By Martin J. Kidston
I went without a TV for nearly a year, until this October to be exact, at which time I broke down and called the cable guy.
Now, I'm wondering why I bothered.
Fearful of the boredom that comes in the short days and long nights of winter, and, more importantly, wanting to watch the World Series from the laziness of my own apartment, I went through the whole song and dance with the cable company, trying to decide what was best for me.
Satellite was too advanced, and besides, hanging that "dish" on the side of the house still holds a certain red-neck stigma. No thanks. Then there was digital cable, "over 100 channels," they promised, but that was too expensive, and when I looked at the cable menu, 65 of those 100 channels were music channels. Give me a break -- I already have a radio, and it's free.
My only two remaining options were basic cable and expanded cable. Basic was just too basic, and like a no-frills soup, it didn't look very good. Who wants to drink broth when they can have the noodles, too? It was also full of info-mercials and shopping channels more than anything else and, as I thought about it, it probably wasn't worth the $50 they charged to turn it on. It all left me with one choice -- expanded cable.
To a person who hadn't watch a drop of TV in a year, "expanded" cable conjured up images of relative freedom in the dark days of winter. And though it has proven to be "entertaining," the World Series is long since over, and what's left, for the most part, seems rather mindless.
In the year I've been absent from the TV "scene," not much has changed. With a few exceptions, the shows are as mindless as ever, like Monday nights on TNN, where the World Wrestling Federation has its own three-hour block called Monday Night Nitro. The program goes well with that satellite dish, not to mention the bevy of fishing and bow-hunting competitions they scatter throughout the schedule.
Then there's the prime-time reruns. Now, all those washed up sitcoms that were no good to begin with are on twice a night. Just in case the viewer misses their airing in the mountain time zone, they can always catch them on Pacific time -- or, if once wasn't enough, a person could always watch them twice. So much for a good book.
Though the shows haven't changed, what's on between them is as good as ever. There's Bowflex telling us that strength training "isn't just for men, it's good for women, too." At least we've eliminated sexist commercials, where women are reduced to doing their womanly chores in nighties, singing "I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget your a man. ..."
And if you believe the Jeep commercials, not only is it all right to drive across remote wilderness, it's also possible. I wonder how deep into the Bob Marshall a Jeep-driving yuppycould actually get?
I suppose I'm a little cynical, although I don't mean to be. I'm more disappointed than anything else -- disappointed in the fact that ever since I picked up the TV habit in October, I've become just as addicted to the garbage as everyone else. And it is an addiction that can be broken. I speak from experience.
But here's an idea -- instead of breaking the habit, maybe the cable company should let us choose what channels we subscribe to, like a magazine, instead of putting the junk together into a package and calling it "expanded."
