Filling A Void

 I don't know if anyone remembers what happened the last time we had a writers strike in Hollywood. 

I do: Reality TV. 

When networks ran out of new episodes of scripted shows, they filled their schedules with game shows and aging rock stars emptying the garbage. Yes, we didn't get to watch any CSI or SVU or MOUSE, but we did get to see Ozzy Osbourne complaining about being left to schlep his family's trash, "I'm the Prince of Darkness..."

Okay, maybe that last bit was kind of worth it, but the legions of Real Housewives and gussied up versions of the junk we were happy to miss on daytime TV started finding its way into our living rooms in the evenings. Which spawned entire networks. House hunting and demolition. The mating rituals of all those whose pride was shed when the cameras turned on. I'm going to make the argument right here and right now that the audience (us) will watch anything that is put in front of us. 

Which is a shame, because in between there was a ton of what many have referred to as "A Golden Age of Television." The stories of Walter White and later Saul Goodman were written, and acted. Not merely unleashed on an unsuspecting public. All those walking dead zombies didn't just rise up from the grave, somebody had to sit down with a comic book and adapt them for the screen. Those dapper ad executives at Sterling Cooper sprang from the past and into our present just after the last writers strike. 

And now we're shutting the door on more golden TV. When I say "we," I mean the corporate greedheads who speak of stories as "content" and entertainment as a "product." These are the pointy little heads that decided that Regis Philbin asking "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" was every bit as interesting as a high school chemistry teacher turned drug kingpin. These are the monsters who have taken control of the airwaves and are more interested in a bottom line than in creating art. They are every bit as soulless as the computers they wish to employ in the creation of next Fall's primetime lineup. Or just find a roomful of chimpanzees and a bunch of typewriters. When you're done cleaning off the walls, you might find something worth putting in that nine PM slot. 

Or just start asking people to switch their Ring Doorbells to streaming. 

Oh god. Did I just suggest that? Never mind. Back to sleep.