from Lizz Winstead's Lizz Free or Die: Essays:
It was the early ‘90s, and what he did was journalism. Or at least what seemed to replace most of it. Daytime TV was wall-to-wall talk shows: Maury, Springer, Oprah, Montel—a new one seemed to crop up every week. It felt like the network overlords found a way to add more hours to the day to subject us to more of these freak fests. It was hour after hour of parading the wretched refuse of America on national TV for the purpose of making a generation of mindless couch enthusiasts feel just that much better about themselves.
It was a bad time, that dark period in daytime talk before the invention of the DNA tests that finally classed up the Maury Povich show.
No comments:
Post a Comment