a collection of random temper tantrums:
Politics
Who is this Dubya twink? I'll tell you who he reminds me of -- every rich little spoiled frat boy I've ever met, oblivious to the real-life existence of most people, always confident that cold, hard cash will solve any problem. Uh-huh.
I don't imagine Al Gore strayed terribly far from the silver spoon himself, but reading his background suggests that he's at least not scrambling to cover a shady past. And, truly, it's not the past dalliances I mind, but the acrid taste of hypocrisy in jovial Dubya's family-and-religion-centric rhetoric. He takes a hard line on drug offenses, supporting longer and harsher sentences and retribution, but dodges queries into his own rumored-to-be-drug-riddled past. He preaches no forgiveness, but seems to expect more than that -- forgiveness and a blind moral eye.
Silly morality issues aside, Dubya seems to be a bit short in other departments as well. He's been governor of Texas (with a dubious political record), but beyond that his political portfolio is slim. He's riding a wide black wave of Texas-oil billions -- his father's and his father's friends gave him jobs that seemed to require about as much effort as his MIA Air National Guard Service. He spent most of his adult career as a inactive board member on oil company payrolls, pulling down 6-figure salaries for attending a handful of meetings a year.
Gore's pedigree is no less AKC, but he's spent his entire life within politics and the political area. In school, in congress, 8 years in the White House. He seems to have that resume ingredient that seems to be required of any other workingman -- experience. I couldn't walk into my father's office and take over the office of the editor, even if my prose were gold, without requisite experience and references. Even with one job under my belt, I wouldn't strike out for Editor In Chief -- why should Commander in Chief be any different?
Wow, I'm still in shock over this one. I'd been dragging my feet, avoiding the dreaded trip to the NC Department of Motor Vehicles licensing office to get that tiny piece of plastic that gains me admittance to so many creature comforts. mine was expired. i expected a long, painful wait; inept, rude employees; a miserable scripted encounter.
Not at all. the Driver's License office on NC54 Durham absolutely rocks.
it was about 4:15PM on a friday afternoon, so they were totally slammed. i'd of picked another time if i had one -- i figured it wouldn't hurt to try. i got in a line 4-5 deep -- surprisingly short. even more amazing, only moments later a young, drawling, crisply-uniformed man hurridly came over to the desk and *apologized* for making us wait. there was a young black man pacing behind him, talking animatedly into a cell phone about a new york parking fine that was preventing him from getting a license. the man with the drawl quickly asked everyone for their id and social security card (huge signs in both english and spanish, braille and pictograms were plastered to every eye-level surface from the front door on in... all reminding patrons that a social security card and a valid license/two forms of picture id were required.), and punched up tickets on an alphanumeric system that classified customers by the type of license or exam they needed, then directed us all to an orderly section of chairs. there were a handful of people sitting there quietly, most reading the instructional booklets or signs scattered about. i quickly scanned the huge poster with all the road signs that are on the test. i waited maybe another 10 minutes. A digital voice called out the numbers and they flashed up on LED screen over the desk you were to report to.
it was that easy. i sat down in front of a mustasched, kindly faced older gentleman with james earle jones eyes and the voice to match. he was just *cool*. he quickly plugged in my old license and ss# and pulled up my new address, the fact that i had a registered, insured, licensed car, and ran me through the simple sign test. stop, yield, merging traffic. bam. i got a piece of paper to sign and was directed to another set of chairs, where i waited for roughly 3 minutes before another joking mustached older gentleman (i imagined him a retired cop, with tons of grandchildren.) snapped my picture and produced the coveted official piece o'plastic.
i bopped out of there less than 30 minutes after i'd arrived, on the whole impressed with the kindness, attention and complete competence i'd witnessed.
total kudos to the NCDMV. i think i'll go get a custom plate now -- always wanted one. hee. suggestions from the peanut gallery? bascha@unc.edu.
okay, so i admit it. i work an awful lot, and when i get home in the evenings, i like to totally couch-potato out and watch the most mind-numbing drivel you can possibly imagine. i mean, i *do* like good television -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer is good t.v., right?
But lately, my normal hour to half-hour dosage of sitcom prozac has been switched with placebo television -- reality t.v.! Survivor, Big Brother, Who Wants to Marry a Complete Loser?, MTV entire... it's all about really ridiculous people being paid to do really ridiculous things. They're not actors. (gods, certainly not... have you checked out the beauty queen on Big Brother? She couldn't act her way out of a paper bag.) They are simply being paid -- some in cash, others in the more elusive currency of noteriety -- to do whatever the producers tell them to, whenever they tell them to, for however long they tell them to. They are essentially selling a portion of their lives in exchange for some odd sort of fame.
And, as in all things, the lives bought are of interestingly varying stuff. The first bunch of survivors were a hardy sort, but as the sordid fascination with the grotesquely enduring grows, so does the pool of also-rans and have-beens. And as the 'talent' declines, so does the rest of the staff. The premise goes from 'interesting enough to force people to reveal their truer natures, or at least an interesting facade' to 'so incredibly boring that all they do is preen and glibly plot.'
The directors are untalented, the editors seem to be working with a blunt tool, and the d&g (the artwork, duh.) looks like it was rendered by an untalented j-school freshman with a fresh copy of FrontPage and Microsoft® Paint. To make it work, it has to be packaged and controlled both editorially and psychologically. You have to keep all the players in the game, and you have to force them to behave in ways that are completely absurd. And that's where the irony comes in.
These shows are touted as 'reality t.v.' -- putting real people in real situations and allowing nature (in a sense) to take it's course. They're given a premise -- a game or competition -- to stir up conflict, and then simply set asail. Their success or failure is a measure of two things -- the talent, wit, and versimilitude of the on-air plebes (as much a tribute to the skill of the selection team as anything else) and the interestingness of their surroundings (entirely at the discretion of the producers, writers, and editors). And yet we think this show is about reality? We are only fooling ourselves.
Their selection is key. They have to be interesting enough to hold our attention -- flashy and spicy and just a bit unusual. But they have to be like us, too -- perhaps with children or addictions or bad hair days. And grossly diverse. America is a diverse place, but with pockets of similarity. Though we preach tolerance and inclusiveness, the old like-with-like still holds true for many social, political and economic circles. There has to be a little bit of each of those things, enough to make some like you and others hate you. Enough to make them simply care one way or the other.
and you have to be willing to act. putting someone under the eye of a camera -- even a camera that is there every day for weeks on end -- forces them to act differently. We are different animals when we are being watched. Think about it. Think to yourself of all the things you do when you are alone, certain that no-one is watching you. Do you pick your nose? Read your husband's mail? Perhaps you sneak a cigarette or drink an occasional martini. whatever it is you do, if you were on camera would you in a million years continue to do it? if your mother was watching, would you ever talk about it? certainly not. there are things that are, for us, taboo. everyone has these things. and even the kids on t.v. probably have their secrets. some of them, by the design and whim of the producers, can be played out, picked at until they burst. MTV got great ratings for it's reality-drama The Real World when one of the housemates erupted on national television into a full-blown alcoholic. but the kind of secrets that get you into the final round are the public kind, and a personality that insists you play it out, even live and on t.v.. that's not someone just like me. that's an actor. playing himself. as he wants the world to see him. in a game. it's not reality television at all. but it's interesting, for what it is.
Perhaps it's not real people being themselves, but it's fake people trying to act like real people being scripted by real people who want it to seem... somewhat real. It's what they think we want our lives to be -- exciting, fast-paced, and colorful. Life in a pop- culture water-globe. Shake-shake-shake. Oooh. The 'Survivor' cast is on Rosie. Gotta go.
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