Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The only difference between the delicious farm animals I consumed last week and, well, me is that one of us contributed absolutely nothing to the holidays. All parties were well-fed, of course, a fact merely amplified by large stretches of grazing and minimal exercise, and relaxation was the overriding frame of mind, with little worry about work, or deadlines, or why Farmer Fitzgibbons is sharpening his favorite ax oh holy shit. But whereas the turkey ultimately gave its life to be the glorious centerpiece of the table, or Wilbur likewise to furnish pepperoni for a sumptuous deep-dish pizza, I mainly sat.

Yes, sat. I sat in front of the laptop. I sat in my car for four consecutive traffic jams. I sat in front of the TV for a movie. I sat in front of the TV again to watch improbably athletic people play basketball. I sat in front of another TV in the house, far removed from family members, with the Xbox as it hummed its secret frequencies to me. Then, the PS3. Then, back to the Xbox. There was an opportunity to play golf, the non-digital kind, but when it conveniently evaporated I rejoiced. I rejoiced! For unto Man was given little patience for golf, and blessed is he who owns clubs, yet refrains from ever using them.

I communed, instead, with screens. In the sitting position. And even as my eyes glazed over, even as I reaffirmed my vow to never buy a TV for my own abode, I was dimly aware that my guidelines for media consumption were changing. I’ve shared with you some thoughts on media self-consciousness, which previously seemed so very important. It still is important, to a degree, but the cardinal rule, the precept inviolate, is escapism. Media is my alcohol, in a way. It’s what I consume to route my mind away from the day-to-day, smooth out the grind, and I’ve become more aware of shows and games and movies that seek to supplant this.

This title, for instance, fell comfortably within the limits of media self-consciousness, due largely to its healthy marketing push. People have heard of it. Maybe they’ve seen the commercials. But that’s not enough, because when your entertainment asks you to shiv exactly five guards, placed at opposite ends of an accurately modeled Venice, and you need to pop open the in-game GPS to locate your targets, the escapism vanishes. Or maybe you’re searching for a hundred goddamn feathers in a stunning recreation of Florence. Why bother, you know? Suddenly it feels like I’m volunteering or something, rather than escaping, and what’s more I paid 50-odd bucks to do so. Now compare this to a show like Bones, where time simply flies. I forget where I am. I’m going to hit the “publish” button now, in fact, so I can let the forgetting begin.