I’d love to look down my nose and proclaim that I’m above investing my time in the vast wasteland that is television and that I spend my time reading classic literature instead, but that would be a lie. Unless you consider Little Critter classic literature.
No, the reason I don’t watch much television is because apparently I’ve got time management issues. I don’t have time to watch TV. I want to watch TV, I want to join in the conversation about what’s going on with Jim and Pam at The Office or who Simon is ripping to shreds, but I just don’t ever seem to have an opportunity to park it in front of the television. By the time I get my tribe fed and bathed and in bed, it’s way past prime time. And if my tribe is not in bed, there’s no watching TV. There are only interruptions interrupted by interruptions with a lot of swashbuckling and explosion sound effects in between interruptions.
And yes, for the record, I know of this Tivo thing, but we don’t have it. We might like to get Tivo but unless someone breaks in our house and installs it for us, we’re not getting Tivo because in order to get Tivo we would have to make a decision to get Tivo and then where to get Tivo and is Tivo better than something else and then there would be months of research and spread sheets and comparison shopping until such time as Tivo became obsolete. Which is why we still have VHS. We are not in the technodark due to lack of money, but due to our lack of ability to make a technodecision.
So then. By the time I get to sit down and watch TV it is well after prime time and what’s on always seems to be The Deadliest Catch.
Ergo, I have become addicted to The Deadliest Catch. While all the cool kids are watching Lost and American Idol and The Office, I’m watching men out at sea in need of a bath and a shave.
True to my nerdy form, I never seem to be in on what everyone else in the country is talking about around the water cooler. Back in the 90s while the rest of the country watched that new show, ER with Dr. Ross and Nurse Hathaway, I chose to watch Chicago Hope with uh, can’t remember. ER is still on (although it is a very sad and tired show that jumped the shark so many seasons ago) whereas Chicago Hope lasted about two seasons. That’s me — always on the trailing edge of what’s hot and happenin’.
That I am so invested in a show about crab fishing is perplexing given that it takes so very little to make me seasick. Seriously. One time AD took me to a lovely bayside restaurant in Sausalito, one that sits out on piers over the water. He made sure we were seated at a window table so that we could hold hands across the table and gaze out upon the water. About halfway through the meal I was so green that I had to go outside and lay down on a park bench. All that to say, watching the fishing boats rise and fall, and dip and sway in the swirling and churning icy waters, even on the small screen, makes me a little green. In fact, just typing that sentence made me a little queasy – yet I can’t turn away from my crab fishermen.
I don’t know what it is about that show that is so captivating. It is just this sexy combination of soap opera, danger, roughneck bad boys and um, crabs. I pathetically know all the names of all the boats, the crews, the captains and how many pounds of crabs they have caught and how they are ranked among the other boats. When I drive by Red Lobster or peer into the seafood case at the grocery store I wonder if those crabs came from Sig’s boat, The Northwestern or maybe Phil’s boat, the Cornelia Marie. And then I wonder how Phil is doing with that blood clot and why can’t Phil and his sons get along b’cause I know deep down they really love each other.
So yes, while the rest of gals are swooning over Jim’s unkempt hair and the way he mugs for Pam and the camera, Sig is my TV boyfriend. Jim sells paper, but Sig – he drives the boat.
You have Jim at the office. I have Sig. He drives the boat.