A couple of experiences that allowed me to be fully aware of myself (but only for a second or two):
One: Guthrie Theater Acting Camp, circa 1978. First day with a bunch of strange, new, much cooler than me kids backstage. The camp “counselor”, also an actor in the Guthrie troupe, puts us all in a big circle and one by one we are to walk directly across the circle “normally”. As you can imagine, that’s impossible. The very fact that this group of young strangers are all watching you makes it absolutely impossible to walk “normally.” I believe I strutted, then sat down red-faced thinking what a lop I was. “Lop” being a strange little term that was popular among my small group of friends back then. It meant 1. uncoordinated; and 2. doofus. More or less.
This is an example as to why “Reality” TV is really the worst name for whatever that is. Anytime a camera (or the eyes of my fellow campers) is trained on you, reality slips right out the back door. Nothing that happens when the subjects know the camera is on can be remotely described as “reality”. It immediately becomes performance, whether we like it or not.
The other time, and this is rather embarrassing, I was standing mostly naked but for a shirt with the full length mirror to my right. I’m not one to stare at myself in the mirror and if you know me by sight, you know why. Pretty much average looking all around. But this one day, I’m standing there and happen to glance over to my own face at the exact same moment I pulled my belt up and it whips me right in my most personal privates, snap! and I saw my own face respond to the searing pain. Interesting, that. Painful, but interesting. I had no idea my face could ever contort in that manner.
I’m surprised I’m writing about this, because this is my day job, but Comcast gave us the absolute worst brand introduction/education effort E.V.E.R. with XFINITY, whatever the hell that means. I’ve seen tv, billboards and print ads and I still have no idea how or why they are related to Comcast. Is Comcast going away? Is XFINITY a different service? Same great service, brand new ALLCAPSNAME? I just got another mailing from Comcast that said “Get even more from your XFINITY service.” I was thinking, “Do I have XFINITY service?” They have registered the trademark for XFINITY, by the way; but why?
“Every generation brings more freedoms.
Every freedom brings generations of problems.
That’s what makes life interesting.”
A truer truth has never been uttered. Okay, maybe it has, but this is pretty damn true. And where does it all end? Certainly we temper ourselves over time; the orgies of the sixties didn’t take long to look rather self-indulgent, so let’s follow that sex bit a bit.
As a kid growing up in the 1970s a naked woman was something to be mostly wondered about and occasionally glimpsed in National Geographic magazine or, in utterly sublime moments, a father’s Playboy. But it really was a glimpse, personally cut short by our sense of propriety (20 percent) and fear of being caught (80 percent). But it was the limited exposure that gave it its magic. Had I been put in a room with a twelve foot high stack of Playboys, Penthouses and Oui magazines back when I was 10 or 12 without a chance of being caught, I’m not sure how I would have handled it, but I do know that whatever magic I glimpsed in the former scenario, this full-on, uncensored immersion in it all would have been certainly unsettling and quite frankly, magic-killing.
That’s what it must be like for kids today growing up in the age of the Internet. They’re always just a couple of clicks away from the most unseemly copulation by a still shocking number of people who are willing to film themselves having sex, thinking about sex, fondling themselves or simply looking naked and stupid. It’s one thing to have a population of exhibitionists* among us and quite another to give them this border crossing, ever-present, technicolor stage to exhibit.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of relatively open sexuality.** To this day I’m shocked at how much our particular country is willing to put up with a constant fire hose of violence, murder, shots, cuts, rapes, beheadings, molestations and so on on television, but if a woman’s breast slips from her blouse, we cry bloody murder. It seems most European countries have a much better balance on that particular front.
Hopefully this new-found instant access to smut won’t have a huge affect on young people and it appears that it hasn’t, at least to date. These strange and explicit freedoms seem to have been mostly welcomed with a big yawn. The kids aren’t all crazed sexophiles. Instead, teenage pregnancy has gone down. I suppose they are like I was and not particularly impressed by sex en mass, but instead recognize that there is sex and sexuality and then there’s this parody of it all we find on the web (in magazines, television and other media).
One need only replace sex with chocolate (some would gladly, by the way) and you get the idea.
* I dub thee the copulation population…just have to.
**To wit, this relatively innocent and earnest college paper written as a mythology of Prince.
Much has been written in high brow academic journals (as well as less seemly and “popular” publications) on the relative merits of Kelly, Sean, Dennisha and Liz, AKA the hosts of the Sunnyside Up Show on Sprout, a PBS station aimed solely at the eight and under set (and some of their parents). The set itself is a barn or some sort of shed outside of anywhere recognizable. There is, of course, Chica, the mostly mute, ever-present and obviously perched somewhere on the downside of the asberger’s spectrum sidekick, who admittedly matches Ed McMahon for useful interjections and intellectual banter. The hosts are a ragtag gang of podunk hillbillies intricately designed to appeal to the more conservative parents hearkening back to a simpler world they never knew but fully intend to eventually impose upon those with I.Q.’s in the three-digit range – also known to them as “the elite” and “the enemy.” Within their goofball banter – and even Chica’s grating chirps – are coded messages directed at, but mostly lost on, these conservative adults. The messages matter less than the empty, drooling grins the show and select hosts inspire, however.
Sweet Kelly
Kelly is the obvious leader. She’s the perfect specimen drawn up in any of a number of jokes about traveler’s hooking up with the shockingly hot farmer’s daughter. Everything about her exudes the sweetness, spunk and treachery needed to capture that essence.
They even went so far as to parade this wayward teen onto the screen knocked up like volleyball at a pig roast, adding to her vixen/victim, innocent prepubescence/sexual predator vibe that so thrills the men she was designed to appeal to. The overall effect preceded and quite possibly set in motion the otherwise inexplicable hormonal response to one Sarah Palin, the Great Wet Dream of
Kelly Knocked Up
any number of conservative males. It has been posited that Kelly isn’t actually human, but instead some sort of perfect mix of artificial intelligence and fleshy goodness, but I don’t agree. The Heritage Foundation, the conservative think tank, issued a press release recently to coincide with an award they gave Kelly for being a Great Patriot. “Kelly exudes everything conservative, God-fearing Americans love about this great nation of God-fearing Americans [sic].” She’s real all right and Ms. Palin owes her a debt of gratitude.
Denissha with Chica
Dennisha is the Trojan Horse of the shows producers. By including an African-American woman, any suppositions that something wasn’t right – or maybe way too right (and white) – about the show were quickly quelled. Dennisha is also beautiful and so captures the simplistic, redneck essence that she slid past the liberals only to be the true essence of double-speak, reading children’s birthday cards, while slipping in messages of prayer over medicine, small government, and more money for the richest Americans. What has remained unknown up to now is that Dennisha is actually the love child of former Bush Administration stalwart Condoleezza Rice and a one-night stand after a night of disco clubbing. Her father has never been identified, owing to the impossibly below board nature of the encounter, and the possibility that the father is famous. A few names have been put forth: David Bowie, Clarence Thomas and P.J. O’Rourke.
Sean’s presence on the show is less easily explained. Obviously gay and no-doubt a grade school dropout, Sean, well, isn’t acting. It was documented in an exceedingly well-researched article in Rolling Stone in 2009 that Sean is kept more or less prisoner on the set where he is led from his room to the stage, where he’s been told and so believes to a Truman Show depth that this is “where life is.” Sean was born into a deeply religious and conservative southern family (his father was a Republican fundraiser in Alabama) and raised with the belt and the bible. His parents began to see the devil in Sean when he began to have his own ideas and opinions (and realizations – one of which was that he was a young gay man) and so quickly lobotomized him, which is to what he owes his special grin. That he is gay has never been admitted by his handlers or the producers of the show, as they are known to believe that if you admit that people are gay, you might “go gay” yourself, a common misperception in conservative circles, which is why there are so many tight-lipped, well-coiffed effeminate “dads” with sparkling shoes (and terrifically unfulfilled wives) in the pews of mega-churches across this great land of ours.
Liz as we know her now
Liz is the latest Sunnyside Up Show host to join the cast and so less good academic research has been conducted on her. She brings much of the same farmer’s daughter sensuality that Kelly has; the same doofus, happy demeanor of Sean and Dennisha’s uncanny ability to couch messages about Tea Party ideas and gun shop locations within children’s songs, but there’s also something else.
Liz: Not your usual host
Liz, I put forth, is acting as a double-agent, who used all of her god-given attributes to convince the producers to put her on the show (see photo, which shows Liz coming on to one of the producers prior to being asked to join the cast). Cryptographers have shown through a series of really undeniable coded strings that Liz is actually speaking a totally different language that although they’ve recognized, they’ve been up to now unable to crack.
The Sunnyside Up Show and the four hosts have been dissected ad nauseum. There have been papers and articles and books, videos, movies, reality shows and documentaries. None, I believe, have so captured the truth and essence of this American original, this political juggernaut, this morning madness than the preceding paragraphs. I’ve spent years on their trail. I love them and hate them.
Nina – goodnight show
Speaking of love, now it’s on to Nina and the Goodnight Show. Methinks she’s possibly a central American guerilla working to supplant democracy with communism, or she’s an angel from heaven, with a Star that just better back off!