UNTIL they took away our Regis, we hadn’t a clue how vulnerable we’d become.
TV is something my generation doesn’t really need, but simply cannot live without. Like caffeine, hair mousse, and endless reruns of “Gilligan’s Island.”
We’ve evolved into a people, especially in Manhattan, who can survive with virtually no human contact of any kind. Just don’t take away “All My Children.” Then, we’ll have to hurt you.
This week, we’ve seen how a media titan can toy with our well-being by cutting off our TV supply on a whim. In the wake of the excruciating Time Warner-Disney crisis, there is but one solution to regaining control of our lives:
Throw the TV set out the window.
Crack a book, America. Listen to music. Get to know the children. Talk. Dance. Kiss. Sleep.
Take a deep breath – and cancel your account with Time Warner Cable.
You can do it. I know you can.
It’s hard to believe, but hundreds of thousands of previous generations went from cradle to grave without for a second wondering who shot J.R., who might replace Kathie Lee as World’s Most Annoying Talk Show Host, or who will take the next bullet on “NYPD Blue.”
It was barely 60 years ago, a historical blip, that some diabolical minds got a notion to enslave the race with an addiction so powerful, it would be responsible for profligate consumer spending, the abandonment of social graces, and the expansion of waistlines from coast-to-coast.
Until this week, the idea of how helpless we are in the face of long-term TV addiction was something to which we never gave a thought.
The harsh realization hit me square in the face, at 7 p.m. Monday, as I flipped on the remote to Channel 7. Instead of the comforting visage of Alex Trebek, I was greeted by an infuriating printed message, zapped into my house against my will by the folks who regularly supply my TV needs.
While I was jonesin’ for “Jeopardy!” Time Warner was playing with my head, like a kitten with string.
Time Warner may blame Disney for this state of affairs. But as the monopoly dealer of the TV drug to most of these parts, it is Time Warner who holds us hostage.
It may backfire. By pulling off a single channel of programming, Big Brother tipped his hand.
Each month, we pay the cable bill with barely a grumble. But what’s to stop the company from doubling the cost of a TV fix? Or more!
Tony Soprano, explaining why he greedily gobbled up a gambling addict’s money, said, “It’s my nature.”
Next time we sign that cable check, we’ll be reminded that Time Warner’s nature is about as pure.
We were warned.
Back in the prehistoric “Flintstones” age – the 1970s – attempts were made to scare us straight. In the pre-cable era, most New Yorkers were content to make do with seven channels, free of charge. Technical difficulties were resolved not with a humiliating phone call to “customer service” cretins at Time Warner, but with a sharp whack of the hand on the TV set.
Movie theaters in those days, frightened of competition from the infant “Pay TV” industry, encouraged customers to sign petitions in protest. Start paying for TV, they warned, and there’ll be no turning back.
How prophetic.
Today, there is no one left to protest. So tonight, when I get home, my goal is to play with the kid, read a book, balance my checkbook, call Mom and complete the great American novel.
Or not.
Miss Regis again? I don’t think so.