NOVEMBER : TELEVISION

Seventy-five years ago, Ray Bradbury wrote a story that takes place 25 years from now called “The Pedestrian”, about a man named Leonard Mead who liked to take walks at night.

The world around him appears dead, forgotten, as he ambles over broken sidewalks and unkempt yards. "In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not one in all that time." One after another, house after house is dark, except for the eerie blue glow of television screens. When a robotic patrol finds him, they accost him for being outside, alone, at night. After a short interrogation, they conclude that he must be insane for choosing to be active and outdoors instead of inside watching television like every other supposedly sane person in the city. 

It’s not a happy ending. 

Reading "The Pedestrian" in high school may have changed my life. But we'll get back to that in a minute.

I have an unpolished theory about the way people spend time. The idea is that, at any given moment, we are either creating or consuming. It’s not a perfect theory, but it’s a basic framework. I mention it here because when it came time to decide on my abstinence for last November, this framework helped me make my decision.

There were only two months left in the year, and I had more than two options on the list of potential abstinences. I was deciding between giving up dairy, giving up solid food, abstaining from seats (furniture), or turning off the television. Dietary abstinences have been interesting this year, but I was just coming off of my abstinence from gluten, so I wanted a change. Dairy was too easy, anyway, and giving up solid food was too hard.

When I gave up my bed earlier this year, my intent was to revisit the idea of giving up furniture (chairs, couches, etc). I still like the idea of doing this, but I chose to give up television because, well... I had stuff to do, man. 

By surrendering the time I typically spend consuming other people’s creativity watching television, I could spend that time creating something instead. Instead of taking, I’d be making. The holidays were imminent, and my webshop was empty. I had some maker markets on the horizon, with almost no inventory to sell. 

Since I took a new position at PeopleForBikes this year, my day job has required more brain power and creativity than in other years, so I haven’t had the same creative energy to make things for the sake of making things. Mordecai has been steady with client work this year, too, so I’ve been in production mode most of the time I’ve been in the bindery. This month could be a chance to switch modes, so, goodbye TV.

It was time to make the donuts. 

Geez… how much TV do you watch? 

Not much, honestly. 

At this stage of life, the pendulum has come to rest at one or two shows a few nights each week and maybe a movie night (or two) as a family over the weekend. Anna and I have been married for 20 years, and this is probably the most TV we’ve ever consumed as a couple.

What a lousy abstinence. 60-90 minutes?

A few nights a week?

That’s hardly a sacrifice at all. 

Not a huge one, practically speaking, but a decent one in principle. 

What does that mean? 

Getting to that last hour of the day, when I know I can put my feet up and turn my brain off, is something I’ve come to enjoy quite a bit. I like to be entertained. At best, to be enthralled, or at the very least, distracted. I like to get out of my own head. Choosing to spend that time being creative or productive is a shift. It’s also a commitment to working when I’d otherwise be resting.

Ok. I get that.

What’s this pendulum all about? 

I’ve had two extremes when it comes to TV in my life. 

When I was a kid, I loved TV and TV loved me. As a middle schooler, I lived just a few blocks from the school. I distinctly remember watching the clock, counting down the seconds to the final bell. I knew exactly which door I needed to exit to get to the crossing guard at just the right moment so I could surf across the street with the first wave of kids. Growing up in suburban condoland, I adopted a rather blurry understanding of personal property and gleefully trespassed through various backyards and sideyards to get to my doorstep as fast as possible. If everything went right, I’d plop down on the couch just as the first synth-harp notes of the theme song to The Adventures of the Gummy Bears began (that was a cartoon.. about gummy bears). That theme song is a ripper, sung by Joseph Williams of Toto fame, and kicks off with a heavy Mannheim Steamroller vibe (synth plus French horn = Mannheim Steamroller).

If I missed that first crossing, or if someone had the audacity to let their dog out into our communal backyard, I would still be able to make it before the end of the first commercial break. I remember the bubbles of joy I’d feel as I settled into that couch. The future was so bright! Three chunks of entertainment await! (I measured time in 30-minute episodic chunks)

That little gummy bear still lives inside me. I still get hopeful when I know I can turn my brain off for an hour or two. 

As an insecure little wad of a kid, I wanted to fit in. Since other kids would talk about TV at school, I would try to watch what they were watching. Our family would watch a couple of hours of TV each night together, too. Standard American fare. It’s what we did most nights. Saturday morning TV was a cornerstone of my childhood, too. MTV was a big deal for me as I grew up, setting me on a path where music would shape so much of my identity.

The TV was a gravitational center for our home, holding us in one place and taking time we never got back. I was tethered to it. If I wanted to connect with other kids, I had to be in front of that thing at specific times to consume. That tether started to strain in high school and ultimately snapped before I graduated. My identity started to be shaped by what wasn’t popular instead of what was popular. The things I was interested in were found out in the world, through friends, or at shows. I was a rather sedentary kid, but around this time, I started to allow myself to think maybe I didn't have to be such a meatloaf. I started skating, playing hockey, and loitering with my friends in parking lots (loitering can be very aerobic). I read "The Pedestrian" and all the Ray Bradbury I could get my hands on. TV lost its grip on me, and the pendulum swung, heavily and hastily, to a different extreme. 

In Bradbury's classic, chillingly prescient novel Fahrenheit 451, the main character’s wife spent her days at home talking to her “family” and consuming state media through the video walls, filling their home with biased rhetoric telling her who she was and what was true. The reader is supposed to feel put off by these walls. We’re supposed to see the harm they’re doing. The first time I read it, I thought, “That’s like the talking heads on the TV news.” As social media seeped its way into our culture, it again and again reminded me of those walls. As the “reader” of the reality in front of me, I understood I was supposed to be put off. I assumed we all would see the harm they’re doing. I came to hold a very obstinate opinion about television.

It was propaganda.

It was an opiate.

Soma.

Didn’t everyone see it that way? 

I was discovering a new freedom from popular culture and, from where I stood, everyone was getting hoodwinked. It was hard for me to imagine staying home to watch TV when there was so much happening out there, in the world. And the voices I was most interested in hearing were all long dead, speaking to me through their written works. TV was cotton candy… I wanted to get to the meat of it all. 

Somewhere along the line, I started thinking about jesters.

It’s very possible that I read this idea somewhere, but I’ve completely lost the reference. 

The role of the jester was to bring levity and distraction to the court. If the king spent too much time thinking about the consequences of his actions, or became depressed, or started focusing on his mortality, the jester would come in and try to lift the mood. Whatever it took to make him laugh or stay happy… joking, mocking, dancing, juggling, etc… as long as things don’t get dark or sad. Entertainers have always been around, for the rich and the poor, but in our modern era, we all want our jesters. We want to be distracted. We want to be entertained. Heaven forbid we face ourselves, the awful realities that surround us, or our own imminent death. Give me that T Swift. Give me that Super Bowl. Give me that stand-up special, sitcom, reality TV, blockbuster or just about any sequence of moving images that holds my attention. 

As you can see... I developed a deeply cynical and judgemental attitude about television, pop culture, Hollywood, pro sports, and mainstream music (and the people who consumed all of it). This was the result of the punk rock subculture I was identifying with, but it was also a result of the Christian subculture I was a part of. I’d eschew just about anything without due consideration just because it was popular. All of that was “the world”. None of that was important to me. In my immaturity, I couldn’t/wasn’t separating the person from their preferences, and deep down, I enjoyed the friction.

I was a jerk. 

You were. 

I know. I'm sorry. That little punk evangelical jerkbag has come a long way since then.

While I don't regret spending time outside, investing in my understanding of the world, or doing everything I did except sitting on the couch consuming television, I do regret being judgemental and confrontational about it.

I couldn’t accept that someone could be intelligent and thoughtful... and also like to watch “Survivor,” or listen to Britney Spears. I rejected TV and the passive consumption of popular entertainment. I liked movies (good ones), but I couldn’t understand why anyone would let broadcast television rule their schedule or shape their worldview.

And don’t even get me started on sports. 

While I am less antagonistic about it now, I still believe professional athletes are just jesters. They’re supremely overpaid clowns. I recognize they are incredible athletes and I believe the pursuit of excellence in any sport is to be admired, but the importance our society puts on professional sports is ridiculous to me. 

Whoa… I thought I was supposed to be the negative one here. 

I have deep admiration for athletes and athleticism. I love the Olympics. I cry at finish lines (whether I’m crossing them or watching them). I'm enamored of The Tour de France. I like to be entertained by games from time to time, but I don’t support the idolization of individuals or teams, and the money involved makes me feel ill. It befuddles me when a team’s performance has a direct and lasting impact on one’s emotional well-being.

People get really ruffled when I talk like this. They look at me like I'm Leonard Mead... I must be insane to think pro athletes, at their core, are just entertainers, jesters, and clowns because everyone else thinks they are heroes. They may do noble things with their wealth and fame, but that doesn't mean they're not entertainers first. Maybe I am insane, but how does the Super Bowl make the world a better place or add meaning to your life?

If this is offensive to you, reader, I’d challenge you to ask yourself why. Feel free to shoot me a note, and let's talk about it. In the court of public opinion, this is a case that I will probably lose… but one on one, I’d love to have a conversation. It might sound like I'm still being judgemental and confrontational, but this is a bear I poke for fun, and these days, I want to have a conversation instead of just having an opinion.

I’m going to slowly back away now… and ease into how the pendulum started to swing back. 

When Anna and I first got married, someone gave us a TV as a wedding present. We appreciated the thought, but we kind of laughed at it. We had no antennae and zero intention of paying for cable, so it was just an ugly side table. When would we even watch TV anyway? We both worked insane hours. I only have one fuzzy memory of watching something on that television in our first apartment. 

Once we evolved into exhausted parents, it was actually really nice to lose ourselves in a show when kids were finally asleep. Not many shows grabbed us, but when they did, we were in. Anna and I were too busy to catch LOST when it was on TV, but when it came out on DVD, we’d rent a disc, watch it, and I’d run back to Blockbuster immediately to get the next disc. That’s so funny to think about now. 

Uphill. Both ways. In the snow. Geezer.

It was I who became the advocate for TV and movies in our house because I got to a point where I just didn’t want to think anymore. My brain was fried. If I tried to read in the evening, I’d fall asleep. I’d still fall asleep watching things, too, actually. Heck, I’d fall asleep if we had company over and the conversation dipped. I've learned to sleep since then (but can still nod off like the best of them).

Watching broadcast television was, and is, intolerable for me. The commercials, the interstitials, the incessant chyrons, and the inimical pundits… no thank you. In fact, by 8 am on inauguration day, I decided to abstain from news altogether for a year or four. I've seen this show already and won't ride that rollercoaster again. If I’m going to watch TV, it’s going to be in single-serve entertaining portions of my choosing. We can watch what we want when we want via streaming platforms and participate in just the right amount of popular culture, without the added sugars and saturated fats. (Though... the commercials have found their way in... ugh).

Nowadays, we'll watch new shows (if they're good). It’s nice to have something to talk about with coworkers and friends. It’s fun to watch the jesters with the fam and laugh. Having that window of time when I know we can chill out is a nice way to end the day. 

But… this article is about how you GAVE IT UP. 

Right. 

It was great to give it up, too. On the first of November, I flipped the switch from “consume” to “create” each day and got to work in the bindery after dinner. I dove into making a handful of new designs, new iterations of old designs, and new batches of the classics. I was able to build my inventory to a healthy spot in the first couple of weeks of the month, then I was free to work “on” the bindery instead of “in” the bindery. I did some press maintenance, some rearranging, and some deep cleaning. It was great. 

Towards the end of the month, I was pretty dang tired of my garage, to be honest. Spending my entire day working one job in there, only to stand up and work the rest of the evening working my other job in there, started to get old. As far as garages go, it’s a nice one, but I can only be in one room for so long before it becomes a cell. 

At the end of the month, I felt like this abstinence was exactly the right one for that moment in time. It helped me get work done and it helped me reflect on one of the (many) ways I have been a jerk in the past and have (hopefully) matured over time. This abstinence also set me up for my final abstinence in a way I never expected. For my last abstinence, I gave up… obstinance. What would happen if I let go of my stubbornness? What would I be like if I loosened my grip on tightly held opinions? Stay tuned to find out. I plan to have that article finished soon, and then I'll be compiling all twelve articles into book form and building a limited edition of 50 handmade books. You can pre-order one or five of those here.

Giving up TV was a great exercise and I can see it being an annual event. It helped me reflect on my time and how I spend it. Time is the only real currency we have. It’s finite. It’s final. There are no returns. How we spend our time defines what is most important to us. And sometimes, what is most valuable to me is a little time to set the worries of the day aside and watch something with my lady. 

fin.