The hero of hurricane Rita: Bob Ross
-
I’m certain most of you recognize the guy in the photo. He’s Bob Ross, from the PBS series The Joy of Painting, a show I’m sure he’d still be hosting were he not dead.
You’ve likely happened upon Bob while channel surfing, his breathy, lilting voice and easy demeanor instantly captivating you, somehow lulling you into viewing a program on a channel you hadn’t watched since your Sesame Street days; back when we only had two or three channels at best.
A few minutes later, you’re saying to yourself “I can’t believe I’m still watching this” while glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one has entered the room. It’s kind of like listening to John Denver. You’d do so in your car by yourself but damn sure wouldn’t around your running buddies. I suspect a whole lot more people have watched this guy than would admit it. A half hour later, still hypnotized, you’re sad to see Bob sign off.
Why? It’s a crazy world, that’s why. Or at least it seems to be. If we aren't worrying about something, we worry that we've forgotten about something we NEED to be worrying about. A lot is happening all at once and, due to relentless media sensationalism, all of it is BAD.
You’ve likely happened upon Bob while channel surfing, his breathy, lilting voice and easy demeanor instantly captivating you, somehow lulling you into viewing a program on a channel you hadn’t watched since your Sesame Street days; back when we only had two or three channels at best.
A few minutes later, you’re saying to yourself “I can’t believe I’m still watching this” while glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one has entered the room. It’s kind of like listening to John Denver. You’d do so in your car by yourself but damn sure wouldn’t around your running buddies. I suspect a whole lot more people have watched this guy than would admit it. A half hour later, still hypnotized, you’re sad to see Bob sign off.
Why? It’s a crazy world, that’s why. Or at least it seems to be. If we aren't worrying about something, we worry that we've forgotten about something we NEED to be worrying about. A lot is happening all at once and, due to relentless media sensationalism, all of it is BAD.
-
Amongst the fray, sticking out like- well, like a white guy with an afro- is Bob Ross. Watching his show is akin to being on a Lithium drip. He’s the closest one can get to true relaxation without chasing a handful of Xanax with a bottle of Tequila. He doesn’t talk politics, natural disasters, war, terrorism, or the price of gas. He’ll be damned if any of it is going to harsh his mellow. I get the distinct impression Bob couldn’t give a shit, period.
Other than the fact that he can crank one out in the space of 30 minutes, his Target housewares section-style paintings don’t exactly inspire awe but that isn’t the point. What’s impressive about Bob is that he’s utterly content having his second rate- even for PBS- TV show, splattering a “happy little cloud” or “happy little tree” onto his next hotel room painting while the rest of us are sweating our house note, our investments, retirement, children, school shootings, chemical attacks, the apocalypse, etc. He seems to possess what the rest of us are working ourselves to death trying to acquire: blissful serenity.
Cut to last Saturday. I’m sitting in my house as the eye of hurricane Rita is overhead. The predictions of the last three days are ringing in my ears “. . . 25 inches of rain.” The cable service goes out, taking the internet with it, so I’m flipping through what’s left trying to get storm updates, thinking about what color the new carpet is going to be and there he is: Bob Ross.
I couldn’t tell you whether it was God, a message from beyond from Bob himself, or coincidence but I got the point just the same. Relax, calm down. Don’t worry so damn much. The world is overwhelmingly GOOD and SAFE. The roof held up, the water didn’t rise, and the ol’girl’s crape myrtles just got in the way whenever I mowed, anyway.
After his show ended, I rode out the rest of the storm with my son in his playroom. He seemed to be as utterly unconcerned about the storm as Bob was, so long as he could keep on pushing his Thomas the Train around the track and the Yoo Hoo held out. Hell, what else do you really need?
Other than the fact that he can crank one out in the space of 30 minutes, his Target housewares section-style paintings don’t exactly inspire awe but that isn’t the point. What’s impressive about Bob is that he’s utterly content having his second rate- even for PBS- TV show, splattering a “happy little cloud” or “happy little tree” onto his next hotel room painting while the rest of us are sweating our house note, our investments, retirement, children, school shootings, chemical attacks, the apocalypse, etc. He seems to possess what the rest of us are working ourselves to death trying to acquire: blissful serenity.
Cut to last Saturday. I’m sitting in my house as the eye of hurricane Rita is overhead. The predictions of the last three days are ringing in my ears “. . . 25 inches of rain.” The cable service goes out, taking the internet with it, so I’m flipping through what’s left trying to get storm updates, thinking about what color the new carpet is going to be and there he is: Bob Ross.
I couldn’t tell you whether it was God, a message from beyond from Bob himself, or coincidence but I got the point just the same. Relax, calm down. Don’t worry so damn much. The world is overwhelmingly GOOD and SAFE. The roof held up, the water didn’t rise, and the ol’girl’s crape myrtles just got in the way whenever I mowed, anyway.
After his show ended, I rode out the rest of the storm with my son in his playroom. He seemed to be as utterly unconcerned about the storm as Bob was, so long as he could keep on pushing his Thomas the Train around the track and the Yoo Hoo held out. Hell, what else do you really need?
posted by The Ranting Redneck at
6:56 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home