If you watch a lot of TV, you’re not considered well-viewed
Two weeks had gone by and I had racked up an unimpressive slew of meetings. My dad wanted to hear about my progress but I wasn’t sure if he’d either enjoy my sagas, or pity his single daughter. I had shared some of my more mild dates with him, and I knew he was patiently waiting for me to call him up one day with a success story of an actual second date. He wanted to know if I had a nice time with that nice accountant I was off to meet the other evening.
“Bill was boring, just like every other Bill I’ve ever dated. Just boring and simple, and I’m not being harsh. We were sitting in yet another Santana Row eatery, where he was telling me that he loved television and would come home to it every night after work. He’d look at his dating profiles and see no responses, then retreat to his plush recliner, where he would then lower himself complacently into his abyss of an evening by clicking the remote. He had zero enthusiasm about it and knew that it was pathetic that he was even telling me about it, much less living it.
“Nothing interested him, nothing moved him, and nothing did much of anything for him. So how could I expect this guy to carry a relationship, or even an engaging conversation? So I thought I’d take the ball into my court with Bill and tell a story of my relationship with television. You know, the Mary Tyler Moore, story?”
He knew it, alright. I was a full-time ballroom dancer back in 1992-93, when my dance partner (and boyfriend) suddenly decided to move to New York and get his Ph.D. in philosophy. I was heartbroken and had to quit my dancing gig because I didn’t have another partner. Right away I started volunteering in the news department at KBOO-FM, and in short order I became a news anchor. Despite the great new job, I was still so crushed over my break-up that I would chain-smoke cigarettes and stay up late, pondering why he left, and how crappy I felt over it.
Late one evening I happened to watch The Mary Tyler Moore Show on Nick at Nite, and I felt a gleam of hope. Mary worked in a news department, just like me. The opening credits showed her walking in the park, washing her car, shopping at the grocery store, and finally tossing her hat up into the air joyously because she was going to make it after all. I started to live for eleven PM to watch Mary. She was able to enjoy home-cooked meals for herself, shake her head at man-crazy Rhoda, and basically just be okay alone. She was inspiring and comforting, and she made me feel that I would be okay after all, too. For about a month I didn’t miss an episode, and then one day I said goodbye to her. I even sent her a letter to tell her that she helped me get over my heartbreak, and I thanked her sincerely. I never heard back, but can you really blame her?
“Bill just looked at me and said he’d never seen the show. Can you say stick in the mud? Bill was duller than watching paint dry.”
“Well, Liz...” I can hear the wind up in my father’s voice. He is ready to deliver one of his famous insights, and he never fails in his timing.
“I guess if you read a lot of books, you’re considered well-read. But if you watch a lot of TV, you’re not considered well-viewed.”