Sayonara, Comcast

I haven’t paid for cable in seven years, though for the bulk of that time I enjoyed more than eighty channels of television entertainment. No, I wasn’t stealing. I simply plugged the cable into my set and it worked: not my fault that Comcast didn’t have their shit together. Well, yesterday they axe finally fell. And of course I knew it was coming, all those commercials about the big digital cable changeover had me worried from the first. I thought my concerns were fully manifested a month ago, when my available channels were reduced to only about 30. But when I got home and turned on the tube at 6:00 last night, there was nothing but ethereal fuzz. I was crestfallen.

I’ve been a television junky since my first memory. It’s my most embarrassing addiction, because I like to think of myself as a reader. Four, five hours in an evening: that’s nothing for me. How many times have I wasted an entire day hung over in bed watching the idiot box? I shudder to think of it.

My problem began when I was a child watching reruns. Leave it to Beaver, The Brady Bunch, The Jeffersons, Lost in Space, Father Knows Best, The White Shadow: all of these and dozens more were like surrogate parents to me. Of course, I watched contemporary shows as well. My brother and I would sneak out of our rooms late at night to watch The Morton Downey Jr. Show: a pioneer in the field of crap, a man a decade ahead of his time, half Michael Savage, half Jerry Springer. Hanna-Barbera cartoons were also an important ingredient in the mind numbing cocktail, Scooby Doo, Hong Kong Phooey and Captain Caveman being particular favorites.

So many of my fondest memories are built around the hearth-fire that is the television. In college, we used to gather together, guys and gals, to watch the newest episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 or Melrose Place. It was a much smaller, more select group of connoisseurs that got together Sunday at midnight to take bong hits and watch Thunder in Paradise, an awful adventure drama about a hero and his Scarab super boat which starred Hulk Hogan and Carol Alt. During its first season, we must have seen ninety percent of the Conan O’Brien Show offerings. I can remember all of us knowing with perfect certainty that such intelligent comedy could never last. And now Andy Richter is back on the show and it has taken the place of Jay Leno.

So what now? Should I break down and pay for cable? Or perhaps I should go out and buy one of those digital tuner boxes to get the basic airwaves activated. What about football? The season is just beginning. (Interesting timing, Comcast assholes.) The cheap part of me just wants to say fuck it – I’ll live without the television. But in the end, I’ll probably break down. I don’t know if I can get along without it.