The One-Eyed Monster in my Living Room

The One-Eyed Monster in my Living Room

There is a monster in my living room. And not the Sesame Street/Grover/happy ending children’s story where the monster only turns out to be Grover. (Possibly one of the funniest Sesame Street spawned books in a glut of them that came out in the early ‘70s. If you don’t know the story, check it out here - although I’ve already ruined the ending for you. Sorry.)

No, I mean an honest-to-God, no-shit monster.

The monster in my living room is right out of an Ishirô Honda flick. A bulbous, glassy eye that dances with seeming intelligence as I return its dispassionate stare with something that borders on familial affection.

The monster in my living room is, of course, my television.

I realized the other day that my TV was a brain-draining monster because I was watching a program that I detest. Of course this leads to the question, why didn’t I turn the channel? Well, duh… there was nothing else on.

Think about that for a moment. I watched a show that I hated rather than turn the TV off and get something productive accomplished – like use my newly earned creative writing degree.

That’s when I realized I might have a problem. So I do what every other American does, I start looking for someone to blame. There is probably enough blame to go around. To quote Homer Simpson, “Television! Teacher, mother, secret lover.” but in the end, it is really my own fault. Well, my mine and Sears.

Sears was having a 12 month no interest sale on big-eyed monsters – it seemed like a smart thing to do. Well maybe not smart, but 12 months same as cash is hard to pass up, even if it is for a one-eyed monster.

The TV was paid for some time ago; perhaps I could sell it. I’m sure there’s a market for top-of-the-line Japanese, 38-inch, one-eyed monsters. Although I’ve managed to build my entire living room around it and the room just wouldn’t feel right without it.

While the TV will stay, I have decided to quit watching it so much. “So much” means that I don’t watch during prime time and I don’t watch shows I don’t like or have already seen. Pretty much I’m only watching the news. Unfortunately, in this day and age of 24-hour news channels, it is still possible to veg-out in front of the news, so I have to limit my news watching to no more than an hour at a time.

Is there a TVA (Television Viewers Anonymous)? Perhaps the people with the ‘Blow Up Your TV’ bumper stickers are some form of TVA’ers. Maybe I’ll look into it.

Quitting TV is difficult to do. If you’ve conquered the beast, my hat is off to you. I am only on day three and I can feel the familiar tugs pulling me towards the couch. They say quitting cigarettes is as difficult as quitting heroin. I stopped smoking two years ago and this feels worse. And this is rerun season… what happens when the new season starts and the shows that I like are on?

In the words of television programming – Stay Tuned for More…

Movies, Theories, and Co-workers

Have I mentioned that I like movies? Probably, but I think it bears repeating. I like them so much that I minored in film at the University of Colorado. Of course, that was probably a mistake, because now I know too much about them to completely lose myself in them; but that is a different story for a different blog.

Anyway, last week a co-worker was extolling to me the virtues of a video he had rented the night before, Sophia Coppola's Lost in Translation. Personally, I thought the movie was wonderfully shot, but was lacking in the story department. Actually, 'lacking' may be too nice of a word. There was no plot. And at the end of the film, just when you think there might have been a point and something might come of this May/December budding romance, Coppola fails to give the audience the whispered information that the two protagonists share as they say their goodbyes.

But I'm getting off track... again.

So, not wanting to argue with this person – let's call him Joe – I said that yes, I thought the cinematography was gorgeous and well stylized. My Ebert-esque co-worker went on to pontificate on what was, in his words, the funniest scene in the movie and perhaps in the annals of filmmaking: Bill Murray on the treadmill. For those of you who have caught the film, either in the theater or on video (or even in the trailers), you probably know the scene; for those of you who may have missed it, let me give you a brief rundown – Murray's character, a fading film/TV star in America (and who says art doesn't imitate life?), goes to Japan to shoot TV commercials. Unable to sleep, Murray takes to a treadmill that goes out of control and he holds on for dear life while yelling for help and trying to keep up with the rotating tread. So, Joe has recounted to me the scene – that I've watched – and is laughing so hard, tears are starting to run down his cheeks. I chuckle politely and agree that it is indeed funny, but it's the subtext that makes the scene really interesting.

The laughter stops, tears dry up, and a quizzical look transplants the grin on Joe's face. He asks, "How do you mean?"

"Well," I paused for effect (and to buy some in order to correctly form my thoughts). "Given Sophia Coppola's age, 30-ish, she has undoubtedly been influenced by the same TV shows as others in her/our age group." Again I stopped, this time to give a contemplative look. Before Joe could form a question, I continue. "It seems to me that Coppola is trying to make a statement about the futuristic-ness of Japanese culture by doing a live action version of an opening scene in the Hanna-Barbera cartoon series The Jetsons." The look Joe gave me said that he was not making the connection. "You know, George Jetson is on the treadmill, the machine goes haywire and George calls out, 'Jane, stop this crazy thing!'" The clouds parted on Joe's face and a light came on in his eyes.

"Wow. I'd never thought about that. It makes complete sense." Joe continued on in this vein, recounting the Coppola scene and comparing it to the cartoon opening, for several minutes. "You must love that movie." I smiled and went back to what I was doing. As I walked away, Joe caught someone else in his one man Translation discussion group; this time, peppering his story with the Jetsons reference.

I didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't a love of the movie that brought me to that conclusion. It was 18 hours of film theory classes.