Moment Of Rehab: Jeff Conway’s Truth

I’ve been watching some T.V lately and I’m pretty deflated by what I’ve seen.

It makes me feel that — despite what Obama says — hope is futile. I want to give up. I feel like a sunbird trapped on the shadowside of the moon.

Maybe it’s the writer’s strike that got me in this prime time malaise.

Or maybe I’m an elitist snob, but it seems like our culture has slid from the crapper, further into a deep, underground sceptic abyss. We are spiralling downwards with flashy, quick MTV-style editing, becoming a culture of pop entertainment and segmented information — where your reality and interaction with the world can be tailored to fit your viewpoints and mind state. Fox News, anyone? Paradoxically, the more knowledge there is in the world and the easier it is to attain; the less of it we seem to seek, preferring a mode of ignorance that is uniquely American.

We use our brains only as a last resort, only at work. At home, we sit back on our Swedish couches and watch Bear Grills tear into a cold, raw trout with his teeth. Laugh at how disgusting it looks and hope to hell we never have to eat fish like that.

It might be possible that we’re getting dumber by the minute.

Anyone else think that The Moment of Truth is a cross between Maury Povich’s paternity test episodes and Deal or No Deal? The moral equivalent of mixing dog poo and leprosy, and about as entertaining and appealing. Maybe I’m overdoing it and the show is not as pestiferous as I paint it, but it is some kind of a sign that our culture is completely off its rocker.

America, in 2008, is in a weird state… at least T.V is.

We applaud people that destroy their families for money.

We pay the audience 65 dollars to sit and clap.

We watch at home because we’re too lazy to turn the channel.

You see, it follows American Idol, a juggernaut watched by millions of Americans that tune in for the inspirational journeys, those lovable contestants and their Hollywood dreams; but also for the sick, voyeuristic insight we plow from their tears — when they fail — that initial look of complete rejection when Simon tells them “I’m sorry, you’re just plain awful.” It teaches us a little something about the human spirit, the strength of dreams, and the will to persevere. Blah. Blah. Blah.

It makes me sick. So…

I change the channel. Because dammit! someone has to watch something besides Idol.

And there’s poor Jeff Conway. Rolling around rehab hollering at anyone who comes near him. I’m not sure if I feel bad for the guy or not — he’s obviously suffering — but there’s lots of drug addicts out there… not all of them act like complete dicks. Which brings up the question: is it an act? He seems to be getting some serious mileage out of the angry, unpredictable routine. First Celebrity Fit Club and now Celebrity Rehab. If Dr. Drew can’t work his Loveline magic, is he going to be the first corpse contestant on Celebrity Afterlife?

“This week on Celebrity Afterlife: We follow Jeff Conway to the third rung of hell where he bathes in an acid bath for one thousand years all the while bees sting his eyeball for every lie he ever told and his skin is ripped off in little strands for each time he yelled at the woman he loved. Don’t miss it!”

I don’t mean to step on the guy when he’s down but some things need to be said, plus, I’m sure he could care less what I write. But Jeff Conway is not a tragedy, it’s the millions of other addicts out there who aren’t getting paid for their misery. The ones that don’t have the cameras and the fame there with them, glorifying it. The ones that aren’t receiving royalties at the end of the struggle. The ones that aren’t putting on a show.

But forget T.V for a second.

I was at a party on Saturday and we were sharing stories, just silly stories, the kind you tell at parties, and I couldn’t help but notice that everyone had a lot of stories to tell. Tons. And they were all interesting. All of them better than 95% percent of the plots on sitcoms or dramas or anything on T.V. The absolute trick, and miracle, is getting people to share them.

We’ve lost the ability to tell our own stories — that’s why we watch Jeff’s.

Or perhaps, it was the other way around, who knows?

I’ve heard social commentators say that one day everyone will have a reality show about them.

We may be missing the cameras and editors and commercial breaks; but I say, if you really think about it… we already do.