December Mailbag (Year In Review Edition)

December 2009: the end of a year, a decade, and (sure, why not) an era.

No matter who you are or where your pop cultural allegiances lay, the past year (and past several years) brought plenty to your proverbial table. It's maybe the happiest byproduct of an increasingly accelerated culture: there's a ton of stuff to choose from. Don't like something? Wait ten minutes.

Of course, every blogger, magwriter, talking head, headshrinker, podcaster, and lieutenant of taste is searching for a way to sum up this decade. Everyone wants the all-inclusive cultural stamp that will give the Zeroes a cohesiveness they've thus-far evaded. Nine years later, we haven't even decided what to call this decade (Oughts, Zeroes, O's?), much less how to describe it. It's been said (a lot) that the hallmark of this year--and, in a way, this decade--is how disjointed, incongruous, and difficult to summarize it's been. In 2029, what will we remember as definitive of this era? What pop cultural offerings (films, albums, TV shows, celebrities) will be remembered as typifying American life?

These questions--and a few others--are on the minds of the Blog's readers.

So let's tackle them in December's Mailbag!

(As always, these are questions from actual readers. If you'd like to send one in, just drop me a line! chris@chrismilam.com)

Hey Chris! A while back, you listed some Best Of the Decade nominees for people to vote for. Who were the winners, and what got your vote?
--Ben, Los Angeles

Because of some bad Blogger gadgets, real vote-collecting was rendered impossible. However, I did get a sense from FB/Twitter/email where most folks were leaning. There wasn't a real consensus; if anything, the general consensus was that there is no consensus. People voted more for the "Other" option than anything. This is interesting for a few reasons:

1) It supports my original hypothesis: a Decade Best-Of consensus would be difficult because this decade was defined by fragmented culture, niche-driven media, and highly specialized fanship.

2) People also didn't agree on what constitutes "pop culture," or at least didn't agree with my basic premise: for something to define (or top) an entire decade, more than twelve people had to like it.

3) The closest thing to a consensus is that hip hop's biggest singles had a greater impact and more relevance than those of the other genres. In other words, U2, Bruce, and even Radiohead couldn't touch Outkast, Kanye, and Jay-Z. This is also interesting for the sheer number of people who state, "I like everything, except rap." Yet there's this wordless understanding (among people that don't like rap) that the decade's best hip hop hits probably came the closest to defining this era.

4) If there is a current King of Pop, it's Justin Timberlake. There is an almost universal, overwhelming recognition of/respect for his celebrity in 2009. Considering his image in 1999 , this is a little surprising.

In the interest of full-disclosure, I'll give you my votes for each category. If you'd like to see the full breakdown and nominees, just click here.

Best Rock Album - Green Day, American Idiot
A slightly unexpected pick, since I've rated 21st Century Breakdown above American Idiot, and both were made this decade. They're both remarkable albums--I just happen to like the songs on 21CB a little more. I don't think there's any question, however, that American Idiot was more accurately of its time; 21st Century Breakdown feels like the first record of a new decade more than the last record of this one.
Listen Here: American Idiot

Best Singer/Songwriter Album - Josh Ritter, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter
This is a tough one to call. The mainstream media pick would be either:
1) John Mayer (probably Continuum), because he was the biggest new singer/songwriter of the Oughts, and he seems to have a requisite amount of "Seriousness" to make him a respectable pick.
2) Bruce Springsteen (The Rising), because these whippersnappers ain't got nothing on the Boss, man.
I don't agree with either, because I think better pop albums were made than Mayer's, and better topical albums were made than Springteen's.

The unhappy median would be Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes (I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning/Digital Ash In a Digital Urn), because:
1) He's of this generation.
2) He's "serious," and "topical," and "political," and "these things mattered in the 2000's."
3) Bright Eyes were a seminal band under the greater tent of whatever-people-mean-when-they-say-emo. And, for better or worse, "emo" was an advent of this decade.
Again, this isn't satisfactory, because there were better "serious," "topical," "political," and "stylistically influential" albums this decade, too--albeit less popular.

So, I'm picking what I believe was the best collection of songs released by a singer/songwriter: Josh Ritter's The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. No atmospheric crooner can touch "Wait for Love," no nascent lyricist can touch "To the Dogs or Whoever," and nobody, period, can top "The Last Temptation of Adam." It's simply the best collection of songs by a singer/songwriter this decade--it just so happens singer/songwriters weren't especially popular this decade.
Listen Here: The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter

Best Hip Hop Album - Outkast, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below
As much as I love The Black Album and College Dropout, they came out in the wrong era. The moment Speakerboxxx/The Love Below dropped, everyone else was playing for second.
Listen Here: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below

Best Pop/R&B Album - Amy Winehouse, Back to Black
There's little doubt that it's Timberlake's Popworld and we're all just living in it, but Amy Winehouse had the best--and most relevant--pop album of the Oughts.
Listen Here: Back To Black

Best Rock Single - MGMT, "Time to Pretend"
This was a hard choice, especially because it's nowhere near my favorite rock single. But a vote from my brother (then, oddly enough, ESPN's Sports Guy) got me thinking: there might've been bigger singles, and there might have been personal favorites (mine was My Morning Jacket's "One Big Holiday"). But there was no better rock hit in the Zeroes than "Time to Pretend." It's a twisted, re-imagined Teenage Wasteland, obsessed with celebrity, easy success, and stunted emotional growth. It's equal parts earnest and ironic, rocking and electronic, contemporary and futuristic, dreamy and nightmarish. It sounds like two hypersmart kids trying to put the final nail in rock's coffin--and subsequently bringing it back to life.

Best Hip Hop/Pop Single - Outkast, "Hey Ya"
Truly, the best hip-hop single of the O's was from 1999: Outkast's "B.O.B." Never one to retread old paths, "Hey Ya" focused on the individual warfare of a single relationship, rather than the cultural warfare depicted in "B.O.B." You won't hear "Bush," or "terrorism," or "Paris Hilton" in "Hey Ya"; you'll hear the best, most multi-faceted, bittersweet, jubilant depiction of a relationship gone wrong this side of 2000. And you will hear perhaps the most all-encompassing throwaway lyric of all-time, "Y'all don't wanna hear me/you just wanna dance." I can't think of a better epitaph for the Oughts.

Best TV Comedy - The Office
For transcendent comedy, only Arrested Development's masterful three seasons can compete with The Office's best work. However, AD's influence was limited by its niche audience, while The Office shifted the paradigm of American network comedies. Like Seinfeld in the 90's, it's that rare, great, groundbreaking show that also became a massive hit.

Best TV Drama - The Wire
The exception to my "limited audience, limited influence" rule: The Wire was so much better than every other TV drama (this from a Mad Men superfan) this decade, and so perfectly descriptive of American life in the 2000's, that it simply doesn't matter how many people own the DVD's. If you don't, I promise: it's your fault, not The Wire's. The show's that good, that important, and that characteristic of its time.

This wasn't the best TV drama, or TV show: for my money, The Wire was the best piece of art American pop culture offered this decade.

Best Film Drama - The Departed
It featured arguably the strongest collection of this generation's actors (whether younger actors, or older ones peaking now). It also grappled with The Wire's themes of institutional poverty, crime, blurred moral lines, villainous heroes and heroic villains, and what it means to fight a losing battle. I can't think of a better story to tell from the decade that was.

Best Film Comedy - Royal Tenenbaums
The Departed masterfully tackled societal issues on an individual level; the Royal Tenenbaums characterized individual issues in a social context. The closest thing to a perfect film I've seen this decade.

Agree? Disagree? Let me hear it!

Dear CM, what was your favorite album of the year? Your favorite song? Thanks!
--Rachel, Memphis
You're welcome! This is a great question. Because my favorite song and album are different from what I think were the "best" song and album, I'll answer both:

Best Song of the Year: Green Day "21st Century Breakdown"
It's a more complex, anthemic, and dynamic song than the thematically similar "Know Your Enemy." It's as good a finale for the decade as I've heard, and as good a prologue to the 2010's as we could hope for.

Honorable Mention: Kings of Leon "Use Somebody"
This song has received all the predictable backlash a monster hit engenders. It's blustery, almost too catchy, and the video's beyond ridiculous. It's a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. When I first heard it (on the album in late 2008), I thought it was the quintessential Kings of Leon song: "You know that I could use somebody/someone like you" finally juxtaposed the strength/vulnerability conflict KOL's been writing around for years. The play on "use" puts him equally in the passive and active role--the narrator needs someone (he "could use" some company; he's lonely, isolated, exhausted, etc.), but he also knows he could leverage his fame/fortune/celebrity to have anyone's company (hence, manipulating/"using" them). It's a tidy refrain that sums up the band's lonely-rockstar image and executes it to perfection in the song composition itself. Folks who think "Use Somebody" is dumber than "Viva la Vida" either a) aren't paying attention, or b) don't speak English.

Favorite Song of the Year: The Avett Brothers, "I And Love And You"
Gorgeous songwriting, flawless execution, refreshing production, and I heard it the night before I moved to New York. It owned me from the opening chord.

Best Album of the Year: Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown
This was a relatively strong year in the pop/rock world--certainly cause for celebration and optimism leading into the next decade--but I can't make a strong case for anything but 21CB. In 2009, there was Green Day, and there was everyone else.

Favorite Album of the Year: Lucero, 1372 Overton Park
Because there is nothing so exciting--and rewarding--as a music fan than watching a good band become great.

But what were your favorites of the year? Hit up the comments or drop me a line (chris@chrismilam.com) and let me know!

Finally...

Christofferson! Do you have any New Years resolutions?
--Nicole, New York
First, congratulations to Nicole for being the second person to call me Christofferson. Second, I do have some New Years resolutions. I always make New Years resolutions, because I genuinely believe in everyone's capacity for self-improvement.

I once knew a girl who told me, "New Years resolutions are dumb. I don't make any, because I know I'll forget or abandon them by February. Everyone does. It's a silly ritual and a set-up for disappointment."

Or, you could use an arbitrary date on the calendar to set real, tangible goals for yourself and try to meet them. It's amazing to me when folks believe self-improvement should come from anywhere but them, through hard work, over time. Nothing really good is really quick or really easy...but it is worth it.

Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe I only think this because I'm a masochist, a workaholic, an insomniac, and a hyperactive loon. Hence, I love New Years resolutions. I love making a list of "hard stuff to do" and forcing myself to do it long after I've reconsidered its worth. I make a ton of resolutions. Here are a few for 2010:

New Years Resolutions (A Sampling):
--Write at least 60 new songs.
--Play at least 50 concerts.
--Learn 1 instrument I've never played before.
--Make 1 new album (needs to be made in 2010, not necessarily released in 2010)
--See 5 states I've never seen before.
--Visit 1 country I've never visited before.
--Visit my family in West Virginia.
--Do not miss any birthdays of friends or family.
--Read at least 1 book that I don't want to read.
--Read at least 1 book that's been recommended to me.
--Go see at least 1 movie that I don't think I'll like.
--Talk less.
--Listen more.
--Give up something for Lent (something big, TBD).
--Beat the Phaal Challenge (an Indian place on my block has the hottest curry in America, and I'm destined to conquer it).
--Take (generally) more pictures.
--Pray for other people, when asked. It doesn't hurt anything.
--Never hold back a compliment.

Then there are a bunch of resolutions and goals specific to my career, which might bore you, and a few more personal ones, which might not, but I won't write them.

What are your resolutions? Do you make any? Gonna beat the February jinx this year? Hit up the comments and give them to me--I'd love to hear how 2010's looking better already.

Season Pass

Building off the last post, I want to make a distinction: I watch television, but I don't often watch TV. Let me explain.

I love TV, because there are several programs that I enjoy and follow and discuss. I honestly believe they make my life better. I also enjoy the ritual of watching TV, but I've ritualized it to suit my schedule--I often come home late, get some food, and wind down with one of my favorites, pre-recorded and ready to roll. So, I watch TV, but I rarely just sit and watch live television.

I break all TV shows into Four Tiers:

1) The Season Pass.
These are the handful of shows that I do not miss. I've set the DV-R to record them every time a new episode airs. These are my favorite shows, and I feel a void in my life when they aren't around.

(Note: Some shows have Season Pass status, only I've turned off the actual Season Pass. They re-run constantly during the week, and the DV-R goes crazy (its "record only new episodes" feature doesn't work at all). I turn off the Season Pass for these shows and manually record the new episodes. Example: Top Chef.)

2) Football.
The exception to the "rarely watch live television" rule. On Saturdays and Sundays, when I have time and feel like I've earned it, I will watch hours and hours of football. There are few things I enjoy more. Some people watch all television the way I watch football: the act alone is enough, and the specific program is a bonus. I don't like to just watch TV--I'd rather sit in silence than plow through a Bones marathon. But I'll watch nine hours of football when none of my teams are even playing. I love it.

3) It's On.
There are a few shows I like but haven't promoted yet to Season Pass status. Basically, they're in an extended audition; either I haven't liked them enough, or haven't liked them long enough to bump them up to permanent rotation. Sometimes this is a show I've only recently started liking, but not consistently (How I Met Your Mother). Sometimes this is a show I've Season Pass-ed before, but demoted depending on the season (Laguna Beach/The Hills/basically all MTV programming). If the right show catches me at the right time, I'll give anything a shot.

4) "Television."
Watching all TV out of boredom stopped working for me several years ago. I don't know why--I can't do it. I'll tell myself that I want to veg out, relax, and let my brain die in front a Bond marathon--next thing I know, I'm vacuuming my bedroom. Like everything else, I guess, TV has its purpose on the daily schedule. I get in, get out, move on to the next thing.

Or, like Michael commented Monday, moderation is the key.

So, what does this look like on a weekly basis? Just for fun, here's everything I watched before I killed my TV:

By the way, hit up the comments below and tell me:
What do you watch? What made the cut for your Season Pass? What would? What could you live without?

Sunday:
Football
Mad Men - One of the best shows I've ever seen. I can't get enough.

Monday:
Football
How I Met Your Mother - Last season made a jump for me. They realized Barney's the draw, and wrote accordingly. The plots are tighter, the jokes less derivative, and Jason Segel's more involved. All good signs. To boot: a "date" sequence last season featured Big Star's "Thirteen." I never had a chance.
Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations - Suddenly, I'm a big fan of the Travel Channel, and all Shows-About-Food. Weirdly, I don't like this show consistently (some episodes are really dull to me), but I never miss it.

Tuesday:
N/A.
Tuesdays stink. I have a memory of some Laguna Beach/Real World/The Hills/RW/RR: Challenge combination highlighting Tuesdays on MTV, but I'm at least one season behind in all of those now, and never cared enough to catch up.

Wednesday:
The Middle - I'll be honest: I wouldn't have found this one if one of my good friends didn't work on the show. It's brand new, and targeted mostly to families, and I'm in the TV-dark as it is. Having said that, I think it's great. It's much quirkier than I expected, the acting is on-point, the youngest son is outstanding, and I always want more. It's just a tight, smart, endearing show.
Top Chef - The best reality show I've seen, and it gets better every season. It's the only one of its type that doesn't base its drama off the lunacy of its cast. Pretty much everyone on the show is a talented, reasonably normal adult. If chefs finish their dish early, they help their competitors finish before the buzzer. I've seen people in elimination plead to be sent home instead of someone else. It's unique. Also, it has Padma Lakshmi, who should win the Emmy for Outstanding Hair and Nobel Prize for Stealing My Heart.
Man vs. Food - It's the Travel Channel/Shows-With-Food power combo, but substitute "Bourdain in Asia with some noodles" with "Tubby Dude in North Carolina with a mountain of fried stuff." I watch it if I think to, but I don't miss it when I don't. Fun fact: Adam, the host, once won a food challenge by eating the hottest curry in America (it's so spicy the chef has to wear a gas mask while cooking it). When I moved into my place in New York, I realized that I'm on the same block as that restaurant. And if you think for one second I'm not eating that curry, we clearly haven't met yet.

And of course, I'll get video of the whole episode and post it here. Way ahead of you.

Thursday:
Parks and Recreation - Alright, P&R: I'm listening. You have my attention.
30 Rock - I realized sometime last year that Tracy Morgan is one of my favorite humans. If he's onboard, I'm onboard. Also, Chris Parnell's semi-recurring "Dr. Leo Spaceman" makes every episode better. In terms of laughs-to-lines ratio, he's nearly untouchable.
The Office - Still my favorite comedy on TV, though it makes me nervous. Also, Creed's laughs-to-lines ratio hovers near Spaceman's. They're like McGwire and Sosa in '98, without the gigantic heads and banned substances. Actually...

Friday:
Real Time with Bill Maher - When it's on, which is almost never. Maher vacations more often than Congress. Actually, that makes sense. Nevermind.
Friday Night Lights - When it's on, which is never.

Saturday:
Football.
Football.
Football.

Exceptions:
Some of my favorite shows now were shows I missed at the time. I came along late in the game--friends recommended I wait until the finale, then start from scratch with DVDs. So, here are the shows that would've both been Season Passes had I watched them at the time:
The Sopranos
The Wire
Arrested Development

And yes, I feel guilty about two of those. Like, really guilty. Like, if I could go back in time, and sign up for Americorp, and somehow Americorp gave me a monthly stipend to work in Los Angeles and do internet marketing for those shows, I would definitely do it. I'd also put a lot of money in Google stock. And buy a trampoline.

So what do you watch? And what could you do without?

Way down in the hole,
CM

A Million Miles from Scranton

Subtitle: The Wisdom of Martin Crane

...In Which I Try Life Without Television, and Subsequently Miss Myself

I've gotten a lot of email in the two weeks since I moved.

Most have been typical: thoughtful people writing to check in, asking how everything's going, asking if I miss them yet (um...), what's different about the city, how's the weather, etc. Some have been unusual ("Should I buy a pig, and if so, how much should I be willing to pay?"). A few have been regarding a Nigerian prince and an enormous sum of money, but I can't reveal specifics.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

But the question I've received the most is some variation of "how is your life different on a day-to-day basis?"

To be honest, it's not too different, at least not yet. I'm still getting settled in, so my day's a combination of normal work routine and errand running, which isn't dissimilar from life in Nashville. Of course, I walk more than I used to. I'm generally more conscious of weather. I'm in awe of the myriad scarves I've seen, and have begrudgingly developed scarf-envy. I eat better (fruits and vegetables abound) but worse (relative to "outside" options). And sure, I could ramble forever about how much fun it's been so far, and probably will soon, but that doesn't answer the initial question: "what's the biggest difference in your daily life?"

The single biggest change in my daily routine is Life Without Television, and I'm here to tell you something:

Life Without Television sucks. It sucks out loud, but quietly, since the TV's not on.*

Let me explain...

People discuss pop culture, and some people use those conversations as a measuring stick for their own intellectual efficacy. Some people talk about it as high art; others as mere entertainment. But most still engage pop culture as something generally worth talking about, even if we don't agree on what's "good," "bad," or "meaningful."

However, I know a few people who reject that entire premise. They avoid all conversations about pop culture, and treat these discussion with some combination of "snide indifference" and "active condescension." "Kill your TV," they say. The room stops. Everyone suddenly feels sheepish for debating the cultural legacy of Stephen from Laguna Beach. They end the discussion by negating it from a perceived intellectual high ground.

Here's the common assumption: the less you like about pop culture, the smarter you are. More specifically, the less your tastes align with those of the average person, the smarter you must be. If Joe Average likes CSI, and you don't consider yourself average, you mustn't like CSI. It's okay to like the Ramones, but it's better to like Fugazi. It's acceptable to like Weeds, but it's best to exclusively watch PBS. By this logic, the surest intellectual trump card is claiming to hate all pop culture.

So, "kill your TV" is best translated as: "I know something none of you know. I'm so much smarter than the average person I can't relate--and have no desire to relate--to any mass media at all."

Of course, these people always seemed pretentious and self-isolating and palpably sad to me. But until now, I didn't know if they were actually wrong or right because, until now, I had never killed my TV. When I moved to New York, I packed what I could carry, shipped a few boxes of clothes, got some furniture, and that was it. I made the decision--borne out of necessity--not to bring my TV. A new LCD and a fat cable package could wait. Maybe.

I hoped that I would adapt to Life Without Television. I wouldn't even miss it. I would never buy that new LCD. I would never even dream of 300 channels. I would live an incredibly fulfilling life and pursue higher intellectual endeavors like, I guess, French satire, archeological digs, and pipe-smoking. I would classify myself as a "pre-modern nihilist." I would own multiple snifters.

Then it was Sunday, and I hummed the Mad Men theme to myself. I avoided spoiler-alert phone calls and sent out notice: do not tell me. I am Living Without Television.**

Then it was Wednesday, and I wondered if Kevin (the gnomish Top Chef) made the cut. Visions of Padma Lakshmi danced in my head. I ignored the avalanche of texts about whether bacon, in fact, makes everything better. I stared at my cold sandwich and turned off my phone because I was now Living Without Television.

Then it was Thursday, and I paced my apartment at 9PM. I wondered what Michael Scott was doing. What month is it in Scranton? Has 30 Rock returned? I muttered to hyper-dramatic statements to myself like Caruso in CSI. I shook like Bubbles in Season 1 of The Wire.

For the first time in my life, I thought at length about Martin Crane. Martin Crane is the fictitious father of Frasier Crane, the fictitious radio shrink and protagonist of Frasier, the spin-off to Cheers, the sitcom about a fictitious group of regulars at a fictitious Boston bar. I remembered him permanently affixed to his favorite chair, remote in one hand, cold beer in the other, his dopey face lit by the television's blue glow, an island of pop cultural inanity in the ocean of Frasier's opera-quoting, cherry-swilling life.

And I'll tell you this right now without fear or shame:

I envied Martin Crane. In that moment, I aspired to be Martin Crane. I even hated him a little.

This isn't a natural symptom of withdrawal, it isn't a "healthy stage in the transition," and it isn't a response to the horrific question, "God, what happens on Gameday?" I've quit things before, I typically enjoy change, and I've found viable sports bars. This is me, realizing that my life is quantitatively better with television in it.

Here's one reason television makes my life better (resisting the urge to just type "Padma" and sign off):

Talking about television = Talking about yourself.

Sure, I love watching TV, the daily habits I've built around watching it, and the sheer visceral reward of laughing, scowling, or even crying along with it (Note: I would never cry because of a TV show, especially not Season 4 of The Wire, especially not to the point where I wanted to call everyone in my phonebook and tell them I love them). Let's set aside the visceral joy less-advanced folks like me feel when we see something funny/dramatic/endearing/true onscreen.

The crucial thing about watching television isn't watching television; it's talking about what you've just seen. Maybe you do this in a roomful of people at a weekly "Grey's Party." Maybe you do this on the phone with your best friend after a Mad Men episode. Maybe you do it at a party weeks later, when you find yourself in a conversation with a stranger who also likes Curb Your Enthusiasm. It's not just about the shared experience of watching the show (valuable, too), it's about the self-defining experience of discussing that show.

For example, last season of The Office worried me. The first few episodes spotlit Jim and Pam's new relationship with a will-they-won't-they angle. This made me mad, but I didn't know why. I talked circles around it, unsuccessfully, til my brother said, "you're worried they're going to Ross-and-Rachel The Office."

He was exactly right. Suddenly, I understood my discontent. I balked at this plotline because: 1) these characters wouldn't actually be conflicted about their relationship, 2) this device was already used with Ross and Rachael to ill effect, and 3) it's spiteful of the audience/really freaking annoying.

I realized that to want less Jim and Pam is to actually want more Michael. I realized The Office is best when it's his show. The residual plotlines--like Jim and Pam's relationship--actually have more subtlety, nuance, and payoff if they're kept in lower relief to his amplified zaniness. I then kept watching to see which direction it would go. The Office decided not to jerk the audience around, focus on Dwight and Michael, and plot Jim and Pam as two sane and likable people in a healthy relationship. The challenge was to make that still interesting, and they were largely successful.

So, in that conversation, I revealed that I'm:
1) The type of person who wants pop culture to challenge itself to try something new
2) The type of person who wants pop audiences to embrace that new thing if it's done well
3) The type of person who wants to believe comedy and drama can come from normal people, too
4) Invested in the artistic successes of individual performers I believe in
5) A firm proponent of "giving the ball to your best player."
6) Not particularly patient.
7) Disinclined to be interested in sitcom romances.
8) Disinclined to be interested in romance as the primary plot of any show.
9) Not on Team Jennifer.

In that conversation, my brother revealed that he's:
1) Still way smarter than me.

The point is that I never would've understood my frustration, had a gauge for the success or failure of the rest of the season, or realized my artistic priorities and preferences if I hadn't TiVo'ed the episode, rejected the Entirety of Roy, and complained to my brother. Some of that list is stuff I wouldn't say out loud ("I have a weird distaste for romantic plotlines"), but I'm comfortable expressing when talking about television.

In this way, I've learned that my politics can best be described as "Bunny Colvinesque," and that a past relationship of failed because I sympathize too much with Roger Sterling. In other words:

Talking about television > Talking about yourself.

Of course, the person who kills their TV would scoff at this, claiming it's shallow to self-identify through such a (potentially) inauthentic medium. To that person I would say, "well, you're just being Justin from the Real World: Hawaii."

Chuck Klosterman once argued--brilliantly--that everyone he knew approximated some character from the Real World. If you're a longtime fan, you'll remember Justin, the smart, semi-evil Harvard law student who tried to destroy his season (pictured right with bleached hair). He spent most days needling his roommates, stealthily creating conflict, instigating fights, and breaking the show's sacred fourth wall by admitting to all this in confessional. He basically signed up to perform his own nihilist social experiment, proving how stupid, easily-manipulated, and unreal this "television reality" was. Of course, his cast-mates turned on him (the producers likely did, too), and he soon left the house by mid-season.

The point is this: Justin from Hawaii clearly hated television, or at least the television show he starred in. He went into his TV to kill it. And what the "kill your TV" folks on the outside don't understand is what the rest of us inherently know, accept, and embrace:

Even if you kill your TV, you're still a character in it. You're Justin from Real World: Hawaii. You're even more of an archetype. You're not above the conversation.

You can kill your TV, but it just looks like suicide.

So I'll be here every night with my new LCD on layaway. I'll wonder what happened on Mad Men, who got tossed on Top Chef, and what Padma wore. I'll hum the Curb theme to myself and avoid spoiler alerts about the Seinfeld reunion. I'll wonder what everyone's seen that I haven't, and what my friends now know that I don't. I'll try to remember where I left off, and how far behind I am. I'll sit in my comfortable chair like Martin Crane with no remote and no grin. Then I'll wonder what my line is.

-----------------------------------------------------------

*I don't mean that life, as a whole, sucks because of the absence of one part (TV). I mean that the absence of television, period, is a difficult, undesirable, and relentlessly lame thing.

**I know, much of this is available online. Two things: 1) My internet's not set up yet. At home, I'm really blacked-out. 2) It's less about a TV's physical availability and more about the lifestyle decision to not watch any television programs.