The Trouble With Reality Shows

The trouble with reality show is that they bear no resemblance of reality as I know it.  Right down to and including the current hit Duck Dynasty.

As with all like it, the show is staged and the dialog written for gags.  Heck all you have to do is watch Jase's eyes as he reads from his teleprompter.  It's a hit, I think, because it so unreal.  I dug a bit deeper on patriarch Phil and found several articles that would suggest he would not qualify for father of the year.

Think about what role models Snookie and friends from Jersey Shore or any of the Kardasians are?  Do you really think they're real?  Or want your kids to think they're real?  Or want your kids to emulate any of them?

Does it take we old folks to set the trend on the right track?  I can see it now.  No, not the Floridians that were Obama boosters.  That too was staged.  But maybe our really old friends in senior communities.  Adult diapers to blue hair, walkers to oxygen masks. Depression, drool and disinfectant.  Not much of a subject for a TV show looking for ratings, but unfortunately for many too real.  Maybe it needs to be seen though.  Maybe those so inclined might not think body piercings and tatoos are so great when lip rings snag on dentures!

Oh my.  Could it get worse?  Sure.  What is real, especially if unpleasant, should never be exploited for ratings or the almighty dollar.  How do you explain then a show like My Strange Addiction that showcases a young woman who gets off on eating mattresses?

Not only does this girl have a mental problem, but also a physical one.  She obviously eats more than mattresses.  But to exploit this?  To showcase it?  The producers and advertisers are as sick as those showcased.  It isn't funny, it's pathetic.

If there is anything more so, it's how much we seem to enjoy it all.  The more bazaar the better.

 

 It's a far cry from my reality.  Mine's more the nuts and bolts type. Aging.  And all that goes along with it. Will I exploit it?  Not until the government denies me what I need to cope but then Katy bar the door!

Duck Dynesty Of A Different Sort - Or Maybe Not So Different

Back in May I wrote a post suggesting the duck should be considered the official bird of the world.  I was enchanted by the image of the iconic bath tub toy gracing harbors around the world.  Designed by Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman, it became an instant hit bringing smiles to a multitude of faces.  Don't we all need a symbol like that to remind us there can be a better world out there?

The poor duck, like most of us, has had his difficulties staying afloat. He's been deflated by typhoons and power outages and maybe even punctured by eagle talons as they perched looking for a feed. He's well traveled having been everywhere from Sydney and Sao Paulo to Amsterdam, Hong Kong and now Taiwan.  Unlike our representatives to the world, he has been an instant and consistent hit.  We used to be like that.  Where's our duck when we need him?  Not a quack, mind you, a duck.

Yesterday he was resting quietly at Keelung Port awaiting New Years activities when BANG!  He exploded!  Not the type of fireworks anticipated, that's for sure.  And way too early. While the cause, for the moment, remains unknown, rest assured it was not a terrorist attack.  Ducks don't attract that type of attention unless it's disenfranchised groups in America attacking Phil Robertson.

Just like Phil and his Duck Dynasty, the rubber ducky will rise again and again and again. Not because of corporate greed but because people like him.  He represents no threat, no animosity, no partisanship.  All he does is make people happy.  As Phil might say, "Happy, happy, happy."

So ends the year.  A Duck Dynasty of a different sort would be most welcome.  One where mean spiritedness doesn't win by attacking the beliefs of an individual, where people try to find good rather than evil and maybe even smile now and then over a uniting entity.  Like a 50' rubber ducky!

Happy New Year to all my faithful readers and thanks for coming along for the ride.

From The Sublime To The Ridiculous

There's something missing in the evolution of Barbie it would seem.  There is a wonderfully nonsensical debate going on as to whether or not there should be a plus size Barbie.

The purists say absolutely not.  I must agree to the extent that Barbie is an iconic figure in the world of children's make believe and should be left as such.

On the other hand, an argument is being made that the perfectly proportioned, coiffed and dressed Barbie is representative of all things evil in this world.  A perfectly proportioned, coiffed and dressed doll.

I wish I had some young girls around to grill.  Even if I did, however, I think they'd wonder what the heck I was talking about.  Their mothers might be another story.  After all, they are the ones who don't match up to that image of perfection so why should a doll have it to give their kids a false sense of what's really important.

Well, like what?  Character?  The intelligence to differentiate between a toy and reality? Who knows. I was beyond dolls when the Barbie trend hit but couldn't help but know of her existence and her multitude of incarnations.  None of which most little girls nor their mothers will ever achieve.  Isn't that at least part of the point?  It's play time.  Fantasy.  Imagination. Glamor.

If the Pro Pluses win, however, they really shouldn't morph her so drastically all at one time.  After all, we women don't go from point A to point Z over night.  At least I didn't.  It was a more gradual, sneaky occurrence.  Even at my worst, though, before tipping over into the official category of elderly  did I ever look quite like the proposed Barbie Plus.  I didn't have nearly as many chins and my thighs were thinner.  I also wouldn't have been caught dead dressed as my younger, more svelte counterpart.  Some things are best left alone.  Just check your mirror.

Then too, we elderly shouldn't be left out.  Gray her hair, add a few crows feet around the eyes and lighten up on the make up.  Those high heels would kill us, so lower them along with the hem line.  The inevitable varicose veins should be covered, probably best with support hose.

One thing you could add to Barbie and Barbie Plus that would probably not be out of step with the times.  Tattoos and piercings.  Other than the fact my parents would have killed me if I had gone that route, I'm glad I've passed the age of temptation.  I've enough sagging and drooping and patches of various colors without tattoos and various pieces of metal inserted through my paper thin skin adding to the problem.

Actually the Elderly Barbie might be the best of the lot.  Think about going from sex pot to the paragon of excess to the dignity of old age.  Of course we came first.  Perhaps that's why we'd be the best of the lot!

Over Too Soon ~ Back Too Soon

It all begins sometime mid-summer.  The decorations and lights begin to appear in the stores and you think, oh, please!  The intensity builds for months.  Once it had been merely weeks but no more.  By the time Christmas day actually arrives it's almost anticlimactic.

Yet I hate to let it go.  Yesterday was as near perfect as a lazy day can get.  Hub had kitchen duties though being a magnanimous soul, I did help with all the clean up.  In between, however, I got to laze in my chair, listen to Christmas music or watch schmaltzy movies on the tube.  No headlines, no real news, not even bad weather in these parts.  Nearly perfect.

Today I'm dragging my feet.  I came out to scan the headlines but wish I hadn't.  They didn't miss a beat.  More Obamacare problems, more death and destruction and man showing his inhumanity to his fellow man.  It just never stops!

It's too bad.  Yesterday I was actually in a great mood.  I even sang along to some of the music and there was no dog howling in protest. It's the only good reason for there not being a dog.  The presence of one would have changed near perfect to perfect.  No matter. At times you accept that you can't have it all and thoroughly enjoy that which you do.

Why couldn't the world stop and take a breath? The greeting in my previous post was a compilation of how different countries wish one another a Merry Christmas.  There are so many of them you realize we are not alone in this holiday though I doubt many other countries fight the same inane wars against it that we do.

But it's over.   When the radio alarm came on this morning there was no more Christmas music. Over.  Done.  All with the passing of one day.  Sigh.

I may well drag my feet this last week of the year.  Unless of course the headlines reach fever pitch and beg to be addressed.  For now, however, the mellow feeling lingers. I need to run to the store and get some eggs.  How ordinary and simple and real.

No worry though.  Building toward Christmas once again is but a few short months away - mid-summer.  How droll is that? I'll be there, out and about, and thinking, oh, please!

What A Difference A Day Makes!

Merry Christmas