Where I miss television
I continue to come to grips with the term “busy.” I am busy. I know this, but I do not always accept this. My struggles with acceptance, though, sing louder more at this time of year, than any other.
I love fall . . . the air just feels cleaner as the nights start to get colder, but there’s still some warmth in the air. Honeycrisp apples are tasty and abundant. The network sitcoms all debut. And football is in full swing as the best baseball of the year is on.
But, alas, everything seems to be passing me by.
This road to where I am was gradual & inevitable. It started with the original, first generation TiVo, because I was too damn lazy to actually work my VCR for recording. So I started recording the shows that I wanted to watch (catching sports live, always). A general dislike of commercials meant that, even if I happened to be home, I’d watch something else rather than a show as it was broadcast.
Rainy days were spent simply catching up on the TiVo.
The TiVo died as the newfangled cable boxes started to include hard-drives.
Then kids came.
Then Netflix started streaming.
Where it used to be that a night home alone would mean that I’d fall asleep to a west-coast baseball game, a TV turned off is far more effective than anything else in getting my
spawn children to sleep (and, well, getting my kids to bed, more often than not, leads to me falling asleep, myself).
I will always say that being busy is better than being bored . . . but, last Sunday, I’ll admit a great deal of jealousy to the Walking Dead crowd. I have gotten rid of cable, but I do try to keep up with shows as I can.
Back, when my workout strategy was “cardio, and then more cardio,” this time of year would also denote the time that I’d start giving up on running outside, and I’d watch an episode of a show, each weekday, from my spinning bike in my basement. There may have been a day or two, at particularly pivotal portions of my following Walter White’s saga that I’d find myself “not feeling so hot” and then catching 8 episodes of Breaking Bad at a time.
But, as my life exists now, I just can’t get into things as I once did. And I honestly miss the draw of a television cliffhanger, where I’d spend the day after a particularly good episode of a show I enjoy wondering what might happen next.
And we won’t talk of beer-fueled nights willing a long-hit ball to hit a foul-pole.
Don’t get me wrong . . . I wouldn’t change what I have now, with televisions that play Justin Time more than the Yankees, for the world. But, I miss getting sucked into the boob tube like I once did.