The camera lets us see things we couldn’t before.

I’m watching TV, and O My God!

There’s the Prez falling asleep in court. There’s a government official picking his nose. There’s the wife moving away as the husband reaches for her hand. There’s the startled look as the newscaster thinks, “Did I hear what I just heard? Will it hold up as evidence, a public confession?” There’s the Patel eyes that don’t need a close-up.

I change the channel.

Now it’s music and orchestra. One player is looking at the score. One is looking up at the ceiling, waving his head in syncopated rapture. One briefly glances at the conductor. The only one looking at the conductor is the one not playing, looking annoyed, probably thinking, “Why doesn’t he let me play this part?”

I change the channel.

It’s TV Bloopers. I watch for awhile. Sometimes I laugh.

I change the channel.

It’s opera. “When did she get so fat?” “Look out! She’s backing up!” Why does the vibrato wobble the whole physiognomy?

I change the channel.

Now it’s The News. Why are they so interested in the weather? Why does the car chase preempt everything else? Why aren’t they interested in facts? Why do they forget what they said and never follow up?

I change the channel.

The interview. When did she stop wearing a bra?

I change the channel.

Back to ballet. It’s the period when dancers got so healthy-looking, and the backlash when they got unnaturally thin and danced on toothpicks we were afraid would break. And the fluctuations in costume for the men. “The whole leg.” Women in the audience, and many men, staring fixedly at the bulge. And the period when the “athletic supporter,” also called the “dance belt” or “the strap,” was set aside in the interest of “honest simplicity” and the delineation distracted from the feet. And male choreographers had their dancers turn around, highlighting the backside as the tights emphasized the buttockal delineation, and my Father-in-Law growled, “Too much cleavage.” And the famous choreographer sitting next to me muttered her assessment as the lifted ballerina raised her leg even higher, “Too much crotch.”

Is this why people watch TV? Hoping to see something? Obsessively prurient, what kind of deprived lives are they leading? I’m no prude, but come on! When is never enough too much?

The restrictions on watching have dropped PG, and now it’s “Not while driving.”

With cable, TV shows movies that “leave nothing to the imagination.”

And it’s not just America, though America tries to lead the world.

I change the channel.