July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Fighting sleep and bad late-night TV (12/05/07)
Back in the Saddle
By By JACK RONALD-
It's 12:30 a.m. or thereabouts, and I've just rolled in.
The Saturday morning paper has been put to bed, even though Saturday is barely half an hour old. If that.
A sensible thing to do would be to go to bed myself.
But newspaper people aren't particularly well known for being sensible.
Having wrapped up page one, edited the local copy for page 2, proofread a couple of pages, and written a basketball story based on a faxed-in scorebook, I'm a little wired.
That, ultimately, may be what television is intended for, helping our minds wind down so we can get some sleep.
I grab the remote and give it a click.
A few minutes later, the dog wanders in. She didn't hear me come in the house, and she seems baffled by my presence in the family room. But finally she gives her ears a good shake and goes off to sleep somewhere else. (By my estimate, she's now asleep more than 75 percent of any given day. When she's not asleep, she has gas, so we'd prefer that she sleep.)
The TV springs to life, and - of course - there's nothing on.
Letterman is wrapping up, making a few jokes that refer to earlier in the evening's show when I was at work. I'll ask my wife in the morning if she saw any of the show, maybe then I'll know what he's talking about.
My ordinary routine would be to wait for "TV's Craig Ferguson" as he likes to call himself in tongue-in-cheek style on "The Late Show." But there's a writer's strike on at the moment.
The previous weekend, I watched the monologue, only to hear jokes dating back to Tom Cruise's wedding, which was eons ago in celebrity time. They were only so-so the first time around and seemed badly frayed as a re-run.
So I grab the remote again and give it a click.
Ah, I think, nothing like a little Jean-Claude Van Damme. He's fighting someone, of course. That's what he does. That's the key element to the plot of all of his movies.
This time, he's fighting some big guy with a bad haircut. Ouch. That must have hurt.
I give the remote a click.
And it's Jerry Springer. Instantly I feel guilty. Watching Springer is like watching a car wreck, compelling but tawdry. Actually, watching Springer makes rubber-necking at a car wreck seem like a meaningful endeavor. There's nothing meaningful here.
I give the remote another click.
Okay, I figure, I can watch this. It's something on HGTV, and a loud young woman is re-doing someone's bathroom.
But she's not just changing the towels or giving the place a fresh coat of paint. She's gutting it and pouring in money by the truckload.
When she mentions a budget that matches the price of our first house, I grab the remote again.
Jean-Claude is getting the better of the big guy. Oh, no, now he's not. Now he's down and bleeding. I find myself wondering how he can take that many kicks to the head.
Another click, and the HGTV gang is knocking down some tile and plaster. Jean-Claude could level that whole wall with just one kick, I figure, and he wouldn't be so bloodied.
Springer beckons, and there's another click.
As some idiot with too many piercings and too little vocabulary bleeps his way across the stage, he's grabbed by the big bald bouncer, Steve, who helps keep a degree of order. I find myself feeling both guilty and stupid that I know Steve's name and that he now has a show of his own.
My sense of self esteem returns a little bit when I remember that I've never actually watched Steve's show, even in the middle of the night.
For all I know, it consists, in its entirety, of him grabbing skinny little guys and fat young women who keep falling out of their dresses while they scream bleeped obscenities at one another.
Now that's entertainment.
Another click, and it's good to know the bathroom is coming along quite nicely, though one of the carpenters looks a lot like the guy that Steve just hauled off the stage.
And the other is taking on a significant resemblance to Jean-Claude Van Damme. He looks as if he'd like to give the loud young host of the show a kick upside the head.
It's about that point that I know one more click is necessary.
Turn it off. It's time to hit the sack.
[[In-content Ad]]
The Saturday morning paper has been put to bed, even though Saturday is barely half an hour old. If that.
A sensible thing to do would be to go to bed myself.
But newspaper people aren't particularly well known for being sensible.
Having wrapped up page one, edited the local copy for page 2, proofread a couple of pages, and written a basketball story based on a faxed-in scorebook, I'm a little wired.
That, ultimately, may be what television is intended for, helping our minds wind down so we can get some sleep.
I grab the remote and give it a click.
A few minutes later, the dog wanders in. She didn't hear me come in the house, and she seems baffled by my presence in the family room. But finally she gives her ears a good shake and goes off to sleep somewhere else. (By my estimate, she's now asleep more than 75 percent of any given day. When she's not asleep, she has gas, so we'd prefer that she sleep.)
The TV springs to life, and - of course - there's nothing on.
Letterman is wrapping up, making a few jokes that refer to earlier in the evening's show when I was at work. I'll ask my wife in the morning if she saw any of the show, maybe then I'll know what he's talking about.
My ordinary routine would be to wait for "TV's Craig Ferguson" as he likes to call himself in tongue-in-cheek style on "The Late Show." But there's a writer's strike on at the moment.
The previous weekend, I watched the monologue, only to hear jokes dating back to Tom Cruise's wedding, which was eons ago in celebrity time. They were only so-so the first time around and seemed badly frayed as a re-run.
So I grab the remote again and give it a click.
Ah, I think, nothing like a little Jean-Claude Van Damme. He's fighting someone, of course. That's what he does. That's the key element to the plot of all of his movies.
This time, he's fighting some big guy with a bad haircut. Ouch. That must have hurt.
I give the remote a click.
And it's Jerry Springer. Instantly I feel guilty. Watching Springer is like watching a car wreck, compelling but tawdry. Actually, watching Springer makes rubber-necking at a car wreck seem like a meaningful endeavor. There's nothing meaningful here.
I give the remote another click.
Okay, I figure, I can watch this. It's something on HGTV, and a loud young woman is re-doing someone's bathroom.
But she's not just changing the towels or giving the place a fresh coat of paint. She's gutting it and pouring in money by the truckload.
When she mentions a budget that matches the price of our first house, I grab the remote again.
Jean-Claude is getting the better of the big guy. Oh, no, now he's not. Now he's down and bleeding. I find myself wondering how he can take that many kicks to the head.
Another click, and the HGTV gang is knocking down some tile and plaster. Jean-Claude could level that whole wall with just one kick, I figure, and he wouldn't be so bloodied.
Springer beckons, and there's another click.
As some idiot with too many piercings and too little vocabulary bleeps his way across the stage, he's grabbed by the big bald bouncer, Steve, who helps keep a degree of order. I find myself feeling both guilty and stupid that I know Steve's name and that he now has a show of his own.
My sense of self esteem returns a little bit when I remember that I've never actually watched Steve's show, even in the middle of the night.
For all I know, it consists, in its entirety, of him grabbing skinny little guys and fat young women who keep falling out of their dresses while they scream bleeped obscenities at one another.
Now that's entertainment.
Another click, and it's good to know the bathroom is coming along quite nicely, though one of the carpenters looks a lot like the guy that Steve just hauled off the stage.
And the other is taking on a significant resemblance to Jean-Claude Van Damme. He looks as if he'd like to give the loud young host of the show a kick upside the head.
It's about that point that I know one more click is necessary.
Turn it off. It's time to hit the sack.
[[In-content Ad]]
Top Stories
9/11 NEVER FORGET Mobile Exhibit
Chartwells marketing
September 17, 2024 7:36 a.m.
Events
250 X 250 AD