Oh teevee, how I love your warm glowing warming glow. How I loathe season finales and the barren, tumbleweed months of summer. How I anticipate with mental salivation season and series premieres. How I appreciate your ole college try at filling the dead zone with juicy material and the attempted subterfuge of staggering your cable programming to keep my subscription current. How I want to junk punch you for mini-seasons that barely get going before yet another quarter or more hiatus.
The premium channels started this nonsense because any one with an IQ over the height limit at Disneyland and an income under it, cancelled their subscription at the seasons end and picked it up again for the next premiere. It worked swimmingly for a while because there was not enough programming available on each channel to spread them out or to justify the exorbitant cost of year round subscription.
Sixteen dollars a month. Per channel. Cha and ching. On top of the ungodly amount you’re already paying for the privilege of wading through the ten million and twenty seven reality shows about the bottled water delivery dude or the man who’s addicted to licking the lint off cats backs and the woman who loves him to find the three mostly decent shows that cling with adamantium laced claws to the walls of the networks.
Now, you’re gonna wanna pay the man his dolla, dolla bills, y’all. Because what the man is dishing out is primo stuff. For the most part. And once you’ve had that top notch visual smack honey, you ain’t never going back. Find a deal. Make it work. Turning yourself out for just one.more.episode.
So, you found a deal. Made it work. Turned yourself out. You’re reveling in the weekly dip in the pool. Six episodes in, twelve if you’re lucky, the plug is pulled and you’re back in a holding pattern for another few months minimum. In the case of True Blood, which is a vile and shameful bit of smack, you’ll wait until next summer. Twelve episodes is barely enough to get your motor appropriately revved. And then, there you are, all hot under the collar, with nothing but your imagination to look forward to.
Of course this doesn’t hinder me. I’ve been juicing since the way back. Dream On, Fraggle Rock, Tales From the Crypt. And now there is just so much more to sink your teeth into. Between the Big Two, HBO and SHO, I watch 15 current series and there are many, many more to choose from. Some of those I refuse to watch because I can’t take any more of this dicking around or the time it takes to consume another show. Some I don’t watch because I believe reality teevee is better left to the more plebeian cable channels like TLC, CMT or, sadly, SyFy.
But you better watch out, Pusher Man. The Interwebbies are coming for your women(your dudes too, but less poetically). I already subscribe to multiple shows on Youtube and I’ve got a feeling that it only gets better from here. Remember the 80′s when you were breaking new ground with your nudity and cursing and network smashing creativity. Think that, times unlimited, plus free. Beware and be wary. Someone’s about to All About Eve your ass.