The trouble with tune town
Per a survey: Over 70% of a high school class thought we fought Russia in WWII.
A while back Morton Gould was awarded a Kennedy Center Honor along with Kirk Douglas, Hal Prince, Aretha Franklin, Pete Seeger.
One 17-year-old recently said: “He didn’t get it with anyone I ever heard of.”
Stuck home temporarily I now understand that because I ended up watching TV.
First: Enough with most female anchors being blonde.
Many feature what they think is “in” — long, long, long straight hair — yellow hair mostly — hanging below their boobs.
How that helps clarify the world’s problems while viewers stay focused on their dandruff, I don’t know.
Hey, eyes up here
And may cameramen or production assistants reset the scripts these anchors are reading while facing the camera?
Understand, eyeballs of these people are not looking straight at us. Not directly. Their posture is correct. Their eyes, not. The pupils are focused straight up — staring at the prompter’s prewritten words.
Many of us have actually reported from those places. These readers wouldn’t know Kabul from Kansas.
Furthest they’ve been is to the hairdresser. Not even mentioning the false eyelashes. So thick that it’s like squinting through the Amazon rainforest.
And while opining their great in-depth one-of-a-kind information to a nervous worried America, they who don’t all necessarily know what they’re reciting are reading word-for-word, eyes riveted straight upward — talking about situations, locations and positions they need help in pronouncing.
So: Either move the cameras up or position the prompter down. But not, not, not the gorgeous Dana Perino — we love everything about her.
It’s a reel bad time
Some TV has become so dumb that flights even advertise coming attractions of movies that are properties of other airlines.
And majority of sponsors? Death. Or disease. Medicines, crypts. You’ve fallen. You’re afraid of falling. Pills. More pills. Pills to strengthen you. Pills to relax you.
Or lawyers. Television knows lawyers. Sue a spouse, countersue an ex-employer, go to sue whoever’s suing you. Even a maybe great lawyer successful enough to buy time on a good program.
Locked home weekends, I watched intelligenceless game shows. Hosts in loud Halloween-like jackets.
Their chorus of semi-VIP guests guffawing hysterically, madly, wildly, uproariously insanely at something even Conan O’Brien’s family would’ve refused.
And the commercial’s come-on: “Our professional people are standing by to help you with your phone calls. So don’t wait. Call now.”
Really? I’m still waiting for Alexander Graham Bell to answer.
We have cars that drive by themselves. AI organizing how to handle the world. Drones capable of bombing us.
Can’t yet figure what to do with garbage or how to permanently gag Bragg, but we at least came up with a first pig kidney transplant.
The subway to Brooklyn, forget it — but now we can schlep to the moon.
And if we can decarbonize energy, shouldn’t this country be able to shove it to that First Son?
Worst comes to worst, maybe let’s redo some TV talkers. I’m not saying all — just those who need to take off their sweater to count to two.
And not only in New York, kids, not only in carefree, problem-free, tax-free New York.