a bit on tv

Sarah poured herself another glass and sat down on the couch. The remote control felt strange in her hand, large and austere. She thought to turn on the television and watch for a while. Criticizing the programming always allowed her to feel smart. The stupid commercials. She liked to imagine their target audience as one real person. One very stupid person, overweight, with beady little eyes and a turned up nose who went out and bought every product advertised, faithful servant to the television waves. It could be mesmerizing, she had to admit. Days when she came home from work too tired to go for a run, too mentally drained to pick up a book or magazine, she’d flip in on and be soothed by the low expectations, the bright colors and loud noises that brought her back to an infantile level of appreciation, like some shiny set of wheels dangling from the mobile above her long ago crib. She drank some of the wine and stared down at the remote, which now looked fleshy and growing, alive somehow in her hand, resting on her thigh. Jason was supposed to have called her a half hour ago. It was like him to be late and she’d come to expect a delay whenever they were meeting up. She’s figured out a basic equation for determining Jason time. Figuring this out gave her a sense of power, a power to deprive herself the anger and frustration at his tardiness, to deprive him of the ability to piss her off. Maintaining your equanimity in this world was a full time job. Maybe that’s why people liked the television. It was never late, adhered to a set schedule, was always there, completely dependable. What did it ask from you? Nothing. It encouraged you to lay down on the couch with a can of Coke or a bottle of beer, kick your shoes off and turn your brain, if not completely off, than at least down, down, down, until you were at that near sleep stage. It was like meditation, or being hypnotized. Yes, that was it. It was hypnotic, the dependable rhythms of program and commercial, the steady flow of images and sounds. She’d often wondered at the efficacy of the commercials, hoping that no one was blunt enough to buy everything they were seeing advertised. But it obviously had to be working on some level or else the companies would find better ways to spend their money. It seemed odd that someone interrupting your entertainment could sell you something. It seemed like the advertisements started off on the wrong foot. It would be like someone jumping into the middle of a conversation you were having to try to sell you a tube of toothpaste. Most likely you wouldn’t even look at what they were selling, you’d be too taken aback by how rudely they’d interjected themselves into your conversation. But enough people were going home with that tube of toothpaste. And the interruptions just kept on coming.