Absence of TV makes memories fonder

Thursday, October 29, 1998

Absence of TV makes memories fonder

ADDICTION: Television lost to ex-roomie creates void in
program-sated life

A few weeks ago, my former roommate moved into a new apartment.
We had lived together for over a year, and we had been friends the
year before that. I had grown very used to our domestic routine,
and now things are different. There is nothing wrong with my new
roommate, but I feel as though I am missing something very
important.

Yes, I miss my television.

Actually, it is no longer my television; it is now his
television. It used to be our television. It was one of our joint
purchases, but in the custody settlement I gave it up in exchange
for all of our other joint purchases. This was my idea, but now I
wonder how good of an idea it was.

Sure, I still have the cordless phone, toaster and various other
household goodies, but he has my television. I am so jealous.
Perhaps "covetous" is the right word.

Television and I have quite a history. Like too many Americans,
I watched quite a bit of TV as a small child. The real trouble,
however, started when I was around 8 and I got my own set for my
bedroom. (What were my parents thinking?) During certain antisocial
years of my youth, I must have averaged a good 30 hours per week
staring at that 13-inch black-and-white set (I think I spent about
half of this time watching "Growing Pains"). As I consider all of
this wasted time, I find it utterly amazing that I am currently
able to write a complete sentence, keep my mind on a particular
topic for more than 30 seconds at a time, and resist advertising. I
was one of the lucky ones.

I can get back to this history. Right now my current problems
seem more important.

There is a philosophical question as to whether one can really
observe an absence. It is not just that I fail to see my
television, but I feel as though I can actually see the lack of a
TV. I can sit on my sofa, put my feet on the coffee table, and look
at, well, nothing. Our apartment came with an inelegant but
versatile piece of wooden furniture that was quickly consigned as a
makeshift entertainment center. My roommate’s boom box went on the
bottom, and the TV went on the top. Now both are gone. We never
really used the boom box, so that is not missed, but the TV’s empty
space is like some enormous horizontal abyss that cannot be
ignored.

Now that the television is gone, what have I been doing with my
time? I wish I knew. One would think that I am reading more, but I
am not. I consider reading important and beneficial, but a lifetime
of television has taught me that reading is an active chore, while
TV is a passive pleasure.

There are certainly things in this world better than TV, and for
a while I actually took advantage of some of them.

Things were better when I went to college and left the bedroom
TV behind. I had more to do, I was more social, and there were not
so many television sets to watch (TV watching was frowned upon at
my undergraduate institution). Without much fuss and pain, I
managed to put an end to my bad habits. Except for an ephemeral
Euro-MTV obsession during a semester abroad, my college years were
almost completely TV-free.

So there have been times when I watched lots of TV and times
when I abstained. Why do I care? Tons of people watch lots of
television, and few of them feel so guilty (especially after ABC’s
recent campaign). Why should I be so different? Well, like other
self-styled intellectuals, I find television utterly stupid. Its
dramas and comedies are hackneyed, its news programming is little
more than caricature, and it shamelessly encourages mindless
consumerism.

One would think that graduate school would make it even easier
to reject TV, but I have remained attached to its philistinism. TV
is so easy, and I love to shy away from a challenge.

I am still thinking of that space formerly occupied by my TV. I
fibbed: the space is not completely empty. Whenever mail arrives
for my ex-roommate, I place it in that space until I next see him.
I suppose that in my mind I have combined the departed roommate
with the departed television.

What happened to me? Well, Hershey Hall turned me into a lounge
rat. Two episodes of "The Simpsons," two game shows, and a
full-length movie would be typical for a single night. I thought
things would be better in my own apartment. The television was, I
claimed, only for watching videos, so my roommate and I never
bought an antenna. Of course, we learned soon enough that a wire
and a coat hanger could provide an acceptable substitute. My second
year of graduate school now seems like a tremendous blur of
cartoons, "Soul Train" and get-rich-quick infomercials.

To make matters worse, it was around this time that I discovered
that the intellectual’s disdainful assessment of television
programming is a bit shallow. Only when I had my own television and
freedom to explore Los Angeles’s many channels did I discover the
exception: TBN.

The Trinity Broadcasting Network is truly a blessing, although
it can take a while to discover its riches. Sometimes it seems like
all prayer and sermon, but it is the other programming that makes
the network so wonderful. Dramas warning youths about the dangers
of the occult, music videos preaching sexual abstinence and
Bible-based news analysis are all delightful novelties to a
secularist such as myself. Much of this programming is ludicrous,
but it is far from hackneyed. Also, I have enough familiarity with
evangelical Christianity to find the theological discussions
enlightening (although not in that "road to Damascus" kind of way).
TBN has a message, and it is not "buy these products." I truly
respect this, and on several occasions I have been tempted to
become the first atheist to send the network a love gift.

I am not trying to make excuses for myself. I would not turn on
the TV just to watch this novel and intriguing Christian
programming. I would initially watch TV for all the wrong reasons,
but when I felt myself sinking into a drooling, tube-tied oblivion,
then it was time to switch to good old Channel 40. A few moments of
revitalizing TBN would make it that much easier to return to Jerry
Springer.

Now I no longer have Jerry. I am also without Conan O’Brien,
John McLaughlin, Pat Sajak and many other old friends. I have not
gone completely cold turkey, though. I occasionally find ways of
inviting myself over to others’ homes, and then I find ways to
linger.

I have made a good decision in separating myself from
television, but it is hard. I do not read more. I do not play more
music. I do not write more (except for my occasional Viewpoint
trifles), and I do not think more.

What have I been doing? I have been staying up late at night
without a sense of what to do, and I have been pacing. I am a
junkie.Patrick Friel

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