Oh Lana!
Yup. I said it.
See, we don't have cable at home. I wanted my children to grow up realizing that going for walks through the orchard, visiting the barns up the road, riding horses, playing soccer, tearing through the hill trails on mountain bikes, dropping in on friends, painting, cross country skiing, writing stories, dirt biking, snow skiing, helping with the chores, playing cards, or just reading a good book is so much better than sitting on the family room sofa watching people eat worms through a little window.
Since Missus Wife grew up in a traditional American home, she was used to spending quality family time appreciating the nuances of fine television drama. Needless to say, my media-spartan lifestyle has given us ample opportunity over the years to refine our communication skills. A few years ago we stumbled on a compromise that has worked admirably. We buy the CD's of TV series we enjoy and watch them over a week or two. Then we take a break for a few months and start another one.
That's how I became addicted to "24" and almost lost the ability to sleep. "One more," I'd gasp, bleary eyed but too wired to abandon Jack Bauer while he was still trying to defuse an atom bomb duct-taped to his forehead. I suspect I lack the antibodies to attenuate the impact of good drama on my Luddite psyche. The problems of the protagonists become my problems.
I got some respite with the "Grey's Anatomy" series, which Missus Wife and the girls enjoyed. I would occasionally get hooked, but most of the time I could take it or leave it.
But then my younger daughter brought home "Smallville." She begged me to watch it with her. She aims to engage in holy matrimony with the character who plays the young Clark Kent and giggles at the very sight of him. It seemed like a wholesome show, so what's the harm, I thought.
Well into season three, I'm a tangled web of rattled nerves and lovesick disappointment. I can hardly bear to get up in the morning, but can't live without my fix in the evening. I've been known to watch a fifth episode in a row, just to see whether my characters --and therefore, my-- deepest yearnings are fulfilled.
Which explains my current nocturnal accommodations on the family room sofa. Saying the wrong thing in an unguarded um.... moment... to Missus Wife will get you grounded faster than taking your Daddy's tricked out Trans Am for a joy ride with your bestest pals.
I have a plan, however. I'll sleep in my own bed again just as soon as I can get Missus Wife to utter "Oh Lex," with the same unbridled passion
.
See, we don't have cable at home. I wanted my children to grow up realizing that going for walks through the orchard, visiting the barns up the road, riding horses, playing soccer, tearing through the hill trails on mountain bikes, dropping in on friends, painting, cross country skiing, writing stories, dirt biking, snow skiing, helping with the chores, playing cards, or just reading a good book is so much better than sitting on the family room sofa watching people eat worms through a little window.
Since Missus Wife grew up in a traditional American home, she was used to spending quality family time appreciating the nuances of fine television drama. Needless to say, my media-spartan lifestyle has given us ample opportunity over the years to refine our communication skills. A few years ago we stumbled on a compromise that has worked admirably. We buy the CD's of TV series we enjoy and watch them over a week or two. Then we take a break for a few months and start another one.
That's how I became addicted to "24" and almost lost the ability to sleep. "One more," I'd gasp, bleary eyed but too wired to abandon Jack Bauer while he was still trying to defuse an atom bomb duct-taped to his forehead. I suspect I lack the antibodies to attenuate the impact of good drama on my Luddite psyche. The problems of the protagonists become my problems.
I got some respite with the "Grey's Anatomy" series, which Missus Wife and the girls enjoyed. I would occasionally get hooked, but most of the time I could take it or leave it.
But then my younger daughter brought home "Smallville." She begged me to watch it with her. She aims to engage in holy matrimony with the character who plays the young Clark Kent and giggles at the very sight of him. It seemed like a wholesome show, so what's the harm, I thought.
Well into season three, I'm a tangled web of rattled nerves and lovesick disappointment. I can hardly bear to get up in the morning, but can't live without my fix in the evening. I've been known to watch a fifth episode in a row, just to see whether my characters --and therefore, my-- deepest yearnings are fulfilled.
Which explains my current nocturnal accommodations on the family room sofa. Saying the wrong thing in an unguarded um.... moment... to Missus Wife will get you grounded faster than taking your Daddy's tricked out Trans Am for a joy ride with your bestest pals.
I have a plan, however. I'll sleep in my own bed again just as soon as I can get Missus Wife to utter "Oh Lex," with the same unbridled passion
.
dude you crack me up, I agree on the limited watching of the TV and focusing on being active instead of a bump on the couch
Posted by Dan Lacher on August 31, 2007 at 10:10 AM EDT #
Excellent taste.
Bad timing. But excellent taste.
Posted by Charlie Martin on September 14, 2007 at 01:42 PM EDT #