When I turned 18, in the eyes of the government I became an adult, which I think is justification enough for recent public distrust of authority.
My dad took that opportunity to write me some coming-of-age advice. Mostly, it covered not overcooking pasta (someone tell Dining Services what al dente means, please) and the benefits of keeping the old car (eligibility for classic plates in T minus three years).
But the line I remember most is this: However much time you spend watching television will be too much time.
My dad has been a television minimalist my whole life. Aside from Steelers games and newscasts, the only shows he watches on anything approaching a regular basis are The McLaughlin Group and Cops
both of which I've also come to like.
McLaughlin earns my time for regularly playing host to Pat Buchanan ' I support any show that does so because frequent TV appearances keep him too busy to actually run for office. Cops is OK in my book because it is reality television that shows actual reality. Most reality television is more rigged than pro wrestling (I'll pause for Friday Night Smackdown fans to write angry letters). Though in the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit here that I was a first-run Survivor enthusiast, but that's offset by my vocal disdain for The Real World since it began.
The worst part about reality television is how insipidly it creeps across the dial. Back in good old Hoover House, my roommate and I used to watch C-SPAN, which is far more entertaining than you could ever imagine. Public officials will go on C-SPAN with no previewing of questions or editing stipulations and say the most ridiculous things because they know that only weirdos like me ever watch. Nothing, I thought, could ever be more real than the gruesome spectacle of public governance.
But one night, still awake past midnight as we so often were, my roommate and I happened upon a broadcast of The Prime Minister's Questions and all my notions of C-SPAN's veracity were shattered. Here was the highest executive of a powerful, developed nation answering unvetted questions from garrulous legislators in a public broadcast. My trust went out the window in a second; this was quite obviously fiction.
With that venue corrupted, nowadays I mostly stick to the Food Network because, well, who doesn't like food? I can learn new techniques and pick up a few recipes; it's great. Although, with my apartment's dull blades, I'm developing a serious case of knife envy ' you try to julienne a carrot in ten seconds without a diamond coating on your chef's knife.
My housemates, however, think I only watch Food Network because I have a crush on Rachael Ray, host of 30 Minute Meals. This is completely untrue. I watch Food Network because I have a crush on Giada De Laurentiis, host of Everyday Italian. (Sandra Lee ain't bad-looking, either).
Food Network indulgence aside, my dislike of television has created some waves here in the newsroom, manifesting itself in the ultimate display of public scorn: a Facebook group about me. Specifically, about my undying hatred for Saved by the Bell which stems partly from the fact that the show wasn't any good, but mostly from the inordinate number of Screech jokes I endured at age 12 thanks to my curly hair and 98-pound weakling build. Also, my voice might be nasal now, but back then it was a dead ringer for his high pitch. Thank God for puberty.
Television also was the demise of my first relationship. We started dating in high school, both from cable-free homes. Then I went to my college, she to hers, both of which had cable.
When I came home to visit one weekend, I found that the distance and newfound freedom of college had caused her to make a terrible mistake: while I had stayed true to my upbringing, she had become, alas, a channel surfer. The tension was immense, and ultimately I believe it was the single greatest factor in the failure of the relationship.
That and the time I forgot her birthday.
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Noah Blundo
Remote controls: the relationship killer
