One of the things that makes me a lousy Buddhist is that I'm not particularly big on complete silence, unless I'm reading. And as such, I leave the television on. Music doesn't work. I like it too much; I tend to pay attention. The endless drone of fuckwits trying to fill air-time, however, I can tune it right out. It's just like living with my parents again. Fuck comfort food, I need comfort noise!
TV has been my night-light of choice for many years too. I don't really sleep, so much as I pass out. If I'm in a dark, silent room, sleep just ain't happening. My thoughts will wander, and then it's only a matter of time before I'm up at the desk, working on new material.
It was more of an issue when I was in Corporate America. They kind of need you to be awake and productive, like, all the time. Jagoffs. I tend to work about 10-12 hours a day, on the average. It just happens to be during weird hours. What's your problem, fuck-o? No, I'll make sure I'm here at 9 sharp. I've got paper-clip springs to make and pointless e-mails to fire off so I can look like I'm working! Outta my way!
Anyway, so I watch a lot of television.You'd think this would make me a better TV writer, but anywho... A lot of the time, it's just white noise.
Currently, aside from the white noise thing, I use it to fuel my rage. In daily life, I've been trying to be a more accepting and forgiving person. It works about 5% of the time, but let's not split hairs right now. The point is, well, Popeye needs his spinach, and I need a multitude of things at which I can scream at the top of my lungs ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS???? So in other words, I'll cop to being completely aware of the fact that I can change the fuckin' channel.
Most of the time, out of habit, I start out watching the news. I figure if I'm going to torture myself, I might as well at least pretend to do it under the auspice of "being informed." I can't watch movies, or good TV shows. It's like music. I'll pay attention and stop writing.
Plus, the last time I skipped the morning news because I was nursing a hangover and had to get to work, some planes flew into some buildings and... you know the story. I haven't been over 50 feet from a television since 2001.
But since I'm not really paying attention to the TV, it's like...
It's complex.
So - the thing is, I watch local news. Mainly because - fuckifiknow. If I watch CNN, MSNBC or that cesspool of fuckwits over at Fox News Channel, I'm going to pay attention. Even if I don't agree with it, even if it's something I feel is bone fucking stupid and fills me with the rage with which to do another piece, it takes my eyes off the prize of finishing whateverthefuckitis that I'm supposed to be finishing in the first place. It's an ugly cycle.
Most of the time, I look the other way. More specifically, I look at my computer and the TV sounds something like:
BuzzbuzzbuzzbuzzBradPittbzzzbzzzbzzzIraqbzzzbzzzbzzz80degreesandsunnybzzzbzzzbzzz, and then, every so often...
EARTHQUAKE!!!!! EARTH FUCKIN' QUAKE!!!! RUN, YOU BASTARD SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF PIRATE WHORES!!! RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!
Today was one of those days. At this moment earthquake coverage has been going on for about three hours. I didn't feel this earthquake. Not saying it didn't happen. But I'm saying that I didn't see THREE FUCKING HOURS of coverage on the fucking Haiti earthquake - AND THAT FUCKING WAS A GODDAM CATASTROPHE!!!
Three fucking hours of droning shitheads talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking about NOTHING!!!
"Now let's go to the phones."
"Yes, Paul. This is Sally from Northridge. It was a slow, rolling motion and..."
Here's the deal: if your first impulse after a natural disaster is to call your local news outlet to report it, pull the news van over because somebody scooped ya, Walter Kronkite. This, I assure you.
Actually, you know something? If your first impulse after a natural disaster is to call your local TV news - just fucking kill yourself. Your priorities are fucked up and you don't live in a tangible reality. Those people inside the little glowing box are not your friends and/or loved ones. Yes, I know they come into your home every day...
Three fucking hours. Three. Fucking. Hours.
"Let's go to Bob Banfield in Riverside:"
[Note: a couple guys in UCR t-shirts are attempting to lift up Bob's rug.]
"I'm here at the Del Taco on University Avenue. Young man, did you feel the earthquake? How did it feel?"
"Uh, yeah. It was a slow, rolling motion..."
"If you're just tuning in, there's been an earthquake in MexiCali. This just in from Disneyland, all the rides are shut down and some people are trapped in elevators."
I've been on the Winne the Pooh ride - that would have been a mercy killing.
"On the phone, we have Richard Fader of Lancaster."
"It was a slow, rolling motion..."
And somewhere in space, Paul Moyer gnashes his teeth, curses God, and screams at his agent and producer about burying his expose of the Grecian Formula corporation: Getting Scalped.
Then they trot out Dr. Lucy, the Geology Slut, out at the Cal Tech podium.
"...it was a slow..."
"We're now getting camera phone images of some of the damage..."
CUT TO: picture of an end-cap of toilet paper spilled into the aisle of a grocery store.
"The paper. It fall off the shelf."
"We're now getting camera phone images of some of the damage..."
CUT TO: picture of an end-cap of toilet paper spilled into the aisle of a grocery store.
"The paper. It fall off the shelf."
I am now praying for the sweet release of a follow-up story on the walking clown car that is the Octo-mom. I need a good hard news story.
