Despite the vastly different televisual styles as depicted in that video and 'Good Night and Good Luck' I think Charlie Brooker and Edward R. Murrow would get along. Spoiler alert?
To those who say people wouldn't look; they wouldn't be interested; they're too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter's opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost. This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. Good night, and good luck.
Finally, the English soccer league preview no one knew they wanted: Teams as interpreted via internet videos. Selections made via a combination of drunken esoterics and personal frustration.
It's easy to find humor in the misfortune of others. People falling down, getting hit in the groin, getting slapped in the face, all comic gold as long as its not happening to you. But where some balk at comic violence is when it happens to animals. Which brings me to this video that has made the rounds on the web this week.
Maybe its because I'm a cynic, but I find it hilarious. The way that donkey goes spiraling off into the sky, so good. But not everyone feels this way, so much so that "charges may be filed" against whoever did this, which may or not have been part of a promotion for para-sailing. It's not exactly clear what was going on, and in the rush to judgement it seems that the perpetrator/donkey-owner may have slipped away.
For some reason thinking about where to draw the line between animal cruelty and some good old-fashioned donkey fun brings my mind to a conversation near the end of Pulp Fiction. In it Jules talks about not eating pork because it comes from a filthy animal, and Vincent asks if he considers a dog to be filthy, what with the occasional shit-eating. Eventually they determine that it's a dog's personality that makes it not filthy, just dirty, and that a pig would have to be "ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres" to cease in its filthiness.
Which is a good way to say that certain animals are more sympathetic than others. I might better understand the outrage at this alleged donkey torture if instead of a donkey, it was a dog flying through the air, possibly never to be seen again. But come on, it's a fucking donkey. A pack animal, used to carry things and plow fields and other back-breaking labor. Who knows, perhaps its braying, which many have interpreted as stemming from fear, is actually indicative of excitement/joy. If I was a Russian donkey, I'd enjoy an occasional para-sail to break up the drudgery of my daily existence, which I assume would involve turnips.
But yeah, people have different sensibilities, which means "horse people" can feel more empathy with this stupid donkey than with another human being. This argument boils down to the idea that animals are "innocent" because of their lack of free will. The line of thinking goes that animals have no control over their fate, and thus must be protected at all costs. Also there is the perceived "connection" that the animal lover has developed with a creature that doesn't know shit except maybe a few behaviors it associates with getting delicious food. So yeah, put that donkey on a para-sail for my amusement.
Addendum: It's unclear how much being bitten by a horse at age 8 is affecting my opinion on this matter.
"Two pills I pop/Til' my pupils swell up like two pennies/I'm Clint Eastwood in his mid-20s/A young ass man with a trash can strapped to the back of his ass/so the rats can't chew through his last pants" -Under the Influence
I remember working at Pizza Hut summer after freshman year of college, the year 2000, it seemed like a world of unlimited possibilities was right around the corner, in Coatesville. There was this guy who also worked there, Eric, who used to recite Eminem lyrics while stuffing crusts with string cheese or squirting vegetable oil into deep dish pans. That one up top always stuck with me, along with "Hit the trees like Sonny Bono, oh no!" and "Fuck shit ass bitch cunt shooby-dee-doo-wop."
Eric and I were friends in the sense that we got along, shot the shit like two of the more intelligent people employed at said hut would do. I'd say we had a mutual respect. Neither of us had any kids out of wedlock, both of us graduated from the same high school and both of us enjoyed smoking pot on the job. Eventually I went back to school, that Pizza Hut got boarded up and I maybe saw Eric a couple times at parties, thanks the the hazy ways social circles of drug-using suburban youth can intersect.
Flash forward to a year or so ago and I see a police report here at the paper, fatal car accident. The dead man's name looked familiar, it was Eric. He had gotten in a head-on collision with a bunch of drunken Mexicans, late on a Saturday night. It's a fucked up thing, when a peer dies. Still, everyone knows a couple kids from high school who flew too close to the sun or whatever. You pour some out and move on in your life, it's healthy.
But when I watched the new Eminem video "Not Afraid" where he raps about facing his demons, kicking drugs, growing up, etc. it made me think of Eric. Yes, it's unfair to think that if the kid had heard this song, he would like somehow still be alive. Listening to one song cannot make a difference in a person's life. But there is something there, some flash of electrons in my brain at least, even if I can't "coherently" type it out. It makes me sad, I think.
People are way into Eminem, according to his raps (although it's likely that there is less obsession these days than those heady times after the Marshall Mathers LP dropped in 2000). And those people may not make the best life choices. And now this guy, this most profane and immature of rappers, who once had a public feud with a talking dog puppet, who wrote graphic rhymes about killing his ex-wife and kidnapping his child, is showing signs of maturity. And that means anyone can grow up, unless they're dead.
