Me--thrilled to be a spectator
When I was in college, a boy who will remain nameless (a.k.a. the Italian Stallion) heartfully proclaimed me un-American because I had never watched Star Wars. He even went so far as to say I was communist! Everyone I met those days seemed scandalized by the fact that I had not, would not, watch these films. They just wouldn't take my word for it--I detest(ed) science fiction. It is based on the fantasies of geeks with limited imaginations--ones who base their projections of futuristic people on what they know of life today. Great. What else is there to go on, right?
Urggghhh. There's enough going on in reality to occupy me, thank you very much, like which serial killer is on the loose and coming for me, or, back then, whether or not Bill Clinton did, indeed, have sexual relations with that woman. There was the Columbine tragedy to watch on CNN, over and over, and later, there was the whole 9-11 trauma that kept me, like almost everyone I know, locked into their t.v.s like air strike missiles. Who has time for such old and lame movies like Star Wars?
I did. I somehow knew I wouldn't make it through college without losing my innocence, and my instincts were golden. As soon as my friends discovered that I had grown up virtually without t.v. and knew nothing about popular culture (and recovered from the shock), they gleefully indoctrinated me. Every evening was an opportunity for furthering my education (and for drinking, but we won't go there). The Princess Bride, E.T., The Dark Crystal, The Neverending Story, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, those freaking Ape movies that I am surprised to say I enjoyed, some movie about a girl who saw faeries, Stand by Me, Ferris Bueler's Day Off, Dazed and Confused, My Girl, Karate Kid, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (the old ones), Rainbow Bright, Punky Brewster, 90210, Saved by the Bell, Melrose Place, X-Files, Friends---I could go on and on. They educated me but good. However, I still refused, like a kid with teeth firmly clenched shut against the looming spoonful of Castor oil, to watch Star Wars! Didn't they know I was a pacifist?
Like most stories go, I met a hot guy (at least, I thought so, but my friends tell me he is dorky). We dated (a whole month), and when we broke up, I was grasping at straws to keep him at my side. After all, how could I marry the guy if we weren't dating, right? Being the sly female creature that I am, I said, "If we break up, how can I ever watch Star Wars? I don't have a t.v.!" Being the psychology major that he was, he just looked at me and shook his head, refusing to be "got." The next day, his t.v. was in my apartment, as was his stack of Star Wars VHS tapes. But no him. I nursed my bleeding, broken heart watching those stupid movies, and by the end of the third one, I had gotten past the horrible staging, setting, costuming, camera work, and dialogue to the heart of the matter, to the story. To the love story. To the humanity of it all. I caved. And that was the beginning of the end for me.
After that, you couldn't get me out of in front of the t.v. (unless you bribed me with the prospect of hiking or live music). Instead of painting and writing and reading and otherwise being neurotic, I was hooked up to my entertaining life support, getting brain deader by the minute (I think Ray Bradbury had it right). Jerry Springer, South Park, the Simpsons, dumb late night shows and stupid people on Comedy Central....the programing was obviously so riveting and vital that 8 years later, I just can not recall. Is that a proper defense?
Then I met my husband. Actually, I already knew him. We were good friends. Let me rephrase. Then my husband and I decided to kiss at a party one night in Spartanburg where our friends' band was playing and where he was supposed to be running lights. And where I was kinda sorts with the drummer. And where his friend (the drummer's) Boner took revenge and tackled me into a brier bush. Ah, those were the days....My husband is a Star Wars geek. Are there names for those, like the Trekkies have? So it is a good thing that horrible guy broke my heart all those years ago because I would never have understood his desire to watch these movies all the time and to own and play with light sabres. It's a good thing we had a kid. A boy.
Which brings me to my point. Now I am a communist because I hate football. I wouldn't go as far to say I hate it: I've just never enjoyed it. Heck--I had a Superbowl party last year. Aren't those commercials great? I've always been a soccer girl myself. It's one or the other, right? Well, I got free tickets to a Panther's game last night, so we went. WOW! Had I known that so many hot guys went to those games, I woulda been in long ago. Before the husband. Geez. Man legs, abs, sweat, guttural grunts, yum yum! Oh, and the team--cute little butts and all that touching. Who cares about the game? I think they should hire me to do girl commentary at these events. I'm hilarious. Like when one guy fell down, I said, "Someone should help him up," didn't I Star-Wars loving honey? I never could figure out which side was ours because they kept switching goals, but I do know that first downs are good. I think I could definitely do more of this football game thing. It was breathtaking to walk into the stadium so jammed full of people, lit up like it was day. I was momentarily catapulted back to the days of junior high cheerleading and the time I spent with footballs.......sigh. Memory lane. Two high school kids did offer to beat up the people who were in our seats, and they were trying to decide if they should skip Physics today (I'll never tell you my response!).
Apple pie--I just threw that in there. Who doesn't like it? A la mode. Hot. All American Pie style. Those guys almost (almost) ruined it for me. It's not my favorite, but if you handed me an apple pie, I'd eat it.
A poem written back when I was still on my high-horse about TV:
Television--my generation’s “Howl”
A retarded one month old chimpanzee could create better graphics.So what if they were revolutionary for their time? They are unstimulating now, in my time--on my time! I just can not suspend my disbelief. Yeah, I went there.
I did. I somehow knew I wouldn't make it through college without losing my innocence, and my instincts were golden. As soon as my friends discovered that I had grown up virtually without t.v. and knew nothing about popular culture (and recovered from the shock), they gleefully indoctrinated me. Every evening was an opportunity for furthering my education (and for drinking, but we won't go there). The Princess Bride, E.T., The Dark Crystal, The Neverending Story, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, those freaking Ape movies that I am surprised to say I enjoyed, some movie about a girl who saw faeries, Stand by Me, Ferris Bueler's Day Off, Dazed and Confused, My Girl, Karate Kid, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (the old ones), Rainbow Bright, Punky Brewster, 90210, Saved by the Bell, Melrose Place, X-Files, Friends---I could go on and on. They educated me but good. However, I still refused, like a kid with teeth firmly clenched shut against the looming spoonful of Castor oil, to watch Star Wars! Didn't they know I was a pacifist?
Wasn't enough that we had wars on Earth? Did they have to continue in outer
space?
Like most stories go, I met a hot guy (at least, I thought so, but my friends tell me he is dorky). We dated (a whole month), and when we broke up, I was grasping at straws to keep him at my side. After all, how could I marry the guy if we weren't dating, right? Being the sly female creature that I am, I said, "If we break up, how can I ever watch Star Wars? I don't have a t.v.!" Being the psychology major that he was, he just looked at me and shook his head, refusing to be "got." The next day, his t.v. was in my apartment, as was his stack of Star Wars VHS tapes. But no him. I nursed my bleeding, broken heart watching those stupid movies, and by the end of the third one, I had gotten past the horrible staging, setting, costuming, camera work, and dialogue to the heart of the matter, to the story. To the love story. To the humanity of it all. I caved. And that was the beginning of the end for me.
After that, you couldn't get me out of in front of the t.v. (unless you bribed me with the prospect of hiking or live music). Instead of painting and writing and reading and otherwise being neurotic, I was hooked up to my entertaining life support, getting brain deader by the minute (I think Ray Bradbury had it right). Jerry Springer, South Park, the Simpsons, dumb late night shows and stupid people on Comedy Central....the programing was obviously so riveting and vital that 8 years later, I just can not recall. Is that a proper defense?
Then I met my husband. Actually, I already knew him. We were good friends. Let me rephrase. Then my husband and I decided to kiss at a party one night in Spartanburg where our friends' band was playing and where he was supposed to be running lights. And where I was kinda sorts with the drummer. And where his friend (the drummer's) Boner took revenge and tackled me into a brier bush. Ah, those were the days....My husband is a Star Wars geek. Are there names for those, like the Trekkies have? So it is a good thing that horrible guy broke my heart all those years ago because I would never have understood his desire to watch these movies all the time and to own and play with light sabres. It's a good thing we had a kid. A boy.
Now my husband can dress up and pretend to be a Jedi without looking insane.
Which he is.
Which brings me to my point. Now I am a communist because I hate football. I wouldn't go as far to say I hate it: I've just never enjoyed it. Heck--I had a Superbowl party last year. Aren't those commercials great? I've always been a soccer girl myself. It's one or the other, right? Well, I got free tickets to a Panther's game last night, so we went. WOW! Had I known that so many hot guys went to those games, I woulda been in long ago. Before the husband. Geez. Man legs, abs, sweat, guttural grunts, yum yum! Oh, and the team--cute little butts and all that touching. Who cares about the game? I think they should hire me to do girl commentary at these events. I'm hilarious. Like when one guy fell down, I said, "Someone should help him up," didn't I Star-Wars loving honey? I never could figure out which side was ours because they kept switching goals, but I do know that first downs are good. I think I could definitely do more of this football game thing. It was breathtaking to walk into the stadium so jammed full of people, lit up like it was day. I was momentarily catapulted back to the days of junior high cheerleading and the time I spent with footballs.......sigh. Memory lane. Two high school kids did offer to beat up the people who were in our seats, and they were trying to decide if they should skip Physics today (I'll never tell you my response!).
Apple pie--I just threw that in there. Who doesn't like it? A la mode. Hot. All American Pie style. Those guys almost (almost) ruined it for me. It's not my favorite, but if you handed me an apple pie, I'd eat it.
A poem written back when I was still on my high-horse about TV:
Television--my generation’s “Howl”
I stood by as the best brains of my generation rotted,
maggot-infested mush,
roving in a frenzy through the wasteland channels at 2 a.m.
Searching for a mirror of themselves,
fat couch potatoes hunting the lost remote control,
too lazy to get up and turn the television off,
content to stare at the blue scrolling screen of the preview channel,
sat up empty-eyed,
listening to their god Jerry Springer
preach from his final thoughts soap box,
who opened their minds to South Park on Comedy Central
and saw fat guys farting & eating cheesy poofs
while the bastards killed Kenny,
who passed through life with hollow eyes
hallucinating truth and reason among the artists of TV.....
09-08-1998 Boone, NC
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