True, if we eliminated local television news, there would be no place for future Dateline correspondents to hone their "gravely concerned" reaction shots, also sales of White Rain Extra Hold and colorful blazers would no doubt plummet in communities all around the country. And if there were no local television news, the fact that a restaurant in your area makes an $350, 80-pound hamburger would, sadly, go unreported, and the beautiful sound of a local production manager's inappropriate laugh on live television would be lost forever.
But I think it's all a small price to pay to be able to turn on your TV in the middle of the day and not have someone rapidly screaming at you to stay tuned for news about a three-alarm-fire, how many inches of rain there were in the park yesterday, and whether or not having dog food in your house can kill you.
It's idiotic, alarmist, plays to the lowest common denominator, and seems to exist only to worry senior citizens–all of which are things that I normally support. But I can't defend anything that takes itself so seriously it doesn't realize that The Emo Cutting Board is a joke.
I don't know how long J. Crew has been sending hearty, ruddy-faced couples to that perfect cabin in the woods surrounded by fields full of antique cars, and wooden crates, and other things that would be a perfect backdrop for shooting the wide-wale cords in Turtledove Grey and the Boyfriend Sweater in Rust, but it's way, way too long. Does anyone know anyone who buys clothes (especially ugly pants and boxy sweaters) from a catalog anymore, anyway? And why are there so many catalogs? There are still only four seasons in a year, right? How many gauze blouses does one person need?
It seems to me that the catalog only exists so 8th-grade girls can have a pictorial point of reference for what a preppy couples weekend retreat looks like.
3. The Fantanas.
You can rhyme it all you want, and the Fantanas definitely will, but don't I wanta, wanta Fanta. How are these commercials and posters still circulating?
When the Fantanas first burst onto the soda-advertising scene with an explosion of Euro-ness and neon, it was kind of fun in a what-the-hell-is-this-? kind of way. But now it feels like I'm being assaulted by a quartet of color-coordinated, mentally-deficient Dr. Suess characters.
