The After-School Special

Bruno's black tongue leads to racial profiling. Photo by Julie Garisto

People who say they hate humans but love animals make as much sense to me as people who hate breathing but love oxygen.
Can you not be a people person and a dog person and a cat person … and a reptile person, plant lover, protozoa enthusiast?
Isn’t it okay just to be into living things?
Life, the miracle: I’m a fan.
I frequently get in a certain argument with a friend who says dogs are intrinsically kinder than humans and cats.
I’m going to get a lot of flak for this, but I think that’s a load of doo.
Dogs and cats have different adaptive abilities, as do humans, whose mental networks of right and wrong and all of their permutations is much more vast and snarled.
Despite all the confusion and trauma, people have a crazy capacity for love and determination of spirit.
Yet, somehow, Lucky the lab is way cooler?
I’d venture to say if Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad were cuddled, encouraged, softly touched, given special toys and brought to the park daily by doting parents he might not be such a gay/Jew hater.
To me, there’s no reason to say that a tediously ignorant despot was born a bigger a-hole than a pit bull who maims a child. Circumstances, conditioning led to both going awry.
Of course, this boils down to that whole nature vs. nurture argument, but however you scientificify, I think there is an automatic acceptance of animals that people are never given.
I own a dog I love very much, but he annoys me sometimes too. He can be a defiant little turd, to be honest.
Lord forbid, I complain.
I just don’t buy into this wholesale worship of dogs. It feels cult-like. I go to the dog park and I see how people obsess. They huddle and compare notes and breeds. It’s like going to some Montessori playground with bored housewives and Mr. Moms.
There’s some serious sublimation going on and I don’t want to know its origins.
Seriously, people get nutty about what type of dog to own, acccessories, training, nurturing and protecting their precious furry fluffy ribbon-wearing shi-tzu-blah blah blah that they forget all reason.
And I hate what I hear about cats from these people. How they’re uncaring and selfish. Me, I own a cat. I love her sense of independence, her sensual savoir faire, but cats’ low maintenance and lack of trophy-trotting portability make them less desirable on the status food chain.
Plus a cat will never validate or reinforce an insecure human’s sense of power and confidence.
Back to dogs, I have a Chow mix and because of the breed’s awful reputation, I sometimes I feel like the mom of a hood rat with a crack pipe hanging out of his pocket at the aforementioned playground.
Seriously, my Bruno, is racially profiled. His black tongue gets him shunned time to time.
Some people think Chows are mean and aggressive.
I have no experience myself with a hatin’ Chow, but supposedly Chows/Chow mixes are a huge scourge to owners of civilized canines.
But Bruno doesn’t deserve to be stereotyped in such a horrible manner. When people do let their dogs play with him or pet him, they are utterly charmed. They see he’s a genial, sweet and playful teen pup who is completely loveable. I’ve seen him play with Great Danes and chihuahuas with equal pleasure and adaptibility.
Just the same, you can’t stop people from judging, and Bruno will always have that black tongue. What I can’t figure out is if that makes him better or worse than humans to the doggie gestapo.
In view of such nonsense, I’m trying really hard not to let people with any selective, obsessive and incoherent loyalties of any kind dog my respect for my fellow men and women beings.

The Bolsheviks had Lenin. The Beatles had Lennon.

Today, the people have Conan.

As of this writing, Conan O’Brien will be dethroned from the Tonight Show on Feb. 20 before his behind could even be warmed by the seat that once cushioned the late-great Johnny Carson’s.

Late-night TV’s most loveable carrot top is getting a raw deal. And so is late-night’s most respected franchise.

Since announcing he’s leaving NBC in protest, O’Brien’s Nielsen ratings have soared, audiences have formed lines around the block, supportive protesters have sported “I’m With Coco” T-shirts and fan sites and stories have popped up every day.

Thank goodness, he and his clever staff have offered us vindication and comic relief – acting out the fight with the network in hilariously self-deprecating gags and going so far as to televise a Craigslist ad selling the Tonight Show; “Band sold separately.”

This whole mess began in a move of executive-retardo-bizarro-world logic on Jan. 12, when NBC announced that it would boot host O’Brien off the Tonight Show to bring back Jay Leno, whose ratings plummeted to Hitler’s level of hell during his weirdly slotted, weekdays-at-10 p.m. prime time show.

“Jay thinks he is Regis Philbin, and Jay, just won't retire,” says Stephen Viscusi of the Huffington Post. “Philbin is beloved. Leno is tolerated. Regis is like Barbara Walter and Oprah – yes even Letterman. We like him. Leno, on the other hand, is like Eddie Haskell from Leave it to Beaver.” Amen, brother.

I heard the news on the eve of the death of my stepfather, during a month of intense career decision making, so the only-the-good-die-young, sticking-it-to-authority undertones of the situation felt especially poignant to me – as I’m sure for anyone who’s been slapped in the face a time or two while aspiring for ideals or rights.

Not to get to far afield here, but sometimes it feels like we’re living in a world where fear has become a mightier motivator than innovation, and during our most discouraged moments, it seems as if it has become punishable to do anything but maintain a self-destructive status quo.

Conan made us believe again.

He would not be bullied by the irresponsible and incomprehensible order by his bosses and reacted in an “Oh, no, you didn’t” manner by sending out a big fat F.U. to NBC in the form of an eloquent and graciously scathing missive.

He wrote: “NBC executives told me they intended to move the Tonight Show to 12:05 to accommodate the Jay Leno Show at 11:35. For 60 years the Tonight Show has aired immediately following the late local news. I sincerely believe that delaying the Tonight Show into the next day to accommodate another comedy program will seriously damage what I consider to be the greatest franchise in the history of broadcasting. The Tonight Show at 12:05 simply isn't the Tonight Show. Also, if I accept this move I will be knocking the Late Night show, which I inherited from David Letterman and passed on to Jimmy Fallon, out of its long-held time slot. That would hurt the other NBC franchise that I love, and it would be unfair to Jimmy.”

It’s a frustrating dilemma to ponder. O’Brien’s show was damned good. I recorded it on my DVR, and I only record a few shows. He was funny without being too smarmy; endearing without being too glad-handing. Along with the usual pimping of celebrities, he and Andy Richter brought provocative wit to wee-hour gabbery. As I saw it, the dynamic duo had steadily won over a younger, hipper audience despite a wimpy heave-ho from lagging local evening news. ... And what thanks do they get?

So, where are Conan and Co. going? That remains to be seen. Speculations hover at Fox, but he cannot return to TV until September. Maybe he should get something going on the more freethinking and enterprising HBO, or he could write TV or movie scripts again – after all, the Harvard alumnus kicked much hilarious butt as a Simpsons and SNL writer.

As for me and my much lower-profile career dilemma, I’ve been wrestling with keeping my job as a full-time dropout prevention teacher. Though I considered seeking a career as a full-time freelancer, I decided it was too soon to call it quits on my students.

I have made this decision though I strongly disagree with certain accountability-driven mandates of the school board (computer software lessons, standardized test-driven instruction) and I made my protests known to my superiors and students.

Though I can’t afford to make a statement by resigning in the salaciously entertaining manner that Conan has, I can at least take comfort in knowing that my students respect me for defending their right to learn in a non-automaton fashion.

Plus, practically speaking, I cannot leave because I don’t have the 40-million-dollar severance package or prestige of someone like Conan O’Brien. I have to make it on my own and afford basic stuff like health insurance.

As do most of us, that’s why we can live so deliciously vicariously through the protests of Coco.


http://www.justinpeterson.net/

Used to be a time when life’s dilemmas – issues as hairy and heartbreaking as an unplanned pregnancy, suicide and drug abuse – could be tackled, summed up and solved in a one-hour network-TV drama.

I’m referring to ABC After School Specials, and I get a little choked up thinking about them. I’d often watch the specials with Chips-Ahoy and milk on Wednesdays at 4 p.m., switching from The Merv Griffin Show after Guiding Light. The morality plays featured feathered hair, impassioned overacting and comforting resolutions.

Though educational, the dramas were actually cool. They’d star familiar actors we’d crush on or new stars on the rise, usually sporting the latest designer jeans with a fat comb jutting out of the back pocket.

One of the more popular episodes, "The Boy Who Drank Too Much," starred Scott Baio. Baio, to my prepubescent delight, appeared in several of the specials.
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After School Specials’'' plots didn’t extend beyond the realm of possibility, sometimes edgy, sometimes overtly optimistic. They gave us a window to a world much more attractive than ours and starred good-looking families in breezy California suburbs. Their homes had custom vans parked out front and smartly decorated rooms with hot stuff of the day, like Star Wars, a nipply Farrah Fawcett or babyfaced Shaun Cassidy.

The series began in 1973, pre-slime Nickelodeon, pre-Saved By the Bell, pre-cable or -VCR. I started watching them during their height of popularity, when catching a TV special of any kind was exciting. (Remember the twirling CBS Special intro with the percussive, jazzy music that made us all gasp? It was a break from the routine. Serendipity ruled our worlds.)

After-school specials represented to us something hip and modern, much unlike the preachy wash-your-hands-thoroughly-bomb-drill education films of the ‘50s that our teachers screened from projectors (which, ironically, acquired a kitschy cachet later on when Pee-Wee Herman featured them during his shows).

More poignantly, after-school specials embody an even starker contrast from the cynical syndication of today – the Judge Judys, the Cops.

Or the anti-after-school special: reality TV.

They’re borne of a time when TV brought Americans hope for future days. Not to sound like that old lady waving a cane, but nowadays, it’s all a bunch of litter that would bring a tear to an American Indian’s eye.

I decided to name my new recurring column “After-School Special”, not only as a tribute to a nugget of pop culture that gets me gushy and sentimental, but as, hopefully, a break from the grind for those whose inner child has been sad and needs some clarity and relief.

It’ll touch on all the neuroses, accessories and necessities of trying to stay true to oneself while surviving in a recession economy. Topics will revolve around the need to evolve and sometimes let go, but hold onto those shreds of youth that make us who we are. You know, “Rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Rage against the machine. Rage against rage-aholics. Etc.

My goal is to share issues that somewhat with-it adults and adult-wannabes can relate to, bring some laughter to the mix and talk to people who might know a little more than me.

And if this little write-up can sometimes be as sexy and cute as a 15-year-old Scott Baio, well then that indeed would be special.