Over on Mashable, a question has been asked: Ever Imagined a World Without Internet?

What the fuck?, is my immediate reply.

I click on the author’s name, and come to her bio:

When she isn’t basking in the New York summer swelter, Allegra lives in Los Angeles. She’s completing her bachelor’s degree at the University of Southern California …

OK. Finishing a bachelor’s degree. Around twenty years old, probably … born 1992(ish). She doesn’t remember living without the Internet. Makes me feel old, but is ultimately understandab-

… where she is studying Cinema-Television Critical Studies and Multimedia Scholarship.

Wait. What was that, Allegra? You’re studying motherfucking cinema?

Want to “imagine” life without the Internet? Watch a movie that was released before you were born. Or maybe some old TV shows. There are lots of them. Some of them are good. What the fuck are they teaching you in your Cinema-Television courses at USC, anyways?

For most of us, though, we don’t have to imagine. We just need to remember.

Now get off my internet lawn.

My inbox contained a new e-mail last week. This is not strange.

The e-mail was from Sky — my television and broadband provider. This is not strange, either. They often send me e-mails.

What was strange, though was the bit of marketing that was in the e-mail:

So, to answer Sky’s questions:

Do you know that feeling where you discover something special?

Absolutely. I have discovered many special things during my life. Seeing my daughter for the first time. Falling in love. Moving to London.

These things all invoke very different feelings, but there is a similarity between them. An excitement at the new, at staring at an unknown – an unknowable – future, and knowing that your life is about to be better for it.

Like when you first paused Live TV?

No. Not like that at all. VCRs were around when I was a child — I am uncertain if I have ever had a remote control lacking a pause button.

And is anything on TV actually live any more? We are under the impression that even sporting events had a short tape delay.

Or that sense of anticipation you felt when you discovered that the new series of your favourite show was coming in high definition?

No. Although I am geeky enough to occasionally be excited about a new series, I cannot even fathom being excited by news that it is going to be in HD.

I like HD, mind you, but it really isn’t something worth getting excited over.

That’s The Better Effect

My impression is that you have no idea what you’re talking about.

Dear Sky,

Please immediately fire your entire marketing department, and replace them with … anybody else, really. We cannot imagine that the current department’s replacements could be much worse.

Sincerely,
Mr. Topp

Top image was delivered by Sky to Mr. Topp’s e-mail. It is an actual marketing message to Sky customers.
Bottom image was found at this Tumblr. We have no idea who made it.

Perhaps the most bizarre recurring stories in the news are those that centre around Anna Chapman. (Not pictured above. That’s Scarlett.) Ms. Chapman is, if you will recall, the “sexy Russian spy” who was caught in suburban America and sent back home to Russia in a prisoner swap.

Weird enough.

Then she becomes engaged in Russian politics, which keeps her in the papers, but is not really that noteworthy. Russian spies-turned-politicians are not exactly new. But now she is making a break into television, hosting a TV show called Mysteries of the World. Based on this BBC article, it sounds like a Russian version of Unsolved Mysteries.

If you are asking yourself what?, then you’re right there with us.

What happened to the good old fashioned spies? The ones who would fall in love with the people they were spying on, resulting in grossly unprofessional — but story-worthy — conduct? What’s that? They now work for the police in Britain?

Alright, then.

Photo is of Scarlett Johansson, found at Things that excite me. Origin unknown.
Webcomic is Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal by Zach Weiner.

I hated dancing as a child.

Not the act of dancing, per se. Although as a rather shy boy, that could quite well be the case. But the art of dancing.

My sister is to blame. I spent countless days in self-imposed exile from the living room as she and her friends would choreograph and practice dance routines. I sat through countless episodes of the local CKWS TV Star Search rip-off. I cannot count the number of times I have ignored Dirty Dancing playing on the TV.

She was my sister. I was a boy. These things were, by definition, torture.

So imagine my surprise earlier this week when, reflecting on such things, I realised that today I very much enjoy dance. Karen and I see dance shows more often than we go to the theatre, for example, despite living relatively close to some excellent theatre in the West End. And I am more likely to enjoy these dance shows than I am whatever is on stage.

At this point, it should probably be evident that Karen enjoys dance as well. However, her love of dance extends to that scourge of modern civilization: the reality television programme.

Strictly Come Dancing

Here in the UK, we have a show called Strictly Come Dancing. It is a ballroom dancing contest, featuring celebrities. ABC has copied the show in America, calling it Dancing with the stars.

Karen likes this show, so my adult self found himself in the same position as my child self: sitting and staring at non-professional dancers on the television set. Ballroom dancing, as it turns out, is not for me. Luckily winner Kara Tointon (inset) is easy-on-the-eyes, made the show more palatable, but I found myself feeling the familiar groans of my childhood about having to watch dancing on TV.

But why? I like dancing now, do I not?

The answer, it turns out, is in the style of dance. Ballroom dancing seems very British — it is not about how well you dance, or self-expression, but about avoiding anything that can be considered out of place. How else to explain the judges giving consistently higher marks to the perfect-but-incredibly-boring dancing of Pamela Stephenson, versus those given to not-quite-perfect-but-much-better-performances of some of her rivals?

I told you that I find myself interested in dance now. I can even rant about it, although this space is supposed to be about writing (not ranting). So instead we move on to …

More reality TV dancing

This week, the reality show Got To Dance began its second season, and my dance-loving partner wanted to watch the opening.

My childhood dread of dance-on-TV, reinforced by my general dislike of Strictly Come Dancing forced a groan from me. Not more reality TV dance-offs!

Yet we watched the opening. The show is terrible for many reasons. It has poor production values, is poorly directed, has an annoying host (or presenter for you Brits reading), and is a reality TV show. I hate reality TV.

Worst of all, they are clearly letting non-competitive (yet entertaining) acts through, on the virtue of being good dancing for a 46-year-old, or being a cute kid that’s not too bad. It stinks of trying to fit the market research, rather than trying to create a good show. That pisses me off.

But I still enjoyed the show.

The long and short of it is that many of the competitors are actually talented dancers. And nobody cares about making sure that individual dances remain bound by staid, strict rules. They are looking for people who are actually expressing themselves by dancing.

Which points out my problem with ballroom dancing — the point there is not expression, but conformity. That’s shitty dancing. Dance should be expressive. (I learned that from Dirty Dancing, I think.)

So apparently, judging by my own standards, I need help.

Because I think I enjoy a poorly produced reality TV show about dancing.