I hope Bush gives the green light for war. I pray every day that the Americans steamroll Saddam and get the hell out of Iraq real quick. My fragile Canadian identity, and yours, virtually depends on it.
Turn on your TV during prime time viewing and you’ll see why. Deciding what to watch, you’ll invariably be caught between some brainwashing propaganda and some brainwashing cultural nationalism. Sort of like being caught between a rock and a hard place, except instead of getting sand in your pants you’ll be rapidly losing your grip on reality. Every night, I flip between numbing war rhetoric and any number of compellingly insidious and moronic “reality” television shows. As I feel myself getting dumber, I can’t help but wonder if, in some sick conspiratorial twist, the two are related.
Survivor, Joe Millionaire, Married by America, American Idol, All American Girl—while these shows started off innocently enough, as larks and romps through the wilderness, they have now become fixtures in our pop-culture consciousness. Reality television shows are popular, with ridiculously stratospheric ratings. We all watch them, but afterwards we feel a little dirty—like we’ve just gorged ourselves on deep-fried cheese—something we know isn’t good for us but it’s sitting there on the buffet and we just can’t refuse. But why?
Simple. These shows give us, in shiny packages of judicious editing, the American dream. Every week, Joe/Jane Schmo is rescued from his or her pit of 9-to-5 drudgery with the gleaming drizzle of TV spots and a million dollars. In this star-studded continent, who doesn’t want to be famous? Who doesn’t want to see their face splashed across the cover of magazines and tabloids? Who doesn’t want to find true love in front of millions of viewers? And to top it all off, who doesn’t want lots of cash—even if it means sacrificing your pride and family’s integrity? Who, goddamn-it, who? And I don’t want to hear from the pipsqueak in the back who “honestly doesn’t want money or fame.” Pack your bags and head home, sucker, because if you haven’t heard, it’s all about the Benjamins.
These shows bolster the American psyche by showcasing the average American dolt on the small screen. But with war on the horizon, and terrorist attacks becoming a homeland threat, the rash of reality television takes on a whole new meaning. Are these shows part of an orchestrated effort to “big-up” America for Americans and by Americans now that America is flexing its muscles internationally? Even though buildings are collapsing, the economy has been shit, and new enemies are cropping up every day, the American dream is alive and well… on television. Who cares about the war—if Evan Marriott can go from steroid-popping construction worker to media darling and wealthy chick magnet in five short episodes, then why can’t you…or I?
It’s like sports for women and everyone else. We can take an active interest in the stats and game tactics of these players, conveniently forget about the bigger picture, and indulge in our wildest fantasies. As Bush rides roughshod over his oil fields and Chrétien blabbers on, we’ve abandoned any hope of controlling our political environment. So why not brandish some of that American might to control the future of the next pop star, or the nuptial arrangements of a pitiful few?
As Americans flock to the virtual polling booths, we, the perennially confused Canadians, remain stuck in the long shadow of America media domination. I can watch Simon, Paula and Randy banter and quip about the next pop-star to be, but I don’t get to text my vote with the rest of America. And poor stupid Stephen is going to get a wife with suicidal tendencies because I live north of the 49th. I’m losing my grip, but I can’t stop watching. It’s like being invited to the party but going home without a loot bag. So let’s get a move on, Georgie—all this deep-fried cheese is really blocking me up.
