Absence of TV makes memories fonder

Thursday, October 29, 1998

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

Comments, feedback, problems?