who are these kardashians?
The world isn’t just growing smaller, it’s positively moving lock stock and crackerbarrel into the South End. It’s one thing to have shirt tail relatives moving in with us, but I’m discovering perfect strangers roaming the nettle trails out back. Who ARE these Kardashian people? Why am I supposed to care enough to find out? Some quarterback from Notre Dame has an internet imaginary girlfriend who died — he’s in the driveway explaining this?? Oprah is interviewing some lying bicycle junkie down in the studio. I don’t give a doper’s damn; I just want them out of my studio so I can work.
I got You-Tube nonsense e-mailed to me, I got Yahoo News flashes on famous people’s fashion faux pas, there’s blog sites and twets and facebook and up-to-the-nano-second updates on what total strangers are doing. Our computers and cellphones and I-pads and televisions are sending silicone tentacles into our plumbing, our electrical, our phone lines and our synapses. We got the world crammed into a two bedroom house. Believe me, I need more closet space.
What I really need is to turn the computer OFF. Radio too. TV — I need to shoot the one I got. Shoot it, burn it and bury it. I have friends who never turn it off. They watch anything. Judge Judy, game shows, soaps, potty training poodles of the stars …. anything. WITH commercials. And don’t even get me started on advertisers.
We must be the most bored generation since those long winter nights in Cro-Magnon caves before fire was discovered. Nothing to do, nothing to create, nothing to fire an imagination, nothing to give us joy, nothing to make us wonder, nothing — absolutely nothing — of interest in our barren lives. The entire world at our fingertips and we can hear nothing but the babble, a white noise always on, a tinny tinnitus of the mind.
The Kardashian clan is living on the South End now and apparently we’re expected to feed them. Where in hell did they come from? And more importantly, how do we get rid of them?
Hits: 27