Without today’s safety standards, it was said
that at age nine months, I hopped myself in a bouncy chair (some contraption on
springs without safety belt) over to the TV and turned it on (1956). My mother,
who was in the kitchen at the time, heard the sound of the TV, ran out of the
kitchen and came upon me, happily watching the box. Since that time, my
relationship with the required home appliance has gone down hill.
In between, I had a love affair with Romper Room, Perky Platypus
and Mary Jane (for those of you in the South Central Pennsylvania area) and
Captain Kangaroo. I had affection for Yogi
Bear and Boo Boo, Mr. Magoo and Rocky and Bullwinkle (okay some F-Troop too). I
watched my share of McHale’s Navy, The Addams’ Family, and Green Acres—they
were all a hoot. Later, the Monkees played heavily in my Monday night schedule.
In high school, I invented a curfew, so that
I could watch Johnny Carson’s monologue, rather than endure heavy petting that
my dates finally and much too late screwed their courage to advance. Had they
started at nine p.m. rather than eleven, who knows what would have happened? As
it stood, Johnny and I had a date. My blind parents never knew to whom my true
affections allied, and they were worried!
In my college years, TV held no appeal. In my
mid-twenties, after work, I caught up on a lot of reruns I’d missed, mostly
MASH, which I admit I loved, as I did “Moonlighting” with Sybil Shepard and
Bruce Willis. After that, I had kids, and TV went the wayside.
In my thirties, TV meant kids’ TV. I have to
admit that I was impressed with much of it. When I saw George Carlin as the
conductor on “Thomas the Tank Engine,” followed by Ringo Starr when George “retired,” I was impressed. My son didn’t
know, but he was privileged to have seen those two doing what they did best. Then,
Sesame Street had its charms, and I was thankful my kids could watch a show of
that quality.
Then, they grew up and I abandon TV. Once I
was free to choose what I wanted to do with my time—TV wasn’t a consideration—it
became last place in my priorities. Why?
Absorption: TV sucks people into its monotony
like a hypnotist. My kids absorbed twenty years of my life. They were my
priority. Why would I allow some “thing” to absorb me once I was free?
Advertisements: Out of every hour of
programming about twenty minutes is devoted to selling the audience products.
No, thank you.
“Real”shows: Aren’t. Even HGTV, which I watch
with girlfriends on occasion, isn’t real. HGTV now uses its subjects to
advertise products. You’ll see the happy couple trying to buy their first
house, and then when the commercial break comes, that same happy couple
promotes a sponsor, which I consider over-the-top blowing every bit of
authenticity the network purports. In novel writing, it would be much the same
if the author included a Jeep in the manuscript and then every third chapter
inserted a Jeep advertisement. Turn me—off.
Noise: I’ve heard that the FCC is now
clamping down on TV stations, which increase the volume when commercial breaks
happen. Of course, the FCC allowed the networks to increase the volume—all
for our convenience. Refrigerator-foraging TV watchers couldn’t hear the TV
during breaks unless the networks blasted the TV volume so the FCC authorized
volume increases—deafening most people. I called and complained. They assured
me that they were within their legal right to do so. Why did I ever think the
government worked for us?
We’re not all slobs who must clean out the
frig at every commercial break. For most, who stay seated, the Mute button got
a big workout during commercial breaks. Now, the FCC will be decreasing the
volume increase that networks can assault us with from programs to commercials.
About time—ya’ think!
My sister-in-law and daughter assure me that
there are those shows like “Office” and “Monk” that are worth watching. Me? I’d
rather read. Take the $115 per month for satellite TV and put it on my book
budget. Oh yeah!
