Realitization

History, according to Karl Marx repeats itself--first as tragedy, second as farce.  Television, too, repeats itself (and we're not talking about what used to be the summer season and syndication): First as scripted drama, second as reality show.

From an economic perspective, it makes sense.  Why pay writers to construct situation comedies when you can simply throw a bunch of wackily mismatched strangers together and see what hijinks ensue?  Thus "The Brady Bunch" becomes "The Real World" becomes "Big Brother," and thus "Gilligan's Island" becomes "Survivor" (and then, in an odd shift back to scripting, becomes "Lost," but that's a discussion for another day). 

What's interesting is the number of shows and genres that have now been "realitized."  Indeed, the Discovery Channel has created a whole franchise of networks devoted to the concept.

Love medical dramas?  Check out "Discovery Health."  Tonight, in an episode entitled "Unlikely Suspects": "After a man fails to show up for work, a friend searches his house and finds him splayed out lifeless on the bedroom floor.  And, a disoriented man is treated for a drug overdose at a hospital ER.  He doesn't sober up, and dies later at the hospital."  "Quincy, M.E."?  Nope, "Dr G.: Medical Examiner."  And a little later, if you're still grieving over the end of "E.R.," perhaps "Trauma--Life in the E.R." will. . . cheer you up?

If mystery is more your thing, you can check out "ID"--"Investigation Discovery."  There, you can supplement your viewing of "CSI" or "NCIS" or any number of police procedurals with "Extreme Forensics" or "The Real NCIS" (a bit on the nose, that) or "The Shift" (which follows the detectives of the Indianapolis Homicide Department).  WOS, who's always been interested in forensics and administration of justice, watches a lot of these "true crime" shows, and they do certainly provide an instructive look at real-world law enforcement.

(Digression: Couldn't someone come up with a reality-version of "Star Trek"?  THAT would be cool.  EOD)

The problem with all these programs, ironically, is that they trivialize the very dramas they depict.

Television shows and movies (that is, fictional television shows and movies) are often criticized for glorifying violence and numbing audiences to the real suffering caused by crime.  At its best, though, fictional drama creates an empathetic bond with its characters.  Thus, "The Wire" made us understand the human toll of drug violence and other ills of modern urban life better than any number of true-crime police procedurals.  "Oz," while no doubt over the top, made us empathize with hardcore prisoners while we never forgot that these were for the most part bad (in the moral sense) characters.  Even "E.R.," with its impossibly good-looking staff of heroic doctors, provided viewers with a weekly glimpse of the chaos that resides at the boundary between life and death.

Fiction strips away the extraneous, highlights the relevant, and in doing so provokes the thought and insight that allow us to make sense of the world.  Realitization, in contrast, cheapens the tragedy by turning real-life victims of gruesome crimes, horrific accidents, or the ravages of disease as mere fodder for a network schedule.  They are presented to us not through the ennobling dialogue of skillful dramatists but rather through second-hand accounts and awkward re-enactments.

Truth is stranger than fiction.  Which is precisely why we need fiction to help us make sense of truth.  Without fiction we are left with nothing but the senselessness that we all, deep down, know lies beneath modern life.  Realitization is the ultimate trivializer.

Pet Peeve

It never fails to annoy us when we see ad copy with typos or sloppy phrasing.  The label on a bottle of laundry detergent reads:

"Good for at least 64 loads or more."

!

Do the copywriters not understand what "at least" means?  Or is it the "or more" that's throwing them?  Seriously, somebody was paid money to design the label, and it was probably a fairly significant sum.  Does nobody think about language anymore?

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A note for FOS:

We're hitting the tref trifecta tonight (the trefecta?): A bacon cheeseburger with lobster-mushroom sauce!  We hope you're impressed.

Dulce et decorum est. . . .

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. So said Horace, and if a Roman poet said it, it must be true.






Now, "Starship Troopers" (1997) is not a great movie, but we will say this for it: It definitely has a theme, fanatical patriotism.


In the movie, the earth is at war with a race of giant alien insects. These are nasty buggers (pun intended). In some of the gorier scenes you're likely to see in a science-fiction movie, they mow down earth's defenders, tearing young, well-armed soldiers limb from limb. And, since cannons must have fodder, the armed forces of earth are in a constant recruiting drive. Socialist-realist advertisements exhorting the young to military service blare from every screen. Military service itself is optional, but only soldiers enjoy full citizenship (if they live long enough to enjoy it). Horrifically maimed veterans are paraded in front of wide-eyed recruits as emblems of what they, too, can hope to achieve. Overall, human society is organized according to fascist principles, but it's fascism with a happy face.


The interesting thing about this movie is that the militaristic propaganda is SO over the top that one assumes it must be meant as parody:


"Violence has resolved more conflicts than anything else. The contrary opinion that violence doesn't solve anything is merely wishful thinking at its worst."


"We're in this war for the species, boys and girls, it's simple numbers. . . .And every day I have to make decisions that send hundreds of people like you to their deaths."


(And remember, this was BEFORE 9/11.)


The characters themselves never seem to be in on the joke, though. And of course, this being essentially an action movie, the heroes win (more or less) at the end, so we're left to conclude that they have done the right thing in allowing themselves to become cogs in this military-industrial machine.


Now, you could say that we're reading too much into this and expending far too much mental energy analyzing something that doesn't call for much analysis. You may be right. Still, this movie has always troubled the Solipsist: What kind of a world was this movie celebrating?


Well, judging from an article about the Explorers Program in today's Times, it's a world much like the one we find ourselves in today. A coed program affiliated with the Boy Scouts, Explorers gives participants the opportunity to get hands-on experience in a variety of career fields. Historically, the programs related to law-enforcement have been very popular. Check out the image:

Some choice quotes from the article:

". . .the gunman [in a training exercise], a disgruntled Iraq war veteran, has already taken out two people, one slumped in his desk, the other covered in blood on the floor.

"The responding officers--eight teenage boys and girls, the youngest 14 [emphasis added]--face tripwire, a thin cloud of poisonous gas and loud shots. . . .They move quickly, pellet guns drawn and masks affixed."

"'This is about being a true-blooded American guy and girl,' said A. J. Lowenthal a sheriff's deputy. . . .'It fits right in with the honor and bravery of the Boy Scouts.'"

"Cathy Noriego, . . .16, said she was attracted by the guns. . . . 'I like shooting them,' Cathy said. 'I like the sound they make. It gets me excited.'"

"The law enforcement posts are restricted to those ages 14 to 21 who have a C average, but there seems to be some wiggle room. 'I will take them at 13 and a half,' Deputy Lowenthal saud. 'I would rather take a kid than possibly lose a kid.'"

Has the war on terror turned our teenagers into Starship Troopers? Or, far scarier, has "Starship Troopers" become a blueprint for American government policy? Are terrorists, drug dealers, and illegal immigrants just so many bloodthirsty insects? Has this ridiculous movie turned out to be a cautionary tale?

Six Degrees of Sarah Palin

As we wait for WOS, who just joined Facebook, to acknowledge our marital status (we have our fingers crossed), we thought we should share some thrilling information.

This is getting big, people.

The other day, as we were performing our routine check of Google Analytics, we discovered that "The Solipsist" continues to expand its geographical range. The latest state to check us out? Alaska. And where in Alaska, you ask? Brace yourselves!

Wasilla!

That's right everybody, Caribou Barbie is a Sloppist! It's almost enough to make us wish we had voted Republican last November. Almost.

But (semi)seriously folks, Wasilla is not a particularly big town (population 5469 as of the 2000 census). So it stands to reason that, even if La Palin herself is not the Alaskan Sloppist, there's still a more than decent chance that the Alaskan Sloppist has met La Palin. So check this out:

"The Solipsist" is read by a resident of Wasilla, Alaska, who (if not Palin herself) has conceivably shaken the hand of Governor Sarah Palin, who has shaken the hand (and possibly more!) of Senator John McCain, who, before being trounced in debates and an election, shook the hand of soon-to-be President Barack Obama! That's FOUR DEGREES OF SEPARATION, people! We're practically cabinet members!

And as if that weren't enough, consider all the folks from whom this puts us six degrees of separation:

President Obama had numerous photo ops with soon-to-be-ex-President George W. Bush, who met the Pope!

President Obama served in the Senate with John Warner, who was married to Elizabeth Taylor!

President Obama campaigned with former President Bill Clinton, who once famously shook the hand of John F. Kennedy!

President Obama has been on the Oprah Winfrey show, and Oprah knows Dr. Phil!

The possibilities are virtually endless.

So take a deep breath, Sloppists, and be mindful what you say. You are all now only five degrees of separation from our President. We want to make a good impression.

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From today's Times, an article about how the New York City bus fleet is undergoing a sort of retro-transformation. In the olden days, when people wished to signal a bus driver to stop, they would pull down on a "bell cord," which would cause a bell (or sometimes a buzzer) to sound. Almost twenty years ago, all the bell cords were replaced with strips of yellow tape, which people press down on to signal a stop. Now, however, in a nod to budget consciousness, the transit authority is going back to bell cords. Most commuters couldn't care less, but one Janette Kemp, 53, explains why she is "squarely in the tape camp":

"'You just push down on it,' she explained. Then she gestured to the cord [and imagine the contempt dripping from Ms. Kemp as she concludes]. 'This you have to pull down on.'" (Emphasis added.)

We miss New York!

The Televised Job Interview

Those who can, do.  Those who can't, go on reality shows.

This occurred to us when we were watching "Last Restaurant Standing" (don't ask why) on BBC America.  On this show, teams of couples compete for the right to open a restaurant with (apparently) world-famous French chef, the all-but-unintelligible Raymond Blanc.  Each couple opens a restaurant where one member of the team serves as head chef and the other as front-of-house.  Blanc presents the teams with weekly challenges, and one by one the teams are eliminated until only one restaurant is "left standing."

Now, bear in mind that the grand prize is, not to put to fine a point on it, a job.  The winners don't get a large cash prize; they get a contract.  They get to do presumably that which they have been doing already: run a restaurant.  So we started wondering as we watched this show: How did people open restaurants--even in partnership with world-famous chefs--before "Last Restaurant Standing"?

Presumably they had to resort to such barbaric methods as developing business plans, sending in job applications, writing resumes, etc.  And of course people still do these things.  After all, not all up-and-coming fashion designers go on "Project Runway"; businessmen not named Trump find apprentices at the Wharton School, not NBC; and while Gordon Ramsay is now the primary headhunter for Atlantic City casino restaurants, one imagines that Le Bernardin and Per Se and The French Laundry still find their head chefs the old-fashioned way--through aggressive recruitment of the most talented personnel.

In contrast, one notices that the contestants who go on these shows are generally good at what they do, but not great.  They are interesting personalities who "make good television," but who may not be able to make a good evening gown or business plan or Bernaise sauce.

Consider "Hell's Kitchen." In Season One, the grand prize was a job as head chef in one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants.  Immediately after announcing "Michael" as the winner, though, Ramsay offered to take him back to London in order to train him further.  In other words, Ramsay felt he was good enough to win but not good enough for the job.  More interestingly, Michael took Ramsay up on the offer.

It's interesting that some of the most popular programming in America revolves around people applying for jobs for which they are not the most qualified candidates.  Perhaps audiences take comfort in the fact that they themselves have jobs and do them well.  And while they may envy people their fifteen minutes of reality-show fame, they take no small satisfaction in the thought that they, at least, didn't have to put themselves through televised humiliation just to earn the right to bring home a paycheck.

A Different Take on Facebook

We know we're drawing far too much inspiration from our FFB Emi Ha; nevertheless, here we go again.

Emi Ha has a somewhat Sam-and-Diane-ish relationship with Facebook.  One season, she's madly in love with the social networking site; the next, it does something oafish.  She swears off Facebook, knowing it's bad news, seeking solace in the arms of simpler pleasures like YouTube and regular e-mail (the Frasier Crane figure in the relationship, if you will).  But deep down, we suspect she'll always come back to her true love.

We can sympathize:  Facebook can certainly be inane, tedious, a drain on one's time.  But we think her displeasure stems from misplaced expectations.   Facebook is a community--but only of sorts.  In this community, you are surrounded by "friends."  But spending time in Facebook is not the same as spending time with one's friends.  And not because many of these friends are not friends but "friends"; the relative dearth of true soulmates is no reason to condemn Facebook.  After all, true friends were scarce long before Facebook came along.  So why lament the fact that most of our Facebook relationships go no deeper than a surface level?  The same could be said of most real-world relationships.

It's a matter of perspective: If you think of your Facebook community as your true friends, you're bound to be disappointed--even by those people on Facebook who ARE your true friends--because nobody has anything like a deep meaningful relationship on Facebook.  Remember, though, that the medium is the message.  The relationships you have on Facebook are not, for example, "high school friendships"--not as such, anyway: They're more like homeroom.  In homeroom, you sat with your group.  Some of these people were the best friends you've ever had; others were transitory acquaintances.  At any rate, though, the conversations you had in homeroom were necessarily shallow, brief, possibly inane--simple, often humorous exchanges that helped you get grounded and ready to face the day ahead.  The work equivalent is the water cooler.  It's not about who you're hanging out with or what you're talking about: It's about the fact that you're talking at all.  It's like E. M. Forster said: "Only connect."

Facebook disappoints people because people feel Facebook should do much more than it does.  But it doesn't.  Take solace, though: The good news is that it does allow much more frequent connection to the people who really do matter than most of us have ever had.  Facebook isn't a destination--it's a mode of transport.  Don't get mad at the bus because it isn't your home: Thank the bus for taking you there.

Who would want to live on a bus, anyway?

Bumps to You!

Awhile back, our FFB Emi Ha commented (or was it "complained") about bumper stickers.  We couldn't agree more that the need to declare one's hopes, dreams, aspirations, or even political preferences on one's bumper is a sign of questionable maturity (or at least taste).  We personally feel that you shouldn't plaster anything across your car's rear that you wouldn't feel comfortable tattooing on your butt--good rule of thumb, that.

Anyway, it is in that spirit that we offer observations on two recently noted bumper stickers:

"I [heart] my wife."  An admirable sentiment, surely.  But isn't having a bumper sticker that says "I love my wife" rather like having a bumper sticker that says "I brush my teeth"?  Why brag about something you're supposed to do anyway?

(Digression: Do you think there's enough of a lothario market to make money off a bumper sticker that says "I [heart] your wife"? EOD)

Another bumper sticker is familiar to all of us: "My child is student of the month at Buttmunch Elementary."  Well, OK.   Again, bumps to you!

(Digression: We just made that up.  We think it could be a good alternative to "hats off" or "thumbs up," roughly referencing President and Mrs. Obama's "terrorist fist jab."  The mission of all Sloppists is to use "bumps to you" in an appropriate context and try to get it to become a part of everyday speech.  You guys are slipping on your missions!  Get to work!  EOD)

But, we couldn't help wondering:  If the parents get a bumper sticker, what do the kids get?  We hope they get something better.  Two bumper stickers, perhaps.  (Also, those stickers should really state the month in which they were issued, so as to avoid more than one parent driving around with the valid bumper sticker at any one time.  Down that road lies anarchy.)

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For you writing enthusiasts out there, a question:  When nice parallelism meets stale cliche, which one wins?

From an article  in today's Times about differences in government services across different states:

"Across the country, hard luck is colliding with fine print."

Personally, in this instance, we think cliche has undermined parallelism, if only because it draws attention to itself.  So, sorry, Jason DeParle: This time, you lose.