And what is it that we want? From what I can tell, that answer is twofold: We want imperfection, and we want heightened reality. The p.o.r.nography everyone wants to see on the Internet focuses on (a) amateurs and (b) celebrities. We either want a truck stop waitress who's a little overweight and sort of freakish, or we want voyeuristic shots of Britney Love Aguilera3 on a private beach in Italy. And some would say that's simply human nature, but they're wrong; that's a reflection of how we're still trying to understand how this technology works. Ironically-or perhaps predictably-we need p.o.r.n to do this. It's what keeps us interested. on a private beach in Italy. And some would say that's simply human nature, but they're wrong; that's a reflection of how we're still trying to understand how this technology works. Ironically-or perhaps predictably-we need p.o.r.n to do this. It's what keeps us interested.

Let's say a guy is sitting in a bar in Des Moines and two women walk in. One of these girls is clearly a model/actress, and she has fake b.o.o.bs and luxurious hair and a perfectly sculpted body; meanwhile, her companion is just a totally normal, decent-looking person. Who will our hard-drinking Iowan immediately want to see naked? The answer is obvious-he would want to see the model. And if there are twenty-five women in the bar that night and he's given the opportunity to see any one of them nude, he will pick whoever he thinks is the most attractive. Yet this would not be the case if these women were 2-D thumbnail pics on a Web site called nakedtavern.com. The first female selected would be whoever seemed the most most normal (i.e., neither ideal nor repulsive), or maybe the woman with the nicest smile who seemed just a tier below gorgeous. And p.o.r.n sites are completely aware of this phenomenon. You often see banner advertis.e.m.e.nts that scream things like, normal (i.e., neither ideal nor repulsive), or maybe the woman with the nicest smile who seemed just a tier below gorgeous. And p.o.r.n sites are completely aware of this phenomenon. You often see banner advertis.e.m.e.nts that scream things like, TIRED OF SITES WITH MODELS CLAIMING TO BE AMATEURS? WE GUARANTEE REAL UNPROFESSIONAL s.l.u.tS TIRED OF SITES WITH MODELS CLAIMING TO BE AMATEURS? WE GUARANTEE REAL UNPROFESSIONAL s.l.u.tS! This is one of those bizarre paradoxes that could only have been created by the acceleration of culture: Within the realm of their Gateways, men prefer to look at nude images of women they'd normally ignore in real life.

Now, I realize phrases like "the acceleration of culture" tend to be frustrating terms, mostly because there's a certain segment of the population that throws around this term too often (and usually incorrectly), and there's another segment that only vaguely understands what it means (they can define the individual words, but the larger concept still seems fuzzy). However, it's the best explanation as to why amateur p.o.r.n is more popular than professional p.o.r.n, which is only the case in the online idiom. Before the Net devastated the s.m.u.t mag industry, success had always been directly tied to professionalism: In the 1990s, Playboy Playboy was forever the front-runner, followed by was forever the front-runner, followed by Penthouse, Penthouse, followed by followed by Hustler, Hustler, followed by followed by Perfect 10 Perfect 10. The same still goes for live erotica: Whenever I hear guys talking about their favorite strip clubs, they always talk about how unbelievably hot the dancers are; I've never heard anyone raving about how unbelievably ordinary the dancers look. Yet with computer p.o.r.nography (much of which is still free), the key is normalcy-the surfer is hoping to see the girl next door in an almost literal sense. This is the product of a technology that has accelerated faster than its user can comprehend.

In less than a decade, millions of Americans went from (1) not knowing what the Internet was, to (2) knowing what is was but not using it, to (3) having an e-mail address, to (4) using e-mail pretty much every day, to (5) being unable to exist professionally or socially or socially without it. For 98 percent of the world, the speed and sweep of that evolution was too great to fathom. Consequently, we learned how to use tools most of us don't understand. This has always been the case with technology, but not quite to this extent. I mean, I drive a car that I can't fix and that I could certainly never build, but I still understand how it works in a way that goes (slightly) beyond the theoretical. I could explain how a car works to a ten-year-old. Conversely, I don't understand without it. For 98 percent of the world, the speed and sweep of that evolution was too great to fathom. Consequently, we learned how to use tools most of us don't understand. This has always been the case with technology, but not quite to this extent. I mean, I drive a car that I can't fix and that I could certainly never build, but I still understand how it works in a way that goes (slightly) beyond the theoretical. I could explain how a car works to a ten-year-old. Conversely, I don't understand anything anything about the construction of the Internet, beyond those conventional about the construction of the Internet, beyond those conventional Newsweek Newsweek factoids that everyone knows (and which still seem borderline impossible). I have no practical knowledge of the "information superhighway." factoids that everyone knows (and which still seem borderline impossible). I have no practical knowledge of the "information superhighway."4 And I'm not interested in how it works; I just want to feel like I vaguely grasp its potential and vaguely understand how to use that potential to my advantage. And I'm not interested in how it works; I just want to feel like I vaguely grasp its potential and vaguely understand how to use that potential to my advantage.

This is why amateur p.o.r.nography became so integral to the adoption of Internet technology: It not only made people excited excited about using the Web (because s.e.x is prurient and arousing), but it also made people about using the Web (because s.e.x is prurient and arousing), but it also made people comfortable comfortable with using the Web (because it's organic and unsophisticated). s.e.x is so undeniably visceral that anyone can relate to it, a.s.suming what they're seeing does not appear to be an untouchable, unworldly fantasy. Imperfect, unpaid nudity tightened the parameters of the virtual world; it's proof that this futuristic electronic network is still operated by humankind. This is not a pixeled construction of some Never Neverland character from with using the Web (because it's organic and unsophisticated). s.e.x is so undeniably visceral that anyone can relate to it, a.s.suming what they're seeing does not appear to be an untouchable, unworldly fantasy. Imperfect, unpaid nudity tightened the parameters of the virtual world; it's proof that this futuristic electronic network is still operated by humankind. This is not a pixeled construction of some Never Neverland character from Tron Tron; this is some girl you saw at Pizza Hut. Amateur p.o.r.nography grounds us in our reality.

Of course, it should go without saying that our reality is profoundly f.u.c.ked-up. Twenty minutes on the Internet c.u.m trade is all it takes to realize that the s.e.xual peccadilloes of modern people are cliched, sad, incomprehensible, and/or a combination of all three. If you are to take "real" p.o.r.n at face value, you would be forced to conclude that women rarely have pubic hair, except for those who are advertising as having more more pubic hair than normal. There seems to be an unabated demand for naked teenage girls, although there also seems to be a tacit understanding that any moderately small-breasted thirty-one-year-old woman can pa.s.s for a teenager if she has pigtails and a lollipop. There is an inordinate amount of bandwidth focused on girls urinating on themselves and/or licking their own nipples (is this fun?), and there's a big demand for interracial s.e.x, first-time a.n.a.l s.e.x, public flashing, and the ham-fisted implication of incest. What's most disturbing is the amount of Internet p.o.r.n that has absolutely nothing to do with s.e.xual desire and everything to do with cartoonish misogyny, most notably the endless sites showing men e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. on women's faces while the recipients pretend to enjoy it; this has about as much to do with s.e.x as. .h.i.tting someone in the face with a frying pan. pubic hair than normal. There seems to be an unabated demand for naked teenage girls, although there also seems to be a tacit understanding that any moderately small-breasted thirty-one-year-old woman can pa.s.s for a teenager if she has pigtails and a lollipop. There is an inordinate amount of bandwidth focused on girls urinating on themselves and/or licking their own nipples (is this fun?), and there's a big demand for interracial s.e.x, first-time a.n.a.l s.e.x, public flashing, and the ham-fisted implication of incest. What's most disturbing is the amount of Internet p.o.r.n that has absolutely nothing to do with s.e.xual desire and everything to do with cartoonish misogyny, most notably the endless sites showing men e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. on women's faces while the recipients pretend to enjoy it; this has about as much to do with s.e.x as. .h.i.tting someone in the face with a frying pan.

And-of course-there is also a pocket of men who m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e to images of women getting hit in the face with frying pans. I guess there's no accounting for taste. But there's really no purpose in complaining about p.o.r.nography, either. Yes, it's socially negative; no, it's not nearly as negative as Ted Bundy claimed before his execution. The tangible effect of p.o.r.nography is roughly the same as the tangible effect of Ozzy Osbourne's music on stoned Midwestern teenagers: It prompts a small faction of idiots to consider idiotic impulses, which is why we have the word idiocy. idiocy. Arguing about the psychological merits (or lack thereof) of watching intercourse on a Presario 700Z doesn't interest me. What interests me is how that habit changes the way people think about their own existence-and that brings me back to that second type of image p.o.r.n surfers want to see: naked celebrities. Arguing about the psychological merits (or lack thereof) of watching intercourse on a Presario 700Z doesn't interest me. What interests me is how that habit changes the way people think about their own existence-and that brings me back to that second type of image p.o.r.n surfers want to see: naked celebrities.

You'd think naked Hollywood actresses and naked West Virginia hairdressers would exist on opposite poles, but they're closer than you think. They're closer because-in a technical, physiological sense-they're identical. There are certainly differences between the nipples of Alyssa Milano and the nipples of an Olive Garden waitress in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but the similarities of those nipples greatly outweigh the disparities. Here again, Internet p.o.r.nography provides a bizarre sense of stability; it reminds us that we're working in a hard reality; naked from the neck down, your wife and Gwen Stefani have a lot in common. What people want to see with nude celebrities is proof that these superstars are not G.o.ds. Web surfers are robbing celebrities of their privacy and-in effect-stealing back power. Psychologically, the Internet is very Marxist: Everyone with a modem has access to the same information, so we all get jammed into a technological middle cla.s.s. You don't need to be Lenny Kravitz to know what Lisa Bonet looks like when she steps out of the shower. You don't even need to wear hemp pants. All you need is a modem and a phone jack.

Now, is aspiring to be as s.e.xually informed as Lenny Kravitz a sad commentary on modern ambition? Perhaps.5 But that's not the issue. The issue is that something that's probably bad (i.e., p.o.r.n) is helping us achieve something that's probably good (i.e., delivering a technological notion to the common man). But that's not the issue. The issue is that something that's probably bad (i.e., p.o.r.n) is helping us achieve something that's probably good (i.e., delivering a technological notion to the common man).

Yet one question remains: Why don't women need this?

If this theory is all true, why are 99 percent of p.o.r.n sites directed toward heteros.e.xual men? Wouldn't this imply that females can't fathom the difference between the real and the virtual, even though they all obviously do? Why can women comprehend the power of the Internet without masturbating to JPEG images of dehumanizing s.e.x acts? And why would no intelligent woman ever feel the need to rationalize her own weakness by arguing that her perversion actually expands her mind?

I can only a.s.sume it has something to do with licking your own nipples.

1. Except, of course, my mom.

2. One Web designer actually told me that focusing a discussion around the topic of p.o.r.n sites "insults" the Internet, prompting me to ask him if the Internet gets jealous when I use the microwave.

3. Best known for her role as the teenage werewolf slayer.

4. Are people (besides Al Gore) still using this term? Probably not.

5. Well, actually, "yes."

I'm pretty careful when it comes to my socks. Certain philosophers (Emilio Estevez in St. Elmo's Fire, St. Elmo's Fire, for example) have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but-until recently-that had never happened to me. In the span of fourteen years, I never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese panda bears? What had changed? for example) have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but-until recently-that had never happened to me. In the span of fourteen years, I never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese panda bears? What had changed?

The answer: Mr. Smokey.

It occurred to me that the only aspect of my laundering that had changed in recent weeks was my newfound affinity for petting a feline of unknown origin. Accessing the public laundry room in my apartment complex required that I briefly walk outside of my building's back door, where I consistently encountered a large gray cat I liked to call "Mr. Smokey." Despite our initial differences, I struck up an amicable relationship with Mr. Smokey; whenever I saw him, I would scratch his kitty ears and his kitty tummy, much to his kitty delight.

Or so it seemed.

Evidence began to mount suggesting that Mr. Smokey was using this weekly exchange as a diversion to steal my socks, one at a time. It's still not clear why he wanted my socks, since it had always been my a.s.sumption that kittens wanted mittens (in order to acquire pie).

However, there was no other explanation for these disappearances. In fact, I have reason to believe there was a whole network of cats involved in this: Perhaps Mr. Smokey stole my attention while a second cat (or cats) pounced into my laundry basket, snaring the best available footwear and fleeing into the darkness. I'm convinced an even larger cat ( "Mr. Orange") from a neighboring building was part of this conspiracy.

"How often have I said," asked c.o.ke-addict Sherlock Holmes in The Sign of Four, The Sign of Four, "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true; I am nothing if not logical. "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true; I am nothing if not logical.

Mr. Smokey must die.

10 The Lady or the Tiger 1:19 It's no secret that cold cereal was invented to help nineteenth-century Victorians stifle their rampant s.e.xual desires. Any breakfast historian can tell you that. Sylvester Graham (17941851), a so-called "philosopher and nutrition crusader," was the kind of forward-thinking wackmobile who saw an indisputable connection between a person's decadence and their eating habits; this was partially augmented by his perception that the medical profession was wicked. "Disease is never the legitimate result of the normal operations of any of our organs," he wrote, a sentiment that would eventually sp.a.w.n the creation of Quisp.

Mr. Graham suspected that bad food and inappropriate s.e.xual desires-particularly masturbation-were the true cause of every major illness. This made the cure for all sickness relatively simple: s.e.xual moderation (i.e., less than thirteen o.r.g.a.s.ms a year for married couples, which actually seems reasonable), daily exercise, and a proper diet.

By 1840, Graham's career was in shambles; this does not seem altogether surprising, considering he was insane. However, his well-argued insanity influenced a New Yorker named James Caleb Jackson, and Jackson embraced Graham's philosophy on his way toward creating a bad-tasting wafer out of graham flour and water. He called his food "Granula" (a precursor to Granola). Jackson was force-feeding his wretched Granula in his Dansville, New York, sanitarium when it was discovered by Ellen Harmon White, a Seventh-Day Adventist. She adopted the idea and started her own sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan, in 1866. In need of a staff doctor, White hired a sc.r.a.ppy young physician named John Harvey Kellogg. John hired his brother, William, as clerk of the inst.i.tute.

John Kellogg was also a disciple of the Graham philosophy and agreed that a flavorless, grain-based food was precisely what America needed. By 1902, he had conjured a way to produce flake cereal-the ideal medium for a crunchy, soulless pabulum. He tried to make wheat flakes, but the technology for such a innovation did not yet exist. Corn flakes, however, worked swimmingly.

Initially developed for scientific purposes, corn flakes struck the brothers Kellogg as a savvy business opportunity. This crispy treat seemed perfect for a society a.s.sumedly filled with overs.e.xed, disease-ridden lunatics. And while selling cereal made money, it also raised ethical dilemmas: The angelic White was devastated that the Kelloggs were making money from a food designed to improve human purity. Meanwhile, John Kellogg was upset that his brother added sugar to the flake recipe to improve sales, a supplement he believed would liberate the public libido and turn every corn flake aficionado into a raging s.e.xaholic. The Kellogg brothers eventually sued one another. After winning the lawsuit, William Kellogg took control of the enterprise; his puritan brother remained a stockholder.

Years later, a trio of Rastafarian elves would promote puffed rice.

Today, few members of the scientific community see a close connection between cold cereal and s.e.x, although advertisers still did in the 1950s. Early Corn Flakes commercials showed Superman eating cereal with Jimmy Olsen, but never with Lois Lane; this was to keep viewers from inferring that Superman and Lois Lane had spent the night together (evidently, the notion of Superman and Jimmy Olsen having a h.o.m.os.e.xual relationship was not a concern). However, s.e.x is not the central theme to modern cereal advertising. In fact, selling cereal is not the central theme to cereal advertising. Sat.u.r.day morning commercials for all the best cereals are teaching kids how to figure out what's cool. They're the first step in the indoctrination of future hipsters: Cereal commercials teach us that anything desirable is supposed to be exclusionary.

An inordinate number of cereal commercials are based on the premise that a given cereal is so delicious that a fictional creature would want to steal it. We are presented with this scenario time and time again. The most obvious is the Trix Rabbit, a tragic figure whose doomed existence is not unlike that of Sisyphus. Since the cereal's inception, the rabbit-often marginalized as "silly"-has never been allowed to enjoy even one bowl of his favorite foodstuff, and the explanation for this embargo smacks of both age discrimination and racism (we are to accept that Trix is reserved exclusively "for kids").1 An even sadder ill.u.s.tration of cereal segregation is Sonny the Cuckoo Bird, arguably the most tortured member of the advertising community. Sonny is plagued with self-loathing; though outspokenly otaku otaku for Cocoa Puffs, he doesn't feel he deserves to consume them. Sonny will do anything to escape from his jones, including (but not limited to) locking himself into a primitive skycycle and shooting himself into outer s.p.a.ce. To make matters worse, he is bombarded by temptation: Random children endlessly taunt him with heaping bowls of C-Puffs, almost like street junkies waving heroin needles in the face of William S. Burroughs. The kids have cereal, and Sonny does not. Translation: The kids are cool, and Sonny's an extremist and a failure. And as long as they possess what he does not, Sonny shall remain a second-cla.s.s phoenix, doomed by his own maniacal ambition for breakfast. for Cocoa Puffs, he doesn't feel he deserves to consume them. Sonny will do anything to escape from his jones, including (but not limited to) locking himself into a primitive skycycle and shooting himself into outer s.p.a.ce. To make matters worse, he is bombarded by temptation: Random children endlessly taunt him with heaping bowls of C-Puffs, almost like street junkies waving heroin needles in the face of William S. Burroughs. The kids have cereal, and Sonny does not. Translation: The kids are cool, and Sonny's an extremist and a failure. And as long as they possess what he does not, Sonny shall remain a second-cla.s.s phoenix, doomed by his own maniacal ambition for breakfast.

Commercials for Lucky Charms star a leprechaun who replaced the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow with a bowl of marshmallow-laden cereal, a narrative device that slightly overstated the value of the actual product. The Cookie Crisp2 mascot was a masked rapscallion named "Crook," whose whole self-ident.i.ty was built on stealing cereal. In ads for both Cocoa and Fruity Pebbles, Barney Rubble went to ridiculous lengths in the hope of shoplifting Fred Flintstone's breakfast, occasionally dressing like a woman and/or rapping like Ghostface Killah. Time and time again, commercials for cereal a.s.sault children with the same theme: A product's exclusivity is directly proportional to its social cachet, which is the definition of calculated adult coolness. mascot was a masked rapscallion named "Crook," whose whole self-ident.i.ty was built on stealing cereal. In ads for both Cocoa and Fruity Pebbles, Barney Rubble went to ridiculous lengths in the hope of shoplifting Fred Flintstone's breakfast, occasionally dressing like a woman and/or rapping like Ghostface Killah. Time and time again, commercials for cereal a.s.sault children with the same theme: A product's exclusivity is directly proportional to its social cachet, which is the definition of calculated adult coolness.

When I say calculated adult coolness, calculated adult coolness, I'm referring to the kind of coolness that generally applies to people between the ages of nineteen and thirty-six. This is different than I'm referring to the kind of coolness that generally applies to people between the ages of nineteen and thirty-six. This is different than mainstream teen coolness mainstream teen coolness and and aging hipster default coolness, aging hipster default coolness, both of which reflect an opposing (and sort of pathetic) consumer aesthetic. Cereal ads are directed at kids, but they barely work on young people; the kind of advertising that works on a teenager are bandwagon spots for things like Trident and khaki Gap pants. Those ads imply that these are products everybody else already owns. Teenagers claim they want to be cool, but they mostly just want to avoid being uncool. It's the same for aging hipsters, an equally terrified cla.s.s of Americans who slowly conclude that the key to staying relevant is by exhibiting default appreciation for the most obvious youth culture ent.i.ties; this is why you often hear forty-seven-year-old men with ponytails saying things like, "Oh, I'm totally into the new stuff. That new Nickelback record is just terrific." Aging hipsters and corduroy-clad high school soph.o.m.ores are both primarily concerned with dodging lameness. However, there is a stretch in everyone's early adulthood where they can choose (or choose against) creating their own personalized version of nonpopulist cool, which may (or may not) succeed. This is accomplished by embracing semioriginal, semielitist cultural artifacts that remain just out of reach to those who desire them-the so-called "Cocoa Puffs of Power." both of which reflect an opposing (and sort of pathetic) consumer aesthetic. Cereal ads are directed at kids, but they barely work on young people; the kind of advertising that works on a teenager are bandwagon spots for things like Trident and khaki Gap pants. Those ads imply that these are products everybody else already owns. Teenagers claim they want to be cool, but they mostly just want to avoid being uncool. It's the same for aging hipsters, an equally terrified cla.s.s of Americans who slowly conclude that the key to staying relevant is by exhibiting default appreciation for the most obvious youth culture ent.i.ties; this is why you often hear forty-seven-year-old men with ponytails saying things like, "Oh, I'm totally into the new stuff. That new Nickelback record is just terrific." Aging hipsters and corduroy-clad high school soph.o.m.ores are both primarily concerned with dodging lameness. However, there is a stretch in everyone's early adulthood where they can choose (or choose against) creating their own personalized version of nonpopulist cool, which may (or may not) succeed. This is accomplished by embracing semioriginal, semielitist cultural artifacts that remain just out of reach to those who desire them-the so-called "Cocoa Puffs of Power."

We all relate to Sonny the Cuckoo Bird. We pursue that which retreats from us, and coolness is always a bear market. Coolness is always what others seem to have naturally-an unspecific, delicious, chocolately paradigm we must pilfer through subterfuge. It drives us, for lack of a better term, coo coo. And part of the reason we struggle is because there is no hard-and-fast clarity about what qualifies anything as cool cool. It needs to be original, but only semioriginal: It would be legitimately inventive (and kind of "out there") to casually walk around with the petrified skull of a orangutan under your arm for no obvious reason, but this would only seem cool to a select cla.s.s of performance artist. A better choice would be a T-shirt featuring the cast of After M*A*S*H After M*A*S*H. A cool image also needs to be semielitist, but it can't be wholly wholly elitist: What you display should be extremely hard to find, yet could have been elitist: What you display should be extremely hard to find, yet could have been theoretically theoretically found by absolutely found by absolutely anyone anyone six months ago (had they possessed the foresight). This is why calculated adult coolness would reward the possession of, say, a can of Elf soda pop, yet frown upon the possession of, say, four ounces of weapons-grade uranium. six months ago (had they possessed the foresight). This is why calculated adult coolness would reward the possession of, say, a can of Elf soda pop, yet frown upon the possession of, say, four ounces of weapons-grade uranium.3 The impact of this understanding comes later in life, usually at college, and usually around the point when being "weird" starts to be periodically interpreted by others as "charming" and/or "s.e.xually intriguing." As noted earlier, kids don't really understand the nuance of cereal advertising until they reach their twenties; this is when characters like the Trix Rabbit evolve into understated Christ figures. And though the plot is not purposeful on the behalf of cereal makers, it's also not accidental. Cereal mascots are generally a.s.sociated with sugared cereals-while a box of Wheaties might feature anyone from Bruce Jenner to Mich.e.l.le Kwan, Count Chocula sticks with its mischievous vampire. Super Golden Crisp sells itself with the portrait of a laid-back bear wearing a mock turtleneck; Grape Nuts sells itself with a photograph of Grape Nuts. And this is more proof of cereal's overlooked relationship to American cool: Being cool is mostly ridiculous, and so is sugared cereal. That's why we like it.

I eat sugared cereal almost exclusively. This is because I'm the opposite of a "no-nonsense" guy. I'm an "all-nonsense" guy. Every time I drive a long distance, I'm hounded by the fear that I will get a flat tire and be unable to change it. When a b.u.t.ton falls off one of my dress shirts, I immediately throw away the entire garment and buy a new one. I can't swim; to me, twelve feet of water is no different than twelve feet of hydrochloric acid (it will kill me just as dead). However, I can can stay awake for seventy-two straight hours. I stay awake for seventy-two straight hours. I can can immediately memorize phone numbers without writing them down. When flipping channels during commercial breaks in televised sporting events, I immediately memorize phone numbers without writing them down. When flipping channels during commercial breaks in televised sporting events, I can can innately sense the perfect moment to return to what I was watching originally. So the rub is that I have these semicritical flaws and I have these weirdly specific gifts, and it seems like most Americans are similarly polarized by what they can (and cannot) do. There are no-nonsense people, and there are nonsense people. And it's been my experience that nonsense people tend to consume Cocoa Krispies and Lucky Charms and Cap'n Crunch ( "nonsense food," if you will). Consequently, we nonsense types spend hours and hours staring at cardboard creatures like the Trix Rabbit and absorbing his ethos, slowly ingesting the principles of exclusionary coolness while rapidly ingesting sugar-saturated spoonfuls of Vitamin B-12. innately sense the perfect moment to return to what I was watching originally. So the rub is that I have these semicritical flaws and I have these weirdly specific gifts, and it seems like most Americans are similarly polarized by what they can (and cannot) do. There are no-nonsense people, and there are nonsense people. And it's been my experience that nonsense people tend to consume Cocoa Krispies and Lucky Charms and Cap'n Crunch ( "nonsense food," if you will). Consequently, we nonsense types spend hours and hours staring at cardboard creatures like the Trix Rabbit and absorbing his ethos, slowly ingesting the principles of exclusionary coolness while rapidly ingesting sugar-saturated spoonfuls of Vitamin B-12.

The desire to be cool is-ultimately-the desire to be rescued. It's the desire to be pulled from the unwashed ma.s.ses of society. It's the desire to be advanced beyond the faceless humanoid robots who will die unheralded deaths and never truly matter, mostly because they all lived the same pedestrian life. Without the spoils of exclusionary coolness, we're just cogs in the struggle. We're like a little kid trying to kayak (or perhaps freestyle rock climb), and all the older kids keep mocking our efforts, openly implying that we cannot compete. But if we can just find that one cool thing that n.o.body else has-that gregarious, nine-foot animated jungle cat who can provide a glimmer of hope and a balanced breakfast-we can be better than ourselves. We can be tigers We can be tigers. 'Atta boy.

1. Proof that America is ultimately a sympathetic nation surfaced in 1976, when a consumer election sponsored by General Mills indicated that over 99 percent of Trix eaters felt the flamboyant six-foot rabbit deserved a bowl of Trix, which places his approval rating on par with Colin Powell in 1996.

2. This is not to be confused with the short-lived Oatmeal Cookie Crisp, a cereal fronted by the good-natured wizard "Cookie Jarvis."

3. Although this would make you very cool in Syria.

The three questions I ask everybody I meet in order to decide if I can love them:

1. Let us a.s.sume you met a rudimentary magician. Let us a.s.sume he can do five simple tricks-he can pull a rabbit out of his hat, he can make a coin disappear, he can turn the ace of spades into the Joker card, and two others in a similar vein. These are his only tricks and he can't learn any more; he can only do these five. HOWEVER, it turns out he's doing these five tricks with real magic. It's not an illusion; he can actually conjure the bunny out of the ether and he can move the coin through s.p.a.ce. He's legitimately magical, but extremely limited in scope and influence. Would this person be more impressive than Albert Einstein? Would this person be more impressive than Albert Einstein?

2. Let us a.s.sume that a fully grown, completely healthy Clydesdale horse has his hooves shackled to the ground while his head is held in place with thick rope. He is conscious and standing upright, but completely immobile. And let us a.s.sume that-for some reason-every political prisoner on earth (as cited by Amnesty International) will be released from captivity if you can kick this horse to death in less than twenty minutes. You are allowed to wear steel-toed boots. Would you attempt to do this? Would you attempt to do this?

3. Let us a.s.sume that there are two boxes on a table. In one box, there is a relatively normal turtle; in the other, Adolf Hitler's skull. You have to select one of these items for your home. If you select the turtle, you can't give it away and you have to keep it alive for two years; if either of these parameters are not met, you will be fined $999 by the state. If you select Hitler's skull, you are required to display it in a semi-prominent location in your living room for the same amount of time, although you will be paid a stipend of $120 per month for doing so. Display of the skull must be apolitical. Which option do you select? Which option do you select?

11 Being Zack Morris 1:27 Sometimes I'm a bad guy, but I still do good things. Ironically, those good things are often a direct extension of my badness. And this makes me even worse, because it means my sinister nature is making people unknowingly smile.

Here's one example: I was once dating a girl in a major American city, and I was also kind of pursuing another girl in another major American city. I had just received one of those nifty "CD burners" for my computer, so I started making compilation alb.u.ms for friends and particularly for lady friends. Like most uncreative intellectual men, almost all of my previous relationships had been based on my ability to make incredibly moving mix ca.s.settes; though I cannot prove it, I would estimate that magnetic audiotape directly influenced 66 percent of my career s.e.xual encounters. However, the explosion of CD burning technology has forced people like me to create CDs instead of ca.s.settes, which is somewhat disheartening. The great thing about mix tapes was that you could antic.i.p.ate the listener would have to listen to the entire thing at least once (and you could guarantee this by not giving them a track listing). Sequencing was very important. The strategy was to place specific "message" songs in-between semimeaningless "rocking" songs; this would transfix, compliment, and confuse the listener, which was always sort of the goal. However, once people starting making their own CDs, the mix tape suddenly seemed cheap and archaic. I had no choice but to start making CDs, even though they're not as effective: People tend to be more impressed by the packaging of the jewel case than the songs themselves, and they end up experiencing the music no differently than if they had thoughtlessly purchased the disc at Best Buy (i.e., they skip from track to track without really studying the larger concept behind the artistic whole).

ANYWAY, I was making a mix disc for one of these women (I will never admit which), and it was my intention to find eighteen songs that reflected key elements of our relationship, which I thought I did. But as I looked at the track selection, it suddenly dawned on me that these songs were just as applicable to my other other relationship. My feelings for "Woman A" were completely different than my feelings for "Woman B," but the musical messages would make emotional sense to both, despite the fact that these two women were wildly dissimilar. So I ended up making two copies of this alb.u.m and sending one to each woman, using all the same songs and identical cover art (computers make this entirely too easy). I expressed identical romantic overtures to two different people with one singular movement. And they both received their discs on the same day, and they both loved them. relationship. My feelings for "Woman A" were completely different than my feelings for "Woman B," but the musical messages would make emotional sense to both, despite the fact that these two women were wildly dissimilar. So I ended up making two copies of this alb.u.m and sending one to each woman, using all the same songs and identical cover art (computers make this entirely too easy). I expressed identical romantic overtures to two different people with one singular movement. And they both received their discs on the same day, and they both loved them.1 Part of me will always know this was a diabolical thing to do. However, I'm mostly struck by the fact that all my deepest, most sincere feelings are so totally stereotypical that they pretty much apply to every girl I find even vaguely attractive. My feelings toward every woman I've ever loved can be completely explained by Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed," Rod Stewart's "You're in My Heart," and either Matthew Sweet's "Girlfriend" or Liz Phair's "Divorce Song" (depending on how long we've known each other). My feelings about politics and literature and mathematics and the rest of life's minutiae can only be described through a labyrinthine of six-sided questions, but everything that actually matters can be explained by Lindsey f.u.c.king Buckingham and Stevie f.u.c.king Nicks in four f.u.c.king minutes. Important things are inevitably cliche, but n.o.body wants to admit that. And that's why n.o.body is deconstructing Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell.

Saved by the Bell is like this little generational secret that's hyperfamiliar to people born between 1970 and 1977, yet generally unremarkable to anyone born after (and completely alien to all those born before). It was an NBC sitcom that ran for four years (1989 to 1993) after an initial thirteen-episode season on the Disney Channel (where it was originally t.i.tled is like this little generational secret that's hyperfamiliar to people born between 1970 and 1977, yet generally unremarkable to anyone born after (and completely alien to all those born before). It was an NBC sitcom that ran for four years (1989 to 1993) after an initial thirteen-episode season on the Disney Channel (where it was originally t.i.tled Good Morning, Miss Bliss Good Morning, Miss Bliss). The show sp.a.w.ned two spin-offs-Saved by the Bell: The College Years and and Saved by the Bell: The New Cla.s.s Saved by the Bell: The New Cla.s.s-and also included a six-episode summer run (usually referred to as the "Malibu Sands" miniseason) and two made-for-TV movies (one set in Hawaii, the other in Las Vegas).

It was a program about high school kids.

I realize that is not much expository information. Typically, one tries to explain TV shows in terms of "context"-if someone asked me to describe The X-Files, The X-Files, for example, I would seem like a moron if I said, "It was a program about two people who mostly looked for aliens." That would never qualify as a significant description. I would have to write about how the supernatural religiosity of for example, I would seem like a moron if I said, "It was a program about two people who mostly looked for aliens." That would never qualify as a significant description. I would have to write about how the supernatural religiosity of The X-Files The X-Files personified a philosophical extension of its audience, and how the characters represented two distinct perspectives on modern reality, and how the s.e.xual chemistry between Mulder and Scully was electrified by their lack of physical intimacy. All this abstract deconstruction is necessary, and it's necessary because personified a philosophical extension of its audience, and how the characters represented two distinct perspectives on modern reality, and how the s.e.xual chemistry between Mulder and Scully was electrified by their lack of physical intimacy. All this abstract deconstruction is necessary, and it's necessary because The X-Files The X-Files was artful. However, I have never watched even one episode of was artful. However, I have never watched even one episode of The X-Files, The X-Files, because I'm not interested. I'm not interested in trying to understand culture by understanding that particular show, and that's part of the social contract with appreciating because I'm not interested. I'm not interested in trying to understand culture by understanding that particular show, and that's part of the social contract with appreciating anything anything artful. You can't place something into its aforementioned "context" unless you know where (and how) to culturally file it, and I honestly don't care where artful. You can't place something into its aforementioned "context" unless you know where (and how) to culturally file it, and I honestly don't care where The X-Files The X-Files belongs in the American zeitgeist. Dozens of smart people told me how great this show was, and I'm sure they were right. But I'm satisfied with a.s.suming that program was about two people who mostly looked for aliens, so-as a consequence-the show meant nothing to me. I "don't get it." belongs in the American zeitgeist. Dozens of smart people told me how great this show was, and I'm sure they were right. But I'm satisfied with a.s.suming that program was about two people who mostly looked for aliens, so-as a consequence-the show meant nothing to me. I "don't get it."

That's not the case with Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell. Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell wasn't artful at all. Now, that doesn't mean it's bad (nor does it mean it's good). What it means is that you don't need to place wasn't artful at all. Now, that doesn't mean it's bad (nor does it mean it's good). What it means is that you don't need to place Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell into any context to experience it. I didn't care about into any context to experience it. I didn't care about Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell any more than I cared about any more than I cared about The X-Files, The X-Files, but the difference is that I could watch but the difference is that I could watch Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell without caring and still have it become a minor part of my life, which is the most transcendent thing any kind of art can accomplish (regardless of its technical merits). without caring and still have it become a minor part of my life, which is the most transcendent thing any kind of art can accomplish (regardless of its technical merits).

When I first saw Saved by the Bell, Saved by the Bell, I was a senior in high school. It was on Sat.u.r.day mornings, usually right when I woke up (which I think was either 11:00 or 11:30 I was a senior in high school. It was on Sat.u.r.day mornings, usually right when I woke up (which I think was either 11:00 or 11:30 A A.M.). It was supposedly the first live-action show NBC ever broadcast on a Sat.u.r.day morning, an idiom that had previously been reserved for animation. I would watch Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell the same way all high school kids watch morning television, which is to say I stared at it with the same thoughtless intensity I displayed when watching the dryer. I watched it the same way all high school kids watch morning television, which is to say I stared at it with the same thoughtless intensity I displayed when watching the dryer. I watched it because it was on TV, because it was on TV, which is generally the driving force behind why most people watch any program. However, I became a more serious which is generally the driving force behind why most people watch any program. However, I became a more serious Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell student when I got to college. I suspect this kind of awakening was not uncommon, as universities always sp.a.w.n little cultures of terrible TV appreciation: When I was a soph.o.m.ore, the only non-MTV shows anyone seemed to watch were student when I got to college. I suspect this kind of awakening was not uncommon, as universities always sp.a.w.n little cultures of terrible TV appreciation: When I was a soph.o.m.ore, the only non-MTV shows anyone seemed to watch were Saved by the Bell, Life Goes On Saved by the Bell, Life Goes On (that was the show about the r.e.t.a.r.ded kid), (that was the show about the r.e.t.a.r.ded kid), Quantum Leap, Quantum Leap, the Canadian teen drama the Canadian teen drama Fifteen, Fifteen, and and Days of Our Lives Days of Our Lives. And what was interesting was that everybody seemed to watch them together, in the same room (or over the telephone), and with a cultic intensity. We liked the "process" of watching these shows. The idea of these programs being entertaining never seemed central to anything, which remains the most fascinating aspect of all televised art: consumers don't demand it to be good. It just needs to be watchable. And the reason that designation can be applied to Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell has a lot to do with the fundamental truth of its staggering unreality. has a lot to do with the fundamental truth of its staggering unreality.

Saved by the Bell followed the lives of six kids at a California high school called Bayside. Architecturally, the school was comprised of one multipurpose cla.s.sroom, one square hallway, a very small locker room, and a diner owned by a magician. The six primary characters were as follows: followed the lives of six kids at a California high school called Bayside. Architecturally, the school was comprised of one multipurpose cla.s.sroom, one square hallway, a very small locker room, and a diner owned by a magician. The six primary characters were as follows:

Zack Morris (Mark-Paul Gosselaar): Good-looking blond kid with the ability to talk directly to the camera like Ferris Bueller; possessed a cell phone years before that was common; something of an Eddie Haskell/James Spader type, but with a heart of gold. Good-looking blond kid with the ability to talk directly to the camera like Ferris Bueller; possessed a cell phone years before that was common; something of an Eddie Haskell/James Spader type, but with a heart of gold.Samuel "Screech" Powers (Dustin Diamond):uber geeky Zack sycophant. geeky Zack sycophant.Albert Clifford "A.C." Slater (Mario Lopez): Good-looking ethnic fellow; star wrestler; nemesis of Zackexcept in episodes where they're inexplicably best friends. Good-looking ethnic fellow; star wrestler; nemesis of Zackexcept in episodes where they're inexplicably best friends.Kelly Kapowski (Tiffani-Amber Thiessen): s.e.xy girl next door; love interest of Zack. s.e.xy girl next door; love interest of Zack.Jessica "Jessie" Spano (Elizabeth Berkley): s.e.xy 4.00 over-achieving feminist; love interest of A.C. s.e.xy 4.00 over-achieving feminist; love interest of A.C.Lisa Turtle (Lark Voorhies): Wildly unlikable rich black girl; vain clotheshorse; unrequited love interest of Screech. Wildly unlikable rich black girl; vain clotheshorse; unrequited love interest of Screech.

Every other kid at Bayside was either a nerd, a jock, a randomly hot chick, or completely nondescript; it was sort of like Rydell High in Grease Grease. There were several noteworthy kids from the Good Morning, Miss Bliss Good Morning, Miss Bliss era who simply disappeared when the show moved to NBC (this is akin to what happened to people like Molly Ringwald and Julie Piekarski when era who simply disappeared when the show moved to NBC (this is akin to what happened to people like Molly Ringwald and Julie Piekarski when The Facts of Life The Facts of Life changed from an ensemble cast to it's signature Blair-Jo-Natalie-Tootie alignment). Tori Spelling portrayed Screech's girlfriend Violet in a few episodes, Leah Remini served as Zack's girlfriend during the six episodes set at the Malibu beach resort, an unbilled Denise Richards appeared in the final episode of the Malibu run, and a now-buxom Punky Brewster played a sn.o.b for one show in the final season. Weirdly, a leather-clad girl named Tori (Leanna Creel) became the main character for half of the last season when Thiessen and Berkley left the show, but then they both reappeared at graduation and Creel was never seen again (I'll address the so-called "Tori Paradox" in a moment). changed from an ensemble cast to it's signature Blair-Jo-Natalie-Tootie alignment). Tori Spelling portrayed Screech's girlfriend Violet in a few episodes, Leah Remini served as Zack's girlfriend during the six episodes set at the Malibu beach resort, an unbilled Denise Richards appeared in the final episode of the Malibu run, and a now-buxom Punky Brewster played a sn.o.b for one show in the final season. Weirdly, a leather-clad girl named Tori (Leanna Creel) became the main character for half of the last season when Thiessen and Berkley left the show, but then they both reappeared at graduation and Creel was never seen again (I'll address the so-called "Tori Paradox" in a moment).

But-beyond that-the writers of Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell always seemed to suggest that most adolescents are exactly the same and exist solely as props for the popular kids, which was probably true at most American high schools in the 1980s. always seemed to suggest that most adolescents are exactly the same and exist solely as props for the popular kids, which was probably true at most American high schools in the 1980s.2 The only other important personality in the Bayside universe is Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins), who is a princ.i.p.al of the John Hughes variety; there is no gla.s.s ceiling to his stupidity. However, Belding differs from the prototypical TV princ.i.p.al in that he tended to be completely transfixed by the school's most fashionable students; he really wanted Zack to like him, and Belding and Morris would often join forces on harebrained schemes. The only other important personality in the Bayside universe is Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins), who is a princ.i.p.al of the John Hughes variety; there is no gla.s.s ceiling to his stupidity. However, Belding differs from the prototypical TV princ.i.p.al in that he tended to be completely transfixed by the school's most fashionable students; he really wanted Zack to like him, and Belding and Morris would often join forces on harebrained schemes.

On the surface, Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell must undoubtedly seem like everything one would expect from a dreadful show directed at children, which is what it was. But that's not how it was consumed by its audience. There was a stunning recalibration of the cla.s.sic "suspension of disbelief vs. aesthetic distance" relationship in must undoubtedly seem like everything one would expect from a dreadful show directed at children, which is what it was. But that's not how it was consumed by its audience. There was a stunning recalibration of the cla.s.sic "suspension of disbelief vs. aesthetic distance" relationship in Saved by the Bell, Saved by the Bell, and it may have accidentally altered reality (at least for brief moments). and it may have accidentally altered reality (at least for brief moments).

Here's what I mean: In 1993, Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell was shown four times a day. If I recall correctly, two episodes were on the USA Network from 4:00 to 5:00 was shown four times a day. If I recall correctly, two episodes were on the USA Network from 4:00 to 5:00 P P.M. CST, and then two more were on TBS from 5:05 to 6:05. It's possible I have these backward, but the order doesn't matter; the bottom line is that I sometimes watched this show twenty times a week. So did my neighbor, a dude named (I think) Joel who (I think) was studying to become a pilot. Sometimes I would walk over to Joel's place and watch Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell with him, and he was the type of affable stoic who never spoke. He was one of those quiet guys who would offer you a beer when you walked into his apartment, and then he'd silently drink by himself, regardless of whether you joined him or not. Honestly, we never became friends. But we sort of had this mute, parasitic relationship through with him, and he was the type of affable stoic who never spoke. He was one of those quiet guys who would offer you a beer when you walked into his apartment, and then he'd silently drink by himself, regardless of whether you joined him or not. Honestly, we never became friends. But we sort of had this mute, parasitic relationship through Saved by the Bell, Saved by the Bell, and I will always remember the singular significant conversation we had: We were watching an episode where Belding was blackmailing Zack into dating his niece, and Joel suddenly got real incredulous and asked, "Oh, come on. Who the f.u.c.k has that kind of relationship with their high school princ.i.p.al?" and I will always remember the singular significant conversation we had: We were watching an episode where Belding was blackmailing Zack into dating his niece, and Joel suddenly got real incredulous and asked, "Oh, come on. Who the f.u.c.k has that kind of relationship with their high school princ.i.p.al?"

Of all the things that could have caused Joel to bristle, I remain fascinated by his oddly specific observation. I mean, Bayside High was a school where students made money by selling a "Girls of Bayside" calendar, and it was a school where oil was discovered under the football team's goalposts. This is a show where Zack had the ability to call timeout and stop time stop time in order to narrate what was happening with the plot. There is never a single moment in the in order to narrate what was happening with the plot. There is never a single moment in the Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell series that reflects any kind of concrete authenticity. You'd think Zack's unconventional relationship with an authority figure would be the least of Joel's concerns. However, this was the only complaint he ever lodged against the series that reflects any kind of concrete authenticity. You'd think Zack's unconventional relationship with an authority figure would be the least of Joel's concerns. However, this was the only complaint he ever lodged against the Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell aesthetic, and that's very telling. aesthetic, and that's very telling.

Now, I realize there is some precedent for this kind of disconnect: Trekkies generally have no problem with the USS Enterprise Enterprise moving at seven times the speed of light, but they roll their eyes in disgust if Spock acts a little too jovial. Within any drama, we all concede certain unbelievable parameters, a.s.suming specific aspects of the story don't go outside the presupposed reality. But I think Joel's take on moving at seven times the speed of light, but they roll their eyes in disgust if Spock acts a little too jovial. Within any drama, we all concede certain unbelievable parameters, a.s.suming specific aspects of the story don't go outside the presupposed reality. But I think Joel's take on Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell is different than the usual contradiction. What it made me realize is that people like Joel (and like me, I suppose) were drawn to this unentertaining show because we felt like we knew what was going to happen next. Understanding is different than the usual contradiction. What it made me realize is that people like Joel (and like me, I suppose) were drawn to this unentertaining show because we felt like we knew what was going to happen next. Understanding Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell meant you understood what was supposed to define the ultrasimplistic, hyperstereotypical high school experience-and understanding that formula meant you realized what was (supposedly) important about growing up. It's like I said before: Important things are inevitably cliche. Zack's relationship with Belding-and his niece-was just too creative, and bad television is supposed to be rea.s.suring. n.o.body needs it to be interesting. meant you understood what was supposed to define the ultrasimplistic, hyperstereotypical high school experience-and understanding that formula meant you realized what was (supposedly) important about growing up. It's like I said before: Important things are inevitably cliche. Zack's relationship with Belding-and his niece-was just too creative, and bad television is supposed to be rea.s.suring. n.o.body needs it to be interesting.

Take a show like M*A*S*H, M*A*S*H, for instance. for instance. M*A*S*H M*A*S*H consciously aspired to be "good television." Its goal was to be intellectually provoking (particularly over its final four seasons), so almost every plot hinged on a twist: The North Korean POW was actually more ethical then the South Korean soldier, Colonel Potter's visiting war buddy was actually corrupt, a much-decorated sergeant was actually killing off his black platoon members on purpose, etc., etc., etc. The first ten minutes of every consciously aspired to be "good television." Its goal was to be intellectually provoking (particularly over its final four seasons), so almost every plot hinged on a twist: The North Korean POW was actually more ethical then the South Korean soldier, Colonel Potter's visiting war buddy was actually corrupt, a much-decorated sergeant was actually killing off his black platoon members on purpose, etc., etc., etc. The first ten minutes of every M*A*S*H M*A*S*H episode set strict conditions; the next twenty minutes would ill.u.s.trate how life is not always as it seems. episode set strict conditions; the next twenty minutes would ill.u.s.trate how life is not always as it seems.3 This-in theory-is clever, and it's supposed to teach us something we don't know. Meanwhile, This-in theory-is clever, and it's supposed to teach us something we don't know. Meanwhile, Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell did the opposite. The first ten minutes of every episode put a character (usually Zack) in a position where he or she was tempted to do something that was obviously wrong, and their friends would warn them that this was a mistake. Then they would do it anyway, learn a lesson, and admit that everyone was right all along. did the opposite. The first ten minutes of every episode put a character (usually Zack) in a position where he or she was tempted to do something that was obviously wrong, and their friends would warn them that this was a mistake. Then they would do it anyway, learn a lesson, and admit that everyone was right all along. Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell wasn't ironic in the contemporary sense (i.e., detached and sardonic), and it wasn't even ironic in the literal sense (the intentions and themes of the story never contradicted what they stated ostensibly). You never learned anything, and you weren't supposed to. wasn't ironic in the contemporary sense (i.e., detached and sardonic), and it wasn't even ironic in the literal sense (the intentions and themes of the story never contradicted what they stated ostensibly). You never learned anything, and you weren't supposed to.

Take the episode from the gang's senior year, where they went to a toga party hosted by a bloated jock nicknamed Ox. They all get drunk, but Zack claims to be able to drive Lisa's car home.4 Before they climb into the vehicle, they all note how this is dangerous, because Zack might wreck the car. And (of course) he does just that. Obviously, NBC would claim this was a "message" episode, and it was supposed to show teenagers that alcohol and the highway are a deadly combination. But there's really no way anyone would Before they climb into the vehicle, they all note how this is dangerous, because Zack might wreck the car. And (of course) he does just that. Obviously, NBC would claim this was a "message" episode, and it was supposed to show teenagers that alcohol and the highway are a deadly combination. But there's really no way anyone would learn learn anything from Zack's booze cruising. There's no kid in America who doesn't know that drinking and driving is dangerous, and there's no way that you could argue anything from Zack's booze cruising. There's no kid in America who doesn't know that drinking and driving is dangerous, and there's no way that you could argue Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell made this sentiment any more "in your face" than when Stevie Wonder sang "Don't Drive Drunk." It served no educational purpose, and it served no artistic purpose. But what it did was reestablish everyone's moral reality. If made this sentiment any more "in your face" than when Stevie Wonder sang "Don't Drive Drunk." It served no educational purpose, and it served no artistic purpose. But what it did was reestablish everyone's moral reality. If Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell was a cliched, uncreative teen sitcom (and I think we would all agree that it was), it needed to deliver the cliched, uncreative plot: If these kids drink and drive, they will have to have a bad accident-but no one will actually die, because we all deserve a second chance. As I watched that particular episode in college, I took satisfaction in knowing that American morality was still basically the same as it had been when I was thirteen years old. It proved I still understood how the mainstream, knee-jerk populace looked at life, even though my personal paradigm no longer fit those standards. was a cliched, uncreative teen sitcom (and I think we would all agree that it was), it needed to deliver the cliched, uncreative plot: If these kids drink and drive, they will have to have a bad accident-but no one will actually die, because we all deserve a second chance. As I watched that particular episode in college, I took satisfaction in knowing that American morality was still basically the same as it had been when I was thirteen years old. It proved I still understood how the mainstream, knee-jerk populace looked at life, even though my personal paradigm no longer fit those standards.

Saved by the Bell was well-suited for conventional moralizing, because none of the characters had multifaceted ethics (or even situational ethics). Every decision they made was generated by whatever the audience would expect them to do; it was almost like the people watching the show wrote the dialogue. This was damaging to the was well-suited for conventional moralizing, because none of the characters had multifaceted ethics (or even situational ethics). Every decision they made was generated by whatever the audience would expect them to do; it was almost like the people watching the show wrote the dialogue. This was damaging to the Saved by the Bell Saved by the Bell actors, all of whom went to ridiculous lengths to avoid being typecast as their TV ident.i.ties once the show ended. Berkley was the most adamant about her reinvention, taking the lead role in the soft-p.o.r.n box-office failure actors, all of whom went to ridiculous lengths to avoid being typecast as their TV ident.i.ties once the show ended. Berkley was the most adamant about her reinvention, taking the lead role in the soft-p.o.r.n box-office failure Showgirls, Showgirls, which even her costars couldn't fathom. "I wouldn't see why you'd want to go so far afield to change your image that you'd take a role so demanding or drastic as that," said a remarkably candid Screech in an 2002 interview with which even her costars couldn't fathom. "I wouldn't see why you'd want to go so far afield to change your image that you'd take a role so demanding or drastic as that," said a remarkably candid Screech in an 2002 interview with The Onion A.V. Club The Onion A.V. Club. "It pretty much was just the exploitation of a Sat.u.r.day-morning icon, I feel. I don't think that the movie had any more substance than, 'Hey, we should go check it out to see the girl from Saved by the