Sanctuaries
Not long ago, while watching one of the cable news channels, my wife and I discovered the Bush Administration had just deprived us of still another of our constitutional liberties, and in response we did what Democrats do in the face of authoritarian oppression: we grumbled a little and then switched the channel.
We hoped to land on something soothing.
Unfortunately, there are few sanctuaries on the cable spectrum, channels where you can rest easy and forget about all that’s bad and ugly out there, channels where you know you won’t happen upon plastic surgeries, Paris Hilton, chefs with attitude, autopsy photos, poker tables, Dr. Henry Lee, televangelists, Nancy Grace, prison cells, shrill brides, and beefy tattooed arms.
But we tried anyway. We began with the flyover channels that are halfway down the box, channels that run shows like “Mummy Makeovers” and “Cold Cabinet Files” and “World’s Most Extreme Adjectives.” Mostly what we came upon were plastic surgeries, Paris Hilton, prison cells, and beefy tattooed arms.
Soon my wife suggested I try Animal Planet. That had always been a decent recourse. But increasingly, if not perpetually, it airs “Animal Cops.” The program is not about lovable animals who happen to be sworn officers of the law, such as Deputy Dawg. Instead, it’s a real downer about trashy people who abuse animals.
At that hour, The Jeff Corwin Experience was on. Do not mistake The Jeff Corwin Experience for a rock-and-roll band that might have played the Shawnee Mission West prom in 1982. In fact, it is one of the dozen shows on Animal Planet in which the hosts traumatize reptiles and amphibians, all in the name of love.
Corwin remains a little brother to the more famous Steve Irwin (the Crocodile Hunter). In case you live in a cave and don’t know who Irwin was, he was the guy who may have scuttled into your cave one day with a flashlight affixed to his head.
Compared to Irwin, who was larger than life and somewhat taxing on the nerves, Corwin is almost soothing, so we spent a while watching the guy canonize crocs and sonnetize snakes.
“You know, if snakes and lizards had any brains, they’d get a restraining order against that guy,” I said.
My wife said, “Spoken like a true Democrat. Protect the animals and pad the lawyers’ pockets.”
She’s a Democrat too. But sometimes we give each other playful hell about our shared political orientation. It’s one way to keep our marriage fresh. It’s not my ideal way to keep our marriage fresh. My ideal way doesn’t interest her at all.
And then I exercised this analogy: In high school I found a lot of girls to be beautiful and worthy of pursuit, but my feelings always went unrequited. Imagine if I had behaved like Corwin, stalking, chasing, and groping these girls against their pleasure, only to dump them in their habitats when I was done.
“Then you’d be the Governor of California,” she quipped.
I quickly switched the channel. “Well, now you just ruined it for me. I can no longer watch this Corwin guy because I’ll always associate him with that freakish California governor.”
What sanctuary does that leave us with?
Each other, I suppose.
We hoped to land on something soothing.
Unfortunately, there are few sanctuaries on the cable spectrum, channels where you can rest easy and forget about all that’s bad and ugly out there, channels where you know you won’t happen upon plastic surgeries, Paris Hilton, chefs with attitude, autopsy photos, poker tables, Dr. Henry Lee, televangelists, Nancy Grace, prison cells, shrill brides, and beefy tattooed arms.
But we tried anyway. We began with the flyover channels that are halfway down the box, channels that run shows like “Mummy Makeovers” and “Cold Cabinet Files” and “World’s Most Extreme Adjectives.” Mostly what we came upon were plastic surgeries, Paris Hilton, prison cells, and beefy tattooed arms.
Soon my wife suggested I try Animal Planet. That had always been a decent recourse. But increasingly, if not perpetually, it airs “Animal Cops.” The program is not about lovable animals who happen to be sworn officers of the law, such as Deputy Dawg. Instead, it’s a real downer about trashy people who abuse animals.
At that hour, The Jeff Corwin Experience was on. Do not mistake The Jeff Corwin Experience for a rock-and-roll band that might have played the Shawnee Mission West prom in 1982. In fact, it is one of the dozen shows on Animal Planet in which the hosts traumatize reptiles and amphibians, all in the name of love.
Corwin remains a little brother to the more famous Steve Irwin (the Crocodile Hunter). In case you live in a cave and don’t know who Irwin was, he was the guy who may have scuttled into your cave one day with a flashlight affixed to his head.
Compared to Irwin, who was larger than life and somewhat taxing on the nerves, Corwin is almost soothing, so we spent a while watching the guy canonize crocs and sonnetize snakes.
“You know, if snakes and lizards had any brains, they’d get a restraining order against that guy,” I said.
My wife said, “Spoken like a true Democrat. Protect the animals and pad the lawyers’ pockets.”
She’s a Democrat too. But sometimes we give each other playful hell about our shared political orientation. It’s one way to keep our marriage fresh. It’s not my ideal way to keep our marriage fresh. My ideal way doesn’t interest her at all.
And then I exercised this analogy: In high school I found a lot of girls to be beautiful and worthy of pursuit, but my feelings always went unrequited. Imagine if I had behaved like Corwin, stalking, chasing, and groping these girls against their pleasure, only to dump them in their habitats when I was done.
“Then you’d be the Governor of California,” she quipped.
I quickly switched the channel. “Well, now you just ruined it for me. I can no longer watch this Corwin guy because I’ll always associate him with that freakish California governor.”
What sanctuary does that leave us with?
Each other, I suppose.
posted by JW at jwopks@gmail.com at 3:27 PM
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