Since moving to Chicago I have lived something resembling a caveman-like existence. In this age of flat screen televisions and cellular telephones that can stalk your friends and this new fangled "On Demand" hooliganism and that "Interwebs" hootenanny, I've managed to get by for the most part on a television attached to a Playstation 2 that can play most (but not all) DVDs.
People would ask me "What's your favorite show?" and I would say "Arrested Development" and they would say "Didn't they cancel that?" and I would say "Yeah, it's a shame" and then they would say "That show hasn't been on in forever" and I would say "I just watch the DVDs over and over and over again."
Ask Othic. He'll tell you.
This changed just slightly when I moved into my newest hole-in-the-wall studio apartment last October, when I discovered that I could get network television by plugging my television into a left-over cable that was left stranded in the middle of the room.
All right, Topping! Now you're only half a century behind everyone else!
The primary benefit of this new setup is that I am now able to watch the larger sporting events without having to meander my way to a bar.
However, the dreaded TV has slowly begun to creep more and more into my daily life.
First it was the evening news, so that I could keep up on my current events. Then it was late-night, something to help calm me down at the end of the night. Then I started falling asleep with the TV on and I started to watch the morning show as well. And then I'd leave the TV on while I was trying to do other productive stuff, like writing.
Sunday, though, I reached a new low. I spent the evening presumably "learning a new monologue" which rapidly deteriorated into watching the season premier of Celebrity Apprentice.
Celebrity Apprentice is just an excuse for Donald Trump to yell at a bunch of has-beens and 'famous people' who had up until the show been unknown to me. That's all it is. It's mind popcorn.
Yet there I was, glued to the TV, somehow surprised that Andrew Dice Clay is kind of a douche-bag and that Dennis Rodman is still kind of a freak.
And then, after watching Trump fire Andrew Dice Clay, I thought to myself "Good, that's the decision I would have HOLY SHIT, WHAT AM I DOING?!"
I had half a mind to unplug everything from the wall and just sit there and recuperate from the psychic shock of the realization that I just watched a full two hours of Joan Rivers' shiny plastic face.
But as I was about to pull the plug, I saw the soft pixilated light of the TV dancing temptingly before my very eyes. The TV seemed to sing to me. "Late night news is next! Pistons highlights!" So I sat back down.
Somebody please help me.