When I was growing up in the 70's we had 6 television stations chalk full of family-friendly programming. With the help of a set top mounted television antenna, which looked like rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil, and a family member who had to hold onto one of those rabbit ears while balancing on one leg and holding their other arm pointed toward the ceiling, those stations came in pretty nicely. Television programming back then was so family-oriented that even our local news anchor started the 10 o'clock news with "It's 10pm, do you know where your children are?". My how television has changed since then.
These days, with the help of Directv, we have 225+ channels, and yet there is rarely anything on tv worth watching. Back in the 70's, we had great comedy shows like "I Love Lucy", "The Carol Burnett Show", "Dick Van Dyke", and "Leave it to Beaver". These days my viewing choices are "Here comes Honey Boo Boo", "My Big Redneck Vacation", "Finding Bigfoot", "The Legend of Shelby the Swamp Man", "The Man with the 132 lb Scrotum", and around 150 channels of infomercials.
As I stayed up late one night and considered these options, I decided to try "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo", thinking it would be the least offensive on the guide. I made it about 3 minutes into the program when it became obvious that this particular show's theme was flatulence.
I've never heard so many people breaking wind on a tv show in such a short span of time in all my life. I quickly changed the channel when the family's 8-9 year old little girl wanted to show the world how she'd discovered the ever so genteel artform of throwing a fart. I really have no idea how she planned on accomplishing this feat, but having seen monkeys flinging poo at the zoo, I decided I was too evolved for this particular show.
My second choice was "The Legend of Shelby the Swamp Man". I watched what was left of the 30 minute episode and found it quite entertaining. Shelby, who hasn't ventured much further than the swamp, had me in stitches as he was trying to figure out what an escalator was and how he was supposed to get on it without doing the splits. When the show ended, I realized my mouth had been hanging wide open through a majority of the program. I don't think I've ever watched an English-speaking program, filmed in the good old United States of America, where I could not understand 95% of what the main character said due to his thick cajun accent. The 5% I could understand pertained to his "begonias", which I'm pretty sure was not in reference to the actual flower species.
Just when I thought my only other non-mind-numbingly-stupid or non-horrendously-offensive programming option was either a Shark vacuum cleaner infomercial or The Weather Channel, up pops 3 men with thick southern drawls and beards so full, they could make ZZ Top consider having facial hair implants. Within seconds, Phil on "Duck Dynasty" had me laughing so hard over he and his wife having family portraits taken with their dogs by a pet photographer, I was sure I would awaken my entire household.
While these 2 shows are not comedies, at least their form of entertainment results from their senses of humor and not on the characters hurling insults or vulgarities at one another. Who would have thought you could watch 2 shows about people from the swamps of Louisiana and they could be so completely and utterly different, and yet entertaining at the same time.
All in all my, family watches about 6 channels out of the 225+ offered on our pricey Directv package. I miss having television programming which was entertaining and original. It would be nice to have something to watch which was actually worth the effort of having to hold onto the television antenna's aluminum foil wrapped rabbit ears like one of Michelangelo's sculptures.
by: Christie Bielss
As a kid, I watched "I Love Lucy", "Dick Van Dyke", and "Leave It To Beaver" religiously. They all have a common thread - all of the mothers had on a perfect outfit, pearls, a frilly apron, perfectly coifed hair no matter what task was being performed, a spotless house, a scrumptious dinner served every evening in the formal dining room, and they raised their children effortlessly.
Growing up, I was in awe of their prowess as housewives and mothers. When I played with Barbies with my childhood friends, I always wanted to be the mom. "Kids! Dinner is ready! Wash your hands and face.", I'd say. The Barbie that was the mom was always the most fashionably dressed of all. I loved how June Cleaver always had dinner on the table at the exact right time each night and it was a well-balanced meal. Children drank milk from tall crystal glasses and ate their dessert from beautifully footed dessert bowls. Their homes were always clutter-free and devoid of even the smallest speck of dust. The children's bedrooms had beds that were expertly made and their toys were neatly displayed and put away.
When I became pregnant with our first child, I cleaned and organized everything in sight. All of the baby clothes and socks were washed and put away according to color and size. All of the toys and baby implements were sterilized several times just to be sure there were no lingering germs. The nursery was decorated perfectly and everything was in its place as we awaited the arrival of our little bundle of joy.
I brought our son home from the hospital and my husband went back to work, my parents went home and I was excited to begin my June Cleaver-like life. By the end of the first week, I realized I'd worn the same shirt four days straight and hadn't brushed my teeth in two days. By the middle of the second week, I took our son for his first doctor's visit and, as I was driving, I realized I hadn't put on deoderant or brushed my hair........ in days. If I'd had on pearls like June Cleaver, I might have sliced them in half and worn them as dentures so no one could see I'd also forgotten to brush my teeth........ again.
I came home from that doctor's appointment and looked at my house. The mail was stacked up to the ceiling, there were burp rags and baby paraphernalia scattered helter-skelter, the laundry was overflowing the laundry basket in the middle of the family room where I'd been trying to fold it for days, the pantry which I had stocked extra heavily on the off-chance I might be taking a bit longer to find my "baby-legs", was down to a jar of strawberry preserves, a loaf of moldy bread, and a can of cream of mushroom soup.
While I admire those who are the June Cleavers of the world, I quite obviously wasn't cut from that mold. My kids drink from plastic cups and eat their dessert from disposable bowls. Dinner is rarely on time and I'm usually covered in food splatters. I'm the Mother who has the sign hanging up at the front door that warns "Beware! Trained killer dust bunnies on guard!". There's always some comedian in my house who's written "dust me" on a piece of furniture and there's still a stack of mail reaching to the ceiling that will make the headline story if it comes crashing down: "Family crushed by pile of junk mail! Story at 10!".
I have hope that one day I will achieve June Cleaver status and win the coveted frilly apron award. It'll probably be about the same time as my youngest graduates college.............
by: Christie Bielss
