| June 16, 2006 The Television Of the United States An Immigrant's Tale, parts 1-3 by Neil Zawicki, insurgent49  Part
OneLuke was speechless. At the base of the massive screen sat a woman at a desk in a dark suit – one little dot against the blue. She stared into her own television screen and yet another screen sat in front of her, facing Luke, that read, “Start Here.” He made his way to her desk and started to introduce himself, but he was interrupted. “Wait!” said the woman, smiling, not looking up at all from her personal screen. “Here it comes.” Luke was puzzled. “I’m sorry?” he said quietly. The woman shrugged and looked up for one second. “That Part!” she said. “Wait. Okay. Here it is!” She held her screen up to Luke’s face just in time for him to focus on the image of a man in a white suit, holding a peacock like a baby as he said, “Tonya, you’ll always have my one-two-nine.” Next, a massive explosion filled the space behind the man, and he looked slowly over his shoulder. “Oh my god, don’t you love that?” the woman asked. Luke just stood, and hoped to find the right words. The woman tilted her head and made a face like she was thinking. “You must be an immigrant,” she said. “Sorry, I just totally love that show. Okay, here, take this and walk through that door.” She handed Luke a silver bar with an arrangement of buttons on the front. Luke walked through the door, which was labeled, “Port of Entry, Television of the United States.” Once inside, Luke found himself in a forest of television screens. People, looking just as lost as he felt, stood at the screens, each with the same silver bar in their hand. Luke noticed a screen with a flashing green light above it, and moved intuitively in that direction. Once in front of his personal screen, it came to life. Luke’s heart raced as the screen produced a crisp image of a woman standing next to a stack of smaller television screens, all of which displayed images of families laughing in slow motion or people walking on beaches carrying sandals in their hands. Then, the woman spoke. “Welcome, and thank you for choosing our country. Is this your first trip to the Television of the United States?” The woman’s question echoed from other screens in the room. “Is this your first trip to the Television of the United states? “First trip to” “Is this” “The Television of the United States?” Luke looked around to notice other people pressing buttons on their silver bars. He looked down at his and found a button marked yes. He pressed the button. Part
Two
The screen before Luke lit his face with orange and green light, and his eyes widened as a blast of trumpets and laserbeams filled his ears. Then, a voice sounded from the screen: "The Television of the United States is always excited to receive new Viewer Citizens. We're certain your stay here will be both entertaining and fulfilling, but before we begin, here are some products you'll need to purchase within the next 23 hours to remain a legal Viewer Citizen..." There was a short hiccup of blackness on the screen, and Luke shifted in his boots. Then, the screen lit up again... "If you're new to the Television of the United States, particularly if you are from the White Dot Collective, you're probably experiencing some anxiety due to the strange and exciting environment you find yourself in. That's why you will buy NoShy Omoxil 900 within the next 23 hours, or risk arrest and deportation. NoShy Omoxil 900 ... start feeling like everyone else today." The announcement ended with a blooming flower accompanied by sedate piano music. It made Luke laugh, and the piano music made him think of home, and the day he left to see the Television of the United States, and to try to become the president. Back home, before he thought about ever leaving, the stories his father told him of the days when television was legal everywhere only made him wonder. "We were the ones who rejected television," his father would say. "We were the pioneers." The White Dot Collective broke away from the nation in the fall of 2032. The founding fathers outlawed television in their land, which spanned from what was central Kansas all the way to the Pacific Ocean. East of that border, another new nation formed. The Television of the United States made TV its god and government, and the people based their lives and social agenda upon the Television. The Television of the United States adopted a new constitution, which was not written, but rather a video montage of classic television images set to a medley of TV show theme songs. It played three times daily, and when it did, all Viewer Citizens stopped what they were doing and moved, trance-like, closer to the nearest television screen. The White Dot Collective, on the other hand, embraced a more organic and television-free lifestyle, and held to the belief that their way was better. Luke wondered why, and needed to know for himself. "Here, our leaders are chosen through consensus, and based on their experience and wisdom," Luke's father would say. "Over there, they choose their leaders through television. They elect the loudest, shallowest contestant from the show." His father spoke of the political arena in the Television of the United States -- a reality TV show on which contestants vied for the presidency of that nation. The show -- and the prize -- was open to anyone, citizen or not. "What's wrong with that idea?" Luke asked his father. "It is shallow and it poisons society with horrible values," replied his father. Luke wasn't sure he agreed, and the notion of becoming the leader of a nation by simply winning a TV game show was attractive to him. So much so that he packed up and left his home -- under the loud protest of his father -- to see the seductive and glittery land to the east. To see the Television, and to compete on the show that would make him president. Luke found lunch after he completed his in-processing to the Television of the United States. He found it in a cafe across the street. A Rueben sandwich in front of fifteen television screens all displaying the same thing -- a man with a bald head and sunglasses making a string of declarations: "This week, all citizens will buy floor cleaner and orange tumblers. You will find them at any retail outlet. If you have trouble finding a retail outlet, a police officer will be happy to point you in the right direction. Also, all contestants for Real American President must meet on Tuesday in the Bureau of Programming building." Luke noticed next to him a young woman who was half watching the screens, half glancing at him. He realized he was doing the same, and when he made eye contact with her, she smiled and looked away. Part
Three
Luke leaned back in his chair with a casual coolness. He took a sip of his iced tea and then, glancing at the girl, moved to set it back on the table. But he was off by three inches, and his glass hit the floor with a loud crash. The girl jumped in her chair and immediately began straightening her things on the table. Luke crouched to clean up his mess. "Do you need some help?" asked the girl. Luke looked up and hit his head on the underside of the table. The girl smiled. "Oh, ah, no, no," he said, "I'll get it." The girl climbed off her chair and began picking up pieces of glass. Her brown hair fell in a mess to one side of her head, and as she worked, it brushed across Luke's face. The two of them worked silently, collecting the glass as the announcer continued: "If you've already purchased your new silver couch and loveseat combination, you may indicate so by displaying a red light-emitting diode at the end of your driveway. If you have yet to purchase a new silver couch and loveseat combination, you'd better move fast..." The girl had stopped cleaning, and was looking at Luke, who stopped as well when he noticed. "Do-do you have your silver couch and loveseat combination?" he asked with a nervous tilt. "Are you serious?" replied the girl. Luke gestured to the screens. "But aren't you supposed to-" "Where'd you come from?" asked the girl finally. "Well, ah, I'm from the west." "No TV," said the girl immediately. Luke leaned back a bit. "Yeah, that's right. Not like here. Sorry. This is all just a little bit amazing to me, but I'm sure you're used to it," he said. "What's that like?" asked the girl. "What?" asked Luke. "No TV. Ever." "Well, it's...there's..." Luke couldn't find the words. "There's a lot more to do and a lot more time for it all. Even though it's the same time as here and all, but I guess with all the shows to watch, you really don't need to-" "My name's Johanna," said the girl. "Luke. I’m Luke. Hi Johanna." "What do you mean 'a lot more to do?'" asked Johanna. "Well, like right now, in this cafe’, of course there wouldn't be any television screens, but somebody would probably be busy building a bike and maybe we would be playing music, or trying to anyway. But sometimes people just sit and eat their lunch and listen to each other and argue and laugh." "People build bikes?" asked Johanna. "Well, it's just an example, but everyone has a thing they do with their time," explained Luke. "It's what my dad calls 'deliberate thought manifestation.'" "He calls it what?" asked Johanna. Luke shrugged. "I know, it sounds so serious," he said. "It's just his way of saying people who are free of TV discover talents and ideas they never knew they had." "Oh yeah!" replied Johanna. "That's like on "Summertime Road" when Will tells Sally he's going to build a bigger living room and she tells him he'll need to get help form the neighbors and then they all have a big picnic." Luke went blank, and Johanna brushed her hand across her hair. "Sorry," she said. "I forgot." "Is that on TV?" Luke asked. Johanna looked away. "Yeah. What isn't," she said. "What do you do with your time?" "Here?" "No. When you're home. When there's no TV." "I guess I just like to learn new things," Luke said. "But I came here for a reason." "To see what TV is like?" "No. To become the president." Johanna went blank. "Are you serious?" Luke held his head up, and looked up. "The President of the Television of the United States." To
be continued ...
Stay tuned to Neil Zawicki's weekly column, Alaskan In Exile, for the next installment of The Television Of the United States. Neil Zawicki, exiled Alaskan, is Editor at Large for Insurgent49, a former reporter for the Alaska Star, and winner of the Alaska Press Club's 'Best Columnist' award. He is now living out the rest of his days in an undisclosed location in Oregon. He can be contacted at - hondo23@gmail.com |
-
Columnists -
- column archive -
June 9, 2006 June 2, 2006 May 26, 2006 May 12, 2006 May 5, 2006 April 28, 2006 April 21, 2006 April 14, 2006 April 7, 2006 March 31, 2006 March 24, 2006 March 17, 2005 March 3, 2006 February 24, 2006 February 17, 2006 February 10, 2006 February 3, 2006 January 27, 2006 January 20, 2006 January 13, 2006 January 6, 2006 December 30, 2005 December 23, 2005 December 16, 2005 December 10, 2005 December 2, 2005 November 25, 2005 November 18, 2005 November 11, 2005 November 4, 2005 October 28, 2005 October 21, 2005 October 14, 2005 October 7, 2005 September 30, 2005 September 23, 2005 September 16, 2005 September 9, 2005 September 2, 2005 August 26, 2005 August 19, 2005 August 12, 2005 August 5, 2005 July 29, 2005 July 22, 2005 July 15, 2005 July 8, 2005 July 1, 2005 June 24, 2005 June 17, 2005 June 10, 2005 June 3, 2005 May 27, 2005 May 20, 2005 May 13, 2005 May 6, 2005 April 29, 2005 April 21, 2005 April 14, 2005 April 7, 2005 April 1, 2005 - also by this
writer -
|
|||||||
| Copyright 2005
Insurgent Media. All Rights
Reserved. in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership. |
||||||||
