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| [2006 September 21] Oh yeah, whenever cable failed there was always the Weather Channel. It sure is nice not to be watching television anymore. Well, it was okay for a few hours then the novelty wore off and it was nothing more than the good ol' idiot box it always was. Of course, I'm writing from the perspective of someone who hasn't always had (or wanted) a television to watch --unless there were movies, but those are only a few times a month. Sometimes I was stuck having nothing else to do. Which really sucked. More so than the television itself. | |
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| [2006 September 21] You come to realise just how much you rely on the computer when the motherboard dies on you, especially if your living is dependent on work created on the thing. So I guess it wasn't Windows after all that was crashing my system and corrupting my files. Either way, I'm glad to be using a desktop again.
Television is like family. It fosters the illusion of being a part of something and having a role to play when you really don't. Spending too much time around it kills vital brain cells and sucks your energy levels dry. | |
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[Transcript] - The television is on. Coyote asks, "What do you call this thing?"
"Whad thing? Oh, at's a television."
"What is it for?"
"For me, id's for d'Weather Channel.. Discovery, Spike, d'History Channel, an Adult Swim wheveber it's on."
"Um... so.. it's for watching others do things... rather than doing things yourself?"
"At'a about right.. hey, d'ya know whad a hurricane is?"
"No. Is it like a sea storm?"
"Yeah. Exactly. I was jus wonderin.. does your cosmic compuder tell you if dey come around in april a whole lot?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Yeah? Well whad good are ya, den. Dis one at's out dere now... dis one was supposed ta go ta mexico. It's been hanging out i d'gulf for two days doin' nothin. Dis mornin it became a cadegory three an shifted. It's going d'come right over us." |
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A glaring wall, a monolith upon the night, a screaming, frothing entity resembling my lower intestines, a gleaming, vibrating, humming, brain-eating zombie drooling at me. The anchorman bobbed his head in an attempt to lull me into a false sleep as I sat there eating pretzels. Letterman is coming on in a few minutes so it was about time to toss some frozen bricks into the microwave and change the channel. I hate Letterman. I'll take Conan's gargantuan head any day if it means I don't have to be drawn into the dry heave of Letterman's utter lack of humor.
Really, what's it for? All this rummaging around for another night's pathetic gag to entertain a few lousy advertisers. Oh, yeah, there's an audience of a few people watching Conan. The rest are either sleeping or working third shift. Of course, if Conan were prime-time late night the sensors wouldn't allow the show's writers to get me to laugh. Fuck them. Keep him languishing on the graveyard slot until he's shambling and dripping with indescribable ooze.
No, it's more like a huge turd floating in an otherwise pristine bowl of jello. All that room for entertainment and all you get are endless commercials, the world's most boring excuses for scripts, sensored, time-cut movies better off hidden in an abandoned video store, and Scooby Doo reruns. Commercial television? Why? How many people actually respond to that crap when they can be watching cable or goofing around on the net? Or doing something else that's more important than either of those? Incredible. Utterly, fabulously incredible.
