Viewer Discretion Advised

That phrase has always made me smile. Theoretically it advises or, perhaps, invites. Look away, it warns, nasty things await. But to use discretion means to be careful not to give offense. Shouldn't viewers always exercise discretion? I guess the indiscreet viewer is a voyeur of sorts. Maybe we should watch the show while pretending not to watch it, much as we would discreetly glance at a car wreck or an unfortunately garbed plumber. To not watch doesn't void it though, looking away from the wreck establishes its presence as clearly as looking at it. Discretion implies that we take care with our language, too, avoiding its indiscriminate use in delicate situations. So, are we to be discreet about those particular viewing habits? "Ummm, I was going to rave about this show, but it told me not to tell anyone." Kind of nips word of mouth campaigns right in the bud. Maybe the phrase is really the brown paper wrapper around the television screen.

Discretion is also the freedom to choose. So, we're advised to exercise free will by the television from time to time. Does that mean that so-called family entertainment includes, by omitting that invitation, an implicit negation of free will? Troubling. Apparently the programs that don't explicitly suggest that we choose don't trust us very much. Or maybe they're a part of some authoritarian conspiracy. Who could have thought that Fear Factor was actually reminding us to resist evil dictators? You could even make the message into a longer public service announcement.

Finally, aren't they worried about spoilers? I mean, if they reveal that there's going to be some kind of nastiness in the following program, doesn't that kind of ruin the surprise?

I'm having trouble sleeping, so I thought I'd subject you not so unsuspecting readers to some musings on discretion, which is the greater part of valor. So maybe we should be courageous? Perhaps the warning is really a call to arms. How could a program be bad if it invites us to heroic deeds. Viewer Discretion Advised!!! Throw off your oppressors!!!

Now, Parental Discretion Advised. Even more possibilities there.

Phobias

I'm not afraid of flying. Heights don't bother me (too much, not so crazy about staring over a cliff). I love the dark, how it wraps you blanket-like. Spiders are furry (or really shiny) in a nice way and their webs are pretty.

I am scared of elementary school plays. It's more of a choice, really, so perhaps not a true phobia, but I am working on converting it into a full-blown, irrational, sweaty palms and palpitations fear whenever the prospect of witnessing one presents itself.

I think it's the latent cruelty involved. Not so much the mean things that the kids might do to each other, the mocking, etc. After all, they're just describing the play. It's that there are adults who think that it's cute to do such horrible things to kids and then convince those kids (at least some of them) that what they're doing is worthwhile, fun, or just not emotionally crippling. This phobia came to me last year when I was watching a performance where young elementary kids were dressed as insects (one kid, dressed in white, would pipe up with "I'm a maggot" at random points in the play) and sang ridiculous songs about stink bugs. The costumes were hideous and the messages were offensive when not so garbled as to resist any interpretation. Now, I can handle bad art. I even enjoy it in a campy sort of way, especially television and film kitsch. What gave me a wiggins so severe that I nearly clawed out my eyeballs to use them as earplugs was the enthusiasm with which the performance was given and received. These kids thought they were on Broadway, in part because their teachers had told them so and in part because their parents beamed in confirmation. (Meanwhile, I was understanding better the real rationale behind home schooling. Talk about the bad influences in public schools.) That adults would visit such evil on the children they had been charged to teach made me very sad.

And, obviously, it scared the crap out of me.

Howdy

So Milo and Opus were talking out in the meadow one day, discussing how people achieve fame and fortune. Milo wonders whether John F. Kennedy would have been John F. Kennedy if his name had been Biff Turkle.

So, this blog is named Biff Turkle, in honor of my favorite comic strip and because being named James Brown has not afforded me any advantage so far.