Zteve is going back to back.

There ain't no stopping Zteve. He's taking a look at today's ultra-gay Dear Abby and straightening that shit out.

Readygo.

TESTAMENTS TO TOLERANCE OFFER HOPE FOR OUR FUTURE
DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: I am writing to respond to "Grateful Mom" (July 13), the widow who, in her time of need, was invited by her son Neil and his partner to live with them despite having rejected Neil in the past because he is gay. I have a gay son, too, and I would not trade him for anyone. He is the most loving and caring son any parent could ever have. I consider myself very lucky.

When it was time for me to relocate, it was his partner who first approached me about moving across the state to be near them. My son helped me find a cute little house to buy. My two dogs and I are very happy.

I will not have grandchildren, but I do have granddogs and another wonderful son. I am blessed. -- ANOTHER GRATEFUL MOM IN FLORIDA

DEAR ANOTHER MOM: What a fun, sexy time for you! Actually I just wanted to use that line.

First, let's go back to "Grateful Mom," shall we? I can't believe parents haven't learned: naming your son "Neil" is an action known as "gay-risking." Every name has a gay risk assigned to it, but passing a certain level is certified gay-risking, and Neil is safely in the high-probability zone. Same goes for "Jay," "Jon," or "Mikey." The safest name? Anthony Ray.

As for my advice? Oh wait, you ancient whore, you didn't ask for any. Burn, burn, burn. I want you to fall down stairs.

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: I was touched that "Grateful Mom" was able to reconcile with her son and forge a wonderful relationship with him. My oldest brother was gay, and my parents welcomed his life partner into our family. We all have open minds and hearts about individuality.

I was saddened to read that "Grateful's" other children denied their mother a place in their homes. I took care of my mom in her final years, and although it was difficult for me to watch her health deteriorate, I was honored to be able to spend her last moments with her. I cherish those memories. -- CATHY IN RENO, NEV.

Fuck you.

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: I am the father of three boys, one of whom is gay. "Grateful Mom" had forgotten the most basic of things -- that your child is a part of you, and we must love, support and participate in our children's lives. This is what's missing in our society today, and it is causing all kinds of issues for the next generation. I love all my sons, and I am proud of them. I hope "Grateful" continues to enjoy her son and continues to share the lessons she is learning. -- PROUD DAD IN NEW JERSEY

Fuck you!

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: My mom came out to me and my brother about five years ago. She had been with men her whole life and, while we were shocked, we understood we could react in one of two ways. We could either accept her and her girlfriend, "Daphne," or disown her and have to explain to our children why they couldn't see their "nana." We decided to accept my mother for who she is and welcome Daphne into the family.

It was one of the best choices my brother and I ever made. Daphne loves my kids and can't wait to see them (she lives in Australia) later this year. My kids call her "Nana Daph." She is the best thing that ever happened to my mom, and I'm thankful she's in our lives.

I'm happy that "Grateful Mom" learned to accept and appreciate her son and his partner exactly the way they are. -- JENNIFER IN INDIANAPOLIS

FUCK YOU!

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: Thank you for recommending P-FLAG (Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) to your readers. It is an organization that provides understanding and support to both gays and their families. I have a lesbian daughter who has brought me much joy and pride. I went to P-FLAG when she first came out, and it was the wisest thing I ever did for the two of us. -- BENITA IN SAN DIEGO

FUCK YOU!!

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: "Grateful" said her two daughters and one of her sons "married well." Sounds to me like Neil is the one who married well. Her letter made me cry. If only the world could be half as tolerant as Neil and his partner, Ron. Because of their good hearts and generous spirits, even that intolerant mother was able to change. How hopeful! -- BERKELEY, CALIF., READER

FUCK YOU!!!

Okay Dear Abby is for shit. Sorry, guys. Better luck tomorrow--especially if you send in your requests for advice. Zteve is hungry.

Love,

Steve

Zteve tracked me to Denver.

Faithful readers of bassdrumsguitar might recall our old friend Zteve. Spawned from the horrible mind of Tom Hanlon, his advice column is widely regarded as the most important piece of writing of the 21st century. It may have been the pinnacle of the written word, its swan song, as television and the Internet swallow the written word whole and shit it out (see YouTube).

Well now IT'S BACK!!! Zteve has graciously agreed to send forth his advice to the masses like a beacon of hope that is also hateful. But how? None have presented their problems. Can Zteve offer advice to...nobody?

Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Zteve has decided to rip off Dear Abby, who nobody gives a good shit about anyway. Zteve is stealing questions directed to Dear Abby and is offering his own brand of hardcore advice-giving.

Start it up!

WIDOW READY TO TAKE ACTION AGAINST SCOURGE OF ALZHEIMER'S
DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: After a 10-year battle, I recently lost my husband to Alzheimer's disease. My darling was handsome, brilliant and athletic, a chemist and an avid golfer. Our family was confused and concerned when he began losing the ability to do simple tasks.

The progression of his illness was devastating physically, emotionally and financially. No one should have this disease, either as a person afflicted with it or as a caregiver who is helpless to intervene.

Alzheimer's disease is not the funny punch line of a joke that it has been made out to be. It's the seventh-leading cause of death in this country, yet it doesn't seem to get the attention that cancer, heart disease or even AIDS does. What can I do to ensure that Alzheimer's won't affect my children and grandchildren? -- ELIZABETH IN DALLAS

DEAR ELIZABETH: Do me a favor, won't you? Open those cataractastic eyes of yours. Yo man weren't handsome, brilliant or athletic. I happen to know by one simple clue: he had Alzheimer's disease. Guess what, Bertha? That ain't strike when ye've still got laps in the ticker, you read me? When you get old, the body goes. I know this and I'm only 22; you should have it worked out by 72. And the brain, scientists say, is part of the body. Shocker, eh?

Hey, and your family was "confused and concerned?" Better head to the doctor, Joanie, sounds like Alzheimer's is catching.

Here's something else for you, Dottie. No one should have Alzheimer's, you say?? Well then what's a disease that people should have, you old bat? Luekemia? Parkinson's? Maybe just the flu? Or is this sentence massively stupid?

And who named you humor police? Alzheimer's has the potential to be a great punchline (or punch line) to a joke, depending on the joke. Sure, "Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Alz." "Alz who?" "Alzheimer," is terrible, but that's not to say all jokes with Alzheimer's as the punchline are terrible. I mean...I'll think of one, hold on. Okay, maybe I won't. Fuck you, Agatha.

BUT you're right on one count. Alzheimer's just doesn't get the attention of cancer or AIDS. And you know why? Nobody gives a good fuck about the elderly.

Now for the advice: there used to be a program on the television (the talkie pictures box, Edith) called "Scared Straight." The idea is, if you scare someone by telling them the truth about a particular decision, they'll make the right choices and avoid the path you've shown them. What better way to keep your kids and grandkids (and great-grandkids, let's not lie, Nellie) away from the Alz than by showin' 'em what it can do. Start calling everyone "Dale" and demand to know when Nixon's going to address the nation. Insist you have a pie in the oven and take your meds 6 times daily. Soon enough your family will get the picture. Kids: don't let Alzheimer's happen to you.

DEAR ABBY ZTEVE: I'm an active, 31-year-old woman. I exercise regularly, play tennis and walk to work instead of driving. As a result, I have developed an athletic physique. According to my doctor, my height and weight proportions are ideal for someone who exercises regularly, and my muscle/fat ratio is healthy.

My problem is my mother. She stands 5-foot-5 (the same height as me) and weighs all of 95 pounds. She raised me to accept myself the way I am and not to change my appearance just because others want me to.

In spite of this, she constantly belittles me about my appearance with comments such as, "Oh, you would look so much better if you'd lose 15 pounds," or, "Oh, maybe you should eat a little healthier -- you've put on weight." The mass in question is muscle, not fat. I had this checked by my doctor, who assured me that I have a healthy build. I have tried explaining to my mother that my build is the result of muscle as well as genetics, but she won't stop.

I have tried ignoring her comments, contradicting them with medical evidence, even saying that her comments negate the way she raised me, but she continues anyway. What more can I do to stop this? She's chipping away at my self-esteem. -- ATHLETIC IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

DEAR ATHLETIC: Dang, girl, what is up? You sound pretty hot. "Ideal," even.

Oh wait who in their right mind would say "ideal"?? Are you some kind of competitive freak? You can't just be in better shape than yo momma, you have to hold yourself up over all women (at or around 5'5")? That's pretty much messed up. I have met some crazy egos but you scare me. You have some real issues here that need to be addressed. Not to mention those 15 pounds.

What can you do to stop your mother's badgering you? Well, giving up is always an attractive option. Or you could pretend to give up, pretend to try a diet, and pretend to fail at it. That way you and your mother could bond over your (pretend) shortcomings, and you could keep that smart-ass elitist smirk on your face the whole time. Plus pretending to break down would be an awesome excuse for eating tons of ice cream.

But there are plenty of other options. Physical intimidation, for instance. Or you could find some flaw in mother dear--drinking problem, issues with her parents, relationship troubles, debt--and needle her about it in return. This is healthy and I recommend it. If all of these fail you can try following Abby's stupid advice but Christ is it stupid. The point is to win, Abby, you dim knife-face.

All right, that's all for today. I would like to thank Zteve, as always, for his gracious advice. He'll be taking your questions alongside Abby's, assuming you are asking for advice rather than just writing whatever comes to mind.

Love,

Steve

Fare thee well, sweet prince.

Charlie, we hardly knew ye. But we'll get to know you well while you're holding a clipboard in Seattle.

Yes, the Browns traded Charlie Frye, former savior of the Browns.

NFL.com tells us: "I am now looking forward to a fresh start and a new set of challenges," said Frye, who went 6-13 as Cleveland's starter. "I know the best of my career is still ahead of me."

Yes, I did laugh at this statement. Charlie, Charlie. AFL, Charlie.

Moving on.

One: Webmaster 112: you've deleted my comment for the 5th time you fagget ! now you gonna be invaded with hate !

Two: FrankBT: HAHAHA DUMB NIGGER MAN

Three: ellli56: i dnt get this wat did he do ? iz it jst coz im really dum or did nuthin happen ?

And Four: Bellita1: How much LSD have you taken in your lifetime. You really are the craziest person I have ever encountered. You make Charles Manson look sane.

Okay that's the word ya'll. Guess drafting Brady Quinn in my fantasy draft was a good idea.

Love,

Steve

Hey guys did you see the Browns kick ass?

Hi friends.

I have a new fun game I want to play. Play along!

The idea is, I'm going to find a video on YouTube and post the funniest comment I can find. Also, a link to the video. That way we can all laugh at the Internet! I got this idea from this blog, which I found through the Something Awful forums. I think this idea is going to be simply awesome.

Let us start...now!

One: Googiemike707: this is why ghostridin should be illeagal!! FUCKIN FAGS

Two: Tangledhelix42: Mexicans don't say "vee are Mexican"... they sorta go something like "eh! We are Meh-hee-ca-no, ess-eis" with stress on the a in Mexicano and on the "eis" in the word eses. (I voted thumbs-up on this comment. It is thorough and accurate. Also I did not watch this video.)

Three: CLLN: You are all more boring than I knew existed. (Again, I voted thumbs-up. And even though this video is :27, I did not watch it. Christ, vlogging should be a sin.)

Four: Rhyno5000: I really want to cover her with spagetti. (I wasn't going to put up another vlog video because they are Satan's shit, but this comment convinced me.)

And Five: Ludacrishna: Read this.There are 20 angels in this world.10 are sleeping.9 are playing.1 is reading this post.Put this on 4 other video comments within the next 15 minutes.If you do, someone you love will suprise you somehow.If you don't, you shall lose your dear beloved. =( . (You know I had to post a spam comment. I decided to save the crazy racism until the next installment. But watch this video. I actually like this song a lot.)

Okay that's what is up. Check out those videos and enjoy the insightful comments. Thank you, Internet.

Love,

Steve

Hahaha their name is bad but they rock hard.

Okay I made a little discovery today that is awesome.

First I was reading a thread on Something Awful's forums that challenged people to make new, fake KidzBop albums. And somebody pointed out a couple of entirely inappropriate songs that actually were KidzBop songs, "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley and "Float On" by Modest Mouse. I would link to the videos on YouTube but fuck that, you find it if you want to.

These videos led me to find a live version of "Go Go Gadget Gospel," also by Gnarls Barkley, which is a song I love. Then I found the music video of the song, also on YouTube. This video, man. This video is less than three minutes, and it rocks pretty hard. Honestly, these guys tear it up. If I ever made a music video, I would want it to be like this. Well, this or "Seize the Day" by Avenged Sevenfold. It's a toss-up.

All right, things are great. I have a hilarious project due in Writing in New Media called an altered book, which is basically taking a book and destroying it and imposing a secondary meaning. I will put up pictures maybe later on.

Love,

Steve

Raw Shark Texts: an introduction to crazy

What up. I want to write a review but I am feeling lazy. So it will be a shorter one.

Patrick Coate recommended a book to me. And of course I obeyed. I ordered the book on Prospector, which is the Colorado equivalent of OhioLink. Then I read it rather than doing school work for the first week.

The book is The Raw Shark Texts, the first novel by British writer Steven Hall.

In describing the book to me before I got it, Patrick compared it to House of Leaves, the ridiculously frightening and upsetting novel by Mark Z. Danielewski. He did mention it was toned-down a little, but he still warned me that it was equally crazy.

I have to say he was right. I won't get into a plot summary, but it definitely has its parallels to House and matches it in insane setting, character and plot development. One thing it doesn't quite try, though, is twisting or annihiliating text the way House does.

The ideas developed in Raw Shark Texts would sound ludicrous if I tried to describe them, so I will just say that Hall breaks some scientific rules, laws and theorems early and often. The concepts in the book are frightening and are described with horrifying detail. As I said, to describe them dryly right now would sound ludicrous, but when you're reading the novel, they are not only plausible but completely real.

The only problem with the novel is that, every once in a while, the actions of the characters aren't so realistic. The main character wakes up with no memory of anything--his identity, history or surroundings. Yet when he starts receiving letters from himself, he decides not to open them, because the psychologist tells him not to. Umm, sorry, but I would have way too much curiosity to be stopped by a psychologist who I wasn't even opening up to.

But the occasional character mistake aside, the action moves along well and the main characters are very likeable. When the climax rolls around, the crazy events come flying, and it's really cool. Very exciting, although at times a little hard to follow.

As I think about it, the book definitely left an impression on me similar to House. That same kind of unsettling uncertainty that a good horror novel or movie should give you. As I said, the concepts of the book--two of which are "concept fish" and "personality transfer," just to give you a taste--sound crazy when repeated, but are absolutely engrossing when you're reading.

I would recommend Raw Shark Texts to everyone from Tony Storti to Scott Hoffmann, including Beard but excluding Alyssa Wagner. What I'm saying is, if you are interested in a slightly disturbing novel--disturbing not in a disgusting way, but in an off-putting way--I would highly recommend Raw Shark Texts. You could almost think of it as an introduction to House, if you think you aren't quite ready for it.

Grade: B+

Up next, I am considering a review of the University of Dayton. Suggestions?

Love,

Steve

Brady Quinn is my boyfriend

I have been busy the past few days. Umm let's see.

I got a job. I'm a tutor at the Writing Center at UC Denver, which is very much like the job I had at UD. We had job training last Thursday and Friday. I met the rest of the tutors except one or maybe two and they are all very cool. The job is going to be good. Also I have class with one of the head tutors, Drew. MORE ON THIS LATER

I started class Monday. That class, Rhetoric and the Teaching of Writing, looks frickin' exactly like a class I took junior year at UD, Composition Theory. Just because I was a junior doesn't mean much though; there were grad students in that class. I think I can handle this stuff the second time through, though. The professor seems really cool. He's a retired high school teacher who teaches one class per semester at UCD. He's nice.

Tuesday I accidentally skipped a class. I have three classes, right? One Monday night, one Wednesday night. Those two are three hours each, and once a week. The third class I thought was once a week also, Thursday morning. WHOOPS it's Tuesday and Thursday for an hour and fifteen minutes. I discovered this Tuesday night. Ah well.

Wednesday was Language Theory, or Linguistics. The professor is a hilarious guy named Ian Ying, straight outta China. He likes to make jokes in class, although he does tend to do the Jeff Bennett thing--pausing near the end of his sentences like we're supposed to know the exact word he's going to say next. As for the class itself, it should be interesting. I've heard some of the things before, in dear old Dan Miller's class, but it'll be fun.

Today I went to the Tuesday-Thursday class, which is Writing in New Media. It looks fun. Dr. Comstock is the professor, and she seems really cool and laid-back. The class is all about writing in different media, which means audio and video productions at some point in the semester. I can do that, I guess. The great part is, we formed groups that will last throughout the semester, and my group looks really good. I'm with Drew of the Writing Center (another grad student), Jeff (the other grad student), and Jef. Jef is a senior writing major, and his first name features but one F. For that reason, our group name is One-F Jef and the Graduate Students. They're really funny guys, and I think the class is going to be great.

However, it does mean I'll have to write. And considering it's been about a week, I don't know if I'll want to do that. I do, however, want to whine.

So that's what has been happening. Also did I mention we got a guinea pig. I don't think I said so before. She is very funny and we have named her Maeby. We got her free from someone on Craigslist. She likes walking back and forth in Teresa's rolled-up thesis poster. She lives on the floor of the dining room.

Okay that is life. I will be back soon.

Love,

Steve

I return, triumphant, to a small government office.

Here's what happened today.

Sitting around, for a while. Then the DMV. I got my picture taken, got a temporary license, got registered to vote. Only stood in line for about 15 minutes. It was heavenly.

THE REAL STORY IS I got an e-mail from the CU Denver Writing Center about getting a job this fall. See, they had turned me down a while ago, but then the guy e-mailed me and said he needed one more person. I COULD BE THAT PERSON!!!

Of course, he sent me this e-mail July 31. It was addressed to my UD e-mail, which I hardly check. So I hurried up and responded to him, and he said I could get in there about 15 hours a week. Fuck, better than nothing.

I have job training tomorrow and Friday, 9-2. As Joe and I say, "Hired!" Back when we needed summer jobs, we would always debate whether we would be "hired" or "fired" by the company. Obviously, "hired" makes a lot of sense, but we would laugh about the idea that a company had "fired" us just by not giving us jobs.

ANYWAY I'm back in the tutoring game. That's where I'll be all day tomorrow. How in the world I'll get up in time for it, I do not know.

I'll be sure to tell you all about it when I get home, secret diary.

Love,

Steve

I don't bitch about public services (and yet here I go)

Teresa and I had a busy day today. A busy day of waiting.

We went to the Colorado Department of Motor Vehicles in a very nice little strip mall in Aurora, Colorado. We both needed to get a Colorado driver's license. T does some research and finds that Ohio is among the states that Colorado recognizes in some sort of category, meaning I don't need any further documentation besides my Ohio license. Rock and roll. Texas isn't in that category (I always knew it was a foreign country) so Teresa brings her birth certificate and Social Security card. Off we go.

We arrive between 2:00 and 2:30. We are given little white numbers, the kind that come on big rolls. She is 511. I am 512. They are serving 211 or so. Rows of chairs are filled with all sorts of people. I'd say at least 150 people waiting, maybe more. Okay, we lean against a wall and wait.

Stand-up comedians seem required to take shots at the DMV. I think it falls after race and gender jokes, but before "my crazy family" jokes in the list of required bits. I always took the jokes with a grain of salt, since my experiences at the Cuyahoga Falls DMV (Lillis Avenue by Graham and State) were always relatively sane. But now I see the sad error of my naivete.

We waited until about 4:00, when Teresa decided she was hungry. She went to a sub place down the street, and I sat staring at the "Now Serving" sign, which seemed to be stuck permanently around 240. At one point, I glanced at the guy next to me, and saw he was holding 412--exactly 100 spots ahead of me. I think my exact thought process was Fuck shit dogshit fucking hell, but we just chatted for a minute about whether or not we liked waiting (no and no were our votes).

Teresa came back with subs, and our white middle-class guilt led us to sit outside to eat. That's where we met Jesus Christ Reincarnated, a nice middle-aged woman from Liberia. She had an awesome accent and she had just finished in the DMV, learning that her daughter had to be with her and she'd waited hours for nothing. She'd be back tomorrow.

She was Jesus Christ Reincarnated because she had a handful of wadded-up numbers, given to her by people who didn't have time to wait. She fished them out of the trash to give to us and bumped us from 511 and 512 to somewhere in the mid-400s. A college-age guy sitting out there with us moved up, too, and pretty soon we were scouring the parking lot looking for something better. Then another younger guy handed me 399, and I passed off my 512 and 467 to somebody new.

We wandered around trading our numbers for a while, then headed back inside to give away our higher numbers. Teresa wound up at 322 and I was at 372, and our new friend--Rashad, who goes to Metro College very close to my school--was at 365. Then Teresa just switched with him, since she was my ride and it didn't make sense to go so far ahead of me. She even passed on his offer of $5 to trade. What a little angel who missed a chance at $5.

Then 5 PM rolled around, and we'd been there three hours or so. They locked the doors, leading to several irritating instances when someone tried to get in, only to have a DMV employee bark way too harshly at them. Christ, chill out, Mr. Jump-to-Conclusions Mat, they don't have a number so you won't be serving them anyway. At this point they're at maybe 305. I think, if we hadn't moved up in numbers I would just have to kill everyone in this place. I have no means to do this. Clearly, I have gone insane.

Eventually they called Rashad--I clapped a little but nobody noticed--and then they called T and then they called me. I believe I got called at 5:35, putting our wait at 3 1/2 hours, or way under average, based on what we heard from other people. I stepped up to a heavier woman with long, dyed-blonde dreds. Somehow she was very nice, even though she'd been dealing with people waiting over 5 hours all day.

I told her that I just needed a Colorado license, here's my valid Ohio one, and I think that's all I need, right? She says, let me see here, W-E-I-S-H-A-M-P-E-L, and Steven, and--oh, this doesn't have your middle name on it. Do you have something with your middle name on it? Actually, it would need to be a birth certificate or a Social Security card.

Hahahaha, good one, blonde dreadlock lady. That is truly humorous. Give me a Colorado license or I will eat your spine.

I can't get the license today. She fills out some kind of "Incomplete Application" form and gives it to me. I take it between sobs, and off we go. But wait! Blonde Dreds has written at the top "No line wait"!! She even underlined it!! "No line wait." It's right there!!!! I kissed her on the mouth and then she called the next number in line. I walked away singing her praises.

Teresa got her picture taken and we were out of there by around 6. As we left I thought, See you tomorrow, Tom Smykowski. See you tomorrow, Blonde Dreds. See you tomorrow, loads of people who should bathe as often as possible.

It's going to feel so good to get there tomorrow, flash my little "No line wait" and march right to the counter. I can probably hold back the tears, but I just might shriek with delight as we leave.

Now, I just need something to do with all that extra time I'm going to have.

Now I just feel terrible about how I spend all my time

Before I tell you why the world is doomed, here's what I've done recently.

I went to my school again today, using a different route. And all by myself. I took a bus and light rail and then I was there. I walked around and I didn't look at a map even once and I didn't get lost although I didn't necessarily know exactly where I was for a while but it was okay. I went to the Bursar's Office BUT I WON'T TELL YOU WHY. I also only missed one bus because I couldn't figure out which side of the street to be on. Turns out the eastbound bus was going west when it came to the stop, and the westbound bus was going east. So I had to be on the north side of the street, not the south. Catchai?

Then when I came home I didn't do much of anything. T and I sat around. I ate soup for dinner (yes, mother, I'm eating dinner). And we watched a lot of the television. More on this later.

First, before I get to why we're doomed, let me tell you something. I haven't been the best friend to Kat Scanlon of Chicago, Illinois. She goes to Loyola. She's in crazy astrophysics. Which is intimidating. The reason I bring her up is her blog, which is really really great. Kat writes out her dreams. They are ludicrous, of course, as dreams always are, but the way she treats them makes it even better. What's awesome is how much of her personality you can read from the posts, which are surprisingly descriptive. I guess it tells you something that she decided to make a blog of her dreams, too. Check it out, it's pretty hilarious.

Okay now for the destruction of the world. I recently starting re-reading Neil Postman's book Amusing Ourselves to Death. I originally read it for a sociology class at UD, Mass Communication and Modern Society with Dr. Dan Miller. For whatever reason, I grabbed it off the shelf yesterday and it started depressing me all over again.

Postman's basic idea is that television is the dominant medium of our age, and that as the dominant medium it shapes our social conversations. It's straight Marshall McLuhan stuff.

Postman claims that television is a medium of show, flash and style. He says it's good for "junk," which is pretty much true. The problem occurs when television tries to broadcast "serious" material, like religion, politics, even news. What happens, Postman says, is television turns these serious things into entertainment, ruining serious topics. Secondly, television teaches us that everything--education, religion, debate--should be entertaining. TV makes serious topics entertainment, and teaches us to expect entertainment out of everything.

Thing is, the book is really, really good. It's funny, and it's an impressive mix of academic references and pop culture examples and jokes. I know I made it sound depressing, but it's not so bad. If you could handle my paragraph of explanation, you'll be fine. I would definitely recommend looking up this book, and at least reading the second half, starting with Part II. It's the section in which Postman goes through a few different facets of society--news, religion, politics, education--and explains how TV takes a big old shit on it. It's a chance for Postman to march out some hilarious examples of TV figures trying to be serious and looking sad.

Anyway, give it a shot, if you have a chance. If you're at UD, it's probably in the bookstore, and it's cheap, as I recall.

That's all for tonight. As for tomorrow, we have no plans at all. It's supposed to be really hot, like 99 degrees, so I don't believe we'll be leaving the apartment at all. We shall see.

Love,

Steve