This week marks my return to the little po-dunk community college I've
called "more fun than work, but not by much" for three years. With
it comes an end to the obligatory "winter break" that is common amongst
most schools (but not home-schooling. I always feel bad when thinking
about the poor saps who have their parents as teachers. How do you
play hooky?). This past winter break, I feel I made a breakthrough
in my understanding of the world around me, that I grew as a man and as
a citizen. The truth behind such grand pronouncements is another
thing entirely.
For starters, I resolved to write The Great American Novel. This
is not unique amongst young writers that they feel they must share their
innermost feelings with the public, but this was my story and that made
it better than anything yet produced. It was going to be full of
excitement: blood, war, sex, crime, passion, monkeys in human clothing
smoking cigars, international meat-smuggling plots, effete Frenchmen who
didn't know the real meaning of "hands off!," Mark Twain on acid, and a
happy ending to please the movie studios who would obviously rush to my
door with offers of adaptations as soon as I finished my masterpiece.
Note that all that is in the past tense: I didn't get a single fucking
word down on paper besides "the," and I doubt too many people would care
to read a novel that consists of a single plot.
So instead I spent my free time watching the boob tube, plopping down
on my comfy chair to take in the shenanigans of long-canceled shows now
airing strictly in syndication from early afternoon up until the reality
shows of the evening line-up took over. But I feel I gained some
valuable lessons, which I'd like to share with you, the reader:
From In the Heat of the Night, I gleamed that black-white
relations in the South are still dicey, but by the fifth season things
are getting better. Nonetheless, small Southern towns are hotbeds
for racially-motivated murders (which is funny because my small Southern
town hasn't had a real good murder for as long as I can remember).
From Matlock, I realized that if you pick up the murder weapon
you find near a freshly-murdered ex-wife/boss/best friend/archrival/business
associate/poodle, you will invariably be the person hauled into court for
the crime. However, a silver-maned country lawyer will most likely
get you off scot-free when he gets the real killer (your ex-wife/boss/best
friend/archrival/business associate/poodle groomer) to admit so in court.
From The Dukes of Hazard... well, surprisingly enough, I never
came across reruns of "Dukes," so I couldn't have gleamed any lessons them
this year. But as everyone knows from watching Barbara Bach in the
recent "reunion" movie, she's Daisy Duke in name only (god forbid she ever
tries to fit into the old cut-offs, a horrific mental picture).
I could go on (and believe me, I was tempted; that's my best material),
but suffice it to say I learned a lot, and yet not a lot, from television
over the break. Most of the time I wasn't wasting hours of my life
that I can't have back was spent reading or getting on the computer.
I found a really good article about crop dusting in "Playboy"... only fooling.
It wasn't that good of an article. But I did finally read some David
Sedaris, who is supposedly "laugh-out-loud hilarious" judging from the
promotional blurbs on the jackets of the two books I read (
Barrel Fever
and
Me Talk Pretty One Day), but I didn't find myself "in hysterics,"
"disrupting airports with manic laughter," or "wetting myself with laughter,
then rolling around in goat's blood until I finally stopped laughing."
He's good, don't get me wrong; I just can't stand those stupid blurbs you
find on books that are all right but are trumpeted as "the funniest thing
known to man!" or "I killed myself because I knew I'd never be able to
find a more enjoyable read!" Give me a break. Maybe I'm just
burned too much from the hype that made out David Lee Roth's book to be
more interesting than it ever was...
Anyway, my time on the computer was well spent... in that I usually
spent evenings searching for the elusive money shot of apes in the wild
"doing it." I never took Yahoo for prudes, but all my Google searches
turned up nothing. Also, I kept checking my Amazon profile to see
if anyone had found my reviews for "Mike Nelson's Death Rat" or "Chairman
of The Board" helpful (no to the first, yes to the second, even though
that was written in jest and I can't stand Carrot-Top). I also mastur...
I mean, reflected on my life and my missed opportunities for love.
Britney, honey, I'm sorry the marriage didn't work out, but why'd you tell
everyone it was a "joke?" Don't I mean more than that?...
Oh, well, anyway, like I said winter break is over, and I can't say
I'm sad to see it end. After all, the amount of hot babes at my college
is mindboggling...ly low, but it beats the old hags at the bookstore I
hung out in, cruising for "intellectual hotties." Perhaps I will
reflect back on this time with wonder, but I doubt it. At any rate,
I did learn one valuable lesson from another show (something about a "full
house") from my winter-break TV schedule: It's always good to hug when
the "heartwarming" music cues up. Come here, you big lug....
- Trevor
