Day 151
Television offers the appearance of meaning to everybody who watches. You might even say that the variety of shows available offer us nearly every single aspect of a life.
Do you want to feel the rush of competition? There are plenty of sports available.
Do you want to fall in love? Enjoy many romances, identify with the characters, live through them.
Do you want to laugh? Fine programming offers humor, delivered to your brain pre-made that you needn't come up with your own.
Do you want to be sad? Watch the drama, watch the perfectly timed and continuity-helpful deaths.
Do you want to be a moral crusader and a defender of society? Watch crime shows by the dozen, watch as murderes and rapists get caught, families get redeemed, victims get justice.
Do you want to experience the natural world? Watch nature shows; see the flora and fauna of the planet from up close, from up high, from the tops of mountains to the bottom of the ocean.
But, I ask, do you yet feel just a little bit unsatisfied? Do you ever feel that something is missing while you watch television? Perhaps the problem is that, well, none of it is real. None of it brings you into the world of actual human experience.
Do not be alarmed, though, for television has offered a solution to your problem: the reality show. Watch real people in real situations battling real problems! Feel infinitely better about your own existence while you watch Maury Povich parade disgustingly deformed people across the stage. Feel the highs of triumph and love while Survivor winners collect their handsome prizes, and Bachelorettes collect their handsome suitors. Feel the terrible lows as contestants get voted off, as hopefuls get their dreams crushed, as they walk home with perverbial knives in their backs and nothing but a mundane life to look ahead to.
When you watch television; when you root for your team, or your romantic, or hero, or contestant, you identify. You wish you were that person; you try to become that person.
You want to get the prize in life; the love, the existential awakening, the spiritual truth, the trophy, the glory, the applause, the cash reward, you want it all. Shows are now reaching out, offering you auditions to become part of what you see; it is a calculated effort to melt two worlds into one, or at least to appear to be doing so.
But deep down you know the truth. Who you really represent is the loser. You are the contestant who didn't make it. You are the team that got trounced. You are the one whose love was dashed. You are the the unmemorable character who never had a chance to begin with, and who became a nobody the moment the cameras went off.
And perhaps the greatest irony of modern culture eludes some people. Those television somebodies get chewed up and spat out like cheap gum. Their success is transient; rehab and crime await many. Dysfunction and emotional tormet, not to mention media torment, await all. The glimmering box cares not for its inhabitants; it lures them in with illusions of a happy life, and feasts at their minds and bodies until nothing useful is left, and then it discards them.
All irony is twofold: the glimmering box cares about just one thing: you. It wants you forever, it loves you, it will do anything for you, it requires you for its very survival. As far as television is concerned, you are the somebody, in all your glory, sitting there on your couch remote in hand.
Do you want to feel the rush of competition? There are plenty of sports available.
Do you want to fall in love? Enjoy many romances, identify with the characters, live through them.
Do you want to laugh? Fine programming offers humor, delivered to your brain pre-made that you needn't come up with your own.
Do you want to be sad? Watch the drama, watch the perfectly timed and continuity-helpful deaths.
Do you want to be a moral crusader and a defender of society? Watch crime shows by the dozen, watch as murderes and rapists get caught, families get redeemed, victims get justice.
Do you want to experience the natural world? Watch nature shows; see the flora and fauna of the planet from up close, from up high, from the tops of mountains to the bottom of the ocean.
But, I ask, do you yet feel just a little bit unsatisfied? Do you ever feel that something is missing while you watch television? Perhaps the problem is that, well, none of it is real. None of it brings you into the world of actual human experience.
Do not be alarmed, though, for television has offered a solution to your problem: the reality show. Watch real people in real situations battling real problems! Feel infinitely better about your own existence while you watch Maury Povich parade disgustingly deformed people across the stage. Feel the highs of triumph and love while Survivor winners collect their handsome prizes, and Bachelorettes collect their handsome suitors. Feel the terrible lows as contestants get voted off, as hopefuls get their dreams crushed, as they walk home with perverbial knives in their backs and nothing but a mundane life to look ahead to.
When you watch television; when you root for your team, or your romantic, or hero, or contestant, you identify. You wish you were that person; you try to become that person.
You want to get the prize in life; the love, the existential awakening, the spiritual truth, the trophy, the glory, the applause, the cash reward, you want it all. Shows are now reaching out, offering you auditions to become part of what you see; it is a calculated effort to melt two worlds into one, or at least to appear to be doing so.
But deep down you know the truth. Who you really represent is the loser. You are the contestant who didn't make it. You are the team that got trounced. You are the one whose love was dashed. You are the the unmemorable character who never had a chance to begin with, and who became a nobody the moment the cameras went off.
And perhaps the greatest irony of modern culture eludes some people. Those television somebodies get chewed up and spat out like cheap gum. Their success is transient; rehab and crime await many. Dysfunction and emotional tormet, not to mention media torment, await all. The glimmering box cares not for its inhabitants; it lures them in with illusions of a happy life, and feasts at their minds and bodies until nothing useful is left, and then it discards them.
All irony is twofold: the glimmering box cares about just one thing: you. It wants you forever, it loves you, it will do anything for you, it requires you for its very survival. As far as television is concerned, you are the somebody, in all your glory, sitting there on your couch remote in hand.
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