Hating on the magic box

I don’t watch a lot of TV. Not because I’m a television snob who says things like, “Oh, the book was so much better,” but because I think a lot of TV is crap.

I think many of us are agreed on this, that good television is sandwiched between hours and hours of junk. We don’t think television is a consistently high quality form of entertainment but where we differ is how to handle that. For me, the choice is simple. Avoid it as much as possible, and if a good show comes out, catch it on DVD in a few years. I can live that, with not being in the first wave of people to discover it.

There are other people who cannot practice this abstinence policy, and I should be okay with that. But they always have all these complaints with their palms up in submission and a look on their faces like, “We know it’s bad, but what can we do,” as if they are trapped in the path of a tidal wave with two broken legs.

They act like their rights have been violated. “Oh, I can believe it. They are showing this.” Or “Oh no, not two more hours of this.”
Well, two more hours, unless you do something outrageous like change the channel. Poor you, you sound like a Guantanamo detainee being forced to watch Sesame Street, instead of what you are, a grown-up sitting with food in your lap in your own home with the remote control (and the ability to decide your own fates) mere inches away.

Then they act annoyed that reality TV show stars are so popular.
Why are you surprised? You watched the show. If you go to a restaurant and eat the food there even though it is bad, and you continue to go back there regularly to eat, all the while complaining that the food is bad. You call your friends and tell them they absolutely have to eat there because the food is so terrible they must try it. Then you say, “I can’t believe they haven’t gone out of business yet” as if that is the real mystery.

Let us get Sherlock Holmes on this.

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