Late night TV
After a failed attempt at scraping myself off my couch last night after a 5 hour power-nap I was accidentally over-exposed to possibly the most dangerous substance in the universe. South African late night TV. I would rather have sat in a nuclear reactor for 10 days. It would have had less effect on my tiny mind. In the beginning TV must have been laaaank kewl. Everything was new and interesting. But just like the Big Mac, TV has reached that stage where it just feeds you enough crap to keep you feeling unfulfilled, forcing you to go back for more.
Last nights belter was a jungle fever/dirty dancing/J-Lo-video combination. My favourite line was:
“It’s my fault my mother is dead. I had to be the prima-ballerina and I took up all her money and spare time.”
I could see how that would kill a person.
The movie did have some virtue, in its anti-racism element. And I did relate to the story as it is exactly like my own. If you’ve seen “Save the last dance” you’ll relate – My girlfriend is absolutely the young intelligent ex-dancer white chick who moves away from home. And me the street smart black dude with killer dance moves. If you ever met me, you’d agree.
Enough about the movie though :: What I do find especially whack is the state of not-even-that-late night TV. I remember when I was a prepubescent viatenamese girl growing up at home in Johannesburg, when dodgey scenes came on TV my folks used to change the channel for a couple of minutes until the shenanigans was over. Then during the adverts they would get up and do their thang until the movie came back on. It’s sad to admit that today if I were that same viatnamese gril that I was just months ago my parents would be changing channels during the adverts and not the movie. What the..?
If you watch TV any time after 10pm these days you’ll have access to worlds of cowpie by smsing words like – “Pink” “Asian” “Story” etc, to an array of services clearly run by captalist drop-out rejects. These are the guys from school who were lazy, sat at the back of the class, had brains and got expelled from Boys Town. Their friends are either in Jail or Parliament. So all you need is a cell phone and like R7.50 and you can download the stuff. Who does that? I have no idea. Now cellular porn I can kind of imagine being downloaded by the usual suspects but what suprises me is that you can SMS a service with your name and they can tell you, who you were in your past life, what your porn star name is, and you can even SMS yours and your partners name and they’ll reply with a definite confirmation of whether the two of you are compatible or not. Thank goodness, we don’t have to make that decision for ourselves anymore. Think of the confusion you’ll eliminate. And all for R7.50! But what if I know two girls named Amy, one a Blonde who likes baking and has a penchant for needle work :: and the other a lesbian Navy seal?
What is our world coming to that these people can stay in business? I’d like to meet a few of the people that buy into that crap. I bet I could take ALL their money predicting their future with pocket calculator. There should be support groups for stupid people. Maybe they could make use of a system know as Seppuku!
Anyhoo. About the movie. If you like movies with off-the-hinge dance moves, don’t watch this one. The dancing is totally disappointing. Most of it is done in a club by ghetto gangsters that are obviously paid to dance like honkies with no rhythm (rhythm :: the longest english word with no vowels, in case you’re ever on who wants to be a millionaire).
Fo Rihl, I gotta go peel some caps back. Outy
