August 28, 2002

Daytime television dreaded disease

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Last week, during a bought of summer sickness, I found myself succumbing to a dreaded disease - daytime television.
      Thankfully, Extra Strength Tylenol and weak remote control batteries cured what ailed me.
      Undoubtedly a precursor of crud to come, I picked up this vile virus from my angelic five-month old. So while a fully recovered Ella was playing at daycare, a despondent daddy was collapsed on the couch. Unfortunately, there is little you can do about summer sickness besides drink plenty of fluids, take your medicine and fall asleep watching bad television.
      Now I've tried reading books, but my weakened spine is no match - even for paperbacks. My powers of concentration are so diminished, I might ingest pulp fiction for its Vitamin C content. So instead I stare - eyes glazed over, mouth slightly agape - at the tungsten light.
      Much like a medical induced coma, daytime television also shuts down higher brain functions. Cognitive thinking is thrown out the cerebrum. My mind nearly flatlines on sappy soap operas, Judge Judy, trashy talk shows, pompous political pundits and eye-candy cartoons.
      Nothing makes me home sick, however, like TV reruns.
      Staying home from school as a kid, I'd begged to "sleep" out on the couch. Whether it was chicken pox or a mysterious case of math test-itis, I'd sneak in an episode of "Bewitched" or "Andy Griffith" between the obligatory 40 winks. Although it was painfully ironic watching "Happy Days" with the dry heaves.
      Growing up in the less-than-golden age of television, I can still hum the theme songs to "CHiPs," "Different Strokes," and the "Jeffersons" - all in minor key. Perhaps it is fitting that awful TV shows make me feel better. One mind-numbing episode of "Silver Spoons" easily equals 600 milligrams of Motrin. Just be careful not to take "B.J. and the Bear" in combination with "The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo" or you risk severe overdose.
      While you should not operate heavy machinery while medicated, it is the perfect time for sitcom plot lines. Even in the throws of 102.4 fever, you can take a trip to "Gilligan's Island" or come aboard "The Love Boat" - they've been expecting you.
      If you do fall asleep, rest assured the Professor's coconut-powered rocketship will be destroyed by Gilligan. After all, no one would bother to build something useful; like a boat.
      Although I didn't wash ashore on any Fantasy Island while channel surfing last week, I nearly drowned in a riptide of reruns. One too many "Three's Company" episodes. It got so bad, laugh tracks started sounding funny. Thankfully, the fever broke mere minutes before a "Matlock" marathon.
      Curiously, NBC has devoted an entire hour to this phenomena. The program is called "The Rerun Show" and it is television about bad television. The mental pygmy who green-lighted this show must have been home with the flu. No wonder Fred Allen said television is called a medium because anything good on it is rare.
      Although I'm feeling better now, the dreaded daytime television disease could strike again. I wonder if Dr. David Banner makes house calls?
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com