As we mature, we all get used to making the daily compromises with our society that we have to in order to get through everyday life. Sometimes the craziness becomes so egregious that we feel like we can't stand it anymore. One such opportunity may well be television on an early June Sunday night, when an already desperate medium reaches the bottom of its low barrel to tear viewers away from Facebook, YouTube or, perchance, outdoor activities (a likely scenario on this nearly perfect Wisconsin day). At 9 o'clock--an hour no longer considered late by anyone over age 6 except my Dad--an unbelievably violent and graphic show, CSI:Miami, has its place.
Automakers, shitty chain restaurants and multinational companies consider the program a perfectly fine vehicle for advertising their wares. At the expense of our minds and spirits, these entities engage in their prime-time circle jerk. After all, what better opportunity to persuade Joe and Jill American that they ought to be driving around in a steel HOUSE--never mind that they'll be driving said house over the frickin' SURFACE OF THE MOON half the time, as our vision of a white utopia does not include reasonably well-maintained streets.
And what a boon urban sprawl has been for godawful Applebee's, Chili's, the Olive Garden and that steakhouse with the incredibly annoying fake Australian accent. I can't claim to remember what Marc's Big Boy's food tasted like, but I'm sure it was at least as good as any of the aforementioned. Chain restaurants want an outlot building built to spec or at least part of one. Voilà, more sprawl--and never mind when a closed restaurant sits fallow as an eyesore for five years, even in a wealthy area, like the old Outback Steakhouse in Fox Point.
If I were a parent, I'd rather have nudity aired at 9 p.m. than violence.