Sunday, July 12, 2020

tv party

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I am an outspoken smart-ass who makes fun of everything. If you are a fan of my Facebook page, you know that I have an unnatural affection (or did I just spell "obsession" wrong) for dead celebrities and the anniversaries of when they acquired that dubious title. If you are a reader of my illustration blog — either new, occasional or loyal — you have seen my dark portraits of the unsung, the recently deceased and my skewed vision of the world around me.

But, if you only follow me on Instagram, you probably think I have lost my mind completely.

Since I have been sequestered in my house for nearly... what are we up to? ..... seventeen weeks, I've been looking for things to do. Sure, I do my best to help around the house. I bring the dirty laundry down to the basement when asked. I gather and take the trash out to the curb on Tuesday nights for pick up on Wednesday morning. Then I bring the receptacles back up to our driveway. Every Saturday, Mrs. Pincus and I sweep and clean the house (mostly) from top to bottom. I even got the hang of using a Swiffer, that ingenious cleaning implement I've seen guys effortlessly guide around their spotless apartments on rather-effective television commercials. I still find myself waking up daily at 6 AM, just because of the routine I'm used to. I make myself breakfast, then park myself in front of the television. Ah, television. My friend since I was a child, television is reliable and always ready to entertain with something new or something comforting and familiar that I've seen a zillion times and can watch a zillion times more. And now, since the advent of cable, on demand and streaming services, I am never ever without something to watch.

Daytime television is strange and I'm really not sure who is its target audience. There's a lot of news. There's also game shows, soap operas, talk shows and reruns of "classic" TV shows. That's where I come in. But, based on the commercials wedged between the programming, I would like to think that I am too young to be the demographic... but, alas, I am probably not. I don't think I need a reverse mortgage, a smoother-to-insert catheter or a pillow that's endorsed by Jesus himself. But, television thinks otherwise. I just want to watch the television shows that entertained me as a child and teenager. Stupid, mindless, nearly plotless episodes of programs from a time devoid of real problems. Sure, I lost my job six weeks into this harrowing pandemic, but Beaver Cleaver losing his first baseman's mitt seems like a more pressing issue.

My typical weekday finds me shoveling Honey Nut Cheerio-s into my mouth to the accompaniment of a forty year-old episode of The Partridge Family on retro broadcaster Antenna TV. Next, my preferences lead me to The Beverly Hillbillies, then My Three Sons and two — count 'em — two episodes of Leave It to Beaver, all courtesy of the wonderful Me-TV network. Then, I grab the remote and switch to TBS, where I'll catch back-to-back showings of Seinfeld (yes, I know. The celebrated "show about nothing" doesn't quite fit into the same realm as the aforementioned sitcoms, but, I remind you that Seinfeld broadcast its last "yada-yada" 22 years ago.)

Now, I am faced with a choice. I can watch Friends, a show that on recent viewings has proven to be inconsistent in its humor and uncomfortably sexist, misogynistic, racist and homophobic than I remember. Or I can watch The Lucy Show, a mid-Sixties attempt by Lucille Ball to ride the popularity of her ground-breaking I Love Lucy, but without the comedic benefit of Desi Arnaz, William Frawley and Vivian Vance. I have seen every episode of the "classic" 50s sitcom more times that I can count. For the longest time I hated it, until I realized what I hated about it. It was Lucy. The other three stars were hysterical, evoking genuine organic laughter. Lucy, however, was so incredibly annoying and unfunny as compared to her co-stars, she made the show unbearable. Why do I choose to watch The Lucy Show, then? Well, the first three (of its inexplicable six) seasons featured Vivian Vance... and I love Vivian Vance, just for the simple fact that she remained loyal to Lucy for so long, considering Lucy's treatment of her (weight demands, second billing). By season four, Viv had had it and left the show. Despite that, Lucy had a lot of big name, show-biz connections and she managed to get every one of her friends to appear in some stupid scenario or make-shift showcase for their particular talent. I like celebrities and Lucy knew how to get 'em.

After The Lucy Show, I stick with Decades network for two episodes of The Donna Reed Show and Petticoat Junction. Sometimes, I'll switch to Dennis the Menace and Hazel, but I always come back for the gentle heartwarming adventures of my personal favorite Family Affair. By this time, it's afternoon and I'll watch The Middle, a recent sitcom which my wife and I discovered late in its original run,  but found to be very funny. Or I'll draw a picture in our third-floor office while an episode of the Nickelodeon teen sitcom iCarly plays in the background. (Don't knock it. The show, created by former actor wunderkind Dan Schneider, is chock full of clever humor that appeals to parents as well as kids.)

A little while ago — I forget exactly when, since  the concept of time is no longer relevant — I began using the magic of the Xfinity remote that works with my X1 advanced enhanced cable service (that I pay waaaaay too much for) to pause live television. I have been watching so much old TV that I have begun to see current celebrities in small, unassuming roles in forty and fifty year-old shows. Respected actors have popped up in comedies and Westerns. Familiar TV stars show up long before their fame exploded in a role to which they became so closely associated. Then, there's the same small group of actors whose names are forgotten (except by me) but whose faces are instantly recognizable in the dozens of roles they've played in dozens of shows. 

So, I regularly pause the show I'm watching, snap a picture (or two) of a particular celebrity and I post it to Instagram, to share with the world... or at least those that share my special brand of insanity. I have seen a number of actors in unlikely roles, like Jack Nicholson as a panicked father of a lost baby in The Andy Griffith Show or Angie Dickinson in full Native American makeup and costume in an episode of Gunsmoke. Mrs. Pincus has even joined in, tracking the guest stars in shows that she watches but I just can't sit through. Kathy Garver, "Cissy" from Family Affair, in Big Valley was a  great recent find. 

I even get requests from followers. Just today, a guy asked for a scene from a particular episode of The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. I get "likes" from relatives of the star in question... and sometimes the star herself, as proven by a "like" from Morgan Fairchild on a recent post acknowledging her appearance in Mork and Mindy. See? I'm not alone in my madness.

Now, if I can only figure out a way to make this little hobby profitable. Before someone has me committed.

Follow along and join the my fun.... josh pincus is crying on Instagram.

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