July 16
I'm not a huge TV fan. And I know, I know, every single person in the world who's trying to sound intellectual (and I'm not! I spelled "intellectual" wrong the first time I typed it! Hah! Take that smart people!) will make it a point to let you know that they, themselves never never watch any television except for PBS and the History channel and sometimes, sometimes if they're feeling kooky, a music video. ("Dear, you aren't going to believe what that Snoop Doggy Dogg is up to these days! And did you know that Journey is touring? Gee! Let's get tickets!") That they spend their free time with nose buried in book, or hands covered with dirt communing with nature, or eyes glued to binoculars, scoping out wild marsh birds. In any case, most people are not quick to admit that they're all over TV and would just rather stay home in their pajamas sitting on the sofa than miss a single laugh filled moment of Frasier.
Now, I admit that there are a few shows on TV that bring me great joy. That 70's Show? Man, it makes me laugh. South Park? When I remember it's on, I'm all over it (unfortunately, I'm usually obsessing over my Sim families when South Park is on. I freely confess to a COMPUTER addiction, but that's a whole nother story). I love those hospital shows where the camera bobs and weaves and chases stretchers in and focuses on some screaming guy with blood squirting out of his bits. I am a sucker, too, for zany animal shows, the ones where people send in tapes of their Fluffy Puppy chasing a bird around. I love a local public access show. Do Dat. Do Dat is no ordinary show, no no! As far as I can tell, it's a bunch of guys with a video camera who go running around to various clubs here in CT. The brilliance of this show is in the premise: they all stand outside of clubs until closing, at which time they accost the pretty ones with "Shorty! Shorty! Shorty! Touch it! Touch it!! Bend over and touch it!!". Most of the women are just like "ah, whatever, fool" and continue to walk. Some, however, stop and stand there--and this is the funny part--SLAPPING THEMSELVES ON THE ASS. If things get really wild, one of the guys from the show will run over and rub her ass, too. They get fancy with the editing then: they will stop the tape with the woman rubbing her ass, or the guy helping her rub her ass. They will play it once. They will yell "Fatty BANGIN!!" They will play it again. Again, they will yell. A third time. It's utter genius. The scene then cuts from live ass-rubbing to a set where one of the guys--GQ, in case you wanted a name--is sitting on a stage with a pointer. He points to a screen projection of a woman's ass. He yells "FATTY BANGIN'". They play this in threes. Always in threes. Anyhow, the show transfixes me. It's practically a Sunday night ritual for Nick and I. We are all freshly showered, pajamaed. Dogs gathered round. We lie in bed and stare, slack jawed. There is no answer for the obsession. It just is. It can not be explained.
In any case, there are some shows I love. There are some I've never seen. I used to watch and love the Flinstones. Everyone did. They were the Flinstones! What's not to love? I watched the Love Boat! Issac, Your Bartender! It was great! Those were the golden days of television! Happy Days! Laverne and Shirley! TV was wonderful when I was a child. Until something happened. This happened, and it changed the way I watched TV forever. I figured out the trick and from that point forward, was unable to watch when The Trick was being employed. What's the trick? It's like this. Say you're on the Love Boat. You're there with a few of your closest girlfriends. You are all smart, educated, pretty. You make a bet. The bet is "Who Scores First" or something equally inane. You and all of your friends set sites on your different prey. Your friends choose easy targets. The bald. The short. The funnily dressed. The nerd. The shoe salesman. You are not entirely interested, but you go along with your friends plan just to shut them up. One day, you are reading on the deck and you see a man. Hairy, dark, muscular--just how you like them. You check him out. He checks you out. He comments on the book you are reading. You reply innocuously. There is Flirting in Progress. You have failed to notice the tool belt, the uniform. Remembering your bet, you ask him for drinks. He gestures at his outfit and replies that he's not allowed to fraternize with the guests. You are sad, but understanding. You promise that you'll meet elsewhere, when he is off duty. He informs you that sometimes he likes to stand up on the deck at about 10:00 and that maybe, just maybe he will see you then.
At 10:00 you arrive on the deck, dressed to kill in your favorite fringy dress and lacy white shawl. Your hair is artfully coifed in loops and tendrils. You have on you Big Lucky Earrings. You have not told your friends about this meeting. He is there. He has left his wrench behind. You discuss dreams, hopes, aspirations. You talk Robert Frost. Auden. He tells you about New Jersey. You tell him how swell it is to be you. Then, you kiss. He walks you to your room. You pretend you are not interested in having him come in. He pretends he cant. Next thing, there's groping (as much groping as there ever is on The Love Boat), key in the door, the shawl's on the floor, and cut till the next day. You smooch and he hurries with getting dressed! He's late for work! He can't make a habit of this because Captain Steubing will know. You hug, quickly, and he leaves. At exactly that moment, your friends burst through the door! They've had to sleep, well, somewhere else, because you're all sharing a room, and you kicked them out with your night of humpmonkeys. They press you for details. You are shy and unwilling to share. They tease. They cajole. You are moonfaced. The maintenance man has stolen your heart. You can not explain this to them.
That night, your friends are taking a walk up on the Lido Deck. They pause to gaze out at the night water. The begin talking about The Bet. They talk about you. They say things like "I wonder if The Humpmonkey Toilet Fixer knows that it's all just an act!!" and "I hope the Greasy Maintenance guy knows that she's way out of his league and that she will never, ever call him or think of him once the cruise is over". There is mirth and giggling about how silly and dopey and hairy and swarthy he is, and they saunter off to go drink a Mai Tai. The camera pauses on the space your friends have just left, then slowly, slowly pans behind the space. The space under the stairs. The space where The Humpmonkey Toilet Fixer has been standing--the whole time. He's heard everything.
This is when I can no longer watch a show. This particular plot trick or whatever you call it is what made me stop watching a lot of television shows. From that point, you know what's coming next. You just KNOW, and it infuriates me. From the moment that stupid mechanic steps out from the shadows, it turns into a neverending downward spiral, and it's always exactly the same, no matter what the show. Substitute Fred Flinstone and Barney Rubble for the two friends and Betty and Wilma hiding under the stairs. Stick Lucy and Ethyl under there and Ricky jabbering incomprehensibly about something. What happens next is as follows.
1.) You are walking around with a big stupid "Gee! It's love!" smile on your face all the time. Your hair, you keep in extra tendrils and swoops because he mentioned he liked it that way. You smile at him as he hurries past. You beckon to him. He glares in your direction. Brrr, it's chilly in there;
2.) You obsess over why he treated you the way he did. You dismiss it. He must have been in a hurry! He was busy on the job! He will certainly keep your date that night;
3.) He blows off your date. You are sad. You leave him messages. He does not respond;
4.) You begin to drink, but not so much as to ever get drunk. You are consoled by Issac, Your Bartender. You are full of resolve. You go looking for HumpMonkey;
5.) You can not find him. He is not answering his door. You know he's there;
6.) You bang and bang and bang on the door. Finally, he answers. You demand to know what the matter is. You say things like "didn't the other night mean anything to you?" he replies with things like "apparently not, since all you wanted to do was win a bet..." You get that horrible sinking feeling. He closes the door in your face;
7.) You stomp off to find your friends. They are doing the cha-cha around the Captain's Table. You confront them angrily. How could they tell him? How? They profess utter dumbfoundedness. They never told! Never! And besides, what difference does it make? The cruise is over day after tomorrow, and it was just a bet. Suddenly, one friend recalls perhaps having had a conversation about the bet in a not-so-private places. The other friend then remembers that maybe she heard some shuffling noises behind them. They apologize and go back to their conga line;
8.) You mope around for the remainder of the night. You go to the places you'd gone with him. You stare forlornly at the water. You determine that you will set things right before the end of the cruise;
9.) The next morning, you find your Hump Monkey. He is in his uniform, working at taking a nut off of something. You begin with "let me explain..." he cuts you off. You persist. He sets down his wrench. He delivers a monologue about being pidgeonholed because of what he does. You reply that you respect what he does. He shakes his head angrily and brings up "The Bet". You sigh deeply, grasp his muscled arm and tell him, just as sincerely as you can, that Sure, it started off as a bet, just a little, but that you went along with the whole thing just to shut your friends up and that you really, really like him. Maybe you even Love Him. He is unconvinced but softening. You play with the fringe on your shawl. You pull a book of poetry from your little purse. You read to him some line you find killer romantic. You hug;
10.) The cruise is over. You are leaving. He walks you to the door, arm draped around your shoulder. (uh, what do people leave from on a ship? it's not a DOOR. A portal? I have no idea, stay with me...) You stop in front of the Captain and Julie, Your Cruise Director and the little girl and Issac and Gopher and Doc and the whole crew. The captain makes some yuk-yuk comment about employees hanging with the guests. Everyone hoots appreciatively. Hump Monkey leans in to you expressively. He says "So, as soon as I get my vacation, I'm going to come visit you at your big fancy college!" You blink your lashes at him and nod retardedly and everyone will suspend the certainty that once you step off the ship, you will completely forget that you ever knocked boots with someone who didn't even have an associate degree from a local college.
So, In Summation:
That shit makes me CRAZY.
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To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.