Tag: television

The Sellout: brag

Published on April 23, 2025

It’s hard to explain, but here’s living proof:
he’s the piped piper pumping undisputed truth,
a loud clarion shout to disenfranchised youth,
wrapped up head to toe in a bright angel suit.

It doesn’t make much sense, but then again, what does?
You never see the bees, but you can hear the buzz:
there’s no real use for reason, just believe because
it’s the way to get along, and everybody does.

Either life or destruction, doesn’t matter much,
when you can turn into gold everything you touch;
morality is just an inconvenient crutch.
Set it on automatic, you don’t need no clutch.

We’re all really flying, thanks to magic wings;
and parachutes, we don’t need them stupid things!
Who knows what the future or tomorrow brings?
Who cares, it’s a miracle each time he sings.

He’s the master of disaster, the true overlord,
who promises the life we want and can afford.
You won’t get left behind or be the least bit bored;
and those who disagree, in prison or ignored.

It’s hard to explain, but this is what you get:
and it’s too late for apologies. Have no regret.
The best part ain’t even started happening yet;
just keep your eyes on his channel on your TV set.

23 APR 2025

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On South Park

Published on April 14, 2006

First, it’s a situation comedy. A situation comedy that deliberately offends some in order to humor others. That’s not really so unusual. It’s not really “teaching us to be tolerant,” however. The majority of comedy has always been (since Euripides, anyway) based on belittling, verbally abusing, mocking and perjorating other people, their beliefs, their way of life, the way they talk; or finding glee in their misfortunes. Particularly people that you either don’t know, don’t like or are afraid you might somehow be associated with. I agree, you have a right to say what you like. But do you have a right to hurt other people with that speech? Isn’t that really a form of hate speech? Or is it only hate speech if you or someone you like are the targets? In other words, did the burning of witches start with bonfires, or hateful, ignorant people striking matches while making fun of strange looking women digging along the roadside for medicinal herbs?

Second, it’s a TELEVISION program. Granted, it may be about entertainment, or cultural commentary, even, but its first and foremost function is to serve as the delivery mechanism for advertisements. And if that delivery mechanism reduces the warm, fuzzy feeling in a percentage of consumers, it will not continue to be broadcast. It’s not in the network’s best interest to incur boycotts, protests, hate-mail or anything that might threaten its bottom line, or the inclination of its advertisers to continue their patronage.

Thirdly, I don’t think it’s free speech issue, and using the example of Jesus defecating on Bush and the flag as an “acceptable” substitute for an image of Mohammed doesn’t prove the tolerance of Christianity over Islam regarding free expression. Suppose, instead, that they portrayed Jesus smoking a joint, fondling a transvestite prostitute and voting Democrat or attending a Klan rally (either one, both demonstrate extremes). THAT would have caused outrage. But the bulk of the South Park audience is probably in agreement with any of these scenarios as possible, if not probable; it’s only people who don’t GET the show (they would posit) that would be offended. But then again, that’s where your definition of humor fits into the equation. Satire and irony are one thing. The question I have for South Park is this: could they have made their point without being offensive? Without belittling anyone? Who would have thought it was funny? The dilemma here what people think is funny. If it’s not funny in a way that pushes the envelope, no one would watch, and the advertisers would suffer. On the other hand, if it’s too funny (in a way that makes poignant insights into the way we live and suggests a better way), most people wouldn’t get it, wouldn’t watch, and the advertisers would suffers. And finally, if it’s over-the-top top funny in the traditional belittling, mocking, smug way of most humor, someone’s bound to get offended (because we all take ourselves a bit too seriously, anyway) and the advertisers suffer.

Is this worth even talking about?

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Hanging on Dreams

Published on January 3, 2006

I know you want me to say
I love you in some tired cliche:
forever in a bright pink bow
with Hallmark lines I ought to know;
and when I speak, some hidden strings
should start to play. It should be Spring;
then as the moonlight filters through
the clouds, you’ll know that I love you.

Well, our life isn’t like TV,
and that Prince Charming isn’t me:
a handsome, careless perfect fool
who’s crown is missing just your jewel,
and when I speak, the words I choose
may be too rough, and be misused;
but when you hear, you’ll understand
that I deserve to be your man.

That’s all that I have, not anything more
If that’s not enough, I’ll walk out that door
’cause if me pretending is what you long for
it’s not me you’re after; and all that’s in store
is no happy ending, no fairy tale glow,
just holding to dreams, when we ought to let go.

I know you want me to be
more like your girlhood fantasy:
forever on a big white horse
prepared to face some dragon’s force;
and when I come back from the wars
your love alone will soothe my sores;
then we will break the magic spell
that made the past a living hell.

Well, our life’s not a storybook;
no golden apples can be shook
from that old tree in our front yard,
the future’s certain to be hard.
But this I promise you, my dear:
It’s not loneliness you should fear;
‘Cause I’ll be here to see it through:
to me, that’s saying I love you.

03 JAN 2005

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I Blame Lawrence Welk

Published on October 25, 2005

I love old songs, and I love mixing it up and keeping ’em guessing.

For that, I blame Lawrence Welk.

Some jazz cats look down on Welk’s ensemble (compared to Goodman, Ellington or Kenton it was a SWEET band), and the singers WERE pretty square. But it was the only TV show that zoomed in on the trombone player. It was the “Elvis movie” of TV – inspiration to a young instrumentalist. The mention of the clarinet anywhere else results in raised eyebrows and looks of shame. And they did tribute shows – Irving Berlin, marches of the world, and so on. I blame Lawrence Welk for giving me to Cole Porter right after I finished devouring Buck Owens on “Hee Haw.” And Willie Nelson’s doing some of those songs now, so I’m not alone in this. Country music is built upon American song history, on “Down in the Valley” and “Sweet Betsy from Pike”. These are songs that New Country doesn’t know about. It’s a different “country” altogether. American music from Scott Joplin to Jimmie Rodgers to Fats Waller, from Lefty Frizzell to Woody Guthrie to Burl Ives, from Helen Forrest to the Andrews Sisters, from the Ink Spots and Mills Brothers.

I could go on and on. I blame Lawrence Welk for that, too.

It means that a barbershop arrangement of “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida” or a high lonesome rendition of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” isn’t out of the question. I blame Lawrence Welk for showing that any song could be included in your repertoire, and that people will dance.

And I enjoy what I’m doing. I blame Myron Floren for that.

He ALWAYS looked like he was having a blast. And that’s what I wanted from the start. I love to entertain.

And I love America, where it is all possible, even for a son of immigrants (and aren’t we all?).

For that, most of all, I blame Lawrence Welk.

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Gray Days #4

Published on June 24, 2005

She’s waiting on the deputy, but he never comes;
got her finger on the trigger, sucking silent on her thumb;
and the ninety ninth caller has just been struck dumb:
like an old pair of stockings he just turned to run.

She’s waiting on the postman, but he’s just got advice;
got her hands on the counter, stirring tea in her spice;
and the TV show hostess is colder than ice:
like an old pair of shoes, she tries everything twice.

She’s waiting on the milkman, but he’s running late;
got her lips on the coffee cup, dripping stains on her plate;
and the radio spokesman has just sealed his fate:
like an old book of matches, he scratches the slate.

She’s waiting on the savior, but he never calls;
got her mind turned to worry, her eyes on the walls;
and the Jehovah’s Witness sounds just like Lou Rawls:
like an old rusted needle, the pressure just falls.

She’s waiting on the preacher, but he’s been sent home;
got her hair in her fingers, pressing it to the phone;
and the roving reporter is standing alone:
like an old saint at twilight he’s trying to get stoned.

1997

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Earthseasick

Published on December 13, 2004

Tolkein’s world of fabled creatures
did not speak to me
of my own sense of purpose,
or responsibility

and so its strange translation
onto film I did not mind;
except the Ents and Bombadil,
who Jackson left behind.

But Earthsea, in which my own life
found endless parallel,
and traced a journey like my own
through a personal hell,

when wrought onscreen seemed stale and trite,
its lessons left unspoke,
and mists around its message
lost, somewhere on a fake Roke.

13 DEC 2004

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Television: canzone

Published on April 8, 2004

Canto I (The News):

To watch the TV news is to discover
that there is nothing new under the sun:
a movie star found with a younger lover,
convenience store held up by man with gun,
insurgents kill more soldiers by surprise,
another well-known priest accused of wrong,
the difference between fast food joints is fries,
and one more pretty face has a hit song.
The underlying story never changes,
only the details and the point of view;
we watch to prove our own theories of strangeness
and focus not on ourselves, but on you.
There is a comfort in this pap’s digestion
that leaves us feeling informed and aware;
by leaving others to ask all the questions,
all we have left is sensing we still care.
The channel doesn’t matter, just the faces;
their honesty we’ve learned to judge on sight,
and politicians, whether left or right
find us amenable to fund their races.

Canto II (Comedy):

If it were going on next door, in real life,
we probably would not think it was fun;
in fact, if some of these folks were my neighbors,
I’d probably move, or at least, buy a gun.
The basis for most comedy, it seems
is how misfortune comes to someone else,
the consequences of their crackpot schemes
to win friends, change the world, or acquire wealth.
The underlying premise never shifts,
only the patsy and the inside scoop;
we watch to give our own spirits a lift,
and to convince ourselves we’re not the dupe.
There is a comfort in this sad delight
that leaves us feeling better and advanced;
by laughing at some other’s hapless plight
we believe that our own case has a chance.
It doesn’t matter who the comic roasts,
as long as we don’t recognize ourselves,
and are not asked between guffaws to delve
into the issues that affect us most.

Canto III (Reality):

The metaphor of raw, uncensored lives
as captured in a staged and sterile form,
arranged and filtered by cutting room knives,
gives us the rain and thunder, but no storm.
The girl next door, the brain, the jock, the creep,
selected for their camera appeal
or their ability to seem so deep;
exactly what part of this sham is real?
The underlying premise never strays,
but every season, moves from place to place;
we watch to give ourselves new games to play,
to pick our favorites to win a fixed race.
There is a comfort in this grand charade
that makes us feel as if we’re really there;
we know these fools, and if their path we trod,
why surely, we would be the millionaire.
It doesn’t matter what the final prize,
as long as there is drama and suspense;
the benefit of the experience
is that it happens to some other guy.

08 APR 2004

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