Reality Revelation

Seems I'm not so insane after all. Note the qualifier "so" in there. A while back, I posted a disturbing, thought-provoking piece on reality TV's impact on creativity. Since I've no desire to click through my archives to create a link (sorry), I'll sum up it up for you.

Basically, the idea was that reality TV, unnerving and disgustingly bland as can be, will actually be the catalyst of more creative TV. It works like this: Reality TV is simply a concept - there's no scripting, no real actor direction. It's essentially improv, but not the funny kind. Some reality TV is based around good concepts, like Survivor and The Apprentice - they've been thought out and planned and are generally successful. While the idea is creative in concept and the show is successful, it's still just an idea put into action; there's no other intrinsic creative endeavors to be found - no actors, no writers, etc. In other words...reality TV is easy. There's no actors or writers to pay, and the turnaround from idea to completion is incredibly fast.

And for a regular, scripted TV show to compete with reality TV, it not only has to have a good idea or setup, but it also needs to be attention getting. How do they get attention? Through incredible acting and writing - the Achilles' Heel of reality TV.

And now the proof is in the proverbial pudding. And it tastes good. Like chocolate. Or butterscotch. With sprinkles. There are three shows on regular old, rabbit-ear receiving TVs, that are not only funny in concept, but also feature incrediblbly funny acting and writing. First off, Arrested Development. Now, technically this show is in its fourth season, but I think it's only now really reaching the wider audience it deserves. Actually, I think this show was the first TV show to illustrate that people (us) WILL appreciate scripted shows - they just need to be funny enough to do so.

The second show is "My Name is Earl." I was skeptical when I first saw the commercials for this one. They were funny, well-edited, and my normaly hypeactive Jason Leigh shield my have been down because he seemed to acutally nail a character. A very funny show, with awesome supporting characters. SockMama can't stand it. But she likes to watch "America's Next Top Model," so I take that with a HUGE grain of salt. And so should you. Watch it.

Third show: The Office. Yes, I know, it's a remake of the incredible Ricky Gervais' Britcom. I know this. But Steve "Daily Show" Carell is hillarious and makes the most of every nervous pause and anxious situation that comes up. I know, I know, it's still a remake, but it's a wonderful remake and I'm surpised they pull it off. Incredible writing.

Okay, enough of the writing. Get to clicking.

More! Click more!

Today was a Good Day

Ah...the immortal Ice Cube. Not as pungent as Ice T, but way cooler. Anyhow, that doesn't really relate to anything, except that it's 8:30 and I am in a pretty good mood, which will inevitabbly meet a horrible death in about 15 minutes. If I'm lucky, 20. So before that happens, I think we'll talk costumes. Yes, Halloween is coming, and as if stumbling around in a drunken stupor isn't embarassing enough, I'll have to do it dressed up as monster, zombie, cowboy or ketchup bottle.

Which is why I've been using the net to get ideas.

I could go with the superhero theme, I suppose, what with Batman kicking as in the theaters.

Maybe Wonderwoman, perhaps?



Or Spiderman, maybe?



Or maybe I drop the hero theme and do something creative. Something with class and taste.



Fuck it. I'll just be a farmer.

Sunday, bloody Sunday

It's Sunday. 9:30 pm. I should be working. I should be sitting on the couch with a pen and a sketchbook, thinking up headlines for banners and concepts for videos. But I can't. My stomach is in a knot. For the third straight weekend, I have to work. This is combined with working 9 straight days without a lunch break and working late on most of them.

The mere thought of doing anything work related churns up the bile in my insides. Is this normal? Should you be this agitated with the simple thought of having to work? I used to not mind; a year ago, I had no qualms about working on the weekends and nights. But then again, I thought I was working towards something better. A year and a half later, nothing has changed. I'm still writing email blasts and thinking of event themes.

Sigh.

Ahhhh...sweet death

As the sum total of my existence can currently be described in five words (Intel, HP, Dell, InSport, and CMD), my posts, as usual, will be severely lacking in creativity, passion, or anything else that could be remotely considered decent reading material.

As such, I present to you two linkies!

This

That

Hillarious.

Stupid Different Chromosome

Well, it’s official. My dad has forgotten my birthday. I wish I could say it was the first time. Well, maybe not. I don’t know. It was last Wednesday. Oh well. He must have been too busy, right? I mean, what other reason could you give? Fuck. It’s strange to think that I am 26 years old now, and yet I’m still the little curly haired kid who would spend his Saturday mornings in front of the living room window, looking expectantly for that certain car to pull up the driveway.

It’s unfortunate, yes, and sad, I suppose. But isn’t there a certain breaking point? Like an age restriction that suddenly prevents you from longing for your absent parent, kind of like restricting licenses after the 70th birthday? It’s like your 21st birthday, in a way, this Long No More day. One day you wake up, and even though you don’t feel all that different, you’re entitled to a newly opened space in your life, regardless of if you take advantage of it or not.

That’s what I want. I want to wake up one day and not have my stomach balled up into my sternum. Is that too much to ask? Maybe it’s my fault, I don’t know. Do other people go through this? Are they longing like I am? Hoping? Yearning? Or have they simply shrugged, sighed, and moved on? Is that possible?

I’ve tried to do that; pretend that he no longer exists and move through my life’s motions as I normally would, a falsified happiness I try to dive into. But that rarely works. For some reason, my mindset needs something bigger, heavier; a challenge that I can engage in and emerge bloodied, tired, worked over, but in the end, triumphant. That’s probably my Y chromosome talking.

The irony is not lost on me.