The real reason: I don’t have time. I’d rather take a walk or interact with my spouse.
The snarky reason: crap like this.
[Note, the rest is behind a cut so that Net Nanny at work won't block me from visiting my own blog on my lunch break. Oy.]
For those who’d rather not waste half an hour, the most recent episode of House is called “Massage Therapy.” Are there any massage therapists involved?
Nope! Just prostitutes.
Or rather, one massage therapist who only USED to be a prostitute. Now she’s legit, but she gives massages in a miniskirt. The guy’s just a hooker who doesn’t actually know beans about massage therapy.
And what’s the moral at the end of the story? House finally quits massage like a good boy and starts seeing a physical therapist. Who, presumably, comes to work fully clothed.
Seriously? Hasn’t this trope gotten old yet? Where’s the massage therapist on television that has the education to understand all the medical terminology thrown around on a show like House? Or the massage therapist whose impeccable documentation save the day on a legal show? Or the massage therapist on a crime show who remembers the particulars of the bodies she works with so well that she corrects the investigators who have mis-identified the body-of-the-week as her former client? Maybe we could have a sass-talking massage therapist who secretly uses her superpowers to kill creepy Not-Nice-Creatures in the night. The sky’s the limit, people. Grow some creativity!
In the meantime, what’s the cure for the situation we’re in, media-wise?
What does “being professional” mean?
Also, discover a way to influence what’s shown on television without actually having to watch any. Consider moonlighting as a screenwriter in your ample free time. Or a superhero. Sans spandex, of course. Even those with the ability to palpate in ten dimensions need to have standards.
Thoughts? Superpowers? Storylines? Leave a comment.