Yang Girly Girl

I have a new name for Seattle.  I call it Foggy Shrouds.  I think it’s a lot more interesting than the Forks place in Stephanie Meyer’s books, you know, the Twilight series….a romance novel about unrequited love, because sucking your loved one’s blood is just not politically correct.  I suppose I’m one of the those cynical ones that can’t believe a vampire would desecrate another human, while not being able to say anything worse than “horse feathers” for a swear word.

Like Harry Potter, and the Potterdam, I haven’t read any of these books.  I also don’t like romance novels, soap operas, or TV shows that have continuing stories.  When I watch TV, I want to be entertained, and I always want resolution.  I guess that’s why I like Law and Order.  I never have to worry about missing an episode, because each one is self contained….like SCUBA, pure isolationism.   I like that.

Television has become the place where vicarious living is the primary impetus for viewing said show.  I hereby am relegated to the news, Law and Order, and re-runs of Frasier and Seinfeld.  What happened to good old fashioned TV? 

It’s a conspiracy, I tell you.  Every TV show that piques my interest has a continuing story.  If you don’t TEVO, you will miss some very important information.  What happened to SCUBA?  For those of you who are not familiar with the acronym, it’s “Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus.” Maybe Jacques Cousteau should have invented one for TV viewing. 

I stopped watching reality TV because it was unrealistic.  Reality is far more boring…there’s not that much drama, unless you travel to Mexico, get kidnapped, and escape through the jungle with nothing but a pair of flip flops and a cigarette.  Yes, that really happened to a friend of mine, but no one would make a series out of it because it’s not “real” enough. Or, is it? 

I started watching “Heroes” when it premiered and was duly intrigued, but discovered that it’s a soap opera, just like everything else.  So is Dexter, a soap opera about a serial killer with a heart.  Then, there’s Californication, a soap opera about drugs, sexual deviation, sexual prowess, infidelity, and more sex, with a heart.  Then you have 24, a Diehard to the 10^th power, with a heart.  Isn’t Kieffer getting a little old for these antics?  Maybe he should take graceful roles, like his dad, and appear on waterfront benches, ready to divulge a “secret”, and always, with a heart. 

I’ve become addicted to “The Tudors,” but only because I know the outcome.  I’ve already counted how many heads have fallen from the chopping block, and it’s not over yet.  C’mon, why would I watch this if it wasn’t for Henry VIII being depicted as some hot, ageless, virile dude that woos and wastes his life through hedonism? 

By now, you’re probably thinking I watch too much TV.  Are you kidding?  I pay over $150 a month for cable services so we could have entertainment readily available.  That’s quantity, not quality.   It seems to be a cheap compromise for escapism.

Where is all this going?  It goes back to that place I wrote about eons ago about being sated through media.  We’re full folks.  

Years ago, many, many years ago, I wanted to be a reporter, a journalist.  A real one.  Someone who wrote pithy stories and accounts that would serve the public.  I remember my Journalism teacher in high school.  She was a bit of a hard ass.  She had no tolerance for stupidity, and certainly no tolerance for opinionated sensationalism.  She was also much taller than me, so I listened, with a craned neck.    I hope she never lived to hear Nancy Grace, or the rest at the media Laundromat. 

Here, in Foggy Shrouds, people must not watch a lot TV.  They don’t seem to have time.  They must walk….to work, to lunch, to shopping, to nightclubs, to the market, and especially, to coffee.  The shops in Seattle are still open.   For all its dampness, lending itself to the “Rusty” city, not rustic, people are happy here.  They’re nice….really nice, in a genuine way. 

For all the gray, for all the mist, for all the so-called SADS that afflict half the population here, there is this strange apparition of a mystic spirit that breathes life into the populace at Foggy Shrouds.

It’s not like San Francisco, although some actually describe it that way; it’s not like Chicago, even though some of the best Jazz in the country is played here; it’s not like New York, not even close, and it’s certainly not Vegas.

I think a lot of people think Seattle is a place where tree huggers and techno geeks converge at Starbucks to get their hourly caffeine fix so they can weather the weather.  You can tell who the tourists are, though.  They’re the ones carrying the umbrellas.  Even the guy in the Armani suit, walking to the Financial district, hoping he still has a job, won’t be carrying an umbrella.  The drizzle, the mist is as much a part of Seattle’s experience as the hydrangea and fuchsia laden hanging baskets that bloom all year long.

People don’t like to stay inside here….maybe they don’t even know about TV.  Maybe they experience life the way we all should experience it, by just being there.  Just being there.  Just being.

Gosh, we’ve become lazy with our stimuli.  We watch the news, or pull up our homepage and expect to be duly informed rendering ourselves knowledgeable and equipped to carry on a conversation, just because we read whatever pops up.   We are informed, but we really don’t “know” anything, or do we? You can’t know without experiencing.  You can’t know without connection.  You can’t know without being.

We are a society of recluses, forced extroverts at best, waiting for someone, or something to appeal to our center of restlessness.  We want more than anything for someone to write on that Tabula Rasa….something that helps us remember who we really are and why we’re here. 

I’m not saying you should give up TV, or the Internet, or your Blackberry.  These are tools we need to function in our world.  I’m asking that you place them where they belong….in your toolbox.

Here’s the thing:  regardless of where you are, you have a chance to make the greatest choice relative to your life.  This isn’t reality TV, or serials, or CSI.  This is your life, and get ready for an energy shift like none you’ve ever imagined.  It’ll be something completely unexpected.  The economy will not right itself in 8.3 months, people who’ve been laid off won’t get a new job unless they’re willing to try something new, and the piranhas at the mall won’t make sales history.  There will be a shift in energy, one you can feel, if you allow yourself to change, or change the way you look at things.

The people of this country will feel a little differently.  They will rise early, buy their usual coffee, the cup they’ve been depriving themselves of lately, maybe even purchase a Cinnabon, not caring about the carbs or the sugar, and take the scenic route to work, the one that takes an extra 2 gallons of gas.    That’s for the MARRIED WITH NO KIDS, ONLY DOGS group, and for the rest of us, maybe we’ll buy a nice Chianti to go with our Pinto Beans.  If we would all just throw a pebble into the pond…

If you find yourself in Seattle, visit me and breathe in the Foggy Shrouds.  If you’re in Vegas, you’re headed into Crematoria, and the worst recession in the country, so get the 90 plus sunblock.    If you’re in LA, well, you’ve got smog issues, deficit issues, etc.  and anywhere else, gear up for seasonal changes, a purple one (whatever that means), changes in your life and changes in reality.  Kevlar is optional; complacency is unacceptable; and cognizance may be the only thing that separates you from banality and your magnificent life.  Please pay attention, otherwise you might miss the shooting star.