The E(nemma)ys

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You know I love television, I’ve promoted its cultural, psychological, and physical benefits   here in this blog enough.  You know that.  But the Emmys are the one exception.  This batch of back slapping circle jerkers get together each year to supposedly “celebrate” the best of the best.  Well, I’m going to tell you this incestuous relationship only leads to celebrating the worst of the best, the best being TV of course.  If this was truly the best where was River Monsters?  Where were the Kardashians on the so called red carpet?  Where were the housewives of New Jersey, the Amish Mafia, The Barefoot Contessa?  And most of all, where was season 11 of the most watched drama on network television, Naval Criminal Investigative Service?  Where was Emily Wickersham?  What a joke.  Most importantly, where was my vote?  Where does the common man/woman get his/her say?

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Meanwhile shows like Orange is the New Crap, Game of Throwups, Downtown Abbey continue to garner undeserved accolades.  Talk about a crime that should be investigated.  Put Gibbs’ team on it!

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The problem is the Emmy council, or whatever you call it, is run by one of the international conspiracy outfits, the highly secretive Bilderbergs, The Council on Foreign Relations, or the Trilateral Commission.  Maybe somebody else.  I’m sure Alex Jones knows.  It’s another example of the elite oligarchs thinking they know what’s better for “the masses.”  The idea should not be about what’s good for us, but about maintaining the liberty of our entertainment choices.  These eggheads and silver spoon manipulators think they should rule the common man for his own good.  Well listen up folks, the last time I checked this was still a representative republic and not a dictatorship.  But democracy only happens when the common man takes the military-industrial-media bull by the horns and dumps the elites out of the thrones of Emmy power.

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Good TV

We need the equivalent of an Emmy Tea Party.  Boycott the awarded shows on cable and streaming media.  Threaten to drop HBO and PBS from your satellite package.  On commercial television refuse to buy from corporations that continue to advertise during these bad shows.  Disguise ourselves as ethnic stereotypes and raid the local Best Buy or WalMart and dump the DVDs for shows like Big Bang Theory or the overtly socialist Saturday Night Live into the equivalent of Boston Harbor.  Make the Emmy a death sentence for any show that truly doesn’t deserve it.  That is the only chink in the armor of the elite media types and we need to drive a wedge into it.  All they respond to is money, money, money, so hit ’em where it hurts ’em the most.

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Bad TV

Only if we, the common people, wrestle the reigns of power from the elitist snobs and the fixers can we hope to keep television the life enriching, some say life saving medium, it was always meant to be.  Maybe then the Emmys will mean something good.  Otherwise you are going to be consigned to watching Modern Family for the rest of your life.  Need I say more?

Doctor Crap?

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Somewhere in the David Tennant era the train came off the tracks. It started to be about romance, too many episodes were on earth, there were too many folks following the Doctor around and related to him, too much self-reference to previous lives and eras, too many people actually saying “Doctor Who?” out loud. Too few good stories.  Steven Moffat took control and things really got awful. In the last few years I can only think of a handful of episodes I really enjoyed. I think the Doctor actors have come off pretty well as characters, but especially Matt Smith was fed almost nothing but crap for scripts. He did as well as he could.

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If you go back to the first era the series really petered out during the Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy Doctors. BBC screwed up the franchise then with poor writers and poor choices for Doctors seeing it still as a children’s program with little potential beyond that, and it’s on the verge now. Similar to what NBC did to Star Trek in the ’60s.  Capaldi is a good choice for an actor but somebody has to hand him a bloody script.

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Doctor What?

You cannot save this by bringing back the Daleks to menace the earth once again. How many times have we seen that? Quit bringing back “beloved” characters from previous episodes, eras, without some original and exciting writing to go with it.  Piss on the romance.  It was always about affection not romance.  A certain amount of sexual tension is good until outright romance jumps the shark; a grasping at simpering sentimentality instead of good writing.

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The Current Problem?

I missed Dr. Who when it went off the air in 1989 and I miss it now.

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Classic Doctor Who

Thomas Ligotti

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Thomas Ligotti is my kind of guy, sorta.  He always expects the worst.  He spends all his time worrying about how he’s going to suffer and die and expects that everyone else is just the same, except some of us are better at fooling ourselves about the outcome.  That makes him mad.  He thinks all the folks that don’t worry about dying and suffering are deceiving themselves and just distracting themselves with ideas of afterlives or just having a good time, you know, trying not to think about it.  And he’s right, but these other folks are a whole lot happier than he is.  Now we can see the real problem, sorta.

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Ligotti has a big head, a really big head and that’s why he thinks about all these dreary things all the time instead of watching television or playing golf.  He’s always talking about how consciousness and self awareness are a tragedy and a curse on humankind; a crappy adaptation that evolution sneaked in there.  The thing he forgets is most people are really unconscious most of the time anyway, even when they’re not sleeping; they’re clueless about this kind of stuff, so why does he want to remind them and take them into his pity party?  Leave them alone with their fairy tale lives.  Don’t bring ’em down.  Don’t rain on their parade.  Not enough hobbies I guess.  Not enough television.  Not enough high speed internet downloading those “short films.”

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Well what’s Ligotti’s answer?  Don’t have any kids.  That’s it.  What, you say?  That makes him feel better about things?  Yeah, his basic argument is that by having kids we doom all the future generations to the suffering and death we have so we shouldn’t have any:  antinatalism they call it.  Let the species die out.  Well if Ligotti had any kids he wouldn’t be worrying about his great grandbaby’s suffering, he’d be worrying about his own suffering trying to deal with his own kids, getting them through college and boyfriends, etc.  I bet his parents suffered plenty with him.  Forget about future generation’s suffering.  Besides his kids would be the kind that would suffer because all the bullies would rag them about their egghead dad.

I think his problem maybe is really low testosterone and therefore low sperm count.  He isn’t gettin’ it on enough.  Only those coffin chicks would even consider hangin’ out with him he’s so dreary and down.  He needs to jerk it more too, take some of the tension and pressure off it.  He can’t have kids so he wants us to join him.  Sour grapes.

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Ligotti writes a horror story about once every decade or so, when he isn’t feeling sorry for himself and the rest of us.  They’re pretty good, but enigmatic.  Now I don’t expect you to understand a word like that, nor a story like that, because you are correctly spending your time feeling good and not worrying about future generation’s suffering or how the joke’s on us.  Stay away from funerals.  Hide the razorblades.

Sure, we’re all going to step off the pier sometime, but why waste any time thinking about that?  Remember I told you to always expect the worst, so now that that’s over let’s move on to feelin’ good.

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I’ve given you all the prescription you need in this blog to quit thinking about that dirt nap:  TV, NCIS, loud music, giant monster movies, malt liquor.  So, mix up some cocktails and turn on the wide screen to some NCIS and put a Chuck Berry record on that stereo set ’cause we’re goin’ out with a buzz in our heads and a smile on our faces.

What’s so bad about feelin’ good for the rest of your miserable little life?

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Faster and Louder part 2

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Everyone knows that all music is better played faster and louder.  It’s a fact.  Wired into our genes, just like anything in life is better on television, as those of you that have, against my advice, gone to Brazil to watch World Cup Soccer in person have also found out.  Should have just stayed at home in the comfort of your own little cabin and watched on your 72 inch Samsung.  Everything is better on television.  Period.  You wouldn’t have had your purse snatched in Rio either.

And every kind of music is better when played faster and louder.  Period.  The unhallowed premier purveyors of this self-evident fact is the band Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.  These boys have been bangin’ it out for years unrecognized and shunned by the larger media.  It is almost as if there was a conspiracy against this getting out.

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Album after album, genre after genre, put through the buzzsaw of distorted guitars and frantic backbeats proving each and every time the song would have been better if played this way.  Why hasn’t this caught on?  Why haven’t Christina Aguilera and Barbara Streisand championed the cause of chainsaw guitars and frantic paced power chords in pop music?  The media.  Once again it’s a media conspiracy back-fueled by the music industry and ultimately the entire entertainment industrial complex to promote stars that are on top one day and then cast aside for another unknown under the music industry shackles tomorrow.  If you and I were in charge none of this would be allowed to stand.

I could go on and on about this, and I will at some future time, but right now let’s get back in the trenches and talk about those that are trying to bring the truth back to the people.

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The Me Firsts.  Starting way back in 1995 these boys have been putting out themed albums of various genres and styles, everything from Broadway musicals to R&B to C&W.  Every single cut has been better than the original:  buzzsaw chords and a frantic pace.  Every once in awhile they sneak in an old punk riff just to prove that even these songs were better than all of the top 40 “songs” today.  Once you’ve heard “The Way We Were” you’ll wonder why Barbara Streisand never sported a black leather jacket and a pink mohawk.

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Not much more to say.  The music industry and media conspiracy are too powerful to ever be threatened and changed unless you want to end up taking the dirt nap, or at least your dog will.  Sadly Justin Timberlake and Katy Perry are never going to “kick out the jams.”

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