Dennis: My eyes are watery like a pug dog’s. I can’t keep a thought in my head, which is buzzing like a hive of sleepy bees. When I try to express myself, my words emerge like I’ve swapped tongues with Yaphet Kotto. When I glance at the newly arrived green digital clock in the room, I see that I have been essentially immobile for six hours.
Yup, I just got cable.
I really should have seen this coming; I mean I haven’t had real cable tv since I was living in my parents’ house, getting schooled in the finer points of Cinemax’s treasure trove of Shannon Tweed erotic thrillers after they went to sleep. Since then, it’s been over-the-air broadcast offerings (ask your grandparents), the bottomless well of free rentals (VHS- again, ask an elder, then DVD) from my endless time behind the counter(s) of several video stores (look for someone with white hair), and a few years with the basic-est of basic cable which provided little more than unstatic-y broadcast local stations and various home shopping networks. And when I have found myself alone with the real deal (again at Mom and Dad’s- new house, much improved cable), I’ve invariably found myself afflicted with what I’ve termed the flipping disease. It’s symptoms (including the aforementioned, of course), involve Mom finding me still awake when she gets up at five in the morning, red-eyed and finger-cramped, endlessly scrolling around and around the guide channel, ceaselessly questing for…what? Something better. Something to quiet my mind. The perfect thing. Looking for television salvation and turning zombie white in the flickering light, stumbling out to the truck in the morning glare with nothing but half-watched mediocrity and too-remembered commercial jingles rolling around behind my eyeballs.
So of course I got cable for my house.
Dickhead.
I mean, I had a reason. And it’s a good one. A great one, in fact. Something I’m not gonna talk about here, as a nod to the gods of good things. (I’m not a believer in curses, or jinxes, or really anything smacking supernatural, but I’m also sporting my one tattoo, of the Red Sox “B” over my heart in payment to the baseball gods.) Suffice to say, it was necessary.
And, I fear, regrettable.
‘Cause now the flipping disease lives in my house. I invited it there. Hell, I paid to infect myself, and my beloved wife, with it. Sure I made jokes to friends like, “ahh, we’ve only had it a day and I’m already bored with it- hahaHAHA!”
LIAR!
It’s day what, four? five? And I, at least partly in response to some serious anxiety regarding that completely and totally awesome thing I’m not gonna talk about, led me to lay (lie?- shit, my grammar is gone to shit! That awesome thing is totally gonna dump me! Aaaaaaaaaa!!!) on the couch for those six hours today, my mind with the bees, the never ending blue buzz of the unaccustomed tv making them sluggish, but not driving them out. And me, heavy-lidded and all but incoherent, letting the electric ibuprofen numb me into nothing.
And it’s not like I’m watching reality shows here; even whacked out I still have standards. But after four hours or so, even episodes of Futurama, It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia, 30 Rock, and Louie just blur together into an extra strength tablespoon of cable with codeine.
Dear god, what have I done?
Justin: Why do you deny better living through television, Dennis? It’s the mother’s milk that has made this nation strong and heroically adequate. It is the stage through which we collectively share great moments of triumph, wonder and heartbreak. And that’s just one afternoon at Fenway. (Zing! Had to do it.)
It’s way too easy to bash TV. Consider the insufferable “oh I don’t have a TV” types, who take the act of not making a major purchase as a statement of faith. Or worse, a declaration against bad art. “Oh, TV is terrible for you,” they’ll say. “There’s nothing worth watching,” they’ll continue, ignoring the black rage filling your pupils. Because enjoying a good book is mutually exclusive from watching a great TV show. This line of thought takes the flaming garbage piles found on most channels as the rule for TV, not the exception. It focuses on the reality shows, the Charlie Sheens (Charlies Sheen?) and MTVs as proof that TV is indeed a VAST WASTLAND. I’d call it elitist bullshit, but it’s mostly ignorant of all the great things TV can be.
And its all those things you like Dennis. TV is a bright shiny box of comfort that brings us all the people and things we love on consistent basis! Here’s Leslie Knope! There’s Sterling Archer and Bender! (Actually, I’d watch the hell out of that crossover.) TV is arguably the best medium for serialized storytelling because it comes with so many different concerns than movies or books. It’s sustained story, a narrative that can truly build on itself and explore themes and character in way that really connects with people. The thing that makes TV so good is the fact that it’s so persistent. Hell its also very insistent. It’s not just that TV seasons run in the double digits and stories can go the length of multiple episodes, it’s that TV never stops. It doesn’t sleep. The cable model now makes it possible to see any show you want (and plenty you don’t want) multiple times in the course of a day. Did you miss the first run of Rizzoli and Isles? DON’T WORRY. It’ll be on again in like 30 minutes. Didn’t stay current with the last season of Walking Dead? Here comes a MARATHON.
And if you love TV, which I know you do, this is a great thing. Look, I didn’t grow up with cable either. We had spotty bouts of cable until high school when we got a basic package. But by then my affection for TV turned into some real feelings. The funny thing about being a lanky, comic book-loving kid is that you develop a real relationship with TV. Yes, I had my primetime favorites, but I was a sucker for the retreads. And this was back when all you got was episodes of One Day at a Time and Hogan’s Heroes in syndication. So you’ll excuse me if I feel thankful that the reruns now come in shades of Arrested Development, Firefly or Mythbusters.
This is all for the best, and not just because of the aforementioned amazingness you are trying to keep under wraps. Think about all the great things we can write about now! My god man, did you see the premiere of the Black Dynamite animated series on Cartoon Network? Also, how soon till we start a weekly scholarly discussion on the goofy genius that is pairing Breckin Meyer and Mark-Paul Gosselaar. (Guys, you survived the 90s!)
Yes, TV does require a level of moderation. It’s like drinking a few High Lifes on a school night. The first few taste good and make you feel relaxed, but the more you indulge the more likely you wake up on your couch in a fugue state, worried you may in fact be Dabney Coleman.
Come on buddy, you love TV! We both do, it’s one of the things that makes us friends. Yes, you have not had cable for some time but you’ve been enjoying TV for years. Your job made it possible, but it was only the vehicle. You always had the motive. You love TV. Say it with me: “I love TV.” SAY IT.
Image courtesy of Street Files.
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