…and Why Do We Care?
The only place that I don’t mind waiting is at the Discount Hair Cutting place. I can sit and read People magazine, no charge. And their magazines are current. But, I sure wouldn’t pay $.89 to read this crap. Then I checked the cover. Do you know how much a single issue of People magazine costs these days?
$3.99 (plus tax in Canada)
Four bucks to read dirty laundry about people I’ve never heard of.
Of course, I quit watching TV on a regular basis a long time ago. “Cheers”, followed by “Night Court” on a Thursday night were the last two programs I remember scheduling time for each week. “Night Court” went off the air in 1992, “Cheers” in ’93. Then came “South Park” and it became acceptably funny to be rude and obnoxious.
So, if you have become a television star since 1993, I’m sorry but even if you’re the feature article of the $4.00 People Magazine, I have no idea who you are.
It used to be Paris Hilton who was forever getting all drunked up and having her public picture taken of her private parts exiting a vehicle in a less-than-ladylike fashion. At least I have heard of the Hiltons. Stayed in a lot of their hotels.
Maybe she sobered up or stopped wearing mini skirts but she seems to have lost the public’s interest. Now, it’s all about the Kardashians. Just who are they? And more importantly, why do we care?
I was surprised to learn that Kim Kardashian’s step-father is Bruce Jenner, the gold winner of the decathalon in the 1976 Olympics. At least I’ve heard of him. The Kardashian lineage is Russian, her Great-grandfather came to Los Angeles and got into the trash business. Her father is a lawyer and her mother is of Dutch and (gasp) Scottish descent. Other than an episode of “Where Are They Now” featuring Bruce Jenner, I can’t see any reason why her every move should be accompanied by a phalanx of paparazzi and a public waiting in line to shell out $4.00 to read about a spoilt rich wench getting more press coverage than the Queen.
And then there’s “The Real House Sluts of Atlanta”. I started watching this for the white girl because bleached-blonde, heavily made up women have always caught my eye. White trash. I loved her. Originally, the black women on the program had more class than she did. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. The black women at least had some class. But it seems the big woman, NeNe has dropped the facade and returned to her roots like the stripper in the college town of Athens, Ga., that she is. Last I heard, the White Trash woman was off the show, refusing to associate with such low-life. A burro talking about a man with big ears.
I followed the “Orange County House Tramps” for a while but the problem is, they’re so shallow that after four minutes of camera time you’ve found out everything you need to know. The “Witches of New Jersey”, Lord, give me strength. First off – sorry Mike – I don’t care what anyone in New Jersey does and they deserve each other. Secondly, all these people did was confirm the suspicion that women from the North East are ignerrt, hard-hearted Ice Queens with mouths like sewers after a few cocktails. And not all need the Dutch Courage. And if that’s what these women look like after a barrage of hair and make-up artists have worked on them for half the morning, if I was a husband I wouldn’t put my glasses on until noon.
What’s the difference between this and Jerry Springer? The jewellery?
And this, unfortunately, is what’s raising our children. What happened to June Cleaver and her pearls? No wonder reruns of Andy Griffith are still popular. Even The Munster’s had a moral.
Recently, the Academy put out a request to its members, the biggest group of publicity seekers in the history of mankind, for a modicum of decorum on the red carpet. Should that not tell us that the pendulum has swung too far?
Getting old is no fun. What’s left of my hair has turned grey, I should get stronger glasses, my hearing is bad, my knees are shot and my stomach can’t take hot peppers like it used to. Still, I wouldn’t want to be a youngster today. The world is changing and changing exponentially. Look back thirty years until today. In my lifetime so far, I’ve gone from a party-line phone to a phone that’s a computer… wireless. Try to imagine thirty years into the future at this pace.
Will that generation be pining for the good old days and reruns of Montel Williams’ “Who’s My Baby Daddy?”
Lord help them.Share