Among the things that I can proudly assert in my life, things which include the fact that I am a reasonably well-adjusted, over-educated, happily-married, gainfully-employed homeowner, what I am most proud of at this particular moment in time is that I have never watched a single episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8.
I don’t have to. The Internet is watching it for me.
I should probably back up here and state for the record that I am not a tabloid junkie, whether those tabloids reside at my supermarket checkout line or on the Intertubes. I read one physical entertainment magazine (Entertainment Weekly, which offers reasonably intelligent entertainment analysis and reviews without sinking to the “OMGZ! Are you Team Jen or Team Angelina–and yes, you must decide” level), and I read one entertainment blog, one pop culture blog, and one news site that frequently features some entertainment headlines. And that’s all I needed to become well-acquainted with the fact that Jon is supposedly cheating on Kate, but that’s sorta kinda okay because Kate is apparently a heartless shrew and they just maybe had an open marriage pact anyway and HOLY EFFIN’ CRAP THESE PEOPLE HAVE EIGHT KIDS UNDER THE AGE OF TEN.
What we have here, folks, is one of the reasons that I just love the Intertubes–they shield me from the worthless crap that’s on television these days, yet allow me to get just close enough to it–and half the time, I’m getting close accidentally, just by turning the wrong page or scrolling to the wrong headline–that I don’t become a complete pop culture idiot. The Internet is my TeeVee prophylactic, my gigantic TeeVee condom. It’s what allows me to be able to have an intelligent conversation with my co-workers about American Idol (and, yes, I just used “intelligent conversation” and ”American Idol” in the same sentence) even though the last time I watched the show was when Kelly Clarkson was singing that insipid “A Moment Like This” song while confetti poured from the ceiling. It’s what allows me enough knowledge to assert that Adam Lambert had better be talented as all get-out, because he looks like the long-lost brother of Pete Wentz and so whenever I see him all I can think about is Fall Out Boy and Ashlee Simpson, neither of which are things that would make me want to run out and buy Adam’s future album but both of which are things that make me throw up in my mouth a little.
The Internet is what has allowed me to even know who the hell Pete Wentz is and what his relationship is to Ashlee Simpson, and it’s what’s allowed me to know that I’d rather punch myself in the face repeatedly than listen to a Fall Out Boy album in its entirety, because no one’s for damn sure finding out about new music by watching Music Television anymore.
So right now I’m sitting here in front of my computer, trying to imagine a future in which people no longer even feel the need own television sets because they have the Intertubes. Because, in addition to dispensing television to you in the bite-sized pop culture chunklets that I’ve discussed above, the Intertubes are now dispensing television itself–what with the Hulu and the YouTube and various network sites rebroadcasting their own shows and whatever else I’m forgetting that currently exists plus whatever’s coming on the Internet Box in the future. In other words, the idiot box isn’t going to go away, it’s just shifting venues, much in the same way that newspapers are currently being swallowed in a big lumpy mess by the unhinged python jaw of Internet news and entertainment sites.
And I’m certainly not arguing for the death of newspapers and/or television here. I’m just saying that for me, one of the great things about the Internet is that I can more quickly and efficiently sift through some of the crap that currently exists in both venues until I get to what I deem to be the good stuff (or I can let some of the sites I’ve linked to above shift through it for me).
Because even though my life isn’t that eventful, I can think of better ways to spend my evening than watching an American Idol final results show whose ultimate purpose is to tell me who won, an act that can be accomplished in thirty seconds–or maybe two minutes, tops, if they run highlights from the previous evening’s performances. I don’t need to waste two hours of my life while the show inexplicably trots out every musical act that was popular ten years before most of the contestants were born (Kiss? Rod Stewart? And Lionel Richie–does anyone even remember anymore that he had a music career before he became Nicole Richie’s dad?). I only needed to waste the minute that the show should have lasted in the first place–that’s how long it took me to look up the information in this paragraph on the Interwebs.
All that information in one minute. And no Ryan Seacrest. Damn, I love the Internet.
