Rain is Mother Nature’s way of saying: Write your thesis.

Or it is an excuse to catch up on my google reader subscriptions, while consuming my necessary morning beverage:

The "J" stands for Jew.

Though some might argue that I have fallen behind on both the academic and blogging fronts because I’ve been engaging in another activity for which I deserve to be judged– a “Miami Vice” Marathon. I’m the first to admit that my obsession with a television show glorifying undercover cops, whores with hearts of gold, and pastels is hardly commendable.

In fact, given my distate for all colors except black, I am quite surprised how attracted I am to white pants suits. I almost feel like I should surrender my New Yorker badge to the fashion police that be. Or, perhaps, just trade it in for a Miami version, embracing hues of pink and blue.

Furthermore, the show glorifies sex, drugs, and Ferraris– the epitome of hedonism. As an Orthodox Jew, a show based on such material pleasures should disgust me, irritate me, lead me to a session on the rabbi’s couch. And yet, I keep coming back for more. If Moses were alive, he would no doubt be shaking his head.

And then, of course, there are the musical numbers– including the infamous Phil Collins “In the Air Tonight” sequence in which two cops, seemingly living on sub-par government wages, drive down the streets of downtown Miami in a black Ferrari. The implausibility of the entire four minute clip defies verbal description: 

Given these egregious narrative flaws, why, then, do I keep returning to the show? Why, after only a week of viewing, am I up to the season finale of season one? Some might consider this just another strategy of procrastination that I have employed to avoid my number one priority– my thesis. However, there are plenty of quality television shows, such as “Twin Peaks,” that I could expend my brain power on. Why do the cops in pink t-shirts take priority?

I believe the answer revolves around a classic cinematic notion: escapism. In the midst of my senior spring, replete with jobs application and thesis chapters that won’t write themselves, I am seeking an outlet removed from my material reality. “Miami Vice” serves as that outlet. It does not require the aforementioned brain power.

Instead, it provides neatly packaged 48 minute episodes that demand little to no mental energy. As the characters pursue drug dealers, assume the role of drug dealers, or prostitute themselves to– you guessed it– drug dealers, the Billboard 100 Hits of 1985 play distinctly in the background.

It’s a show where characters die, as they often do, but I feel no loss– no emotional attachment or concern for their demise. I am removed from the conspicuously fictional narrative, and yet can bask in the absurdity of the action-packed sequences. So without further adieu, I now begin season two…


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