The Inner Turkey: Life is Gravy

My first “Happy Thanksgiving” text came at eight-thirty. Hungover or not, my first response to any inconsequential communication that awakens me before I want on a day off will always be replied with “Fuck you, Satan”. For a little holiday spirit this morning I added “I’ll be thankful when you don’t have my number anymore”.

What I hadn’t expected afterward was a hundred and seven more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. This surplus of time allowed my brain to catch up on its processing, which included an episode of Heroes, a Cole Porter album and a Claire Danes interview which had all been consumed recently. They appeared in my dream in incarnations integral to the plot, which was fine by me as I love a random dream as much as the next sot. Unfortunately this was no random dream. It was a moral dream and I very much dislike moral dreams.

The abridged version:

The time traveler said I could travel back and change any one thing I wanted from my past. I was more excited than a nerd nailing the head cheerleader. In fact, I considered going back and nailing a cheerleader myself. This was it, old heart of mine. My chance to right a wrong, right a left or right whatever turned me into the sour old bastard I had become.

Then I woke up. Not literally, but you know what I mean. I stood there before the man who would help me alter my destiny and was paralyzed. Some people would know right away what to do, saving a life or ending a bad night before it began. The rest would be confused about where to begin, which butterfly flutter to affect and wondering if it will change things for the better. I harbored those ideas too, but they were not what kept me back.

It was obvious my jump back would be an attempt to prevent one of the ones that got away from actually getting away. Only I had spent the last few years coming to terms with those mistakes and adapting to the bed I made many years ago. I learned to accept all realities, understanding everything changes constantly in an organic creation such as our world.

Were I to go back in time, what could I possibly do that would help me now? I was never going to keep a woman longer than she wanted to be with me. The few that I left would have outgrown me sooner or later.

My lovers have all moved on to better lives since me. Now I had the chance to make myself happy but at the expense of their current and possible overall happiness. Long nightmare short, I told him “Thanks, but no thanks” and decided to continue fighting through life the hard way.

When I rose at eight-thirty I thought to myself, What is there to be thankful for? The thousand blessings upon my back have dwindled to six or seven.

When I rose at ten-seventeen I knew something had changed. It was the first time I had seen my life so objectively as the naked, vulnerable substance it is. I made the good choice, which is not unusual but never had so much been on the line.

I grabbed the phone and texted a Happy Thanksgiving back. I was thankful the sleep assassin had shaken loose this afterschool special for me to chew on along with breakfast. I was thankful for the breakfast itself and everyone over the last thirty years, including those I have loved and lost, that had a hand in my reaching this meal in one relatively sane, healthy piece.

Tonight I raise a Boddingtons to everyone in my life past and present, to your health and the health of all you love. To say I was thankful would be an understated injustice to your infinite love and patience. I live this life the hard way for you.

An Open Letter To All News Services

Dear News,

I apologize in advance for my tone and abruptness, but this letter is already ten years overdue.

News, you have been allowed to run helter-skelter through our mediums for too long. The reigns must be pulled hard, once and for all. It is past the hour of reform, no time for apologies or justifications. You must cease this tomfoolery and start fulfilling the purpose you were created for. It is time you begin reporting actual news again.

First, keep in mind this valuable nugget: Celebrity opinions DO NOT matter. They have no idea what is happening outside of their set trailer, tour bus or wherever they convene to burn money we will never see in a lifetime. They are vapid, narcissistic monkeys that already float through the day with an inflated self-worth. Leading them to believe their thoughts on an international military strategy have any value whatsoever is just unnecessary.

Have you noticed how the eloquent, philanthropic performers are not on TMZ discussing politics? It is probably because they are doing something about it. Bono, the Pitts, Clooney, McCartney, Winfrey: Doers. Actions far outweigh any opinion.

Point being, if Chris Brown shows his true psychotic colors, and we would know instantly because there are 3,000 cameras surrounding him before and after every car ride, why would there be any valid possibility Usher, Kanye West, Jay-Z, Will Smith, Gayle King, Roseanne Barr, and Angie Stone have valuable input on the subject? Pretty sure there are no psychological or sociological PhDs in the bunch.

When did the Entertainment section become the Gossip section? Perhaps I’m one of few people left in the world who only wants to know what programs are on the telly and which moving pictures are playing in the theater without being inundated by menial facts regarding an overpaid ingénue’s personal life.

Here is a second nugget, free of charge: If you are going to refer to someone as a “celebrity” because their terrible behavior or tragic life has been inexplicably documented, nay exploited, by your colleagues, then you must find a new term for people that possess actual talent.

The fifteen minutes of fame should never have been extended to a three season reality show. Perhaps the word 'reality' in the moniker confuses you. However, for the same reason uninformed citizens do not realize the Federal Reserve is not an actual federal institution, it is high time we segment this information from real news so as not to confuse the general public between what is important and what is entertainment.

Do you think we laymen do not understand what your mission as a news source is? You have turned your integrity over to the sponsor, selling your soul to tug-of-war with the rest of the crap outlets over viewers who have resoundingly asked you to dumb-down your efforts to catch up with our rotting educational system.

Yes, remember how a large percent of America’s public schools are producing below average children and burnt-out teachers because our government has systematically funneled needed funding away to squander frivolously on wars and other freedom stomping activities? Where was your story on that? Rihanna hadn’t had the spit beaten out of her yet. Michael Jackson was still kicking the air and screaming. Where was your sense of duty?

Of course we want to know when a celebrity passes away. If proven truly entertaining, they become part of our household and we would like to have a day to mourn the loss of their entertainment value in our lives. But what happens to the family after the death is strictly none of our business or yours. This is no longer a curiosity with the famous; it is an outrageous exploitation and should be prosecuted as such.

You have the damned nerve to say, during a five-hour telecast about the person’s life, rise and fall, criminal allegations, live coverage of the family, children, mansion, neighbor’s mansion, street full of news vans and photos of the childhood home, that you believe it must be incredibly difficult to mourn with all the attention. You? That is tantamount to poking a tired bear with a stick while expressing sympathy that it isn’t sleeping well.

News, your sensationalistic ways have perverted true journalism, raping it mercilessly against our flat screens until it is now nothing more than a bloody pile of catty, objectifying, morally crushing hearsay performed nightly by soulless, smarmy louts. Because of your shady practices and soft news, America feels it should be more concerned about the President’s personal habits and body than about his aspirations and accomplishments.

I look forward to a day when journalistic integrity is renewed, when truthfulness, accuracy, objectivity, impartiality, fairness and public accountability can overpower the conflicting sponsors and crush the politically slanted owners that manipulate the words. A time when stories will be chosen for their importance to American life and not through calculations of potential viewership. A day when squeaky-wheel attention seekers are left out all together, no longer littering the front page with poor choices and amoral behaviors.

When that day comes, I will read your papers, peruse your sites and watch your newscasts once again. Until this renaissance is realized, however, do not bother factoring me and the thousands of intelligent Americans like myself in the viewership numbers you boast to potential sponsors.

Sincerely,


Atticus L. Winston

P.S. Tell your networks that their programming sucks harder than the hooker in Charlie Sheen’s dressing room.