An English In Kentucky


















Friday January 25th 2013    Tim Candler

      I don't really understand quite why it is that team games, or any sort of sporting event, which includes chess and expositions of five year olds who can spell, or Dog Shows, have to be associated with news on the television.  Nor do I quite understand why it is that news programs on the television often include interviews with people who have written books.  And when clothing enters the content of news programming it becomes a malediction upon senses which I finally rebel against by changing channels.  Which is an error, because 'product' is on sale everywhere, and I find myself yearning for the repartee and boisterousness of a Soviet barrack. And whenever I hear a news presenter wish me 'a good weekend,' or 'a happy holiday,' or make some similar asinine remark, I gravitate toward an understanding which includes the certain knowledge that I should probably entrust the television set and its food stained handheld device to a landfill somewhere in Tennessee . 

     "Nothing to say today," doesn't  appear to be a 'news' option. A consequence of this, on a being that attempts to be present in the world at least while eating his supper and who would be quite happy to discover there was "Nothing to say today," is that I find myself increasingly unable to determine  'trustworthiness' in news sources  As a result I no longer hear the word news as something in and of itself, and instead I find that before ever I pay any attention to what is being said, I first have to know who is saying whatever it is I am supposed to be hearing.  And when I finally make this determination, the content of what might actually be usefully said, becomes increasingly irrelevant as I await the inevitable skirmish with the handheld device.  Nor, I begin to realize, am I the only one to have undergone what has to be some form of lobotomy by television. Or it could be the onset of  particularly nasty manifestation of Stendhal's Syndrome, which in it's kinder form is a psychotic reaction to a surfeit of Florentine Art, combined with Jerusalem Syndrome, which in it's kinder form is a delusional psychosis triggered by a visit to Jerusalem.

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