Anarchists acknowledge youngins holding the door open for elderly citizens as a showcase of goodness symptomatic of human nature. But sitcoms never die, sitcoms live forever through syndication, rotating snapshots to exemplify human character, parodies to wit: neighbor touts blubber and splashes fat inside the purview owned by the main example displaying Alpha Male essence. This is America’s value system projected through waves sailing the Yacht Rock vessel ashore. Focus groups organize white-anarchists, African-American-fast-food-aficionados, suburban housewives, Japanese gun owners and teenage idealists to discuss with penny pincers which situations propagated a belly laugh compared to a studio audience bending over, grasping their guts and expelling standing ovation disposition.
Behind two way glass people tuck clipboards against their chest and place check marks in either red ink or black to indicate if the show meets the requirements associated with entertainment and contemporary aesthetics, as if time cares about organizing circumstances to meet such standards so it may revel in humanity’s approval.
Here’s the bland portion of the examination…we insert ourselves into the screen like we’re observing a reflection on storefront glass, out of focus and plastered on patrons unencumbered by our looking. Sitcom dialogue mimics reality and the paradox of it all is our desire to be recognized as caricatures.
In-fact, when board members meet with a company’s CEO it’s not uncommon to hear the phrase, “you’re such a Walter White.” Exchanged among the participants. Qualifying to describe situations like murdering the leader of a rival tech-giant, or declaring how the murder was done to protect the sanctity of the killer’s family.
Off Script, people remind themselves that silence cannot be captured on screen, that every action is relevant to choice, not badness and if we kiss and tell this results in impeachment. It’s best to stare at the sun and wait for it to go down, rather than expecting it to happen.