I Feel Like I've Been Jacked Around

Two ground breaking TV shows ended this week. Lost and 24. Many positive things have already been written about these shows but I am not going to be another gushing fanboy. What I am concerned with here are the messages these two shows left with us. And why I disagree.

I'll bet Jack Bauer wishes he had ten more minutes in his most recent 24 hour day... so that he could wake up in Bobby Ewing's shower (Dallas)... or wake up with Susanne Pleshette (Newhart)... or find out he was a part of an autistic child's snow globe daydream (Saint Elsewhere).

Is it possible for an entire season to jump the shark (Happy Days)?

The season painfully ground to a halt in pursuit of an ephemeral and mis-guided peace treaty that never caught any traction with the viewers. Who cares if a liberal president is disgraced through their own corrupt machinations? We can get that on the 20 minute news cycle.

Nor does it matter if the president did the right thing in the end. In her position as the leader of the free world she should have been doing the right thing step by step. Her only reason for coming to her senses was that she got caught... and that Jack shamed her into it.

Then we were able to witness the First Bitch of an imaginary mid-east country transform herself from an unreasonable shrew into an Arab Mother Theresa while her daughter goes from selling out her father and country in order to sleep with a guy to becoming a super-patriot of her country.

Apparently, these three women prove that it doesn't matter how venal or corrupt they are if they think the means justifies the end.

Then we were supposed to believe that Chloe, Jack's biggest cheer leader, started the day out as a temp brought in to help CTU and was made Director of the agency before the end of the day.

I wrote a blog several years ago that was called "The Women of 24". I still stand by my premise that, if you eliminated all the time wasted in the sub-plots involving all of the wrong thinking women in the show, it would have been called 3 or maybe 4 at tops.

In the end of 24, Jack found a kind of redemption or vindication and we were left with another blurring of the lines between the good guys and the bad guys. The president ordered Jack freed but sent him on the run, out of the country, for his life. Meanwhile, all of the bad guys kept getting full presidential pardons. She couldn't have done that for Jack? At the end of the day, apparently, the message we're supposed to take from the show was that the "good guys" can kill, maim and lie as long as they are better than the really bad "bad guys".

If, in the real world, our American president and hierarchy were this corrupt and self-serving then there is no hope for... O, never mind. We already have one of thOse.




Which brings me to Lost.

It turns out that all 6 seasons were about the other Jack working out his personal redemption before he died shortly after the plane crash in the first episode. We know this because the final scenes, after Jack stumbles out of the bamboo and dies, were of the wreckage strewn beach devoid of people when, at that point in the pilot, the survivors were wandering all over the beach.

Which is what the writers denied was going on for six years. But I guess if they had admitted to it in the beginning nobody would have tuned in nor would they have been able to waste all of that (our) time building up to the cheesy Twilight Zone ending.

(This might explain, however, how Hurley never lost any weight stranded on a desert Island.)

I know everyone got all gushy at the final episode's hopeful message of personal redemption. The problem with this premise is that, like all other liberal, feel-good theologies, it is nonsense.

If we don't, through our faith, good deeds and relationships, work out our redemption throughout the course of our lives - it is too late after the plane crashes.

The flaw in religions that deny a specific God, offer easy gimmicks for salvation and that do not teach a punishment for evil, is that the seekers gain a false sense of hope and security that will not serve them well in the end. Mankind is not well served by TV shows and a culture that denies these things.

We need to be taught, and believe, that there is a very specific God who requires our faith and commitment to Him and that there is good and evil in this world that demands of us to choose. This is the true test of righteousness. When we choose. People who deny this are unwilling to face up to the responsibility and consequences of their own actions and choices. Unfortunately, they are making their choice in their denial.

That would have been a better message... and ending.

So much for ground breaking TV.

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The Mobius Trip (part 2)

CONTINUED FROM The Mobius Trip (part 1)

...Just in front of the street signs was another signpost. Atop that post, adorned with Kiwanis and American Legion insignias, was a sign that read:

Welcome to Topton.

I felt a premonitory chill run through me and the Blond Bombshell found my hand in the dark and squeezed tightly...




I let the car drift forward a little, seeing if it knew where to go. After a moment I figured I should decide. Since this all started by not taking a left, I chose left. For good luck. As I drifted down Haas to the next intersection, the Blond Bombshell spotted some headlights about three blocks in the distance. "Look!" she shouted.

"What?"

"There's a car!" she pointed excitedly.

"Wow." I replied. "And there's a truck." I said pointing to a parked vehicle.

She wasn't amused. "I have to pee." she said flatly.

"Oh... well then... I don't think that car can help." I answered. "Let me try to find an all night gas station."

I turned right on a residential street. Few lights were on. I was going towards where I remembered the illumination was, from the trip in. Hopefully, the downtown area. Suddenly I heard a deep throated rumble behind me and was blinded by my rear view mirror. A huge engine revved menacingly, headlights turning the interior of the car white. Bleaching the color from everything.

"What the..." I began as I turned in the seat, my seat belt holding my left shoulder in place. As I turned back to fuss with that, the vehicle behind us roared again and shot around us in a squeal of tires and a cloud of blue smoke. All I saw was a squat, black, boxy sedan, flames spewing from the tail pipes as it accelerated towards downtown.

"Let's see where this street goes." I suggested making a sudden right.

"I don't have to pee any more." she informed me in a small voice.

Eventually I found my way back to the intersection of Centre and Haas. Uncharacteristically, I said, "I think we're lost. Let's just back track." and I headed out of town the way we had come in, the industrial plant now on my left.

After about two or three miles I said, "I think we turned left to get onto this road so we need to make a right up here, somewhere."

"Uh, huh." she replied, sulking. I began calculating how much more booze it would take to salvage this evening. It was 12:28 and the bars stopped serving at 1:00. We had to get un-lost. Fast.

I saw a road teeing off to the right and said, "I think this is it." Slowing down to make the turn, I cracked my window a little to get some night air and heard a powerful engine revving in the distance. I quickly pushed the button to close it again.

We continued on this road for several more miles when we spotted a smudge of light on the horizon, in the near distance. As we approached I commented, "Wow. All these towns look the same at night. That's just the way Topton looked coming into town."

When we got a little closer, the resemblance increased. Suddenly we were passing the industrial plant on our right and I let the car slow down and stop at the intersection of Centre Street and Haas. The railroad tracks were on our left.

"How the hell did you manage that?" she demanded.

"I dunno." I answered slowly, clearly and utterly dumbfounded. "I made one right turn. I was headed out of town, made one right turn and we are back here on the same road we left by. It just isn't possible."

"And yet, here we are!"

I looked at her, thinking how unfair all this was to me.

I looked to my left, up Haas, and saw a fiery glow crossing an intersection about four blocks away. "Let's go." I said, spinning the steering wheel to the left, making a U-turn onto the berm next to the railroad tracks. I headed back out of the town of Topton again.

This time I was determined to find out how the hell I got turned around. I didn't tell the Blond Bombshell what I was doing but I had to know how a single right hand turn brought me back onto the original road, heading the opposite direction. I mean, everybody knows that two wrongs don't make a right but three left do.

So I headed back past the industrial plant on my left and into the Topton countryside. A little over two miles out I spotted the right hand turn and began slowing down.

"What are you doing?" she asked from the dark.

"Uh... trying to get out of here?"

"This is the same road we turned on last time. You can't keep making the same mistake until you get the result you want. It will always be wrong."

"Actually my Uncle Ray married my Aunt Ruthie three times and they are quite happy now." I argued.

"Honestly, Johnny, let's just go straight."

"I'm sorry. I have to do this. If I can't figure out how one right hand turn takes me back to where I started it'll drive me nuts."

She sat in the dark, her porcelain features illuminated by the dash lights, her back against the passenger door. Her long blond hair glowing goldenly in the moonlight. After a moment she said, "Yeah, me too. Go for it." That is why I loved her so much.

So I turned right onto the side road and we both watched the countryside and the farm houses. We paid attention to the curves in the road. Eventually we saw some light on the horizon. I slowed the car a little and said, "Uh, oh."

About a mile later we passed the industrial plant on our right and coasted to a halt at the intersection of Centre and Haas. "No fucking way!" we both said simultaneously.

I opened my door and stepped out onto the pavement. There was a slight breeze blowing and I thought I smelled something like ozone in the air. Possibly a hint of sulfur. I looked back towards the industrial plant and wondered what they did in there. Possibly quantum physics? Maybe a quantum janitor had bumped into the holographic universe projector with his mop and we were stuck in a sliver of time? Maybe Rod Serling was having a wet dream? Who knew?

All I knew was it was time to leave. I saw a squat shape at the far end of Centre Street. Heard the throaty rumble of a modified engine and the burble of straight pipes. I pictured a boot clad foot pressing the accelerator as the beast roared to life. Headlights came on and blinded me despite the distance. Tires squealed and the lights shot towards me.

I jumped into the driver's seat and the Blond Bombshell shouted, "Go! Go! Go!"

I spun the wheel again, my own tires screeching as they found purchase and propelled the car in another U-turn. Spinning and fishtailing on and off of the berm next to the railroad tracks. We passed the industrial plant, now on our left, as we exited Topton for the last time. The lights behind us were still gaining rapidly.

As I shot away from town I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the fiery lights skid to a halt at the intersection of Centre and Haas. Just inside the WELCOME TO TOPTON sign. Then I rounded a curve and it was gone.

This time we did not make the right hand turn. We continued straight and eventually came to Route 222. We knew where we were from there. It was 12:57 and I had just about given up on keeping the Blond Bombshell's buzz going. Surprisingly, she put her head on my shoulder and her hand on my upper arm. "That was pretty cool back there." she whispered.

Cool, I thought.

Later, in the light of day, I tried to find Topton. I drove the roads, looked at maps and asked the locals about the town. No one has ever heard of it. But the thing I cannot shake is that black car, stuck in some crazy space/time continuum, roaring endlessly up and down the streets of a forever sleeping Topton. Searching for a way out.

I guess we got lucky that night. And then again later, too.

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The Mobius Trip (part 1)

I was out club hopping with one of the Blond Bombshells the other night when something weird happened. I don't mean weird as in having a Blond Bombshell to hang out with. I mean weird as in voice-over-after-the-scene weird.

We had spent part of the evening seeing Sara Ayers at The Pub on Main and then migrated to The Summit Bar@Grill to listen to EFB. Admittedly, there were a few drinks involved. But blaming what happened later on the drinks would be like blaming venereal disease on having sex. I mean, there's not always a one-to-one correlation. Is there?

Anyway, when we left The Summit we should have. Turned left that is. What we did was discuss it and, being with a date with whom I was willing to test both above theories, I took her advice and turned right. That was the last right thing I did.

Almost immediately she said, "I don't recognize this road."

Having never been on the road myself, but being a guy, I pretended to. "We're O.K." I said. "I think we passed that barn coming in." This is usually a safe gambit because all barns look alike and blonds aren't notorious for observing things outside their personal space.

"No we didn't," she replied. "that barn has an earthen ramp and the one we passed earlier tonight was wooden."

"I think you are mistaken." I muttered. "Our turn off is just ahead."

Another thing you need to know about guys is that we will defend to the point of absurdity a course of action, once we have committed to it. Even if it wasn't our idea in the first place and even if we didn't originally agree with it at the time. I think this is why they send men to war.

Women, on the other hand, are willing to look around an unfamiliar place, admit they are lost, talk to five perfect strangers, take their stupid advice, and come home with three pair of shoes. Then tell you about the quaint little village they found. Yeah, right.

So we continued forward in the dark, the lights from an occasional farm house our only markers in the night. "Johnny, I don't like this. I have no idea where we are." she said with a tremulous voice.

I glanced over to see if the booze was wearing off yet and decided I was still safe. "How lost can we be?" I tried to reassure her. "We are less than ten minutes from where we were and at least twenty minutes from Deliverance lost. Besides, that was in a whole 'nother state."

"What was?"

"Deliverance. Ned Beatty? Burt Reynolds? The banjos?" I silently shook my head in the dark and lamented the loss of women my age. I wondered where they all went? Were they hanging out with guys twenty years older than them? And how far could that go before all that was left was a bunch of little old ladies bitching about the men they had known?... Oh wait... Aunt Nellie. That's where she came from!

"Johnny?"

"Huh?" The car had drifted towards the berm. A piece of paper or an old shirt fluttered in the short distance then whipped past the passenger side window as we passed it. I involuntarily yanked the wheel to the left, over-corrected, felt the rear end begin to drift and downshifted, the tires grabbing at macadam and loose gravel, and finally lurched forward. Once the car straightened out I slowed down again, pretending I had meant to do that.

"Nice driving, Slick" she mumbled from the dark. "Do you know where we are yet?"

"Why get all hung up on details?" I asked.

Up ahead we could see the lights of a small town illuminating the horizon. I glanced at the clock on the dash and saw it was 12:17 in the morning. "Maybe there's a 7-Eleven or a Dunkin' Donuts open? We could ask for directions." By we I meant her. Everybody knows guys don't ask for directions. They give them. Then I began hoping there was a man working. Otherwise we would end up with three pair of shoes.

As we came into town we passed some kind of industrial plant on the right of the road before approaching an intersection parallel to some railroad tracks on our left. I peered ahead, trying to read the road signs in the car's headlights. "It looks like we are on Centre Street and the cross road is Haas."

"Good." she said. "Let's leave now."

"I'm trying to." I answered a little too sharply. Geeze, what a buzz kill.

Just in front of the street signs was another signpost. Atop that post, adorned with Kiwanis and American Legion insignias, was a sign that read:

Welcome to Topton.

I felt a premonitory chill run through me and the Blond Bombshell found my hand in the dark and squeezed tightly...



TO BE CONTINUED


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The Winter of Our Discontent

Well, this is the time of year when we all pause to reflect. To think about the things that have happened during the past year and to hope for better things in the coming one.

A time of self examination. And a time to assess the world around us. A time to raise our heads above the niches we have carved for ourselves and see what else is going on in the world. A time of quiet contemplation. A time to reconnect with our loved ones.

It is Winter Holiday TV Hiatus time.

A time when none of our regular TV shows are on. A time when networks burn off the loser shows that have been yanked during the regular season. A time of Holiday Specials that were lame-o when we first saw them 35 years ago.

A time of egg-nog, fruit cake and Aunt Martha. Knitted sweaters, neck ties and cheap perfume. But, mostly, nothing on TV. Why do you think the suicide rate is so high around the holidays? Karl Marx called religion "the opiate of the masses." Well, TV is the new opiate and people need their fix. With nothing on from December 18 until January 8, what else is left for these lonely people?

We have lost all of our communication skills. We have disconnected from society. We have dutifully been pulled into an intellectual stupor caused by bombastic advertising and mind numbingly stupid reality shows.

And now, they drop us cold-turkey. Are we just supposed to walk around like everything is normal and right with the world? Well, it isn't! And it won't be until Jack Bauer is back for another day. Until the gangs from Lost and Heroes return to suck us into their continuing stories that never resolve anything.

So take this time to reflect; to contemplate where your favorite shows have been and where you hope them to go. Try to avoid eye contact with visiting relatives and act like you care about that new bathrobe. But on these long, silent nights when our souls yearn for anything to watch, try not to think too hard about the gas oven or that bottle of sleeping pills.

Your friends will return. It will get better. And until then -- there is always Blockbuster.

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ABC Loses Last Lost

Personally, I'm getting a little sick of the TV show Lost.

Last year they would show two or three new episodes and then a repeat. Or they would be off for four weeks then show a recap clip episode to catch you up. Then back to maybe three new ones and another break. And on, and on, and on.

This year they have listened to the fans. They have shown six episodes and are now taking a twelve week break while they show some other series and then they are coming back with sixteen weeks of new episodes. In the mean time, they jerk us around for three months with a cliff hanger episode to keep us wanting more.

Then ABC acts like they are having to make tough decisions on how to present their show. They say they have a 35 week season and only 22 episodes. What to do? What to do? So their great plan to eliminate endless repeats is to take a twelve week break in the middle of the season?

All they are trying to do is capitalize on a so-called hot time period to introduce another lame-o series to the schmucks who have been programmed to turn the TV on at 9:00 Wednesday nights.

If they really cared about their viewers and the fans of Lost they would run 22 episodes in a row, like 24 does. Then run their wannabe program for twelve weeks either before or after the Lost season.

TV programmers are gutless, drones in empty suits who could not care less about what is best for a show or it's fans. And that is why their office has a revolving door and why they are losing in the ratings to Criminal Minds.

We are starting a new ratings system here at Escape Velocity's ivory tower. It is called Blogboogers. And the more you get the worse you are. An example would be:

Tom Cruise -- ***** Blogboogers (out of ****)

So, in the spirit of fair play, and in light of the medication I'm on, and Kate does have a sweet ass, I am giving Lost -- *** Bloogboogers (out of ****).

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