Wrong Emphasis

I have heard the analogy that when one watches television they are essentially inviting the TV program, like they would a person, into their home, along with its ideology and morals. Well, if this is the case, I am sure that American Idol is that typical neighbour who rummages around in your trash late at night, wears their mismatched clothing like ill-fitting drapery, and sits on your front step waiting to show you their new fourth mouth. You invite this person in, mostly for a laugh, but realize you have stopped using the couch that they normally sit in, and you end up throwing out the cutlery that they have used. It is this additional mouth that has prompted a double take (yes, the same ill-timed double take that spots the new facial blemish in the morning, the gaping fly in the afternoon, and unpaid bill at night). Take my word for it. An additional mouth on a face that should not have had any mouths in the first place does not need further inspection.

I have entered the fifth book in Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. Very few book series have me writing postcards to a late author, hoping a sincere hope that he will some how posthumously write more brain boggling observations to join what is now probably the wittiest and most sarcastic bodies of text I have had the pleasure of hearing. Yes, I have eyes. Yes, I can read. No, this is not "like cruising around in a wheelchair just for fun". And I am quite defensive about this: Audiobooks are not just for blind people or truckers. They are a dream for people who end up thinking too hard when they want to passively wash the dishes. Or for those who just want to unwind during their miserable walk from work. Adams has not set up a rich universe which dwells in any one place for very long. This is no Hogwarts. This is a OneTwo punch to the jugular with you pressing "back" to catch the details you might have missed in the impact. This lends itself to be ideal for the occasional listen. But be prepared to laugh out loud, which can be awkward when no one else can hear the rib-tickling dig on social conventions and constructs at that varsity boys basketball game that you are obligated to attend.

Rewards are plentiful when waiting for things to return to our dreaded Popular Culture. Bell bottoms waved hello/goodbye during my Ugly Years of Bible college. Girls at my school are re-welcoming giant vinyl belts with open arms. And "Demo" buttons on keyboards are apparently starring in leading roles on Top 40 charts. It isn't that I don't like Keane. In fact, I'm glad they found a use for that forgotten button (they're making a mint, and I could only make audible vandalism in the keyboard store at the local mall) which claimed a traditional spot on all keyboards produced since 1987 (similar to other near-useless product "features", like the pointy rubber on the ends of toothbrushes, tapedeck stereos, and seatbelts). Alas, I am still waiting for the return of white socks.