As time goes by

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Scarier Than The News


Even more depressing than watching the news on TV is watching the ads that go with it.

Hawkers of hemorrhoid remedies, ED cures, adult diapers, affordable funeral homes, drugs to slow memory loss, false teeth cleaners and home nursing services march through my living room hawking their wares and a vision of present or future misery.  All of which they promise their remedies will help make more bearable—or at least less expensive when it comes to the funeral home.

 

Hale and hearty as most of my ancestors have been, making meless likely than most to need the majority of these services,  they still cast a sad shadow over my evening, as I think of friends less genetically blessed and the sad fate awaiting them.

 

It also makes me wonder who is watching, or who the networks think is watching the news other than me.
 

Have the networks simply determined that the demographic watching the news is people over a certain age and that “those people” are deaf, incontinent, lack memory, have no money and are planning their imminent departure from this vale of tears.  Although I'm no expert, I can't believe their target demographic than 100- and even that might be a little too young.

 Whatever the age range the networks are targeting, they and their advertisers' prejudices certainly are showing.  With an aunt who at 90 quizzed me about the developmental stages my young son was going through, I know what dangerous garbage age stereotyping is.  Even more scary is what this scenario, if the age assumptions are true, says about the US TV news audience as a whole.  Young people and those in early middle age aren't watching the news. And  given the state of the newspaper industry, I doubt they're reading it either. Since having citizens make informed decisions is essential to a healthy democracy, let's hope the networks are wrong and people of all ages are  watching the news.  The alternative is even more depressing than both the news and the ads.

 

Wednesday, August 31, 2005