Cozying up to the old TV
Making my way in the world today takes everything I’ve got. Taking a break from all my worries sure would help a lot. Unfortunately, I don’t have a place to go where everybody knows my name. I don’t have a “Cheers.”
There’s no place I go where everyone knows me. I’ve gone to the same bar for 10 years and I am the anonymous teetotaler, sipping bottled water in the back of the bar by the dart board.
I’m not a Norm. I’m not even a Paul (remember Paul?).
My family doesn’t even know my name. My nephew calls me “He” or “Him.”
His mother will say, “You want someone to take you to the playground?”
He’ll say, “Yeah. Him,” and point to me. At least he got my pronouns right.
When I take a break from all my worries, I go to the place where I know everyone else’s name, and none of them know mine. I have been getting cozy with some old sitcoms.
P.S. “Cozy” is a pun, but I don’t want to plug any particular cable station.
I’ve been channel-surfing the old favorites.
I watched an episode of “Cheers” where Sam argued with Diane.
I watched that episode of “Frasier” where Frasier went on a bad date.
I watched an episode of “Seinfeld” about absolutely nothing.
I knew everything that was going to happen, but I watched anyway.
Twenty-five years ago, I admonished my dad for sitting in a recliner watching reruns.
I would breeze through the room, notice the TV screen, and joke, “You know Gilligan isn’t getting off that island today,” or “Oh, no! Dr. Bellows is going to find out that Major Nelson has a genie on ‘I Dream of Jeannie.'”
He called me a smart aleck (or an Italian word for “donkey”).
Today, I’m the guy in the recliner. I’d say, “Who’s laughing now?” but that would be me because I’m watching sitcoms.
I have found comfort in watching the friends of “Friends.” They are pixelated security blankets.
The episodes cause me to reminisce about my halcyon days. In the mid-to-late ’90s when “Friends” was must-see TV, I was too busy sowing my wild oats, not eating Quaker Oats, and watching television.
But I digress, like I do. Instead of watching the nightly news, biting my nails, and waiting for the world to end, my brain gets a 30-minute reprieve, or 22, plus commercials.
Side note: The commercials don’t count, especially if they are presidential campaign ads.
I’m the first to admit it’s a waste of time. I am not learning anything new. I’m not exercising my body or my brain. I watched two minutes of “Three’s Company” the other day and I felt my brain cells leaving my body, like women and children abandoning the Titanic. I couldn’t find the remote fast enough.
Sometimes, I like to slip into the comfort of an old sitcom, pajamas for my mind. To quote Jerry and George, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”