Thoughts of a Self-Made Insomniac
2:47am Tuesday:
What do you do when television stops lulling you to sleep? I used to use it as a sleeping aid, bored into slumber by flashing advertisements and cast off reruns. The cool blue light and the soft white noise of the vacuum tube were my warm milk. Now I find myself, eyes open and ears perked, actually (dare I say it) watching television. There is nothing on at 3am, there are no new, exciting characters, no campy sitcoms with transparent plot lines that “you can really identify with”. No, I'll tell you what is on at 3am, I'll tell you what has caught my attention and hold it in a desperate vice grip of consumerism. Info. Mercials.
When you've been without sleep for 36 hours even your most rock solid ethics and scruples start eroding in the face of hundreds of customer testimonials about faster, simpler, bigger, longer, cheaper, purpler. You begin jotting down notes on pizza box lids, indecipherable scratches with hastily carved exclamation points meant to remind you about the 20 new products you never knew you needed. You become an altogether new creature, an famished beast with a credit card, and you're calling now.
But wait! There's more? A new way to loose weight without diet, exercise or pills? It cuts an egg 57 different ways? And you can go water skiing with it? I'll buy 100! Fingers punch numbers, you grip your Visa like a granite ledge on the top of your skyscraper of bargains. The details mean nothing, the payments, the interest, the fact that you're talking to an East Indian woman 7 times zones away in your underwear, all that matters is that what once was only a flickering image on your tiny television is now becoming a real, tangible product, complete with box and instructions on it's way right to your doorstep. The operator thanks you blandly and you hang up, collapsing on your futon in a sweaty lump. You feel like having a cigarette.
It's 6am, time for the news. It's my favorite show. As the plastic-like early morning “crew” banter and cackle my eyes drift slowly closed, a small pat of drool congealing in the corner of my mouth, and I am asleep. Visions of Food Dehydrators and Magic Braids dance in my head. Tomorrow I'll wake up and as I'm pouring my second bowl of Fruity Pebbles at just shy of 2pm I'll remember part of a feverish dream I had about... something to do with TV. Something about Ron Popeil and his furry eyebrows. Then it will be gone and I'll relax at home and wait for my parcels that I still don't know are coming. How did my credit card get onto the living room floor?
What do you do when television stops lulling you to sleep? I used to use it as a sleeping aid, bored into slumber by flashing advertisements and cast off reruns. The cool blue light and the soft white noise of the vacuum tube were my warm milk. Now I find myself, eyes open and ears perked, actually (dare I say it) watching television. There is nothing on at 3am, there are no new, exciting characters, no campy sitcoms with transparent plot lines that “you can really identify with”. No, I'll tell you what is on at 3am, I'll tell you what has caught my attention and hold it in a desperate vice grip of consumerism. Info. Mercials.
When you've been without sleep for 36 hours even your most rock solid ethics and scruples start eroding in the face of hundreds of customer testimonials about faster, simpler, bigger, longer, cheaper, purpler. You begin jotting down notes on pizza box lids, indecipherable scratches with hastily carved exclamation points meant to remind you about the 20 new products you never knew you needed. You become an altogether new creature, an famished beast with a credit card, and you're calling now.
But wait! There's more? A new way to loose weight without diet, exercise or pills? It cuts an egg 57 different ways? And you can go water skiing with it? I'll buy 100! Fingers punch numbers, you grip your Visa like a granite ledge on the top of your skyscraper of bargains. The details mean nothing, the payments, the interest, the fact that you're talking to an East Indian woman 7 times zones away in your underwear, all that matters is that what once was only a flickering image on your tiny television is now becoming a real, tangible product, complete with box and instructions on it's way right to your doorstep. The operator thanks you blandly and you hang up, collapsing on your futon in a sweaty lump. You feel like having a cigarette.
It's 6am, time for the news. It's my favorite show. As the plastic-like early morning “crew” banter and cackle my eyes drift slowly closed, a small pat of drool congealing in the corner of my mouth, and I am asleep. Visions of Food Dehydrators and Magic Braids dance in my head. Tomorrow I'll wake up and as I'm pouring my second bowl of Fruity Pebbles at just shy of 2pm I'll remember part of a feverish dream I had about... something to do with TV. Something about Ron Popeil and his furry eyebrows. Then it will be gone and I'll relax at home and wait for my parcels that I still don't know are coming. How did my credit card get onto the living room floor?
posted by Justin at 3:28 AM
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