Chuck Klosterman On Film And Television Part 3

I ask him what seems like an obvious question: Isn't it possible that his brother's death happened when he was being untreated, and that this incident could have been avoided?

"Christian Science isn't responsible for my little brother's death," he says, and I am in no position to disagree.

We're still sitting on his porch, and his daughter walks past us. I ask Val if he would not allow her to take amoxicillin if she had a sore throat; he tells me that-because he's divorced-he doesn't have autonomous control over that type of decision. But he says his first move in such a scenario would be to pray, because most illness comes from fear. We start talking about the cult of Scientology, which he has heard is "basically Christian Science without G.o.d." We begin discussing what const.i.tutes the definition of religion; Kilmer thinks an inst.i.tution cannot be cla.s.sified as a religion unless G.o.d is involved. When I argue that this is not necessarily the case, Val walks into the house and brings out the Oxford English Dictionary Oxford English Dictionary; I'm not sure how many working actors own their own copy of the OED, but this one does. The print in the OED is minuscule, so he begins scouring the pages like Sherlock Holmes. He pores over the tiny words with a magnifying gla.s.s that has an African boar's tusk as a handle. He finds the definition of religion, religion, but the OED's answer is unsatisfactory. He decides to check what but the OED's answer is unsatisfactory. He decides to check what Webster's Second Unabridged Dictionary Webster's Second Unabridged Dictionary has to say, since he insists that has to say, since he insists that Webster's Second Webster's Second was the last dictionary created without an agenda. We spend the next fifteen minutes looking up various words, including was the last dictionary created without an agenda. We spend the next fifteen minutes looking up various words, including monastic. monastic.

So this, I suppose, is an ill.u.s.tration of how Val Kilmer is weird in unexpected ways: he's a Christian Scientist, and he owns an inordinate number of reference books.

I ask Val Kilmer if he agrees that his life is crazy. First he says no, but then he (kind of) says yes.

"I make more money than the whole state of New Mexico," he says. "If you do the math, I've probably made as much as six hundred thousand or eight hundred thousand people in this state. And I know that's crazy. You know, I live on a ranch that's larger than Manhattan. That's a weird circ.u.mstance." Now, this is something of a hyperbole; the island of Manhattan is 14,563 acres of real estate, which is more than twice as large as Val's semiarid homestead. But his point is still valid-he's got a big f.u.c.king backyard, and that's a weird circ.u.mstance. "The thing I'm enjoying more is that there are lots of things that fame has brought me that I can use to my advantage in a quiet way. For example, a friend of mine is an amazing advocate for trees. He's so incredible and selfless. He's planted [something like] twenty million trees in Los Alamos. I actually got to plant the twenty-millionth tree. And we got more attention for doing that simply because I've made some movies and I'm famous."

Kilmer's awareness of his fame seems to partially derive from his familiarity with other famous people. During the two days we spend together, he casually mentions dozens of celebrities he cla.s.sifies as friends-Robert DeNiro, Nelson Mandela, Steve-O. Val tells me that he pa.s.sed on the lead role in The Insider The Insider that eventually went to Russell Crowe; he tells me he dreams of making a comedy with Will Ferrell, whom he considers a genius. At one point, Kilmer does a flawless Marlon Brando impersonation, even adjusting the timbre of his voice to ill.u.s.trate the subtle difference between the '70s Brando from that eventually went to Russell Crowe; he tells me he dreams of making a comedy with Will Ferrell, whom he considers a genius. At one point, Kilmer does a flawless Marlon Brando impersonation, even adjusting the timbre of his voice to ill.u.s.trate the subtle difference between the '70s Brando from Last Tango in Paris Last Tango in Paris and the '90s Brando from and the '90s Brando from Don Juan DeMarco. Don Juan DeMarco. We talk about his longtime camaraderie with Kevin s.p.a.cey, and he says that s.p.a.cey is "proof that you can learn how to act. Because he was horrible when he first started, and now he's so good." We talk about the famous women he's dated; the last serious relationship he had was with Darryl Hannah, which ended a year ago. During the 1990s, he was involved with Cindy Crawford, so I ask him what it's like to sleep with the most famous woman in the world. His short answer is that it's awesome. His long answer is that it's complicated. We talk about his longtime camaraderie with Kevin s.p.a.cey, and he says that s.p.a.cey is "proof that you can learn how to act. Because he was horrible when he first started, and now he's so good." We talk about the famous women he's dated; the last serious relationship he had was with Darryl Hannah, which ended a year ago. During the 1990s, he was involved with Cindy Crawford, so I ask him what it's like to sleep with the most famous woman in the world. His short answer is that it's awesome. His long answer is that it's complicated.

"Cindy is phenomenally comfortable in the public scene," Kilmer says. "I never accepted that responsibility. If you're the lead in a film, you have a responsibility to the company and the studio. With a great deal of humor, Cindy describes herself as being in advertising. She's an icon in it; we actually talked about her image in relation to the product. And I was uncomfortable with that. We got in a huge fight one night because of a hat she was wearing. The hat advertised a bar, and I used to be so unreasonable about that kind of thing. I had a certain point of view about the guy who owned the bar, and I was just being unreasonable. I mean, she knows what she's doing, and she's comfortable with it. But I knew we were going to go to dinner and that we'd get photographed with this hat, and I was just hard to deal with. It was a really big deal."

This is the kind of insight that makes talking to an established movie star so unorthodox: Kilmer remembers that his girlfriend wearing a certain hat was a big deal, but he doesn't think it was a big deal that the girlfriend was Cindy Crawford. Crazy things seem normal, normal things seem crazy. He mentions that he is almost embarra.s.sed by how cliche his life has become, despite the fact that the manifestation of this cliche includes buffalo ownership. However, there are certain parts of his life that even he knows are strange. This is most evident when-apropos of nothing-he starts talking about Bob Dylan.

"I am a friend of Bob's, as much as Bob has friends," Kilmer says. "Bob is a funny guy. He is the funniest man I know." Apparently, Dylan loved Tombstone Tombstone so much that he decided to spend an afternoon hanging out in Kilmer's hotel room, later inviting Val into the recording studio with Eric Clapton and casting him in the film so much that he decided to spend an afternoon hanging out in Kilmer's hotel room, later inviting Val into the recording studio with Eric Clapton and casting him in the film Masked and Anonymous. Masked and Anonymous. Much like his ability to mimic Brando, Kilmer is able to impersonate Dylan's voice with detailed exactness and loves re-creating conversations the two of them have had. What he seems to admire most about Dylan is that-more than anything else-Bob Dylan never appears to care what anyone thinks of him. And that is something Val Kilmer still cares about (even though he'd like to argue otherwise). Much like his ability to mimic Brando, Kilmer is able to impersonate Dylan's voice with detailed exactness and loves re-creating conversations the two of them have had. What he seems to admire most about Dylan is that-more than anything else-Bob Dylan never appears to care what anyone thinks of him. And that is something Val Kilmer still cares about (even though he'd like to argue otherwise).

"I never cultivated a personality," he says, which is something I am skeptical of, but something I cannot disprove. "Almost everyone that is really famous has cultivated a personality. I can safely say that no one who has ever won an Oscar didn't want to win an Oscar. I think that Bob Dylan would have loved to win a Grammy during all those years when he knew he was doing his best work. Advanced or not, he was certainly ahead of his time, and he was more worthy than whoever won ... Dylan was doing stuff that was so new that everyone hated it. Like when he started playing the electric guitar, for example: he toured for a year, and he was booed every night. Onstage, I could never take three performances in a row and be booed. I just don't think I'm that strong. I think that I would just go to the producers of the play and say, 'Well, we tried, but we failed to entertain here.' But Dylan spent a year being booed. They were throwing bottles at him. And he still can't play it! Forty years later, he is still trying to play the electric guitar. I mean, he has a dedication to an ideal that I can't comprehend."

On the sh.o.r.es of the Pecos River, nothing is as it seems: Kevin s.p.a.cey was once a terrible actor, Bob Dylan remains a terrible guitar player, and Val Kilmer is affable and insecure. Crazy things seem normal, normal things seem crazy. Gusty winds may exist.

1. For a protracted explanation of Advancement, see "Advancement," available in Chuck Klosterman IV Chuck Klosterman IV or the ebook collection or the ebook collection Chuck Klosterman on Living and Society Chuck Klosterman on Living and Society or as an individual ebook essay. or as an individual ebook essay.

2. I have no idea why I would cast Jude Law in this role, particularly if Heath Ledger were available.

Q: You have been wrongly accused of a horrific crime: Due to a bizarre collision of unfortunate circ.u.mstances and insane coincidences, it appears that you have murdered a prominent U.S. senator, his beautiful young wife, and both of their infant children. Now, You have been wrongly accused of a horrific crime: Due to a bizarre collision of unfortunate circ.u.mstances and insane coincidences, it appears that you have murdered a prominent U.S. senator, his beautiful young wife, and both of their infant children. Now, you did not do this, you did not do this, but you are indicted and brought to trial. but you are indicted and brought to trial.

Predictably, the criminal proceedings are a national sensation (on par with the 1994 O. J. Simpson trial). It's on television constantly, and it's the lead story in most newspapers for almost a year. The prosecuting attorney is a charming genius; sadly, your defense team lacks creativity and panache. To make matters worse, the jury is a collection of easily confused sheep. You are found guilty and sentenced to four consecutive life terms with virtually no hope for parole (and-since there were no procedural mistakes during the proceedings-an appeal is hopeless).

This being the case, you are (obviously) disappointed.

However, as you leave the courtroom (and in the days immediately following the verdict), something becomes clear: the "court of public opinion" has overwhelmingly found you innocent. Over 95 percent of the country believes you are not guilty. Noted media personalities have declared this scenario "the ultimate legal tragedy." So you are going to spend the rest of your life amidst the general population of a maximum-security prison ... but you are innocent, and everyone seems to know this.

Does this knowledge make you feel (a) better, (b) no different, or (c) worse?

DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER

In 1989, my favorite television show was The Wonder Years. The Wonder Years. This was because This was because The Wonder Years The Wonder Years was the only TV program that allowed me to be nostalgic at the age of seventeen; when you haven't even been alive for two decades, it's hard to find media experiences that provide opportunities to reminisce about the past. One of the things I particularly loved about was the only TV program that allowed me to be nostalgic at the age of seventeen; when you haven't even been alive for two decades, it's hard to find media experiences that provide opportunities to reminisce about the past. One of the things I particularly loved about The Wonder Years The Wonder Years was Kevin Arnold's incessant concern over the manner in which certain people liked him. (This person was usually Winnie Cooper, but also Becky Slater and Madeline Adams.) The core question was always the same: Did these girls "like him," or did they " was Kevin Arnold's incessant concern over the manner in which certain people liked him. (This person was usually Winnie Cooper, but also Becky Slater and Madeline Adams.) The core question was always the same: Did these girls "like him," or did they "like him like him." And Kevin's plight begs some larger queries that apply to virtually every other aspect of being alive, especially for an American in the twenty-first century. How important, ultimately, is like him." And Kevin's plight begs some larger queries that apply to virtually every other aspect of being alive, especially for an American in the twenty-first century. How important, ultimately, is likability likability? Is being likable the most important quality someone can possess, or is it the most inherently shallow quality anyone can desire? Do we need need to be liked, or do we merely to be liked, or do we merely want want to be liked? to be liked?

I started rethinking Kevin Arnold's quest for likability while I was reading The New York Times The New York Times on the day after Christmas. on the day after Christmas.

On the back page of the Times' Times's "Year in Review" section, there was a graphic that attempted to quantify a phenomenon countless people have discussed over the past three years-the decline in how much other countries "like" the United States. The Times Times printed a poll comparing how the international opinion of America (in a general sense) evolved between May of 2003 and March of 2004. The results were close to what you'd likely antic.i.p.ate. In March of 2003, 70 percent of British citizens viewed the U.S. in a manner they described as "favorable." That number had dropped to 58 percent by March of '04. In Germany, the "favorable" designation fell from 45 percent to 38 percent over the same time span; in France, 43 to 37. Interestingly (and perhaps predictably), America is now printed a poll comparing how the international opinion of America (in a general sense) evolved between May of 2003 and March of 2004. The results were close to what you'd likely antic.i.p.ate. In March of 2003, 70 percent of British citizens viewed the U.S. in a manner they described as "favorable." That number had dropped to 58 percent by March of '04. In Germany, the "favorable" designation fell from 45 percent to 38 percent over the same time span; in France, 43 to 37. Interestingly (and perhaps predictably), America is now more more popular in places like Turkey and Jordan (in Jordan, the percentage of people who saw the U.S. as "very unfavorable" used to be 83 percent, but now that number is down to 67). popular in places like Turkey and Jordan (in Jordan, the percentage of people who saw the U.S. as "very unfavorable" used to be 83 percent, but now that number is down to 67).

The explanation behind these figures, I suppose, is rather obvious; many nations-particularly European ones-don't like America's military policy, so they subsequently don't like America. Meanwhile, countries with a vested interest in America's occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan have started to like us more. This became a hot issue during the election, as ardent John Kerry supporters insisted that George W. Bush needed to lose his reelection bid because "other countries hate us now." Yet the more I think about this point, the more I find that argument to be patently ridiculous. There are easily a thousand valid reasons why Bush shouldn't be president, but how other nations feel about America is not one of them. Americans allow other nations to exercise the kind of sweeping ethnocentrism we would never accept among ourselves.

There are 1.3 billion people in China. We are generally taught to a.s.sume that most of these 1.3 billion people are nice, and that they are hardworking, and that they produce their share of handsome low-post NBA athletes who pa.s.s out of the double-team exceptionally well. However, these 1.3 billion people also have a problem we're all keenly aware of; these 1.3 billion people are governed by an administration that has a propensity for violating human rights. As Americans, we are philosophically against this practice. But if someone were to say, "Hey, have you heard about those human rights violations in rural Beijing? I f.u.c.king hate the Chinese!" we would immediately a.s.sume said person was a close-minded troglodyte (who would be hating the same people who are having their human rights violated).

From a very young age, we are taught that people are not all the same, and that it's wrong to hate whole countries based on specific stereotypes. Remember that "freedom fries" fiasco that was supposed to ill.u.s.trate our anti-French sentiment before we went to war with Iraq? Do you recall how every intellectual in America decried that practice as idiotic? The reason intellectuals made that decree was because this practice was was idiotic. No intelligent American took that kind of childish symbolism seriously. It made no sense to hate France (or potatoes) simply because the French had a different foreign policy than the United States, and any conventional liberal would have told you that. But what's so confusing is that those same left-leaning people are the Americans most concerned about the possibility of France idiotic. No intelligent American took that kind of childish symbolism seriously. It made no sense to hate France (or potatoes) simply because the French had a different foreign policy than the United States, and any conventional liberal would have told you that. But what's so confusing is that those same left-leaning people are the Americans most concerned about the possibility of France not liking us, not liking us, or of the British or of the British liking us less, liking us less, or of the Netherlands or of the Netherlands thinking we're uncouth. thinking we're uncouth. These are the same kind of people who travel from New York to Ireland and proceed to tell strangers in Dublin that they're actually from Canada. They lie because they are afraid someone might not like them on principle. But why should we care if shortsighted people in other countries are as stupid as the shortsighted rednecks in America? These are the same kind of people who travel from New York to Ireland and proceed to tell strangers in Dublin that they're actually from Canada. They lie because they are afraid someone might not like them on principle. But why should we care if shortsighted people in other countries are as stupid as the shortsighted rednecks in America?

I can totally understand why someone in Paris or London or Berlin might not like the president; I don't like the president, either. But don't these people read the newspaper? It's not like Bush ran unopposed. Over 57 million people voted against him. Moreover, half of this country doesn't vote at all; they just happen to live here. So if someone hates the entire concept of America-or even if someone likes likes the concept of America-based solely on his or her disapproval (or support) of some specific U.S. policy, that person doesn't know much about how the world works. It would be no different than someone in Idaho hating all of Brazil, simply because their girlfriend slept with some dude who happened to speak Portuguese. the concept of America-based solely on his or her disapproval (or support) of some specific U.S. policy, that person doesn't know much about how the world works. It would be no different than someone in Idaho hating all of Brazil, simply because their girlfriend slept with some dude who happened to speak Portuguese.

In the days following the election, I kept seeing links to Web sites like www.sorryeverybody.com, which offered a photo of a bearded idiot holding up a piece of paper that apologized to the rest of the planet for the election of George W. Bush. I realize the person who designed this Web site was probably doing so to be clever, and I suspect his motivations were either (a) mostly good or (b) mostly self-serving. But all I could think when I saw it was, This is so pathetic. This is so pathetic. It's like the guy on this Web site is actually afraid some anonymous stranger in Tokyo might not unconditionally love him (and for reasons that have nothing to do with either of them). Sometimes it seems like most of American culture has become a thirteen-year-old boy who wants to be popular It's like the guy on this Web site is actually afraid some anonymous stranger in Tokyo might not unconditionally love him (and for reasons that have nothing to do with either of them). Sometimes it seems like most of American culture has become a thirteen-year-old boy who wants to be popular so much so much and wants to go to the s...o...b..ll Dance and wants to go to the s...o...b..ll Dance so bad so bad and is just and is just so worried so worried about his reputation among a bunch of self-interested cla.s.smates whose support is wholly dependent on how much candy he shares. about his reputation among a bunch of self-interested cla.s.smates whose support is wholly dependent on how much candy he shares.

Now, I am not saying that I'm somehow happy when people in other countries blindly dislike America. It's just that I'm not happy if they love us, either. I don't think it matters. The kind of European who hates the United States in totality is exactly like the kind of American who hates Europe in totality; both people are unsophisticated, and their opinions aren't valid. But our society will never get over this fear; there will always be people in this country who are devastated by the premise of foreigners hating Americans in a macro sense. And I'm starting to think that's because too many Americans are dangerously obsessed with being liked.

We're like a nation of Kevin Arnolds; being likable is the only thing that seems to matter to anyone. You see this everywhere. Parents don't act like parents anymore, because they mainly want their kids to like them; they want their kids to see them as their two best friends. This is why modern kids act like animals. At some point, people confused being liked liked with being with being good. good. Those two qualities are not the same. It's important to be a good person; it's not important to be a well-liked person. It's important to be a good country; it's not important to be a well-liked country. And I realize there are problems with America, and I'm not necessarily sure if the United States is a good place or a bad place. But the reality behind those problems has no relationship to whether or not France (or Turkey, or Winnie Cooper) thinks we're cool. They can like us, they can Those two qualities are not the same. It's important to be a good person; it's not important to be a well-liked person. It's important to be a good country; it's not important to be a well-liked country. And I realize there are problems with America, and I'm not necessarily sure if the United States is a good place or a bad place. But the reality behind those problems has no relationship to whether or not France (or Turkey, or Winnie Cooper) thinks we're cool. They can like us, they can like us like us like us, or they can hate us. But that is their problem, not ours. like us, or they can hate us. But that is their problem, not ours.

-Esquire, 2005 2005

Q: How would your views about war, politics, and the role of the military change if all future conflicts were fought by armies of robots (that is to say, if all nations agreed to conduct wars exclusively with machines so that human casualties would be virtually nonexistent)? How would your views about war, politics, and the role of the military change if all future conflicts were fought by armies of robots (that is to say, if all nations agreed to conduct wars exclusively with machines so that human casualties would be virtually nonexistent)?

ROBOTS

Like most middle-cla.s.s white people who will never be shot at, I'm fascinated by the hyper-desperate, darkly realistic, paper-chasing world of postmodern hip-hop. I've learned a lot about life from watching MTV Jams MTV Jams; my understanding of the African American experience comes from street-hardened artists who have looked into the mouth of the lion and scoffed like soldiers. These are people like Shawn Carter ("Jay-Z"), Terius Gray ("Juvenile"), Nasir Jones ("Nas"), and Arturo Molina Jr. ("Frost"), who is technically Mexican American. And, to a lesser extent, Will Smith ("The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air").

Smith is an intriguing figure, sort of. Unlike his peers, Will Smith has eloquently evolved with the culture that sp.a.w.ned him. Though once merely peeved by his mother's fashion directives (1988's "Parents Just Don't Understand"), he has grown into a mature artist who's willing to confront America's single greatest threat: killer robots.

This summer (2004), Smith will star in I, Robot, I, Robot, the cinematic interpretation of nine short stories by Isaac Asimov. When I was in the sixth grade, Asimov struck me as a profoundly compelling figure, prompting me to subscribe to the cinematic interpretation of nine short stories by Isaac Asimov. When I was in the sixth grade, Asimov struck me as a profoundly compelling figure, prompting me to subscribe to Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, a monthly publication I quit reading after the second installment. (The stories seemed a little implausible.) I did, however, unleash a stirring oral book report on a monthly publication I quit reading after the second installment. (The stories seemed a little implausible.) I did, however, unleash a stirring oral book report on I, Robot, I, Robot, a literary collection that was punctuated by Asimov's now famous Three Rules of Robotics: a literary collection that was punctuated by Asimov's now famous Three Rules of Robotics: 1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. Do not talk about Fight Club.

Now, I don't think I'm giving anything away by telling you that the robots in I, Robot I, Robot find a loophole to those principles, and they proceed to slowly f.u.c.k us over. This is a story that was written half a century ago. However, it paints a scenario we continue to fear. find a loophole to those principles, and they proceed to slowly f.u.c.k us over. This is a story that was written half a century ago. However, it paints a scenario we continue to fear. I, Robot I, Robot was published in 1950, but writers (or at least muttonchopped Isaac) were already terrified about mankind's bellicose relationship with technology. If we have learned only one thing from film, literature, and rock music, it is this: humans will eventually go to war against the machines. There is no way to avoid this. But you know what? If we somehow manage to lose this war, we really have no excuse. Because I can't imagine any war we've spent more time worrying about. was published in 1950, but writers (or at least muttonchopped Isaac) were already terrified about mankind's bellicose relationship with technology. If we have learned only one thing from film, literature, and rock music, it is this: humans will eventually go to war against the machines. There is no way to avoid this. But you know what? If we somehow manage to lose this war, we really have no excuse. Because I can't imagine any war we've spent more time worrying about.

The Terminator trilogy is about a war against the machines; so is trilogy is about a war against the machines; so is The Matrix The Matrix trilogy. So was trilogy. So was Maximum Overdrive, Maximum Overdrive, although that movie also implied that robots enjoy the music of AC/DC. I don't think the Radiohead alb.u.m although that movie also implied that robots enjoy the music of AC/DC. I don't think the Radiohead alb.u.m OK Computer OK Computer was specifically about computers trying to kill us, but it certainly suggested that computers were not "okay." was specifically about computers trying to kill us, but it certainly suggested that computers were not "okay." 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey 2001: A s.p.a.ce Odyssey employs elements of robot hysteria, as does the plotline to roughly 2,001 video games. I suspect employs elements of robot hysteria, as does the plotline to roughly 2,001 video games. I suspect Blade Runner Blade Runner might have also touched on this topic, but I honestly can't remember any of the narrative details; I was too busy pretending it wasn't terrible. There is even a Deutsch electronica band called Lights of Euphoria whose supposed masterpiece is an alb.u.m t.i.tled might have also touched on this topic, but I honestly can't remember any of the narrative details; I was too busy pretending it wasn't terrible. There is even a Deutsch electronica band called Lights of Euphoria whose supposed masterpiece is an alb.u.m t.i.tled Krieg gegen die Maschinen, Krieg gegen die Maschinen, which literally translates as, "War Against the Machines." This means that even European techno fans are aware of this phenomenon, and those idiots generally aren't aware of which literally translates as, "War Against the Machines." This means that even European techno fans are aware of this phenomenon, and those idiots generally aren't aware of anything anything (except who in the room might be holding the ketamine). (except who in the room might be holding the ketamine).

I'm not sure how we all became convinced that machines intend to dominate us. As I type this very column, I can see my toaster, and I'll be honest: I'm not nervous. As far as I can tell, it poses no threat. My relationship with my toaster is delicious, but completely one-sided. If I can be considered the Michael Jordan of My Apartment (and I think I can), my toaster is LaBradford Smith. I'm never concerned that my toaster will find a way to poison me, or that it will foster a false sense of security before electrocuting me in the shower, or that it will politically align itself with my microwave. My toaster does not want to conquer society. I even played "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" in my kitchen, just to see if my toaster would become self-aware and go for my jugular; its reaction was negligible. Machines have no grit.

It appears we've spent half a century preparing for a war against a potential foe who-thus far-has been nothing but civil to us; it's almost like we've made a bunch of movies that warn about a coming conflict with the Netherlands. In fact, there isn't even evidence that robots could kick our a.s.s if they wanted to. if they wanted to. In March, a clandestine military group called DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) challenged engineers to build a driverless vehicle that could traverse a 150-mile course in the Mojave Desert; the contest's winner was promised a cash prize of $1 million. And you know who won? n.o.body. n.o.body's robot SUV could make it farther than 7.4 miles. Even with the aid of a GPS, robots are pretty moronic. Why do we think they'll be able to construct a matrix if they can't even drive to Vegas? In March, a clandestine military group called DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) challenged engineers to build a driverless vehicle that could traverse a 150-mile course in the Mojave Desert; the contest's winner was promised a cash prize of $1 million. And you know who won? n.o.body. n.o.body's robot SUV could make it farther than 7.4 miles. Even with the aid of a GPS, robots are pretty moronic. Why do we think they'll be able to construct a matrix if they can't even drive to Vegas?

I suspect all these dystopic "man versus machine" scenarios are grounded in the fact that technology is is legitimately alienating; the rise of computers (and robots, and iPods, and nanomachines who hope to turn the world into sentient "gray goo") has certainly made life easier, but they've also accelerated depression. Case in point: if this were 1904, you would not be reading this essay; you would be chopping wood or churning b.u.t.ter or watching one of your thirteen children perish from crib death. Your life would be horrible, but your life would have purpose. It would have clarity. Machines allow humans the privilege of existential anxiety. Machines provide us with the extra time to worry about the status of our careers, and/or the context of our s.e.xual relationships, and/or what it means to be alive. Unconsciously, we hate technology. We hate the way it replaces visceral experience with self-absorption. And the only way we can reconcile that hatred is by pretending machines hate us, too. legitimately alienating; the rise of computers (and robots, and iPods, and nanomachines who hope to turn the world into sentient "gray goo") has certainly made life easier, but they've also accelerated depression. Case in point: if this were 1904, you would not be reading this essay; you would be chopping wood or churning b.u.t.ter or watching one of your thirteen children perish from crib death. Your life would be horrible, but your life would have purpose. It would have clarity. Machines allow humans the privilege of existential anxiety. Machines provide us with the extra time to worry about the status of our careers, and/or the context of our s.e.xual relationships, and/or what it means to be alive. Unconsciously, we hate technology. We hate the way it replaces visceral experience with self-absorption. And the only way we can reconcile that hatred is by pretending machines hate us, too.

It is human nature to personify anything we don't understand: G.o.d, animals, hurricanes, mountain ranges, jet skis, strippers, etc. We deal with inanimate objects by a.s.signing them the human qualities we a.s.sume they might have if they were exactly us. Consequently, we want to think about machines as slaves, and we like to pretend those mechanized slaves will eventually attempt a hostile takeover.

The truth, of course, is that we we are the slaves; the machines became our masters through a bloodless coup that began during the Industrial Revolution. (In fact, this is kind of what are the slaves; the machines became our masters through a bloodless coup that began during the Industrial Revolution. (In fact, this is kind of what I, Robot I, Robot is about, although I a.s.sume the Will Smith version will not make that clear.) By now, I think most Americans are aware of that reality; I think any smarter-than-average person already concedes that (a) we've lost control of technology, and (b) there's nothing we can do about it. But that's defeatist. Openly embracing that despair would make the process of living even darker than it already is; we'd all move to rural Montana and become Unabombers. We need to remain optimistic. And how do we do that? By preparing ourselves for a futuristic war against intelligent, man-hating cyborgs. As long as we dream of a war that has not yet happened, we are able to believe it's a war we have not yet lost. is about, although I a.s.sume the Will Smith version will not make that clear.) By now, I think most Americans are aware of that reality; I think any smarter-than-average person already concedes that (a) we've lost control of technology, and (b) there's nothing we can do about it. But that's defeatist. Openly embracing that despair would make the process of living even darker than it already is; we'd all move to rural Montana and become Unabombers. We need to remain optimistic. And how do we do that? By preparing ourselves for a futuristic war against intelligent, man-hating cyborgs. As long as we dream of a war that has not yet happened, we are able to believe it's a war we have not yet lost.

But perhaps I'm wrong about all this. Perhaps we humans are still in command, and perhaps there really will be a conventional robot war in the not-so-distant future. If so, let's roll. I'm ready. My toaster will never be the boss of me. Get ready to make me some Pop-Tarts, b.i.t.c.h.

-Esquire, 2004 2004

Q: Is there any widespread practice more futile than attempting to predict society's future relationship with technology? Is there any widespread practice more futile than attempting to predict society's future relationship with technology?

CHAOS

Let's pretend we could end world hunger with drugs.

Let's pretend someone invented a single, inexpensive pill that would make eating unnecessary forever. You swallow this pill once, and you're never hungry again; you'd always remain your ideal weight, and you'd always be in perfect health. And let's a.s.sume this pill could be manufactured anywhere (and by anyone), and it would be impossible to regulate or control. n.o.body would ever again starve to death in Africa; n.o.body would ever need to spend money on groceries or slaughter livestock. All the problems that come with the acquisition and consumption of food would disappear.

This, it can be safely argued, would be positive for mankind.

But let's add one caveat to this hypothetical: let's say all this happened suddenly suddenly. Let's say the worldwide distribution of this pill happened in the span of six weeks. For the next ten years, the world would be insane. Millions of farmers would be instantly unemployed. Anybody who makes a living by selling, moving, or preparing food would be obsolete. With no need for farmland, the real estate market would be completely reinvented overnight. Without the structure of meals, day-today activities would be drastically different, and it would take decades for this to normalize. In the long run, this evolution would be good for society-but society would not be prepared for the transition. No one has constructed a social framework for a foodless world, and the result would be chaos.

I bring this up because a similar thing is (probably) going to happen to the advertising industry.

Bob Garfield is the advertising critic for Ad Age Ad Age and the co-host of NPR's and the co-host of NPR's On the Media On the Media. He has begun to propagate a theory he's (somewhat ominously) dubbing "The Chaos Scenario." The concept is remarkably simple: Garfield basically looked at two trends that everyone recognizes and suddenly realized their combination was going to make the contemporary media implode.

"This scenario is-potentially-the most wonderful thing imaginable for media consumers in a democracy," Garfield argues, "unless, of course, you're actively in the marketing or media industry right now and you're over the age of forty-five. Then you're f.u.c.ked big-time."

Here are the bare bones of Garfield's "Chaos Scenario" (which I may be oversimplifying, but-truth be told-that's pretty much what I do for a living), based on two suppositions: The first supposition is that network television is in trouble (and there's a lot of data to prove this). The population of the United States has increased by 30 million people during the past ten years, but the network audience has managed to decrease by 2 percent over that same span. In 1980, most Americans had three or four channels; now, many have three hundred. With the exception of the Super Bowl, it's virtually impossible to stop people from changing the channel whenever they see a commercial. Moreover, a growing percentage of Americans now have TiVos and DVRs, and 70 percent of those consumers don't watch commercials at all at all. All of this is making it less and less practical for advertisers to use TV as the way to reach people, especially since the cost of advertising on TV keeps increasing. In short, TV advertising is dying-and it's dying rapidly.

The second supposition is that the advertising role currently played by TV will eventually be adopted by the Internet. Here again, everyone seems to agree that this is inevitable; the only problem is that no one knows how it will work. At the moment, Web advertising (at least to me) seems completely useless. I never pay attention to pop-up ads, and the notion of businesses sponsoring bloggers seems akin to lighting $100 bills on fire and feeding them to a newborn zonkey. Still, my a.s.sumption is that companies will eventually eventually find a way to do this effectively. The Internet will replace TV-but that replacement will happen slowly. find a way to do this effectively. The Internet will replace TV-but that replacement will happen slowly.

In other words, we have one medium that's collapsing posthaste, and its replacement medium is still under construction. So what happens during the gap in-between? What happens when people realize that advertising on TV is a waste of money, but there isn't any clear alternative? According to Garfield, the answer is media chaos. And it's coming fast.

"I'm thinking 2010," he says. "There's simply no capacity for the on-line world to represent all those old-world advertisers. TV is in trouble; newspapers and magazines are in trouble for similar reasons. This is a really good time to be in the billboard business."

What you need to remember is that television only only exists because of the commercials, and that's exists because of the commercials, and that's always always how it has been. Consciously, we all know this; unconsciously, we sort of convince ourselves otherwise. When we think about TV, we tend to think of TV shows; we think about programming. But if you think about TV as a semi-random collection of advertis.e.m.e.nts that are simply how it has been. Consciously, we all know this; unconsciously, we sort of convince ourselves otherwise. When we think about TV, we tend to think of TV shows; we think about programming. But if you think about TV as a semi-random collection of advertis.e.m.e.nts that are simply connected connected by constructed narratives, it starts to seem like a very dangerous business model. A show like by constructed narratives, it starts to seem like a very dangerous business model. A show like Desperate Housewives Desperate Housewives is merely under-written by Tide and Dial soap and Target stores. Underwriting these increasingly expensive shows is earning companies less and less money. At some point in the very near future, companies will realize this business practice is not cost effective, so they'll just stop underwriting everything. There won't be anyone to pay for these shows, so there simply won't be any programming. is merely under-written by Tide and Dial soap and Target stores. Underwriting these increasingly expensive shows is earning companies less and less money. At some point in the very near future, companies will realize this business practice is not cost effective, so they'll just stop underwriting everything. There won't be anyone to pay for these shows, so there simply won't be any programming.

This is when the aforementioned big-time f.u.c.king occurs.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Won't everything just become pay-for-view? Won't everything just be on-demand programming?" Possibly-but not right away. Maybe when everyone's computer is also their television (or vice versa). But that system isn't set up yet. And even if it could happen instantaneously, that would create a new problem: people want want to know about Tide and Dial, and the companies who make them to know about Tide and Dial, and the companies who make them need need a way to get consumers that information. The retail economy depends on it. a way to get consumers that information. The retail economy depends on it.

This is the chaos.

"But wait," you may be saying to yourself. "What about product placement? Couldn't the networks just combine advertising and programming into one animal? Isn't that happening right now?" Well, sort of. Reality TV already relies on that convergence. Shows like The Apprentice The Apprentice and and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy Queer Eye for the Straight Guy are mostly high-end infomercials. There was an episode of are mostly high-end infomercials. There was an episode of Survivor: Palau Survivor: Palau where a tribe was "rewarded" with Citrus Flash Scope; there were myriad moments on the third season of where a tribe was "rewarded" with Citrus Flash Scope; there were myriad moments on the third season of Project Greenlight Project Greenlight where weirdo director John Gulager swilled Stella Artois. where weirdo director John Gulager swilled Stella Artois.

Garfield thinks this is proof that his theory is already in motion.

"Branded entertainment is step number one in chaos theory because audiences will go crazy," he says. "People hate it when they recognize product placement. It's strange: Americans will willingly give up huge elements of their civil liberties, but they won't stand for the corruption of their Hollywood-produced c.r.a.p."

On this point I tend to disagree: I don't think most people born after 1970 have an intense aversion to branded entertainment, and I don't think people born after 1980 even notice. Personally, I'd accept more branding. Take Arrested Development, Arrested Development, for example: for example: Arrested Development Arrested Development is (arguably) the most sophisticated American sitcom ever produced; somewhat predictably, it looks like it will almost certainly be cancelled. This is because it doesn't earn enough revenue through advertising. But what if the characters on is (arguably) the most sophisticated American sitcom ever produced; somewhat predictably, it looks like it will almost certainly be cancelled. This is because it doesn't earn enough revenue through advertising. But what if the characters on Arrested Development Arrested Development spent the totality of every episode drinking Coca-Cola, and what if they periodically mentioned how refreshing c.o.ke tasted? Or what if spent the totality of every episode drinking Coca-Cola, and what if they periodically mentioned how refreshing c.o.ke tasted? Or what if all all the characters the characters always always wore Coca-Cola shirts for the wore Coca-Cola shirts for the entire entire program? What if program? What if Arrested Development Arrested Development became like stockcar racing, and everything not directly a.s.sociated with the storyline featured a logo? Would I still watch it? became like stockcar racing, and everything not directly a.s.sociated with the storyline featured a logo? Would I still watch it?

I think I would. I mean, I still watch The Apprentice The Apprentice.

And this, I suppose, would be Mr. Garfield's chaos: a fuzzy world where commercials do not exist, yet everything is a commercial (all the time). And its only alternative would be no no TV, which means we'd have no public awareness of Tide or Dial or Citrus Splash Scope. TV, which means we'd have no public awareness of Tide or Dial or Citrus Splash Scope.

I can't wait for 2010.

Also, please buy my new magic food pill. It's terrific.

-Esquire, 2006 2006

Q: While traveling on business, your spouse (whom you love) is involved in a plane crash over the Pacific Ocean. It is a.s.sumed that everyone onboard has died. For the next seven months, you quietly mourn. But then the unbelievable happens: it turns out your spouse has survived. He/She managed to swim to a desert island, where he/she lived in relative comfort with one other survivor (they miraculously located most of the aircraft's supplies on the beach, and the island itself was filled with ample food sources). Against all odds, they have just been discovered by a Fijian fishing boat. While traveling on business, your spouse (whom you love) is involved in a plane crash over the Pacific Ocean. It is a.s.sumed that everyone onboard has died. For the next seven months, you quietly mourn. But then the unbelievable happens: it turns out your spouse has survived. He/She managed to swim to a desert island, where he/she lived in relative comfort with one other survivor (they miraculously located most of the aircraft's supplies on the beach, and the island itself was filled with ample food sources). Against all odds, they have just been discovered by a Fijian fishing boat.

The two survivors return home via helicopter, greeted by the public as media sensations. Immediately upon their arrival, there is an international press conference. And during this press conference, you cannot help but notice how s.e.xy the other survivor is; physically, he/she perfectly embodies the type of person your mate is normally attracted to. Moreover, the intensity of the event has clearly galvanized a relationship between the two crash victims: they spend most of the interview explaining how they could not have survived without the other person's presence. They explain how they pa.s.sed the time by telling anecdotes from their respective lives, and both admit to having virtually given up on the possibility for rescue. At the end of the press conference, the two survivors share a tearful good-bye hug. It's extremely emotional.

After the press conference, you are finally reunited with your spouse. He/She embraces you warmly and kisses you deeply.

How long do you wait before asking if he/she was ever unfaithful to you on this island? Do you never never ask? And if your mate's answer is "yes," would that (under these specific circ.u.mstances) be acceptable? ask? And if your mate's answer is "yes," would that (under these specific circ.u.mstances) be acceptable?

4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42 Because I've written about reality television on numerous occasions during the past ten years, I am often asked questions about it. Roughly 90 percent of these queries are different versions of the same question: "When will all of this be over?" There seems to be a universally held belief that reality television is a doomed fad, and that the genre has oversaturated the marketplace to an almost unfathomable degree, and that it is only a matter of moments before it all goes away. Everyone also seems to agree that reality programming is becoming more and more scripted, which means we are usually just watching contrived scenarios performed by untrained actors. Moreover, everything else on TV seems to be getting better; televised dramas have never been as complex or engrossing as they are right now. So when you consider how many people hate reality television (and how watchable its unreal compet.i.tion has become), it's hard to fathom why slow-paced, quasi-authentic, semi-humiliating game shows can still survive as mainstream entertainment.

And yet they do. And they're still popular, and they're still being created, and they're still prompting ostensibly intelligent people to ask questions such as, "I wonder what kind of world Supernova will sonically inhabit?" Clearly, this genre is more tenacious than logic would dictate. If you're one of those people still asking "When will all of this be over?" you're obsessing over the wrong question. The more compelling issue is why why people still care about reality TV, especially when there are so many fictional alternatives that are so obviously superior. The easy answer would be to say that this is because most people are stupid, but that conclusion is reductionist, condescending, and wrong; unfortunately, the correct answer is even more depressing. And that explanation is best ill.u.s.trated through a key ideological difference between people still care about reality TV, especially when there are so many fictional alternatives that are so obviously superior. The easy answer would be to say that this is because most people are stupid, but that conclusion is reductionist, condescending, and wrong; unfortunately, the correct answer is even more depressing. And that explanation is best ill.u.s.trated through a key ideological difference between Survivor Survivor and and Lost Lost.

Superficially, Survivor Survivor and and Lost Lost have a lot in common: both depict disparate groups of people trying to exist on a deserted island while learning how to exist with one another. have a lot in common: both depict disparate groups of people trying to exist on a deserted island while learning how to exist with one another. Lost Lost is probably the best network drama in the history of television is probably the best network drama in the history of television1 (the only other candidate might be (the only other candidate might be Twin Peaks Twin Peaks). The standards and practices of ABC prevent Lost Lost from being as realistic or deep from being as realistic or deep2 as an HBO series (it's not as vulgar or intense as as an HBO series (it's not as vulgar or intense as The Sopranos The Sopranos or as morally incendiary as or as morally incendiary as Six Feet Under Six Feet Under), but the writing is sophisticated and weirdly creative; one of the narrative threads during the first season is loosely based on an alternative universe where Oasis broke up after (What's the Story) Morning Glory? (What's the Story) Morning Glory?3 It's impossible to predict the arc of the It's impossible to predict the arc of the Lost Lost narrative, or even to guess how long that arc will last. Conversely, narrative, or even to guess how long that arc will last. Conversely, Survivor Survivor is static; the program is now entering its thirteenth season, and all of the previous twelve have been slightly different species of the same animal. Its cast members have been ingrained with the history and language of the show, and they all take their strategic cues from prior seasons. is static; the program is now entering its thirteenth season, and all of the previous twelve have been slightly different species of the same animal. Its cast members have been ingrained with the history and language of the show, and they all take their strategic cues from prior seasons. Survivor Survivor should not be able to compete with a program like should not be able to compete with a program like Lost, Lost, which is better in almost every conceivable way. But it does. And that's because which is better in almost every conceivable way. But it does. And that's because Survivor Survivor has an advantage that has an advantage that Lost Lost could never construct: could never construct: Survivor Survivor-like most reality programming-is powered by the overwhelming significance of jealousy in everyday life. Which is why it still feels real to people, even when they know it mostly isn't.

At its core, Lost Lost is an adventure story of the cla.s.sical variety, which is to say it centers on the notion of The Great Man. The main character is a workaholic doctor (Matthew Fox's Jack Shepherd) who's expected to take care of everyone else, regardless of what the problem is; we slowly learn that his only weakness is overcommitment. The doctor's ally/nemesis is a wise old man (Terry O'Quinn's John Locke) who can slay boars with knives and read people's minds; upon crashing onto the island's sand, this una.s.suming cripple becomes the spiritualist equivalent of Nietzsche's superman. Both of these characters are admirable. On is an adventure story of the cla.s.sical variety, which is to say it centers on the notion of The Great Man. The main character is a workaholic doctor (Matthew Fox's Jack Shepherd) who's expected to take care of everyone else, regardless of what the problem is; we slowly learn that his only weakness is overcommitment. The doctor's ally/nemesis is a wise old man (Terry O'Quinn's John Locke) who can slay boars with knives and read people's minds; upon crashing onto the island's sand, this una.s.suming cripple becomes the spiritualist equivalent of Nietzsche's superman. Both of these characters are admirable. On Lost, Lost, greatness is everything greatness is everything4-and that makes the show likable. But it also reminds people that Lost Lost is fake, and it suggests that the story will rarely show them glimpses of their own life (which, ultimately, is art's main function). The wholly constructed world of is fake, and it suggests that the story will rarely show them glimpses of their own life (which, ultimately, is art's main function). The wholly constructed world of Lost Lost is how life should be, but isn't. Meanwhile, the semi-constructed world of is how life should be, but isn't. Meanwhile, the semi-constructed world of Survivor Survivor mirrors the way life actually is: every season, the mediocre majority unifies to destroy the unrivaled. After that, it becomes a popularity contest based on lying. mirrors the way life actually is: every season, the mediocre majority unifies to destroy the unrivaled. After that, it becomes a popularity contest based on lying.

If Dr. Jack and Mr. Locke were characters on Survivor, Survivor, neither would have any chance of winning. On neither would have any chance of winning. On Survivor, Survivor, being a successful leader is akin to a death sentence; with the exceptions of Ethan Zohn from Season 3 and Tom Westman from Season 10, the strongest players always lose. being a successful leader is akin to a death sentence; with the exceptions of Ethan Zohn from Season 3 and Tom Westman from Season 10, the strongest players always lose.5 The game is actively designed to penalize greatness. The perfect The game is actively designed to penalize greatness. The perfect Survivor Survivor contestant is the kind of paradoxical individual who should not exist: an understated, noncontroversial, virtually invisible person who-for some unknown reason-really, contestant is the kind of paradoxical individual who should not exist: an understated, noncontroversial, virtually invisible person who-for some unknown reason-really, really really wants to be on TV. Most importantly, the perfect wants to be on TV. Most importantly, the perfect Survivor Survivor contestant needs to be "un-great." That is the key to winning $1 million. And from a programming perspective, that's also why audiences will always relate to reality vehicles like contestant needs to be "un-great." That is the key to winning $1 million. And from a programming perspective, that's also why audiences will always relate to reality vehicles like Survivor, Survivor, even when its tangible content seems dull and artificial. even when its tangible content seems dull and artificial.

Lost is high-minded and confusing, which makes it entertaining. is high-minded and confusing, which makes it entertaining. Survivor Survivor is unavoidably immoral, which makes it more prescient. The American world view is predicated (and measured) by individual success-but success can't happen to everyone. Greatness is generally not shared. As a result, people are increasingly comfortable with the concept of equalizing the playing field through collusion and resentment. This is why JV basketball players sit on the bench and pray for members of the varsity to tear their ACLs. This is why the only sector of media that seems to be thriving is the coverage of celebrity gossip, an industry flooded with failed sycophants who couldn't get jobs in real journalism. This is why choosing to position himself as un-great is unavoidably immoral, which makes it more prescient. The American world view is predicated (and measured) by individual success-but success can't happen to everyone. Greatness is generally not shared. As a result, people are increasingly comfortable with the concept of equalizing the playing field through collusion and resentment. This is why JV basketball players sit on the bench and pray for members of the varsity to tear their ACLs. This is why the only sector of media that seems to be thriving is the coverage of celebrity gossip, an industry flooded with failed sycophants who couldn't get jobs in real journalism. This is why choosing to position himself as un-great on purpose on purpose helped a man win the presidential election in 2000 and 2004. And this is why helped a man win the presidential election in 2000 and 2004. And this is why Survivor Survivor still has a place in society: it validates the practice of getting to the top by dragging everyone else to the middle. still has a place in society: it validates the practice of getting to the top by dragging everyone else to the middle.

Certainly, not all reality shows are based on this kind of philosophical nihilism; Bravo's Project Runway Project Runway consistently rewards genuine talent, and MTV's anachronistic consistently rewards genuine talent, and MTV's anachronistic The Real World The Real World still (somewhat curiously) has no objective beyond getting cast on the show itself. There are also tangential elements of still (somewhat curiously) has no objective beyond getting cast on the show itself. There are also tangential elements of Survivor Survivor that make it specifically unique (for some reason, it's always interesting to watch strangers starve for nonaesthetic motivations). But its disenchanting sociology is the core explanation as to why reality TV does not disappear. Its dialogue might seem coached and its action might seem staged, but the characters' motives inevitably strike audiences as sadly plausible. that make it specifically unique (for some reason, it's always interesting to watch strangers starve for nonaesthetic motivations). But its disenchanting sociology is the core explanation as to why reality TV does not disappear. Its dialogue might seem coached and its action might seem staged, but the characters' motives inevitably strike audiences as sadly plausible. Lost Lost is awesome, but only as long as the storyline remains intense; the moment it gets boring, is awesome, but only as long as the storyline remains intense; the moment it gets boring,6 no one will care. All of its Great Men will suddenly seem like improbable caricatures. But no one will care. All of its Great Men will suddenly seem like improbable caricatures. But Survivor Survivor doesn't have to be interesting in order to be important. All it needs to show is the mendacity of the desperately average, and we will always understand why it is real. doesn't have to be interesting in order to be important. All it needs to show is the mendacity of the desperately average, and we will always understand why it is real.

-Esquire, 2006 2006

1. I regret writing this sentence. However, this is not because I retrospectively disagree with my opinion after seeing Lost Lost's third season; it's because this single sentence seemed to be the only thing many readers were able to remember about the entire column. Within the context of the piece, it does not matter if Lost Lost is the best show of all-time or the thirty-eighth best show of the twenty-first century. My personal opinion about the program's entertainment value is completely unrelated to the larger point of the essay. Unfortunately, I failed to realize that most people would rather argue over the superficial merits of what they like (or dislike) than consider is the best show of all-time or the thirty-eighth best show of the twenty-first century. My personal opinion about the program's entertainment value is completely unrelated to the larger point of the essay. Unfortunately, I failed to realize that most people would rather argue over the superficial merits of what they like (or dislike) than consider why why they unconsciously like (or dislike) anything. they unconsciously like (or dislike) anything.