Poopsicles

I had forgotten how much I used to enjoy TV before work crushed my soul and ate my, as of yet unborn, children.

Then I remembered that during the mid 2000’s, TV made a brief watchability comeback of sorts, though now I see that not only did we revert to square one, we’ve already packed away the pieces.

I started watching TV again… I mean really watching instead of leaving it on in the background while snorting emails and shaking my fist in delirium at the invisible code-monkey-demons hovering over my over-caffeinated head, secretly inserting bugs into my work. I finally thought about what it was that made me so irritated about TV and started paying attention to find the cause. This was only a slightly less traumatic and pointless experience than self-trepination.

Reality TV — otherwise known as a compendium of caustic, cacophonous, kaka — at first didn’t seem to be the boob tube equivalent of herpes that it has now become. Practically every channel short of the shopping channels and public/gov access have some variety of faux reality entertainment contracted, I imagine, due to the shuffling of execs from network to network and copycat behavior.

See kids? Always use a condom.

I couldn’t have had this realization about TV had I not been outside the country for a while, thereby completely extricating myself from loop. The damage we’re doing to ourselves by watching this drivel rarely makes itself obvious until you stop the unprotected channel to channel voyeuristic promiscuity and take a good hard look at yourself. And then it hits you :

Crap! Warts!!

What really grates me is not only the sheer breath and depth of damage done to sane entertainment by this invasive species, but the idea that blithering idiocy, conformity and mediocrity are now the food pyramid for the daily TV diet. We have actually been trained to expect entertainment in the same format over and over and over.

We have shows like Style TV’s (a channel I know painfully well thanks to my ex) How do I look; a show that, if you’re a viewer like me, would seem to declare in no uncertain terms that your uniqueness and individuality are verboten in civilized society with all the delicacy of a steel-toed boot to the testicles. I’m all for not looking like a freak in front of people, but there’s a limit to how much of a cookie-cutter-Barbie you can turn a women into.

Speaking of conformity (conspiracy hat on), I think the Barbies are eventually destined to be fed into the commercial machine to become money mills at some future date so the entertainment can continue. How else would we have a show like Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo exist? A show that makes me seriously consider whether I would really want to wake up next to some of the featured clients or rather have a steaming hot bowl of yak dung and vodka for breakfast.

BTW… I was told by a number of people that Bravo, which is now officially reality TV central and caters a sizable gay demographic, has a reputation for “converting” straight people to homosexuality and I say that’s a load of BS. I was visiting a friend who’s an avid fan of the network and he had it on the entire time I was there. The only time it would have even remotely turned me gay was when I briefly wondered if hemlock suppositories existed and whether they would be a less painful alternative to the slow suicide I was experiencing at the time. The only watchable show on the network now is Inside the Actors Studio, and even that’s a stretch considering some of the guests as of late.

I could go on to the Real Housewives of XXX or Jerseylicious but I’d rather not risk dying yet from the inevitable aneurism.

Then there’s the self-help malarkey : I.E. Supernanny. Here’s the gist of the Supernanny guide (this is basically every episode and I’m not even kidding) :

• Calm assertive authority
• Be consistent
• Instill discipline
• Employ manners
• Avoid laziness

If not for the last two, this show could have essentially been re-titled the Child Whisperer, but that would have been creepy. Besides, I imagine the term would have already been copyrighted by now for Hollywood to tell the Jerry Sandusky story.

Reality TV should technically only be palatable if you’re suffering from a legitimate condition such as depression or OCD or as comfort food for morons or just schadenfreude. But thanks to the never-ending marathon assault on our sense of taste by constant exposure, it looks like we’re being mutated into target demographics.

I think that should cover my brief examination of what’s killing TV and our sanity for now; also it’s 5:45 AM and it’s time for me to go to bed.

R.I.P Bravo TV (1980 – 2001)

Once what used to be the “film and arts network” turned into the “watch what happens” petty drama, I was truly dismayed.

Then again, I would tune into it to see if anything has changed. Nope…
Now they’re committed to giving the rest of the world the impression that gay people and women have the worst taste in television ever!^{*[see notes]}

Why would you encourage “arts” or “film” or even “class” when you can entertain with non-entertainment.

Former class act...

Now I’m starting to spend more and more time on IFC which has also been seeing its share of hiccups, but I think it probably won’t end in the same fate. Considering it is owned by Rainbow Media, the original owers of Bravo, I’m more hopeful. In fact, I think IFC (though a bit rough around the edges) is what Bravo should have been today.

There is some reality TV and semi-reality TV out there (ones inspired by some predicted outcome that goes horribly awry resulting in entertaining moments I.E. Mythbusters) that are actually interesting beyond the same arguments and silly banter we’re already used to only relocated to more affluent settings.

“Project Runway”…
Reinforcing my belief that fashion designers have no sense in fashion. I’ve seen abstract art from the 60’s that seem more comfortable and functional wrapped around a person (I.E. a scene from What a Way to Go!  from 1964 is a classic example). What better way to give a great first impression than to dess like a freak.

Whatever happened to “usable fashion”. As in something you could wear on a daily basis without handing out free seizures to everyone on the street?

“Sheer Genius”…
And I don’t care about hair! If I didn’t have to cut it or comb it to step out of the house, I would forget that I even have any. I understand you need to present some sort of upkeep there, but if I could, I would place a restraining order between my hair and each and every contestant in that show.

“Millionaire Matchmaker” ?
Here’s a hint for the naïve… There’s no such thing as romance. You find someone who puts up with you, produce offspring, and then you die. End of story. If you want comedy between that, then consider stubbing your toe and your partner laughing at you as your personal highlight. Excitement? The time you pretended to enjoy the company of your significant other while menacing over another unsuspecting soul. Your options are only as good as your looks and the size of your wallet.

If you’re wealthy, then chances are, your wallet is the only reason your significant other puts up with you. And that person isn’t so significant to you either, if their looks start to fade.

Then there’s Kathy Griffin’s “My Life on the D-List”…
I’m not going to bring up her personal life and difficulties as that has no bearing here. I just don’t give a flying intercourse about celebrities, their idiosyncrasies or other gossip. And if you’re not living a sham of a life with your only source of entertainment coming from the misery and suffering of famous intellectual midgets, neither would you.

As Patton Oswalt once exclaimed, we’re spending all our time watching “***holes and ****wads at work”, only to come home and watch the same on TV. Why?

People with enough privilege to afford plenty of therapy and be motivated to stick their heads out of their shells to see a world of suffering are not looking to reality TV to boost their careers. Those that don’t are media whores.

Notes

*Apparently, the network primarily caters to a gay and female audience between the ages of 18-54. If the line-up is any hint, according to the Bravo execs, the folks in this range, who also happen to be gay or female, are tasteless, pretentious dimwits. I sincerely hope that’s not the case.

Considering Agnieszka Holland co-wrote and directed Europa Europa, Sarah Jacobson wrote and directed I Was A Teenage Serial Killer, and Kathryn Bigelow directed Point Break, I also can’t believe female writers and directors are all one trick ponies a la “Romance” & “Comedy”. I put quotes around them as I’m seeing a disturbing trend in films created by women, allegedly part of these genres, that failed to induce either sentiment.