and doesn't think they're actually going to sit past the allotted time.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, the animatronics come on and a band of something or others strike up a tune. Figuring kids focusing in on one particular thing might not be enough, they also add in a video on one side of the band and a animatronic chef playing the drums for no apparent reason on the other. Needless to say, all are playing different things at different times.

Ordinarily, this sort of thing would be right up my alley, but here I find it less than appealing. And in the middle of all this the handlers start to dance to, I guess, one of the songs being played by one of the three groups. I can't be sure because at that point I was quite certain that my my coke had been spiked with LSD.

With anticipation at a feve pitch, Chuck E. Cheese comes out and any kid that wasn't screaming before is screaming now. For those unfamiliar, Mr. Cheese, while lacking the elegance and dignity of Mickey Mouse, is a mouse who likes to skateboard, wear cool clothes and high-five. That seems to be about it.

Though the kids seem to take him at face value, it all seemed a bit too much like Poochie from The Simpsons for me. A character developed after years of intense R & D for maximum realism by a group of folks who've never been around a kid. Somehow, I just knew he was going to say "Hey, doooodes. Let's go be cool" or however it is the kids talk these days.

I suppose the joke's on me though. The good folks at Cheese HQ are doing something right. Scarcely after Buster had opened his last gift, the handlers were already cleaning up this go round and setting up for the next. I briefly felt sorry for the handlers and figured that after the third event in a row, they wish they were elsewhere, but then I remembered at least their not being torn to shreds by bears. Guaranteed.