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I won’t say that I’ve completely abandoned the practice of watching network TV.
I will say that I can see the finish line though.
There are two different reasons for this.
I’ve been reading more in recent years, and the bulk of the content has been focused in non-fiction. The result of that effort has been integral to the retention of IQ points which would otherwise jump ship if I were to absorb the offerings the major and minor networks have to offer in a vast array of entertainment, news, and sports.
The other reason is even more simple than that.
There’s nothing good on TV.
For that short period of time before bedtime every night that I do turn on the TV, I’m usually watching reruns of something that used to be on the networks that was good enough to keep my limited attention span, while at the same time avoiding the creation of insults to my intelligence.
There was a time not too long ago when I suggested that the chaos of 2020 was brought upon us as a “universal rebuke of shitty story telling“. The interesting thing about that assessment is that the post in question is somewhat hidden on the front page of this site, and has generated the highest per-post hits this year alone. I’m pretty sure the reason for the popularity of that post is because the subject matter spoke to a cultural phenomenon which was taking place at the time I wrote it, and mentioned another one from a previous television event.
None the less, I’m not really here today to trash network TV.
The content, or whatever they hell that is being pushed by the networks is doing a good enough job trashing itself without the assistance of my verbal brilliance.
Instead, I’m going to talk about some of the network TV I’ve watched lately.
To be more specific, I’m talking about the coverage of the swimming events at the Olympics.
[Insert schadenfreude-laden comments about unpatriotically woke athletes in other sports whose bullshit attitudes led to their failure to live up to their full potential this time around].
For those of you not in the know, I experimented with several sports in my youth, however I spent more time between the ages of 9 and 15 on a swim team.
All these years later, that’s about the only sport I’ve made it a point to watch during the Olympics.
Plain, clear, and simple, swimming has changed since the days when I was sporting a chlorine bleached mullet.
The starts are different.
Back then, for strokes with forward motion, we stood on the starting block with our feet together.
Nowadays, the blocks have been reconfigured so that the kids put one foot behind them as if they were running a foot race.
The turns are different.
Back then, swimming backstroke meant that we had to execute a breakdancing move whenever we hit the wall and had to turn around.
Man alive that was boring.
Last week when I started writing all of that stuff about the state of affairs in the world of competitive swimming, I got side tracked with something else and walked away from it. I ran across it this morning, and can muster no desire whatsoever to finish it.
Swimming has changed and television has jumped the shark.
Big deal.
Let’s move on.
If you go look on the shelf in the kitchen behind the lard, or in the garage next to where you charge all of the batteries for your lawn toolery, or in a drawer in the dresser, or any other innocuous location in your abode where you can hide something in relatively plain sight, you’re bound to locate a vessel with a whole bunch of spare change.
In the vessel, you have a vast array of coinage.
There’s a few half dollars in there from the old days.
You have some dollar coins that feature Susan B. Anthony and Sacagawea.
The quarters vary. You have one or two which celebrate the bicentennial of 1976. You have a handful of them which celebrate different states in the union. Those are the extra ones that shook out after you filled up your state quarter display book a few times over. There are also plenty of quarters in there with the traditional eagle, and they range in age.
The nickels differ, but not as much as the quarters. Some of them feature a profile of Thomas Jefferson, whereas the newer ones show his full face.
You have several different types of pennies in there which feature monuments, shields, and wheat on the back side.
Over the years you’ve collected those coins, other items masquerading as currency have made their way into that vessel which you hide in plain sight. There are tokens from the car wash, the arcade, and the batting cages. A slug or two reside in the pile as well.
Don’t forget the shitload of dimes.
Consider the fact that each of those coins has its own story and its own outlook on life.
The grizzled old quarters with the worn down edges look down their collective noses at the newer ones, and the different state quarters maintain rivalries with each other. The older nickels seem a little heavier than the newer ones. The pennies do too.
Susan B. and Saca G. aren’t really on good terms with each other, even though they both share a common enemy in the quarters.
All of those coins in that vessel are of the thought that they’re worth more than their counterparts for a multitude of reasons. They were made in a better mint. They’re shinier. Their composition is unique. They’ve weathered the ages. At one point they were shuffled through the hands of some notable figure like Steve Buscemi, Scarlett Johansson, or Slim Pickins.
They all consider the others in their own denomination as unworthy if the differ in the slightest, and don’t really regard the other coins in any sort of positive light either.
They have machines at banks and various grocery stores which will sort out and count all of that coinage for you nowadays.
On the occasion that one were to abscond with that vessel hidden behind the lard and dump it into one of those counting machines, the results would be quite clear.
The slugs and tokens would be rejected. So would the Canadian quarter which slipped in there a few months ago.
The pennies, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn one cent each.
The nickels, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn five cents each.
The dimes, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn ten cents each.
The quarters, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn twenty five cents each.
The half dollars, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn fifty cents each.
The dollar coins, no matter how old and no matter what design, would earn one dollar each.
In the end, all of those coins which apply a specific set of standards to their own kind and to others will be off the mark and subject to different expectations which aren’t so pedantic.
I guess this brings us back to the point I was going to make about competitive swimming when I started this post.
The key to executing a turn, irregardlessly of the way you do it, is to exhale heavily through your nose in the process, lest you get a bunch of chlorinated water up in there.
