retrospective three
The TV is eating us alive. We seem to have no defence against it. Mat, hobbled by an ingrown toenail operation and a lack of internet, is particularly susceptible. He watched Coyote Ugly all the way through the other night. This is a movie about a noisy new York bar full of obnoxious people that looks like my idea of hell. So watching the movie for me would have been like watching one of those horror films where you’re praying the heroine won’t go into the bad place, only here the bad place isn’t some old dark house, it’s this bar, and she not only goes there, she keeps going there. Then she gets a job there. Then she turns into Leanne Rimes. Apparently.
I have found myself watching Pimp My Ride, a show in which supposedly hip mechanics remove the boring bits of cars like, you know, the engine, and replace them with a record player. Or Kelly Osbourne - Turning Japanese in which they send Kelly to Japan just so she can turn her nose up at everything (‘I don’t wanna be a samurai!’) And American Idol. Over and over again. In vain do I try to direct my housemates to more improving fare, like Coronation Street or Deal Or No Deal. They just go back to the guide, decide that ‘nothing’ is on, then watch it.
Of course I am as much to blame as anyone. But the screen is so big and it cannot be resisted. I am entranced by reruns of Bullseye and The Krypton Factor. Programmes that were never meant to be seen more than once. ‘Well that’s the end of this series of Bullseye’, Jim Bowen said the other night. ‘See you in the Autumn.’ Then, after a commercial break: ‘Welcome to the new series of Bullseye.’
Something is wrong here.
I have found myself watching Pimp My Ride, a show in which supposedly hip mechanics remove the boring bits of cars like, you know, the engine, and replace them with a record player. Or Kelly Osbourne - Turning Japanese in which they send Kelly to Japan just so she can turn her nose up at everything (‘I don’t wanna be a samurai!’) And American Idol. Over and over again. In vain do I try to direct my housemates to more improving fare, like Coronation Street or Deal Or No Deal. They just go back to the guide, decide that ‘nothing’ is on, then watch it.
Of course I am as much to blame as anyone. But the screen is so big and it cannot be resisted. I am entranced by reruns of Bullseye and The Krypton Factor. Programmes that were never meant to be seen more than once. ‘Well that’s the end of this series of Bullseye’, Jim Bowen said the other night. ‘See you in the Autumn.’ Then, after a commercial break: ‘Welcome to the new series of Bullseye.’
Something is wrong here.
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