teeeveeee

I remember watching a forgettable movie/program where a character laments something about suburbanites isolating themselves with cable TV. Ever since the household upgraded to Verizon's FiOS, my face time with the boob tube has increased 200%. Which means my suburban visa has been extended.

I mean it's exciting to know that I can watch GOLDEN GIRLS on not only Hallmark Channel, but also WETV and the Family Network. Let's talk about how easy it is to eat your feelings on estrogen alley that spans from Lifetime Movie Network to Soap Opera Net.. The liberal in me wants to watch currentTV all day where 20something newscasters say shit like "yeah, man, things in Palestine are totally messed up" (direct quote) while the art fag wants to watch documentaries about Jeff Koons and Ray Johnson on Ovation TV (MAKE LIFE CREATIVE). The real fag snickers at Logo(and cringes at old US Queer as Folk episodes), but I pay my fairy dues by watching shows like Beautiful People which oddly resembles my sissy middle school years. And then there's the guilty pleasures of Degrassi marathons where I wish my high school years were that dramatic. Though NYC Prep on Bravo hits too close to home.

For other members of the household: My Dad, the WWII history buff, can escape to 5 History Channels, including THE MILITARY CHANNEL (???). My mom can redecorate our house again by following tips from not only HGTV, but also DIY, which sadly does not take place in a West Philly basement show, but in the collective cul-de-sac of boom years past.

The upside: I am so ready for water cooler conversations that I always avoided and can pick up any meeting with clients by referencing the Office. Downside: holy shit I stay up all night watching Twin Peaks marathons on the Crime and Investigation Network. I am currently terrified that Laura Palmer's murderer is going to dice me up and James (<3)/Agent Cooper are twenty years too old to save me.

THE DAY AND LIFE OF A CRIP ON THE MEND

Every morning at 7:30, I am summoned downstairs for a breakfast of Kashi's Autumn Wheat cereal, a cup of Lipton hot tea with SweetNLow, and an orange from the farmer's market down the road. This is after I inject myself with Lovenox, which unfortunately does not make me more desirable as the name suggests, but surely prevents blood clots from forming in my atrophied leg.

Meanwhile my father, a dependable chap, follows me as he juggles a tote bag of miscellaneous items, a cushion to prop up my leg, and the commode that provides support when I perform bowel movements. Which is like waiting for Old Faithful to erupt on schedule. Regardless, such performances are very important to record for the visiting nurse, who comes 2-3 times per week.

In the kitchen, my mother is anxious to the pour the milk so I try my best to hobble down the two flights of stairs. Once I arrive, I plop in a large armchair, adjust my leg in an upright position, and turn on the TV. I think Cybill is on Lifetime. Welcome to my new office.




This is not a charmed life, but one of mandatory leisure. I am now subject to bad television, writing poems about pinball machines, and verbose blogging for the Twitter crowd. All under the influence of Vicodin. If I sound like Bea Arthur (RIP), it's because Golden Girls comes on 9am on the Hallmark Channel.