Opiate for the masses

One of the few things I respect about mainstream TV is how utterly shallow and addictive it is. In many ways it’s like crack: it doesn’t pretend that it’s good for you but it gets you to where you want to go way more effectively than tofu or wheatgrass juice or organic dolphin-friendly tuna caught with rod and line. Sometimes it achieves high artistic standards too, but this is usually a fluke, which happens despite the medium rather than because of it. TV isn’t like film or opera or theatre or sculpture or any of that poncy stuff. Its main job is to get you out of it as quickly as possible — an opiate for the masses.

I got a sense of its true purpose the other day when I ventured up to the Rat’s lair to call him down for supper. The Rat is 23 now and soon to leave home, so I am making the most of all the final insights he has been offering me into the mysteries of early twentysomething existence.