I sit on a glorious mountain of technological wealth (actually a saggy green armchair near the tech, but work with me people!). I gaze upon hundreds of movies and tv shows, internet reviews and skits, books procured over 28 years on this earth (or at least 18 years worth, my grade-schoold Calvin and Hobbes's have held up pretty well). I watch to find out who killed Laura Palmer (NO SPOILERS!) Read to see what horrifies Peter Straub, listen to the hilarious POV of Eugene Miriam, and even crush a few candies while doing it.
I am entertained.
So what?
Am I sitting here, drugged by the various opiates of the masses, too caught up in fiction to care about fact? Am I a jaded Millineal who'd rather nod sagely at Jon Stewart than read the paper and find out things for myself? Is being entertained making me dumber, or a worse person?
No. Because all these wonderful (and sometimes mediocre) delights make me think.
Who killed Laura Palmer indeed? What is going on in Twin Peaks? Is it an X-Files like supernatural plot, or something psychological, hankering back to the days of film noir and Hitchcock?
What scares Peter Straub? What scares the other writers in the collection? Why do their ears scare me? Or not? How can I learn from their mastery?
How can I relate to the experiences of Eugene Miram? Why does his absurdest humor make me laugh? What is absurdity in humor? Is it Bugs Bunny getting Daffy Duck shot in the face? Is it better as a visual medium? Does absurdity in literature work outside The Hitchhiker's guide?
I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't think about them consciously as I watch, read, or listen (at least, not all the time. Sometimes, I am Abed).
Ultimately, it doesn't matter. What matters is knowing it's okay to just sit back and be entertained. Having something to talk about with friends, or strangers on the internet, or just yourself when nobody else cares. Being entertained is not the be-all end-all, but it isn't a crime either.
I will not feel guilty about sitting back and watching an episode of Law and Order in between editing chapters of my manuscript. I will not look at my DVD collection and sigh at my materialism. Many of the videos are presents from friends and family: a joyus reminder each time I see Bugs get one over on Elmer Fudd, or Michael Myers stab a teenager.
It's okay to revel in escapism. It's okay to think critically about the things you view. It's okay to sit with friends and laugh and not think beyond 'Boy, this is fun!'
So if you'll excuse me, I have writing to do, and inspiration to view. Maybe not in that order.
You may know him better as Gene.
I am entertained.
So what?
Am I sitting here, drugged by the various opiates of the masses, too caught up in fiction to care about fact? Am I a jaded Millineal who'd rather nod sagely at Jon Stewart than read the paper and find out things for myself? Is being entertained making me dumber, or a worse person?
No. Because all these wonderful (and sometimes mediocre) delights make me think.
Who killed Laura Palmer indeed? What is going on in Twin Peaks? Is it an X-Files like supernatural plot, or something psychological, hankering back to the days of film noir and Hitchcock?
What scares Peter Straub? What scares the other writers in the collection? Why do their ears scare me? Or not? How can I learn from their mastery?
How can I relate to the experiences of Eugene Miram? Why does his absurdest humor make me laugh? What is absurdity in humor? Is it Bugs Bunny getting Daffy Duck shot in the face? Is it better as a visual medium? Does absurdity in literature work outside The Hitchhiker's guide?
I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't think about them consciously as I watch, read, or listen (at least, not all the time. Sometimes, I am Abed).
Ultimately, it doesn't matter. What matters is knowing it's okay to just sit back and be entertained. Having something to talk about with friends, or strangers on the internet, or just yourself when nobody else cares. Being entertained is not the be-all end-all, but it isn't a crime either.
I will not feel guilty about sitting back and watching an episode of Law and Order in between editing chapters of my manuscript. I will not look at my DVD collection and sigh at my materialism. Many of the videos are presents from friends and family: a joyus reminder each time I see Bugs get one over on Elmer Fudd, or Michael Myers stab a teenager.
My friends get me.
It's okay to revel in escapism. It's okay to think critically about the things you view. It's okay to sit with friends and laugh and not think beyond 'Boy, this is fun!'
So if you'll excuse me, I have writing to do, and inspiration to view. Maybe not in that order.
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