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I just returned from the Navajo Nation in Arizona where I conducted my thesis research. Going on a nice lorry ride seemed like an integral component to my research. An afternoon spent with the remaining Anglos on the Reservation bumping along the wash, crashing through the river. The canyon walls radiated the warm southwest red and the air was spingly crisp. What I didn't plan on was getting wet. One would think you could keep your feet dry. Well so much for that. Dave our driver managed to bury the lorry to the frame and wedged the drop stair in the back into the mud. As the odd man out I got to lift it back up. Cold muddy hands--but wait there is more. In order to lift this heavy metal stair back up I step out into the river, placing my feet temptingly on a small spit of sand. I thrust the stair up and another woman latches it in place. The shifting weight throws my balance and dry feet firmly into the river. Wet shoes, wet socks, wet pants. Sometimes you just have to laugh at your predicament.
Reality TV has finally reached a breaking point. For years we have sat idly by as plotless media was beamed at us. But now it has gone too far. The latest show, CBS's Deal or No Deal takes the cake. The show is simple. A contestant stands in the middle, surrounded by an audience. 26 sexy woman carrying shiny metal briefcases arrive. The contestant selects one; briefcase not woman. Each case is filled with an amount of money ranging from $0.01 to $2,000,000. The contestant selects 6 cases to eliminate. Each of the selected cases is opened, revealing an amount of money which is not in the contestant's case. After each round of case eliminations, "the banker" calls from his office and offers to buy the contestant's case, confronting him with the creative option of "Deal or No Deal." This continues until either the contestant sells out or the value of their case is revealed. The show has no substance and manages to eat up an hour of programming time with long pauses between case selections, banker offers, and dramatic lighting and sounds. The sexist nature with scantly clad woman encouraging you to pick them and their money is only slightly degrading. No skill, strategy, or intellect is required of the contestants. In essence it is slightly more exciting than watching a person scratch a lottery ticket. What will they come up with next?
I just returned from the Navajo Nation in Arizona where I conducted my thesis research. Going on a nice lorry ride seemed like an integral component to my research. An afternoon spent with the remaining Anglos on the Reservation bumping along the wash, crashing through the river. The canyon walls radiated the warm southwest red and the air was spingly crisp. What I didn't plan on was getting wet. One would think you could keep your feet dry. Well so much for that. Dave our driver managed to bury the lorry to the frame and wedged the drop stair in the back into the mud. As the odd man out I got to lift it back up. Cold muddy hands--but wait there is more. In order to lift this heavy metal stair back up I step out into the river, placing my feet temptingly on a small spit of sand. I thrust the stair up and another woman latches it in place. The shifting weight throws my balance and dry feet firmly into the river. Wet shoes, wet socks, wet pants. Sometimes you just have to laugh at your predicament.
