Gag Me With A Spoon. An old 'Valley Girl' saying, but so applicable as I watched Tom Brokaw hand over the reigns of Meet The Press this morning to Gregory. The two of them together worked to compliment one another in almost a "who can top this' routine. Gregory just thinks Brokaw is so wonderful, a mentor and he is going to lean on him so much for support as he takes over. Broakaw, meanwhile, going on and on about his 'exclusive' interview earlier with Obama and just how great he himself is. The cutting edge of the greatest generation (his, of course). These two clowns remind me of CNN's insufferable line about that how they are the greatest newscasting crew ever put together on television. What a load of crap. But we watch and listen because we have no choice. I could turn it off but then I would be stuck with only my New York Times and Chicago Tribune. And they get stale and old, especially in their weekend products. About all you can say, with respect to the characters we get shoved in front of us on the tube, is that they are famous. They really don't have much to say but that is neither here nor there. They are up there and I am here in my library (because that is where Harvey chooses to sun himself in the morning).
I was in this wonderful restaurant up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, sometime back. One of those storefront places that serves 'tubs' for drinks at four o'clock sharp every day (happy hour still exists up there). The place is called Maricques on University. We go there because it is about the only place in the world where you can order perch, and have it served with the bones still in (thereby making the fish moister and better tasting, or so we think after a couple of tubs of Whiskey Manhattens!). Anyway, the place has big flat screens up in all four corners of the dining area. There is no volume and there are different programs on every television. Mostly sports junk or Packer related things. We went in at four-thirty, because my parents are very old and must eat at the earliest minute that food is to be served, and there was only one other filled table in the room. All four of those people were as old as my parents (And I mean old). They were playing cards, drinking tubs of gold stuff and talking loudly (because they can't hear). My father did not like the flicker of the television which was situated just above the table we had chosen. We could not move to another table (there are twenty, or so) because that is not done once one roosts. To get rid of Dad's complaints, I reached over and pulled the plug controlling the power to the television just above. Instantly, the four happy codgers interrupted their game to complain. When we ignored them, they went to the bar to complain that I had pulled the plug on one of the establishment televisions. The bartender (with his 'Milwaukee Tumor' of some significant size, proceeding him, stepped over to let us know that the television was his, and that we were not entitled to unplug it. He plugged it back in, after looking intently at me, to let me know that the knives they use to carve the fish in the back room were all available to him, then turned generous and allowed us to leave the set off.
Why am I recounting this story? Because we have become accustomed to having the visual of the moving lights from our televisions as backdrops to our lives. The television has become a comfort. Not for anything that is said by the 'talking heads' or any meaningful action that might be up on the screen. No, it is part of the necessary wallpaper of our lives. It just makes us feel not alone, not out of the loop and not without meaning. Those old coots did, probably, have some of that Germanic stuff going inside them, as well (you know, the rules thing that is so important in this part of the country) but I don't think that is what caused them to rat us out to management.
And so it is with Meet the Press, and all of the other programs we have up there on the screen. Those two over-effusing creeps (Brokaw and Gregory) could say whatever they wanted to and nobody was going to complain. I am probably the only person this side of Lake Geneva that has the volume turned up. This article does qualify for the Obama site because I did slip him in there, once, somewhere.
Comments are closed for this post.
