En Mute

I was born in the Deep South, the youngest of three kids, with what felt like a hundred cousins and a Grandma who ran a daycare center out of the large-ish, old fashioned family home. We were ate up with kids. I watched crazy amounts of VHS movies and TV cartoons every day, to cool off from rowdy outdoor games, to ease me into a nap, or to unwind after school as I grew older. We were, by all accounts, a huge Disney family, and I was a Disney kid. (We still are.) I remember putting my little cousins to sleep to Cinderella, and each one of them usually nodded off by the time she finished "Sing Sweet Nightingale". Hours of the Disney cartoon shorts were at our tiny fingertips via VCR, in addition to the daily variety network TV had to offer us in the afternoon. He Man, Transformers, GI Joe, Bravestar, Gummi Bears, Rescue Rangers, and on and on. Each holiday had its own wonderful cartoon version of a tale about that time of year. (Disney's Halloween Treat was, hands down, my favorite. Mickey's Christmas Carol was a close second. I fondly remember Pacman Christmas Specials, and lamented that there were not more/better Easter offerings.) I loved TV. I loved going to the movies, too, and always walked out feeling inspired to be a better hero. Or villain, as I always found them much more compelling. I watched so much television that I knew what was going to be on each night, even as I aged into my mother's sitcoms and dramas. My sisters and I would tape them for her to watch over the weekend, as she worked all day as a paralegal, and went to law school at night. We'd lovingly edit out the commercials, when we thought about it, and label each tape for the show she could expect to see when she popped it into the VCR and sat in her recliner. We were DVR before it was cool. Like DVR, we weren't always perfect. We (I) accidentally taped over her favorite videotaped possession...sorry, Mom. I thought Rosann was more important than the M*A*S*H finale. It was a judgement call.

TV became my refuge, from a young age. I didn't have to think about my parents' divorce, or how hard and long my mother was working, or any of the loneliness, anxiety or depression I was experiencing. I did my homework as soon as I got home and ate a snack, so I could watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles uninterrupted. Alone.

The beginning of the end was when I discovered that the TV I was randomly gifted with for Christmas in 1991 had a sleep mode on it its remote control. I remember cautiously considering it, playing with it by the safe light of day, wondering if it would freak me out to have the TV suddenly shut itself down while I lay falling asleep to I Love Lucy, Doby Gillis or The Patty Duke Show on Nick at Nite. Instead of filling me with dark terror, though, I liked not waking up to the TV on. My mind felt more focused on the day ahead if I didn't start it with the leftover, excluded feeling of the world of television already in progress. I began watching less and less reliably, opting to drift closer to the family computer my grandmother had bought for us. By the time I hit my late teens, I was no longer a big TV watcher. My family was astonished at this slow transformation. Numerous gift-giving occasions came and went with my family offering to buy me televisions for my various apartments, but I only ever had one in my home, and didn't use it much.

"What about your bedroom? I sleep with mine on, really low, just for the light and sound." My middle sister offered this in a helpful way, as if I was having trouble sleeping and this would comfort me. I had no trouble sleeping. I could sleep for days. The idea of a TV in my bedroom, while luxurious, would encourage my night owl tendencies...I might never sleep again.

Their horror at realizing that I did not have cable was hilarious, until I realized they thought I was judging them for having it. I don't think I ever did find an adequate way of convincing them that I wasn't, but I never have felt negatively about their enduring love of TV. I just started to feel like I was neglecting something by letting myself escape the way I did into it, like I had mental homework to do. I felt so deeply engaged in whatever it was that I was watching that I forgot everything else...and that no longer comforted me. Videogames and the odd DVD binge became the only thing I really used my roommate's abandoned TV for...until I got a partner. Diehard Saints fans, I got an antenna for the TV, so we could tune in at home instead of noisy bars. It worked well enough, I suppose. However. watching episodes of the odd show on my laptop wouldn't work if she wanted to watch too; not the way it would if we were watching it together on the couch. So I got a Roku, which allowed us to watch Netflix, Amazon Prime, HBO Go and more over our wireless connection, on our TV.

One day, not long after that Roku purchase, some knowledgeable, caring asshole was all: "If you have a cable modem for your internet connection, do you know what that cable also carries? Basic cable." Because I adore my partner, and want her to have ALL the things, I felt it necessary to make this inexpensive upgrade. With a moderately heavy heart, I got a cable splitter and an extra coaxial cable, That was late fall of 2013, and we have not watched cable much. Roku is where it's at. Then the Saints season began, and this was the first commercial I saw in what has apparently been a very long time:



Seriously, this kind of advertisement got approved? That women are so stupid that if you smell like a product, even if you're a robot, they will want to have sex with you? But it didn't stop there. Every other commercial seemed to be about making someone seem like an idiot, like they were ugly, unclean, or somehow unattractive without their product. It was so body focused, nay, body negative, I found myself trying looking away when commercials came on. See Rob Lowe's DirecTV ads, in which "less attractive Rob Lowe" has cable.



It kept going on and on, with bodies that didn't look like anyone I know being touted as "the perfect body" and women being objectified and mocked repeatedly. Men were portrayed as lunks and louts who lack complexity and control over their sexual urges. It's probably a small percentage of folks who feel the way I do, but I am disgusted at the state of advertising. How gendered it is; how unfunny, snide, and condescending it is. Commercials, I thought I knew you, but I guess I didn't. And my, how nasty you have gotten with age.

I need to stick to Netflix and Amazon Prime. For a price ($7.99/month and $99/year, respectively) I can largely shield myself from the world of televised/video marketing, for my sanity's sake. I am safe from corporations hurling misguided stereotypes at me. I feel like enough of an outsider as a gender queer person without every commercial telling me that I don't fit into their extremely narrow idea of the mainstream world. They don't even manage to sell to their products to their target audience (straight people) with wit and dignity...how could they ever sell to me? They shouldn't, I suppose. I used to find it odd that my uncle muted TV commercials...now I totally get it.