TiVo Abuse: It’s a Crime February 28, 2008
Posted by Merujo in age, drama, guilty pleasures, I'm a dork, silliness, the military, TiVo, TV, uniforms.14 comments
Hello. My name is Merujo, and I’m a TiVo abuser.
(Hello, Merujo!)
Okay, I suppose I should clarify that I don’t have a real TiVo. I have the DVR that came with my Verizon FiOS service. Works fine, and as I spend most evenings at home, curled up with the beloved Trinitron, it’s been a lifesaver. Keeps me from going out and spending money and keeps me company when things get a little lonely.
Sounds a little pathetic, no?
Well, just wait – it gets worse and much more pathetic.
Now, first, I have to say that despite looking like the world’s dumpiest middle-aged woman, I am a pretty pop culture-aware chickadee. I have solid taste in tuneage, know my movies, can offer running commentary on any number of current TV shows, and (I’m slightly ashamed to say) I check TMZ.com before CNN.com most mornings. Lord knows, in an age of depressing news, it’s a little uplifting to see that most of us are handling life better than Britney and her millions (and her knocked-up sister and wannabe-author-of-parenting-books mom…)
Yet… deep inside? Apparently, I am a crypt keeper. A slow driver of Buicks. A diner in the early bird special club. An abuser of the DVR.
Sigh.
Here it comes.
I record episodes of “JAG“.
Friggin’ “JAG”… One of the CBS attempts to corner the market on Shows Old People Enjoy.
I’ve made it through seven seasons of “JAG”, I think, since getting the pseudo-TiVo installed. And dear god, I’m still watching.
Now, reading this, you’re probably amazed that those old farts were so rude to me at Dunkin Donuts recently. After all, I think getting hooked on reruns of “JAG” qualifies you instantly for an AARP membership card. Yet I’m a good number of years off that list, thank you very much.
To make this worse, I’ve reached a point in the ten (yes, TEN) years of this show when it had clearly not only jumped the shark, but had dated the shark, spanked the shark, put it in a evening gown and slapped lipstick on it. When was this point, you may ask? (If you’ve stopped laughing at me for watching reruns of “JAG”, that is.) Well, I’ll tell ya…
It was the moment when Marine JAG lawyer, recovering alcoholic, and big-boobied, Farsi-speaking chick Sarah MacKenzie (played by big-boobied, Farsi-speaking Catherine Bell) became… wait for it… psychic.
Yep. Psychic. Out of the blue, she suddenly has visions that help her find missing children, aviators adrift on the ocean, and, apparently in episodes I haven’t seen yet, help her win courtroom cases. Screw the rule of law! I see dead people!
Yeesh.
And yet, I’m still watching, like a heavily medicated retirement home resident.
Now, there are mitigating circumstances. Honest.
First, David James Elliott is kinda hot. And the fact that he’s playing an naval aviator-cum-lawyer makes him even more hot. Well, at least to me it does. Usually, someone with three first names is only seen on the FBI Most Wanted List, but every once in a while, it’s just a tall Canadian actor.
Second, I like courtroom stuff, when it’s done well. I think that comes from watching a lot of “Perry Mason” with my mom when I was a kid. And courtroom drama in uniforms is good.
Third – did I already mention uniforms? I love a good uniform. I used to dig it when the Marines put on their dress duds at the embassy in Moscow. Of course, there was that one time when a Marine got totally wasted and dropped by my apartment to say hello while my mother and a friend were visiting. When sober, this guy was such a delight. He’d bring me Turkish coffee when we were both working midnight shifts. He was smart, well-traveled, and so much fun to talk to. It didn’t hurt that he was also super hot – 6’2″ and a mix of Billy Dee Williams, Douglas Fairbanks and Errol Flynn. (Well, Errol Flynn without the Nazi sympathies, that is.) This time, though, he’d had a snootful and was so out of it, he started hitting on our 70+ -year-old family friend and somehow lost one of his medals in my sofa. But I must say, he was the most dashing drunk in dress blues I ever had over at my place.
But I digress…
So, yeah. It’s entirely possible that I’m really an old person hiding in the body of a middle-aged woman. But there’s hope for me yet! After all, I haven’t started recording old episodes of “Murder, She Wrote” or “Matlock”. Then again, maybe “Murder, She Wrote” wouldn’t be so bad. At least the producers and writers never turned Jessica Fletcher into a psychic crime-solver.
They didn’t, did they?
Sigh.
Pray for me.
Yes, old people hate me, too February 18, 2008
Posted by Merujo in age, bad behavior, decency, morality, self-respect, shame, speaking out, WWII.11 comments
Today I stopped briefly at a Dunkin Donuts to grab a cup of coffee. Yes, it’s true, sometimes I’m unfaithful to my regular coffee buzz at Mayorga. This time, DD was right there and I had a splitting headache. Since the car accident, I’ve found that on days when my back is really killing me, I end up with brain thumping headaches that near migraine pain levels. They come on suddenly and with accompanying nausea to beat the band. Fortunately, I’ve discovered that a cup of coffee will quell at least a measure of the nastiness.
As I walked in, I noticed there was a motley group of eight or nine people – mostly men – in their 70s and 80s at one table and a pair of oldsters at another table. As I hobbled up to the register, the motley guys started to discuss me:
“Who’d wanna date that fatass?”
“Is she yer girlfriend, Bob?”
“Oh hell, not a chance!”
“Heh, she’s my girlfriend, hahahah – just imagine screwing that!”
“Oh god, I’d get lost in the fat, haw haw haw!”
Ooh, y’all just stepped on the toes of the wrong fat chick.
While my coffee was being poured, I turned around to the table and stared at them. They went silent, like children who had just been caught with their hand so deep in the cookie jar it would take a hammer to break ’em out.
At full conversational level I addressed them:
“You know, just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I’m deaf, and just because you’re old doesn’t mean you get a pass for being rude.”
Several heads were bowed. Again, like children, caught.
The one woman in the group shrilly yelled, “I’m sorry, but we’re old!”
I shook my head at them and said, “Oh, come on!”
One man quietly muttered, “I’m sorry.” But no one said anything else.
I got my coffee and started to leave, but then, I stopped. I went over to their table and angrily spoke to them again. “You know, my mother was a veteran of the Second World War – she would be your age if she was still alive. And you know what? In her later years – to her dying day – she never believed that age gave you a right to be rude. And she never used her age as an excuse to say crap to anyone on the basis of their appearance. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
The other table of oldsters had been staring at them coldly throughout their mocking bullshit, and they continued to stare at them as I left.
When the clerk handed me my coffee, she told me they’d called her “white trash” earlier and she thanked me for having said something to them.
Look, I know there are cultures that respect older people simply for being old. I’ve worked in some of those cultures in Central Asia. And, when I’m there, I play by the local rules.
I’m not there now.
Here’s my deal: whenever possible, I grant courtesy to the elderly. My heart aches when I see people dealing with the difficulties of age. I used to cry in Moscow when I saw grandmothers the age of my own mother, trying to survive by selling anything they could out on the street. Absolutely broke my heart.
But, respect? Now, respect is something I grant when warranted. There are plenty of lovely old people in this world. There are plenty of lovely young people in this world. There are plenty of lovely old and young people living good lives, doing good things, being good people. However, there are also a lot of arrested-development asshole-ish old and young people in this world. And frankly, I don’t really care if you’re twenty or fifty or eighty, you don’t get my respect if you mock me (or call the clerk at the donut shop “white trash” for that matter.)
On the other hand, I’ll show you what self-respect is about, buster. If you fought in World War II, you sure as hell know what standing up for decency is about. And being indecent to a stranger makes you look a complete fool.
And my mom will be waiting on the other side to kick yer ass.
Grrr!
Fiercely yours,
Merujo
Church of the Big Sky 