And, we're back. Happy fucking new year.
Another movement against curse words on the TV is in the works, led by FCC chair Michael Powell. One of two high-ranking stocky black men in Washington named Powell, Michael is the son of Secretary of State Colin Powell. I don't mind a little nepotism in government but I'd appreciate it if the President would at least make it a little harder to spot.
You may remember the younger Powell making headlines last summer when he boldly stood up for the poor, downtrodden media conglomerates by easing ownership restrictions. He was subsequently bitch-slapped by Congress, who ignored President Bush's veto threats and reversed the FCC's decision. Apparently the maniacal libertarianism that compelled Powell to try and hand over every radio station in America to Clear Channel doesn't apply in the free speech context, since he sees tough content restrictions as crucial in preserving the American way of life. Actually, Powell's plan seems to hold together nicely: If Clear Channel can prevent its affiliates from playing the Dixie Chicks and Paul Simon they can certainly stop them from saying dirty words. And that's good, you know, for the children.
So, Powell and a bunch of tight-pantsed congresspeople are trying to reign in the flood of obscenities on the airwaves, aided and abetted in their quest by fusspots like Morality in Media and Parents Television Council. These, of course, are the parents who have the time and energy to form meddlesome lobbying groups but can't be bothered to monitor and discuss their actual children's viewing habits, or just throw out the damn TV for that matter. I wonder if these people realize that they couldn't say the word "pregnant" on I Love Lucy, and what that says for the future of language in the media.
In other news, I've tweaked the links page again, removing the defunct comics and adding some new ones. New additions include the handful of newspaper comics I still read as well as the feminist propaganda of Ann Telnaes (who, by the way, is orders of magnitude more clever and insightful than Etta Hulme, whose comis rarely make any sense at all and are barely relevant when they do). My list of friends' blogs continues to grow as well. Welcome to eHow comrade Maggie and across the hall neighbor Paula.