rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2001-08-16 (23:11:00)
In which our plucky young hero is poorly targeted.

It has been a slooooooow day here at Casa Galaga, entertainment capital of the tri-county area. (Disclaimer: not necessarily in a tri-county area, not necessarily a capital, not necessarily entertaining) A day for ordering bad pizza and eating much less of it than I'm used to, for wishing I had more energy, for not doing a whole lot of anything and a few tons of nothing.

In that spirit, I want to talk about television again.

Television tells you a lot about yourself. Not by what you watch, mind you, but by what television wants you to buy in between snippets of programming. You fall into a demographic, my friend, and that demographic dictates exactly what sort of consumer needs you have and exactly how much you are willing to spend on them.

Unfortunately, my viewing habits inform me that my demographic is 40 years old, impotent, possibly incontinent, searching for a fuel-efficient SUV, and coping with life as a single parent.

Really, this is my fault. I am a news junkie, and so I spend a lot of time with my eyes glued to CTV Newsnet and CBC Newsworld. (I am aware of CNN, yes.) And during the day, news programming that isn't designed around stock prices and warning season is apparently watched only by the very, very elderly. These elderly people want very little out of life, except cheap life insurance and Craftmatic adjustable beds. I learn daily that if I buy an adjustable bed (with its "beautiful" design and "beautiful" remote control - they're bedmakers, not grammarians) I will receive a "high-tech" television, one of those televisions with a remote control. How amazing! What an age of wonder in which we live.

And the drugs and disorders. Oh God, the drugs. Television informs me that everything between my neck and knees, especially about halfway between if you catch my drift, is doomed to failure, and the worst part is that I will probably not ask my doctor if Placebo is right for me. (The answer: "yes".) Never fear, though. Whether it is bone loss, hair loss, or erection loss, a confidential pamphlet can be sent to me which will by the merest of coincidences mention a miracle drug which cures what ails ya.

(Oh, and did you know that you can get the Will Kit, so that you can write your last will and testament in a form that's legal in all provinces and territories? Yes. Yes you can. Screw you, high-priced fast-talking ambulance chasing law talking guys!)

I like television. I really do. I like news. I really do. I just sort of wish that I could watch news without constant reminders of my incipent mortality and physical decrepitude.

I mean, Christ, at least throw me a beer commercial now and then without needing to flip over to MuchMusic for it.

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