My fiancee was jolted.
"They can't say that on TV!" she said.
And what was this language we had just heard on "Southland," that NBC cop drama series? Here's what: "Bleep!"
That's literally what we heard -- several "bleeps" coming from characters in this gritty, realistic TV drama about police officers working in South Central Los Angeles.
"Those were just bleeps," I said.
But it was obvious, Cheryl claimed, that the characters were uttering the megaton bomb of cuss words.
"They can't say that on TV!" she said.
And what was this language we had just heard on "Southland," that NBC cop drama series? Here's what: "Bleep!"
That's literally what we heard -- several "bleeps" coming from characters in this gritty, realistic TV drama about police officers working in South Central Los Angeles.
"Those were just bleeps," I said.
But it was obvious, Cheryl claimed, that the characters were uttering the megaton bomb of cuss words.
"That wouldn't -- or shouldn't -- be obvious to an 8-year-old," I replied.
But I understood her logic. It would seem obvious to any adult, given the context of the characters' conversation, that the bleeped-out word indeed was that ultra-naughty, four-letter vulgarity.
I was reminded of how I was bugged by an inconsistency that repeatedly cropped up on "The Shield," that excellent, gritty, realistic drama on the FX cable network about police officers in Los Angeles. The Vic Mackey character always dropped salty, bleep-worthy language that went un-bleeped -- but never the king snake of cuss words.
Surely if Mackey dared to utter six of Carlin's seven dirty words, and then some, he would have launched a few of the bluest of blue words as he was cleaning up the thug-infested streets of L.A., right?
And so the realistic language of "The Shield" ended up working against the show's gritty atmosphere. By allowing @#&% and %*#ยข and *&##@ but not the uber-bad cuss word, or even a bleeping of the uber-bad cuss word, the show's admirable realism was brought down a notch.
Ironically, by consistently using bleeps instead of the actual raw language, "Southland" trumps "The Shield."
And here's a question for you parents: If a prime-time network series deploys a "bleep" or two, does your parental radar go ape-gaga if your 6-year-old or 10-year-old child is watching?
Me -- not at all.
In other news ...
File this under "Sign of the Times": A press release popped up in my e-mail this week trumpeting a "new tween sensation" -- a pop group composed of four adolescent girls who, apparently, already have recorded and released their debut CD. The press release assures us "each girl has had acting and singing classes and each girl is learning a musical instrument."
Hmmmmm, let's review these steps to stardom: Record and release CD. Then issue press release assuring music journalists and media types that performers have attended singing classes. Then trumpet announcement that performers are in the process of learning to play an instrument.
I don't think Joni Mitchell, Tina Turner, Courtney Love or Alicia Keys did it this way.
There's more (you knew this was coming, didn't you?): "The girls also have a movie/TV show script already written for them which is currently being shopped in the entertainment world."
But then I scoffed the time in 1998 that I saw a 16-year-old unknown named Britney Spears, as she opened a concert by an only slightly better-known group called N'Sync.
As Britney and two dancers performed to taped backing tracks in front of the stage curtain at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tenn., I thought the act was a put-on.
And the rest, as they say, is bank account history.
But I understood her logic. It would seem obvious to any adult, given the context of the characters' conversation, that the bleeped-out word indeed was that ultra-naughty, four-letter vulgarity.
I was reminded of how I was bugged by an inconsistency that repeatedly cropped up on "The Shield," that excellent, gritty, realistic drama on the FX cable network about police officers in Los Angeles. The Vic Mackey character always dropped salty, bleep-worthy language that went un-bleeped -- but never the king snake of cuss words.
Surely if Mackey dared to utter six of Carlin's seven dirty words, and then some, he would have launched a few of the bluest of blue words as he was cleaning up the thug-infested streets of L.A., right?
And so the realistic language of "The Shield" ended up working against the show's gritty atmosphere. By allowing @#&% and %*#ยข and *&##@ but not the uber-bad cuss word, or even a bleeping of the uber-bad cuss word, the show's admirable realism was brought down a notch.
Ironically, by consistently using bleeps instead of the actual raw language, "Southland" trumps "The Shield."
And here's a question for you parents: If a prime-time network series deploys a "bleep" or two, does your parental radar go ape-gaga if your 6-year-old or 10-year-old child is watching?
Me -- not at all.
In other news ...
File this under "Sign of the Times": A press release popped up in my e-mail this week trumpeting a "new tween sensation" -- a pop group composed of four adolescent girls who, apparently, already have recorded and released their debut CD. The press release assures us "each girl has had acting and singing classes and each girl is learning a musical instrument."
Hmmmmm, let's review these steps to stardom: Record and release CD. Then issue press release assuring music journalists and media types that performers have attended singing classes. Then trumpet announcement that performers are in the process of learning to play an instrument.
I don't think Joni Mitchell, Tina Turner, Courtney Love or Alicia Keys did it this way.
There's more (you knew this was coming, didn't you?): "The girls also have a movie/TV show script already written for them which is currently being shopped in the entertainment world."
But then I scoffed the time in 1998 that I saw a 16-year-old unknown named Britney Spears, as she opened a concert by an only slightly better-known group called N'Sync.
As Britney and two dancers performed to taped backing tracks in front of the stage curtain at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tenn., I thought the act was a put-on.
And the rest, as they say, is bank account history.
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