Anybody Can Do It…
Invent TV programming, that is.
Just watch TLC in the US and you’ll see a parade of freaks. It seems anything just slightly off ‘usual’ is worth documenting these days.
Little people, large families, parents who train their children to be child-porn centerfolds with tiaras. There doesn’t seem to be a limit how low this channel will go.
Somebody once explained the difference between comedy and black comedy to me. When it’s overt comedy your body goes forward, embracing the moment. It’s the opposite with black humour, your body throws back even though you are laughing. It’s an automatic response to horror or fear. I know that I’m married to someone who laughs at other’s calamities. What’s funny to him makes me embarrassed at times, especially if he’s laughing at someone else’s misfortune. Shameless. I recall long tortured moments of being teased so my empathy level is somewhat higher.
But who is watching toddlers get crowns for winking and flirting with judges? The spray tans, make up and hair pieces are gaudy and burlesque-like. The costumes include miniature versions of prom dresses -reflective of the glitzy competition. What parent has such low self esteem to allow their child to be put on display like a freak. They need to prove something and live vicariously through their children. Who are the people who hold these contests where EVERYBODY wins a prize because of they need to give them something for the hundreds of dollars spent to enter the freak show? Never mind the child’s sense of worth. They’re learning to acquire acceptance with applause based on being a trained monkey. There are people making $50 an hour to train them to be flirtatious robots. I’m completely outraged that this is a SERIES on TV. Calling all pedophiles! The former ‘learning channel’ has an hour of porn for you.
Multiple births are raised beyond a freak of nature to fodder for the freak station’s mill. Children and families are scrutinized down to the minutiae of their breakfast flakes. Who are the freaks? The family for allowing the cameras in (somehow Kate seems to get that there is something to be gained by people’s curiosity as did the Dionne family way back when in Quintupleville or whatever it was called). there is money to be made from being a freak. The difference is those who get it and those who don’t. People are unwittingly leaving themselves open for ridicule and that brings joy to people like the husband. I’m more inclined to switch the channel. With one exception. The nine year old watches Jon and Kate Plus 8 constantly because it’s always on. We can tell you the names of the kids and one day there will be a drinking game over Madies’ meltdowns. But it feels wrong and voyeuristic. Kate’s unblinking explanations in her segments with Jon show she gets it. “You want to know about Joel’s constipation? Well you’re the freak not me”, “You want us to appear on Oprah and get a bunch of free stuff for it? Sure, these kids are going to be expensive when college hits”. We’re being played because we’re told this is different, unusual. In fact, it’s monotonous and boring but it’s different so we can watch it. The programmers think it’s special so I guess we should too.
Grrr. We’re such a gullible lot. We have the power to turn the circus off. We should exercise the option. It’s all just gossip, smut and plays into our lowest form of entertainment.
I watched the baby pageant show. I needed to see how bad it was. I noticed how I was sitting after just a few minutes into the show. My arms were crossed, feet tucked in tight, my left hand was covering my mouth and my shoulders were hunched forward. I felt like I was watching a horror movie, waiting for the scary parts to be over but this horror show just kept getting worse and worse with no relief. From child to parent to blubbering grandparent it became more and more shocking. I had to keep turning away when this extremely freaky looking child who was trained to make her smile as big as her entire mouth would grit her teeth at the cameras. Her head looked huge compared to her tiny frame. Her brows were trimmed and drawn to an uncharacteristic length giving her an expression of surprised fear. Freaky. Her mother was whining about how she should have won the Grand Slam prize because she was clearly the most poised. But all I saw was a trained robot with a freaky frightened glazed look who seemed to be going through the motions for adult approval.
I felt like crying for those little souls. The death of one has not mattered in this pageant world. They can justify their existence now even more by citing ratings and viewer numbers. See? People love this stuff.
We have not evolved. There is no evolution if we are still drawn to car wrecks and pageants. We have not grown at all.
