Dr. Socks Versus The World: Episode 437
Jack-in-the-Pulpit No. II, by Georgia O’Keeffe.
Objectively superior to The Sopranos.
So yesterday I was perusing the news and a giant phosphorescent mushroom cloud of inspiration hit me. I’ll tell you what it was after I tell you what was in the news.
Two things:
Thing One: A headline saying, and I quote verbatim, “Don’t you wish the Sopranos would never end?”
Seeing as I’ve never even seen the Sopranos, my natural reaction to this rhetorical question was, “oh for chrissake, get a fucking life.”
Actually I lie: I have seen the first three minutes of one episode of the Sopranos, which was mostly just some kind of opening credits sequence. I saw those three minutes because some guy had told me that the Sopranos was the greatest thing on television, the greatest thing that had ever been on television, that it was in fact the ne plus ultra of human artistic achievement. That if you could somehow combine Mozart’s Requiem and the Venus de Milo and Shakespeare and a Hokusai woodcut and Gilgamesh and everything Georgia O’Keeffe ever painted it still wouldn’t be as good as the Sopranos, which was better than all those things put together times a billion. You have to watch it, he told me.
So I found out when the show was on and made plans to actually turn on my television and sit in front of it at the appointed hour. (I don’t normally watch TV, as my faithful readers may recall.) I turned it on, and what did I see? Nekked women with boob jobs. The entire opening sequence involved naked women with boob jobs, and I mean really naked ’cause this was HBO and the raison d’etre of HBO’s original programming department is to show naked women on TV, and these fully-naked women were being pronged by fully-dressed fat middle-aged men. The naked women looked like perfectly groomed and silicon-inflated porn stars. Their boobs bounced and their rumps bounced while the fully-dressed middle-aged ugly-ass men pronged them. Then the first scene started and it was set in a strip club, apparently, where more pornified women walked around with naked bouncing boobies while fully-dressed middle-aged ugly-ass men said things like “bada bing” to each other.
I turned off the television.
Later on the guy who’d recommended this masterpiece asked me if I’d watched the show. No, I told him; I’m not really into the whole naked-women-with-boob-jobs and porn-type sex scenes kinda thang.
“Oh,” he said, “you just have to screen that stuff out. That’s not really the point of the show.”
“Screen it out?” I asked.
“Yeah, you know. All the episodes are like that. It’s just wallpaper.”
Wallpaper. Remember Soylent Green, how the future was a world where women were referred to as “furniture”?
Right.
Thing Two: Don Imus said a racist sexist thing, which is apparently his modus operandi, which brings me to the burning question that must rear its head in the minds of all thoughtful humans when the subject of Don Imus comes up: why does this man have a career? (Second most burningest question: what’s with the hat?)
I had never heard of Don Imus until a few years ago, when I learned that he was a Big Shot Radio Personality. One of the Biggest! And I’d never heard of him. Anyway, not long after I’d learned of his existence, I actually spotted him on TV. I’m pretty sure this was around the time of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, because that’s the last time I was turning on the TV with any regularity. One morning I turned on MSNBC, and lo and behold, it was the Imus Show. I thought, “Hey, that’s the Big Shot Radio Personality that I’d never heard of until recently and who I now know is important!”
Now, there’s really nothing quite as exciting as a radio show on TV — the thrill of the headphones! the glamour of the soundproof booth! — but the Imus show was even better than most. The man himself was wearing, improbably enough, a gigantic cowboy hat, presumably to protect him from the harsh prairie weather there in the studio. He was hunched over his microphone, his face just buried in the thing like it was a goddamn feedbag tied on his head, droning in a monotone. He plugged a book. He plugged something else. He did an ad — an actual on-air ad, like the old days of TV when Johnny or Ed or Jack would hold up the sponsor’s product and encourage viewers to consume said wondrous item.
The whole thing was so scintillating that I had to switch to C-SPAN for a while just to get my heart rate under control.
Anyway, I learned later that I’d missed Imus in his glory. Sometimes, I was told, he’s actually animated, and engages in deeply offensive adolescent hijinks with his on-air minions. This, apparently, is the source of his enormous popularity. In other words, his is a Morning Zoo show.
Remember Morning Zoos? They may still have them for all I know. Back in the 70s and 80s,* when for reasons beyond my control I was occasionally forced to listen to the radio in the mornings, it was popular for radio stations to have several Professional Zany People host the morning rush-hour show, during which time they would engage in Zany Antics and say Zany Things, along with delivering the news and weather (preferably Zanified). Sound effects, such as bicycle horns and whoopie cushions, played a large role. The whole thing was geared to the intellectual and emotional maturity level of a 13-year-old boy. (*Drive-time radio shows were also popular before the 70s, but I don’t think they were called Morning Zoos. Dead sex fiend Colonel Hogan got his start in the 60s as a morning radio personality.)
Which almost brings me to my point, though not before I quickly digress to remark on two minor revelations connected to the benighted years when I was forced to listen to the Morning Zoo. The first revelation is that I don’t think I’m human. Seriously, I don’t think I’m the same species. Humans, it seems, are such social animals that they love nothing better than to hear the sound of other people’s voices, even the voices of bloviating morons with whoopie cushions whom they don’t even know personally. It’s comforting to the humans somehow. It makes them feel cheerful as they drive to work, just part of the group out on a foraging expedition in the jungle there, chattering as they look for bananas and carrion while the class clown honks on his bicycle horn and whoopie cushion. As for me, when I wake up in the morning and have to haul my ass to work in rush-hour traffic on five hours sleep, there is pretty much nothing I want less than to have to listen to the sound of bloviating morons with whoopie cushions. Maybe I’m descended from orangutans.
The other minor revelation that came to me during the Morning Zoo years, which really no longer matters anymore, is that the man I’d married while in a psychotic fugue state had the intellectual and emotional maturity of a 13-year-old boy. He liked the Morning Zoo. I haven’t seen him in years, though, so for all I know he’s Nelson Mandela now.
And with that cue I finally wind my way back to my point, the mushroom cloud that started the essay, which is this: popular culture is all geared towards 13-year-old boys. Now I admit this is not a new inspiration, since I basically think this all the time, but the conjunction of news items yesterday made it seem particularly obvious. I know I’ve only got two data points here — the Sopranos and Don Imus — but I’m sure if you think about it you’ll realize I’m right. Nekked boobies, fart jokes, and blowing shit up. That’s popular culture.
But why? Do 13-year-old boys have that much power? They don’t, obviously. They don’t buy anything because they have no money. They don’t run the TV networks or the ad agencies, unless they can somehow work that in during recess from middle school, which I very much doubt.
Unless…the men who run the TV networks and the ad agencies and the film companies and the porn chains and basically just about everything in the universe — unless deep down they’re really just 13-year-old boys! Arrested development. Intellectual and emotional maturity at the Quentin Tarantino level, or maybe slightly higher.
You think? I think.
Of course I know not all popular culture is nekked boobies and fart jokes. Some tiny proportion (probably the stuff my mom watches on PBS) is actually kind of like art. There are even movies that aim for truth and beauty, that try to say something or ask something important about the world, and to do so at a high level of aesthetic achievement. I think they’re called “chick flicks.”
31 Responses to “Dr. Socks Versus The World: Episode 437”
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Chris says:
You said “boobs.”
April 10th, 2007 at 1:52 pm EST -
Infidel says:
heh…heh…heh…heh
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Kaitlyn says:
I stopped listening to Rock 103 because of the DJs. Now I listen to a DJ-less station - if they’re there, they don’t talk.
I HATED the morning program.
I LOATHED the 7-midnight jackass. His voice made me so mad.
And it was the only “classic rock” station in Memphis at the time! ELVIS!!! And only one radio station that would play his songs.
Mom hates the morning jackasses as well, except when they talk about traffic.
The one in the evening on rock 103 was a sexist ass. You could tell in the voice.
The commercials are annoying on Kim 98.9, but nobody talks, there are pre-recorded bits from “Kim” talking about how they play lots of music from every category and nobody talks.
It’s awesome.
Never watched the sopranos - but I liked the “sopranos cleaned up for pax” sketch on MADTv. However long an episode is, it was less than 5 minutes. It was silly.
I do, however, like the mobsters on the Simpsons.
They’re cool.
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gordo says:
You’ve put your finger on why I don’t own a television. Every time I hear “this is the best show evah!”, it turns out to be lame. I watched an episode of the Sopranos, and two of Arrested Development. Lame.
And then there are the news stations, like MSNBC. They show 3 hours of Imus every morning, because there’s such a lack of actual news going on that it can all be covered in half an hour. Then that half hour of coverage can be recycled over and over for the entire day.
Frankly, I see no reason at all to buy a new set of rabbit ears, let alone spring for a monthly cable TV subscription.
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Ann Bartow says:
I am being perfectly serious when I say: I think you are being unfair to 13 year old boys. At least some of them. I know a number of teenaged boys who think the zoo-like radio shows are pretty stupid too. Given that most of the commercials are for car dealerships and strip clubs, I don’t think the target audience demo is boys who aren’t old enough to drive, no less drink.
Also, isn’t farting perfectly feminist? If not, some of my friends, but not me of course, need to rethink their diets.
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jolt says:
Nah. Chick flicks want to be art, but really they involve het chicks who worry about their thighs and whether or not they will (1) ever get married; (2) whether now that they have gotten married and have children, will they ever have time for themselves; or (3) now that they are broken-up/divorced/early widowed, ever have sex again.
I enjoy a chick flick or chick lit book now & then, but they definitely do not aspire for aesthetics. Whatever that inspired and intellectually or artistically challenging genre is, we need more of it.
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irene says:
Most mainstream media is actually after the 18-34 year old male demographic. The drag is there seems to be little difference between a 13 year old and 18 to 34 year olds.
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Mandos says:
A much better HBO show is The Wire. Being about crime and sleaze, it too depicts strip clubs from time to time, but not in the glamorous way that I’m told that the Soprano’s does (seen about one episode of that, and it didn’t, in fact, have strippers).
Unfortunately, it’s true, though: even if the plot may be good, HBO will throw in as much gratuitous skin as it can. It gets annoying and in the way.
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Violet says:
jolt, my informants on Planet Earth tell me that many males define a chick flick as “any movie where shit isn’t getting blown up.”
Perhaps a more common definition is “any film with a strong female character.” I recently saw a list of All-Time Great Chick Flicks that included Sophie’s Choice, Passage to India, and Aliens.
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Infidel says:
Thirteen year old males need to be pandered to in order to ameliorate the effects of the combined subjegation of the matriarchy and the geriarchy that is constantly bearing down upon them.
There are exactly 420,208 examples of modern culture being geared towards 13 year old males but there are 872,586 examples of modern culture being geared towards all ages and breed of dogs, and a whopping 3,627,566 examples of modern culture being geared towards “faster, cheaper, easier”. -
cf4 says:
As a former video game designer, I can tell you that yes, a hell of a lot of popular culture is geared towards 13-year-old boys.
I dunno about “all” culture — my 17 year old brother informs me that HS girls love “Grey’s Anatomy”, “American Idol”, “Ugly Betty”, and, of course, SATC. And he further informs me that neither he nor his friends would be caught dead watching any of these shows. FWIW.
By the way, if you REALLY feel like a masochist, watch an episode of MTV’s “My Super Sweet 16.” I watched it once in stunned amazement, thinking, “is this the worst show in TV history, or am I just getting old?” Both, I think.
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B. Dagger Lee says:
I agree with Mandos. As I often do. The Wire is a great program. In season one, there’s a scene with two cops trying to figure out how a particular murder happened, and for the whole scene, all they say to each other are variations on the word fuck. It’s just a great scene. Yay for a well-used Motherfucker!
But I like the Sopranos too, although I agree, O’Keefe is objectively superior. HBO’s Deadwood will pick up your cursing and I loved it.
But American movies and TV in general suck cock. I am, alas, an addicted TV cocksucker. Go see the Korean movie, the Host. Miss Patsy and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
yrs, B. Dagger Lee
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will says:
I am always amazed at what is allowed on radio shows and what is popular. I do not understand the popularity of the morning shows. I cannot stand to listen to them.
As far as “political” radio shows, Imus, Beck, Savage, and Limbaugh spew so much hate that I cannot listen without shaking my fist and screaming in the car.
So, I listen to NPR instead.
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simply wondered says:
dr socks vs the world: currently the line is quoted at: socks 8/11 - world evens. i’m buying socks big here. i wouldn’t take the world at shorter than 9/4 given the quality and intellect of the opposition.
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simply wondered says:
do i have it right that we are saying tv, film and radio are crap? ok
pictures of dead ballet dancers anyone?personally i’m not wild about georgia o’keeffe myself (apart from the nice skully one - i’d have that in the lounge) tho i was in the british premiere of tina howe’s ‘approaching zanzibar’ (get googling to resolve that particular non sequitur.
where is tergeist?
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simply wondered says:
not that you’ll care - you big bunch of hittites - you’re all too busy watching that sexist racist soprano shit - bloody wagner…
bring back tergeist
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simply wondered says:
oy, socks! isn’t that a big black willy in the picture at the top?
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meret says:
My son used to listen to some radio show like that when he was 13. Thought it was really cool. He did actually grow up, however. Some of them do. Thank Goddess.
I’ve also noticed the “more common definition” of chick flick is “any film with a strong female character.” That’s one of the things you can “learn” from message boards. Much of which can be depressing. A lot of that 13-year-old-boy mentality - people pretending to be adults.
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Mandos says:
Perhaps a more common definition is “any film with a strong female character.” I recently saw a list of All-Time Great Chick Flicks that included Sophie’s Choice, Passage to India, and Aliens.
I thought that a “chick flick” that was actually very good was The Devil Wears Prada. It was about fashion—and labour and commentary about the cultural elite. Cerulean, it’s all about the cerulean.
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Violet says:
Sophie’s Choice is about the Holocaust; Passage to India is about racism and colonialism; Aliens is about a space monster. When I saw those on the list I realized that “chick flick” has nothing to do with what I originally thought it meant, which was similar to jolt’s definition.
I guess Fargo is a chick flick too.
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simply wondered says:
fargo is a superb movie - frances m a class act
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Kaitlyn says:
Gordo - I love Arrested Development.
It’s off the air, I’ve got the DVDs - you don’t have to hear Ron Howard’s voiceover. (that’s why one of my friends won’t watch it.)
The simpsons is on now… then Crossing Jordan at 8…
and the daily show at 10…
of course, colbert at 10:30…
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Paul Tergeist says:
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Kaitlyn says:
cf4 - By the way, if you REALLY feel like a masochist, watch an episode of MTV’s “My Super Sweet 16.” I watched it once in stunned amazement, thinking, “is this the worst show in TV history, or am I just getting old?” Both, I think.
OH MY GOD!
My insane sister loves that show and Next! and Parental Control.
Mad’s got a parody of it, or something about it - I got this issue the day before a doctor appointment, so I’m saving it for the shrink’s office. Filing for social security disability without working and paying taxes - sorry, guys. I’m just hoping for automatic TennCare - I don’t care about money (my mom does) as much as I worry about insurance. And if I’m approved and I’m still sick and still in Tennessee, I’ll have TennCare to supplement whatever workplace insurance I can get. Yes!
Anyways, in my history is a 4 day stay at a psych ward and a follow-up visit with a shrink and anti-depressants for 6 months (they made the bad thoughts worse) and now I’m on bipolar meds, prescribed by my GYN - mood stabilizer. I’m much less likely to yell at my sister - though my mom’s taken up the slack. I hope she’s okay, and just irritated by her ear infection.
Mad counts as good pop culture because I like it.
Cosmo girl does not because I hate it. (Except the embarrassing stories.)
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simply wondered says:
yay it’s the tergeist! - isn’t it amazing how spooky it is when things in your house don’t move around for no reason, how unsettling the lack of unexplained noises in the night can be?
hoorah for the gunnery instructor! how come you don’t come round my place no more? well yes we did put you in a box for the party … but we let you out afterwards.come over one evening and we’ll shoot moles on the lawn. -
Violet says:
Paul is back! Yay! Paul, what’s up with the womenandguns thing? Are you really Peggy Tartaro? I note cleverly that the initials are the same. A strong clue.
ok pictures of dead ballet dancers anyone?
You’re just asking for it, aren’t you? You secretly love it when I put up ballet pictures. (P.S. As for the other thing, we can only hope.)
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jolt says:
Well, I think either definition of chick flick (or chick lit for that matter) is problematic for obvious reasons.
I do enjoy strong female characters - preferably without guns.
Slightly OT: saw Meet the Robinsons with the kids last weekend. All female characters in it were maternal or love interest or both. All clearly supporting. And a portion of the movie takes place in the future. Why are MSM’s views of the future so limited? Course, it’s Disney, so I shoulda known better.
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Kaitlyn says:
Kurt Vonnegut’s dead.
That’s all.
I’m rereading Cat’s Cradle, postponing my MAD magazine for my doc appointment tomorrow yet again.
He should have written for MAD…
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simply wondered says:
You secretly love it when I put up ballet pictures.
what’s not to love? as opposed to openly loving the other stuff you do (ak gak sorry for the obsequiousness).
‘the other thing’ would be what? wagner (alas not my thing), paul (hmmm probably guilty as charged), big black willies (insufficient evidence as yet) girls and guns (you think i’m mad?)
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Janeen says:
I didn’t figure out the “all men are 13 year old boys” thing until I had a son of my own. Then much of men’s previously mysterious behavior became clear. Makes it a lot easier to deal with them sometimes, if no less frustrating.
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Melinda says:
Just a quick note to say I really enjoyed this post.
