Skip to main content

Take a Ride (down Memory Lane) With Me



   I love to watch a good television train wreck. I don’t mean a real, live Northeastern Railroad smash up. I’m talking about Nancy Grace, nostrils flared in indignation, interviewing pretty much anybody. I like how she asks the dirty questions we all want to ask but can’t. I like how she chokes up every now and then. I like how she clearly doesn’t care that she’s got really bad hair. I like that handcuff necklace she wears in the CNN promos. She’s kind of badass.
   And I love watching The Little Couple. You all know how much I enjoy that one. I find myself tearing up all the time when it’s on. Sometimes they’re tears of joy because I’m so damn happy they adopted those two little babies. And God knows I can’t believe all the crap they have to go through to live a happy life. Enough already.
   Then there’s my infatuation with the Duggars. It’s like I don’t want to watch them purely on principle. I don’t agree with their views on just about everything and yet, I see them all standing there in their khaki pants and long jean skirts and Michelle says, “and I delivered every one!” and I’m captivated. Amazing. Can you imagine the stretch marks? I have to wonder if those kids don’t turn on each other when the cameras are off, a little make-up to cover the black eyes.
   I’ve been obsessed with HGTV for years, long before Martha’s Vineyard was chosen for the dream home. I watch it way too much. I love to watch the women when they say, “I love the tray ceiling and the spa bathroom and the hardwoods and the stainless steel, but these countertops aren’t granite. Why did you show us this house when you know it doesn’t have our must-haves?”
   I love to watch the loosely described television journalists these days while they bait the people they interview, trying desperately to get a sound bite to carry over into the next day.
    Lately I’ve been watching Nellyville. There’s the St. Louis connection, but more than that, he’s raising his own kids and his sister’s kids since she died of cancer. And then there’s his scholarships and charity work. I know he’s got some raunchy videos, but I’ve seen where he came from and that’s something. And he’s pretty funny sometimes. I'm not going to apologize.
   Remember when we wanted to watch I Dream of Jeannie and Laugh-In and our parents insisted on Gunsmoke? That used to really piss me off. And I had to turn the sound practically off when I was in high school and wanted to watch Monty Python. My dad wasn’t a fan of the British television shows, didn’t trust them.
   “Times have changed” doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m still not over Robby Benson and do you remember the color of Bobby Sherman’s eyes? Oh, I do.
I miss those days. As I write this, people are shouting on CNN where Dr. Drew has clearly lost control of the show. Thank God in my mind, I’m still trying to master walking while I do the funky chicken. 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

He sells sea shells, I wish

   So now rather than being obsessed with fake fingernails I can’t afford, I’m becoming obsessed with checking this blog. I’m pretty sure all 52 views were made by either me or my husband.   That leads me right into the current situation at hand. We need friends. We’re desperate for them. I’ve started handing out my telephone number to people I meet while doing my meager freelance work. They think it’s for the story I’m writing but really it’s in hope that someday they’ll find a reason to call and then I can hit them with, “By the way, do you play cards? Bingo? Gin Rummy?” If I wasn’t so arthritic I’d throw Twister in there.    It’s not so much for me, it’s my husband who likes to have people around. I have become hermit-like since moving here while he has become convinced we could die here and not be found for months. He had friends back in Syracuse but he chose to stay home at night with his loving wife. Now all of a sudden I get the impression he’d hightail it out of here a
6 comments
Read more

Splitting Hairs

    I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my hair a few times. I think we need to delve into it a bit further. You see, when it takes a $200 trip off-Island to get a haircut, or new underpants for that matter, you take a haircut seriously. Besides, when you’ve got the broad shoulders and the wide hips, you rely on your hair as a sort of aphrodisiac, if you know what I mean.                 I’ve been thinking about a haircut for about 8 months now. Did I mention life chugs along pretty slowly around these parts, giving me plenty of time for watching paint dry or the grass grow? Anyhow, I came to the decision that I should go ahead and do it even though more than one woman here told me she left her last appointment at the hair salon in tears. Hey, it takes more than a crappy haircut for me to turn on the waterworks. And naturally I consider tears over a haircut pretty much wasted. There are so many other crappy things to cry over, so I try to save my tears for things that have a heartbea
5 comments
Read more

Life of the Party

   So I picked out my funeral music years ago. It features Steppenwolf in the forefront. I'm pretty sure I can think of some Syracuse priests who would bend a couple of rules and blast some Magic Carpet Ride for me. Believe me, they've done worse. That's why I love them. Anywho, I do spend more than a little time thinking about how I'd like my "after party" to play out. I'm nothing if not morbid. These things are important to me.    First of all, I want a kegger. Absofuckinglutely. And I want there to be all manner of food just like I like it. Huge portions, bottomless red plastic cups. You get the picture. The music is key and must include Steppenwolf, a fantastic Motown medley, Mony Mony, maybe a Monkees song, a little Led Zeppelin and definitely some Levon Helm. And if there's time left and people are feeling sappy, a couple of Van Morrison songs. I'm thinking as I write this that I want to go to this party. Jeez.    And you know I'll be t
3 comments
Read more