When my head begins to get too big, full of notions that I'm a true individual, that I listen to all sides of an argument before making an informed, personal decision... That I'm not a follower of the crowd, that I trail-blaze my own path, that I don't acquiesce to the press of popular opinion...
Something comes along to knock that self-satisfied impression right out of my head.
The feeling that we are individual, and special is a not-uncommon feeling; everyone wants to feel that way, a few of us actually do... Most of us, though, are shocked to find out just how like we are to our neighbor.
Usually this feeling is brought about by some life-event, like marriage or a very first job search or, going back even further, getting that first car. Invariably, if the money issues forth from the pocket of the parents, the car will be a sensible one with good gas mileage and absolutely zero cool factor.
But if we've saved up our own money, we are as likely to pick a car low on internal advantages, and high on looks as we are to hate our parents with a seething passion at the ripe age of 15. But then, "cool" is a priviledge of the teen years, and the desire for it outgrown as surely as the ignorance of the importance of good gas mileage evaporates, upon footing the cost for the first month's supply of that hungry machine.
It's usually the detritus of life that sways upon the cool factor -- the stuff that won't make a bit of difference when life begins that steep slope toward the inevitable-- the stuff that is engineered to be hot right now, and passe 15 minutes hence. Cars, clothes, shoes... the term "planned obsolescence" comes to mind. "Style" is perpetuated by it, spring, winter, fall and summer clothes lines thrive on it, and where would Bill Gates be without it?
There are some things, though, that even within the confines of planned obsolescence, transcend the bounds and appeal to a wide swathe of people and have some staying power... Jeans, for instance. Hi-rise, boot-cut, low-riders, ripped, patched, bleached, scorched and yes, even the whole-heartedly despised mom jeans-- despised even by the very moms encased uncomfortably within them-- there are as many styles as there are bodies to fit into them... One positive, universal appeal of jeans, though, is the fabric from which they are crafted... If there is anything better than cotton denim I haven't experienced it yet... and, interestingly, the very thing that makes jeans so wide-spread in their appeal also ensures the extremely slim possibility of their ever being "planned" into "obsolescence."
Jeans are to the clothing world what the humble potato peeler is to the kitchen gadget industry; it's just not possible to "build a better mouse trap" in either instance.
Television shows, however, are in another realm altogether... Other than the ridiculously ever changing clothing lines that the fashion industry foists upon the hapless, vapid fashionista, they are far and away the most lacking in any crumb of longevity. Once the industry discovered that syndication produces Midas-ian wealth, the aim switched from crafting an entertaining show as long as it appeals to the public, to "keep it on air and wring every last drop of creativity, freshness, intventiveness, and plausibility until it remains a mere shell of what it was at it's inception. I have more gripes than I care to recount in detail, so I will just toss out some "knee-jerk" words -- XFiles, Seinfeld, ER (a pox on you, tptb), Alley McBeal... all shows which became colossal disappointments in their endgame.
Also, it has nothing to do with my point, but I would feel remiss if I didn't mention, briefly, at the extreme opposite end of the wading pool -- the shows which were cut off before they should have been -- Sports Night (what the heck happened there?), Once and Again, Flying Blind (hello. did "Dharma" first. and did it BETTER), Futurama (come on; for a sophomore effort it beats the hell out of American Dad, any day. And while I'm on the subject -Seth, be careful, your crappy Dad, is killing the creativity of your far superior Guy.)
The disillusion abounds. You get to where you numb yourself to the gi-normous dearth of quality, creativity and innovation, until one day, you take a page from your husband's play book, and start channel surfing... and lo and behold you come across... blue jeans. Not just any old k-mart version, either...but real 501, button fly, gently used in the seat and knees, washed to softly perfect...perfection. The kind of jeans that, from all evidence, just sputtered right out of the factory, like, yesterday, but have the unmistakeably old soul of a pair of Miner 49ers.
Before you know it, you're hooked. Bad. You can't wait for Sunday nights at 10 (9 central, ABC) when you can get your weekly fix of this very good thing. You're cruising along, enjoying the sheer pleasure of having discovered something rare -- something actually creative, and fun, as well as moving (gag) ... but then you discover that the whole world (all six and a half BILLION people) are watching, and appreciating, and digging what you're digging.... And you don't feel quite so special anymore... but you know what? You don't care.
Because it's JEANS man.
