Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Two weeks without you.

In an effort to save money until our lease runs out - money that will inevitably be spent on more worthwhile things like unsweetened iced coffee with TWO sugars, tickets to bad movies and red wine - we've decided to go without cable television. And because my parents have the last remaining set of rabbit ears, gently duck taped to the side of their Zenith, we've been relegated to 72 channels of salt and pepper fuzz. An important side note is that, in addition to this loss, we're also without a functioning DVD player.

And we're going on day 14.

I tried to take the Laura Ingles approach to this dilemma - finish the books I've started over the past year, dog-eared on the 80th page and cast aside underneath a pile of US Weeklies, start some new ones, hold lively conversations by the unlit fireplace and make molasses candy with Pa.

In actuality, I stockpiled every VHS I could find, rummaging through crates left sealed since freshman year of college, raiding my trunk for boxes never unpacked from previous moves, combing the dusty collections at Thrift America in search of films released during my childhood, when I was forced to go Bambi or go home. Cortney managed to come up with "Inventing the Abbotts" and "Center Stage." I brought a well-worn copy of Guffman to the table, a never-watched copy of "Sliding Doors," a "Circle of Friends" covered in my sixteen-year-old kisses and chubby angst, and an "Only You" that I purchased at the afore-mentioned thrift store for $.75. Our arsenal of plastic and tape lasted all of one week before we'd watched them all - twice or more.

The question at hand is this: Are 16 more days of this even remotely feasible? I'd like to think I'll spend the remainder of this emotional obstacle course finishing those books, listening to NPR in my idling Ford Focus and slowly coming to the realization that I never needed TV. When all is said and done, I'll renounce its continued presence in my life and slowly sip the alternatively purchased glass of Yellow Tail Shiraz, proud of the maturity a Cox-free lifestyle has summoned. However, as I listen to muffled commentary of last night's "Hills" episode through thin cubicle walls, I get that tingle in my toes that reminds me of how intrinsically tied I am to every one of those 72 channels. It's only a matter of time before we're reunited. And I have no doubt that it will be beautiful.

1 comment:

nacho_supreme said...

1) We owe our friendship to that well-worn copy of Waiting For Guffman. That, and the fact that my mom noticed it in a cardboard box in the hallway, next to your Kotex on moving-in day at Deglman Hall. And the rest is HISTORY.

"I was shopping for my wife Bonnie...I buy most of her clothes..."

2) If ever you talk to people from Portland who sound "mature" and indier-than-thou because they don't watch TV, don't be fooled. They may not be watching as much Bravo as you, but that's only because they are too busy drinking on weeknights and forging friendships with down-to-earth strippers. I should know.