It happened when I ventured into a mega-bookplex and immediately got lost. Somehow between the Chai lattetorium, Druid chant performance and snaking line for the serial -killer book signing, I couldn't get my bearings to find the actual selection of books. I finally encountered a maze of shelves. They were filled with hundreds of titles written for "Dummies, Idiots" and "Blithering Morons." So much for self-esteem. Then I realized that's wrong: the equation is inverted. It's not we who are the dummies; it's those at the top levels government, business, and the media who peer down and subject us to their mass market muck. Who designed a computer system you shut down by clicking on the "Start" button. Who's breaking news beyond repair in their rush to be first instead of right? Who regulates us like children in need of constant warnings? Who creates entertainment with a supposed common denominator that's so low it's several rungs down the evolutionary scale?
Take a typical day and tabulate the absurdity to which we are exposed and you begin to realize how our society's institutions assume we are all one giant, clueless, biomass that can easily be manipulated, marketed and managed according to their wishes. Certainly there are enough true dummies out there who faithfully respond to encourage this, but for the rest of us who still have active synapse connections, it's beyond annoying.
As the sun rises, the morning TV program lowers itself to an interview with a beauty consultant suggesting how a suspected child molester could project a warmer image to the jury with a makeover. It's a feckless attempt to obtain a new angle on yet another media-pronounced "Trial of the Millennium."
Next an over-exposed actor is interviewed about "Death Star XVIII," a futuristic film sequel in which the hero saves the planet from aliens who look like a battalion of Saddam Hussein clones clutching Salad Shooters. The brief clip further confirms your cinematic theory that the greater the special effects, the lesser the dialogue. It's not a film anymore, but just one component of a pervasive marketing campaign to sell related merchandise including a soundtrack CD with the requisite hit song belted out by an anorexic singer whose nasally voice can shatter glass. At the commercial break, a fast-food ad hawks plastic toys from the movie even though your kid is too young to see this R-rated , violence-ridden feature. Great. Something else you'll have to explain he can't have despite the fact that at only four, he's a highly targeted and motivated consumer.
The morning paper contains news about the recall of a popular prescription drug that was found to cause diarrhea, dementia, delirium and spontaneous combustion. Yet the most important concern is that investors are now worried sick about their potential losses from stock in the company.
No need to worry though about a speeding ticket on your drive to work since you never exceed 20 miles per hour in thick traffic since money for additional roads was diverted to a new sports complex for a curling team franchise that subsequently fled town.
On the radio, a morning "Zoo" team is howling with forced laughter at shock humor . Only now it merely sounds annoying because nothing can shock us anymore. We've been subjected to so much in-your-face-till-you-get-acne comedy it merely sounds like pedestrian, moronic dribble. Switching over to the "less talk, more music" station brings several minutes of long-winded promos bragging of their format.
You notice out the window that your local family-owned pharmacy of 30 years closed down after a drug-plus-everything-else-we- can-cram-in-here chain opened across the street. Except now their "Prices Slashed" signs are removed in triumph. No wonder they use the slogan "Sooner or Later You'll Shop With Us."
You arrive at the office. Opening your word processing program gives you a terse message announcing you have performed an "illegal operation," thereby assuming you must be familiar with some secret code of software law. Surely the cyberpolice will show up at the door. You long ago realized that the term "operating system" is yet another oxymoron. Computers delay more people from accomplishing their work than all the trendy management theories you can fit on a CD-ROM.
You send a colleague an email to arrange for a meeting in your company's private Intranet chat room. Of course, it would be easier to turn around to the adjoining cubicle and ask him, but this would be against company policy. Before you can begin your work, you first have to wade through the mass of emails that piled up overnight. It's not that so many needed to communicate with you, just another virus outbreak that caused the computers of everyone you know to pass it along.
Time for lunch. Off to "Rutabaga Garden," a new fast-natural-food restaurant. After ordering a beet burger and oat shake, the employee points out that if you add a large order of yeast pudding you get your drink at half-price as "Bliss Meal #3." When you decline the offer, the employee drops her cheerful facade and explains that the register didn't leave her an option to enter single items. You go with "Bliss Meal #3" to avoid holding up the line.
After returning to the office, you receive a memo that your office is being repainted and must be cleared out within the hour. After unsuccessfully trying to complete some work in the hallway, it's time to leave. You join the highway crawl, passing under giant illuminated signs every few miles with the helpful warning of "congestion ahead."
Home at last. Checking the mail brings notification that your local bank has been taken over by "AmeriBuck.". They promise to "bring you the same level of excellent service" by raising your credit card rate 15 points and requiring an average balance of $30,000 in your account to avoid significantly higher monthly service fees. In addition, speaking with a customer representative at a branch office will now carry a $5 service fee for the privilege. This won't matter since "in order to serve you better" your local branch is being replaced by a local "twig:" a lone ATM machine.
Time to watch TV news. Unfortunately it isn't news, but "infauxtainment" created to make coverage more interesting because TV executives decided reality wasn't sufficiently compelling for ratings. The lead story is another update on a sex scandal involving a politician. A group of "sexperts" excitedly conjecture as if this were truly a seminal event.
Next comes the local news, anchored by breezy, glistening-toothed people who seem more intent on being your pal than imparting the news. It's a mixture of happy-babble and horrific crimes gathered by the station's roving studio in a van that is like Dracula on wheels searching for hemoglobin. If it isn't a murder story, a reporter is trying to scare the biscuits out of you that the beverages at your local restaurants are so tainted with bacteria, you'd be safer ingesting anthrax.
Changing channels presents a staged two-ring circus between caricatures of the political left and right. The liberal is whining about changing boot camps for convicted felons into sneaker camps for raising self-esteem while the conservative is bellowing about the need for a "frequent fryer program" to expedite capital punishment. These "debates" are meaningless since you know the real way a bill becomes law in Washington depends on the denomination of the bill and which special interest is stuffing it into the pockets of Congress, regardless of ideology.
Perhaps a witty sitcom will provide some amusement. You watch a show in which two snarky kids smart mouth their parents in a dissfest. The audience doesn't laugh, they only "ooh" at the tawdry insults. It's "Must Flee TV." An ad appears showing parents playing with their toddlers while a syrupy piano tinkles. A sincere-sounding announcer wants to convince you the way to show your kids you truly love them is to serve a snack food made with fake cholesterol, which a tiny disclaimer notes can cause uncontrollable flatulence. You try a magazine. Though a news weekly, the cover shows a bosomy actress seductively eating a carrot for a feature story on how veggies can improve sex.
Time to sleep. As you lie in bed, you begin to wonder whether the whole world is conglomerizing into one, celebrity-laden, uber profit-driven marketing battle designed to squeeze your wallet at any cost to your sanity. After several minutes of restless stirring, you reach for the remote and turn on the TV. The flickering image of an infomercial appears with someone hawking spray paint to cover bald spots. If only your remote had a "turn off the insanity" button.
This "rant" has now been read by several million and prompted an extraordinary number of emails. Most are in agreement with my premise and glad someone expressed an opinion they have been pondering themselves but thought they were alone in having. Some argue that America is so full of easily manipulated morons that we only have ourselves to blame, there is no hope to alter the situation and it's naive to believe otherwise. A few missed the over-the-top nature of my satirical rant and concluded that I must have a dreadfully dismal life. Nothing could be further from the truth since I spend most of my time performing at conferences making people laugh and feel better about their struggles with technology. I enjoy hearing feedback on this essay, both positive and constructive criticism, and encourage you to email me by clicking on the address below.