On Crack...

Today, for your assured derisive pleasure, I present you with another edition of “Beeley’s Idiotic Social Disorders”. I will once again produce for you, my jury of…peers, evidence of inanity for you to judge me according to your tribe’s standards and customs. Just a note, last week you used too much tar and not enough feathers. You have to cover the whole body or otherwise it just looks like you don’t have your heart in it. And I’m supposed to be barefoot when you make me walk over hot coals. Amateurs.

Last Thursday saw me admitting my addiction to a particularly odious form of optical assault, “Dancing With the Stars”. Not to beat this dead horse or anything, but it did take me almost a full week to deal with the fact that George Hamilton got the boot. I did manage to cope though, especially since my wife told me that she only had time to console one crying family member, and was not that person. K-Mad and I are developing quite the rivalry.

This week I dive back into my Hopeless Addictions and General Chicanery file to bring you another juicy tidbit of embarrassing information. This is a post in serious need of a disclaimer though. So, if you are a jock, a prep, someone who steals or once stole lunch money, a redneck, a cheerleader, prom queen or any kind of leader of snobby females…this post is not for you. You may feel yourself desiring to do some sort of physical harm to someone, say like giving them a wedgey. Or you may be looking around in desperation for a toilet to dunk someone’s head in.

In other words, the rest of this post will be ripe with “the geek”. You’ve been warned.

I play online games. I am a gamer. I would not call myself hardcore. I do occasionally come up for air, make sure my marriage is intact, confirm that an actual sun exists and even sleep. Nevertheless, the glow of the computer monitor produces an energy…maybe even an essence that I am drawn too. Like every good gamer…well, of my generation, the hook was put in at a young age with the Atari. The Atari was my marijuana…a stepping stone to other more powerful and illicit mind altering devices. Nintendo. Sega. Ah, the hours of waking life I gave to NHL ’95. I’m not proud to say it, but I even dabbled in the Playstation before I recognized the depth of my depravity.

It wasn’t until a “friend” of mine (I’ll give him the pseudonym Jimmy Larkin to protect his actual identity) introduced me to desktop computer games that I was a complete lost cause. It started with old Apple computer games like Ancient Art of War at Sea. That was also the last time Apple produced any machine worth playing games on… Then came college, a naturally experimental time in a young man’s life. Away from my parents, Jimmy pushed Command and Conquer on me…my first PC gaming experience. It only took one hit…and now I can’t get clean. It’s in me…it’s in me always.

I’d still call myself more of a casual user. I may not be able to exactly stop when I want to, but at least it doesn’t affect my work. I can still play this game called “normal life”. I look respectable on the street. I can hold a conversation about acceptable things like investments, Vice Presidential firearms and formula vs. breast milk. Yet I know… I know that helplessness I harbor inside. PC games were good enough for a while. They produced a high that I could live off of for a few years. But it wore off…

I needed that next fix and it came in the form of online gaming. Online gaming allowed for competing against other people…other presumably human people across the digital nothingness of the internet. It started with first person shooters. Games where you go around “fragging” other players through the first person eye of your “character”. It’s like virtual laser tag…except without the threat of exercise.

I had a line though. One of those places I would never go. One of those places that I saw from the outside, saw the faces of the truly hopeless souls glued to a virtual reality called Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games (MMORPGs). This insidious tool of the devil (and I’m not exaggerating, there are people who would argue this) creates entire worlds were people build online lives doing…stuff…with seemingly no end game. I mean, there may be an actual end to the goals created by the game, but after you complete those you still can…mill about.

Take The Sims. This is a game where you create a life…a character that essentially does all the totally mundane things you actually do in real life. I’m not kidding…down to washing your friggin’ clothes or making the bed. That’s a game? Then there are the fantasy worlds of almost every stripe. The Matrix Online. City of Heroes. City of Villians. Ultima Online. Dark Age of Camelot. Star Wars Galaxies. World of Warcraft.

Ah yes, World of Warcraft. This was the one I knew could cause trouble. It wasn’t long before it’s true moniker of Warcrack came out. I saw friend after friend go down that path never to return. Not me though. I would stay strong, keep up my ability to stay casual…stay functional. I stayed with in my first person realm of Battlefield 2 defeating terrorist organizations with the forces of good. I would not succumb to that life sucking force.

And then came Jimmy again. And Dan…and Mike. Guys I grew up with. I should have known better. I had tried to stay away from this crew. In High School these guys forced me to do awful things. Things that involved trees and toliet paper. I will admit, they were works of art, but I'm not sure the owners sanctioned most of those...collections. You can never quit them though. They drag you back in. Before long I was in some dark isle searching for Warcrack and downloading it to my hard drive.

The one complaint I had with these MMORPGs was that while you could run around doing things like fighting enemies or creatures, there was a large group of people that didn’t do anything but “farm”. It some games, that was literal. You’d farm crops. Or bake food. Or some other such nonsense.

Which is of course why I find myself going around mining ore in World of Warcraft. That's right... I'm mining virtual ore for virtual money in a virtual economy. I knew this crap would happen. I knew I’d spend mindless hours doing nothing important and yet, I’m not going to stop. Oh no. I’ve got armor to make…you know, for my fake warrior in my fake world. I’ve got to level up, so I can get the new weapons and go to the new territory without getting my Troll (yes, I’m a troll) butt handed to me.

In other words, I’m a complete loser….and I’m loving it.

On Commitment...

Ah, Valentine’s Day. I’ve started, deleted and restarted this post a dozen times this morning. Thankfully, it’s a slow morning… I first started out my blogging on this subject with cynicism and sarcasm for what is, essentially, a holiday revolving around card and flower companies. I know you'll be shocked that I was thinking about being sarcastic... Then I was going to go the route of humor that detailed the best and worst of my gift giving on this “holiday”. I decided that those stories are best left...within the sanctity of my marriage...

Nothing seemed to flow, so I just ditched it. Why do I even need to produce a V-Day post anyway? It’s not like you come here for advice on love and relationships. If you do, seriously…stop. And seek psychiatric help…

Later I was reading a blog entry from the Pastor at the church my wife and I attend. He had an entry regarding “commitment” where he was basically lamenting the skewed priorities we have in life. For example, being more committed to our hobbies and leisure than to relationships with one another. Basically, and especially in the highly driven DC area, we have no problem with commitment…to things we deem important. Those “things” we commit ourselves to are the problem though. Much of his message had to do with other “things” being more important than our faith, which you’d expect a pastor to say. But one thing he did say that really caught my eye was “…people are committed to work, but not wedlock…”

That gave me pause…and my blog entry for today. Now, just about anyone who knows me well will laugh along with me at the thought of being committed to work. I mean, I’d have to actually experience this thing you call work to be committed to it… Don’t get me wrong; I try to produce a fine product when it finally finds its way across my desk. I do “know my stuff” in the particular field I’m in. I’ve had some accolades thrown my way. My bosses are more than satisfied with me as far as my performance evaluations state. But committed to Air Force budgeting…please.

Frankly, one of the things I respect the least about myself is that I don’t commit to much of anything. I played all sorts of sports growing up, but I never practiced or thought much about them outside of the season. I certainly didn’t try and make myself some sort of standout. I showed a lot of aptitude for music when I was in the band…but the thought of committing to anything regarding music was laughable and terrifying. I did okay with high school grades, but college was an exercise in mediocrity, mostly because I didn’t care…something I am paying for now.

In other words, when I look back at my life…or even where I am now, there are a lot of things I know I could have been better at if I had been committed to being so…

But one thing that I’ve done right…the one thing that I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m excellent at…is showing my wife how much I love her through my absolute and non-negotiable commitment to our marriage. Actually, I did two things right. I married a woman that feels the same way about our marriage. Simply put, infidelity or even just growing apart until we split due to ‘irreconcilable differences” is just not an option. Heck, I got married under the pretense that we had unreconcilable differences. I thought it added flava' to the marriage.

I’m not some sort of saint. I’m not going to try and sell you on the idea that I’m somehow hardwired for fidelity. Any honest male will tell you that we don’t suddenly become blind to other females that surround us on a daily basis. Commitment implies a conscious decision, and that is very much what it is. I’ve decided that the grass is not greener on the other side. Frankly, I consider myself to be standing in a freaking field of lush greenness. Seriously, someone needs to call a freaking lawn service over here.

On Knocking Down Pedestals...

This is a sad day here at the Halls of Mental Midgetry. I am not totally unlike you. I have not become so cynical and jaded that I won’t admit to having people, beliefs or ideas that make up the foundation of my very being. I will not pretend that when those beliefs come into question that it doesn’t affect me at all, that I become some sort of stoic. I can be wounded…especially when one of my icons, my pillars, is revealed to be imperfect.

You’ll remember that my first experience with this was finding out my own mother, someone whom I had revered, was found to be a reality TV…purveyor. You'll also remember the devestation that wrought upon my world. Her betrayal will not soon be forgotten…I mean, after I find out who wins Dancing With The Stars…

Now comes truly horrific news. As you are no doubt aware by now, I tend to count Netflix as one of my inner posse. I confide my hopes and dreams in it, laugh at its jokes, cry at its pain…basically we spend a lot of time together. I can’t help it. I’m hooked. I believe I was born this way. While the other little boys were noticing other things, I was pining away for a mail delivery system for movies. I mean, is that so wrong? My passion for Netflix was preordained…

The Washington Post, an organization which has confirmed links to hell, apparently did not see fit to let my utopian beliefs on Netflix last. An article appeared in today’s Post that took Netflix to task about a practice that is being called “throttling”. Apparently, this concept affects those who rent the most movies from Netflix every month, and not in a good way. The average Netflix user rents 2-11 movies per month, but there are those of us who try and get in as many movies as possible. This maximizes the already great deal we are getting for $17.99 a month. The allegation is, Netflix doesn’t make as much profit from those of us who are passionate for the love they are selling, so they cater to those who rent lesser amounts. I could not believe what the Post was selling, so I had to do a little research on my own. I went to the Netflix’s Terms of Use and this is what I found:

"In determining priority for shipping and inventory allocation, we give priority to those members who receive the fewest DVDs through our service. As a result, those subscribers who receive the most movies may experience that (i) the shipment of their next available DVD occurs at least one business day following return of their previously viewed movie, (ii) delivery takes longer, as the shipments may not be processed from their local distribution center and (iii) they receive movies lower in their queue more often than our other subscribers."

Come again. You mean there is truth to this. I feel so…blind. I have about 15 movies at the top of my queue in some sort of waiting period. I thought this was a sure sign that Netflix had just become so popular that wait times had increased. Once things stabilized, those waits would go down and things would return to normal. The truth is, I'm being punished for loving them too much. Netflix is intentionally sending newer movies to lesser customers to keep them happy. They know I’m addicted. The know I’m easy. They know they are not profiting as much by my patronage.

Even worse, judging from the Post’s article, there are other people out there like me. That’s disturbing in itself…

I can understand why Netflix has this policy. You always want to cater to your newer customers, which in this case means giving them first dibs on the just released movies. I can wait to see the newer stuff. My queue currently has 480+ movies on it, it’s not like I don’t have something else to watch. But deliberately “throttling” back my pace of movie consumption seems to go against what Netflix was supposed to be selling. I can see not sending me The Wedding Crashers upon release, but why delay my copy of Tootsie…is that movie really that in demand? Listen, there are just some of us who have no lives, or more directly, some of us are currently trapped in the house with a newborn…give us a break.

I’m still a Netflix shill, the company, and the deal is still way to good compared to anyone else. Plus, in all truth, I haven't really been inconvenienced by this policy. It's just the thought of it that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The bloom is off the rose.

On Addictions...

Can you deal with a bit of honesty on a Thursday afternoon? If you are like me, I usually reserve this portion of my week for out and out lies, but I’m willing to make a sacrifice for this post if you are. I warn you though, this particular bit of honesty may make you uncomfortable. It deals with a bad habit I’ve recently acquired, and I’m not sure if you have the maturity level to handle what I’m about to tell you. I don’t want you to giggle uncontrollably like you did during sex education class in the 6th grade. I’m exposing myself here, and I’d appreciate some adult behavior. So here goes nothing…

I’m addicted to Dancing With the Stars…and I’m not sorry.

I know exactly when it happened too. I experimented at a vulnerable time in my life, leaving myself with little defense. To make matters worse, the person who introduced me to this vice was my own mother. We had invited her to stay with us for a week to help out with a newly born K-Mad (I’ve changed her name once again). I meant to speak to her about her TV habits and to not bring those with her, especially the addiction to poor reality shows. But I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, and in the door she came. Sure, she was supposedly excited to see K-Mad, but I know her plans were far more sinister than that…

And then Thursday came. She worked on my wife first by emphasizing the dancing angle. We’ve been through this I believe. You are aware of my wife’s affection for that dark art. Once the term “ballroom” was used, well, my wife was turned with nary a struggle. I don’t know what it is with women, but ballrooms must take them back to their girlhood dreams of princes, puffy dresses and debutante balls. It must have something to do with Cinderella…that hussy.

I was being a nice guy that night too. I relinquished the TV controller so that they could watch what they wanted. It was only fair since the two of them had been fighting the good fight with K-Mad the whole day. You know how tough it was back in the days that K-Mad basically slept the entire time. Thank goodness we had two of them…

…I’m getting snarky. Sorry, but I’m a little stressed out since I’m revealing this to you. My man card is in serious duress. I mean, even though I was basically set up by the two most important women in my life (those hussies!), it’s really my own fault. I was hooked from the first twirl…hey, at least I’m still manly enough to no know what those “twirls” are technically called. Okay, okay, they’re called botafogos…happy? This is so embarrassing. Originally it was like watching a car wreck, I just couldn’t pull my eyes away. I can’t help it, I like car wrecks…. (Oh stop judging, you know it’s the only reason people watch NASCAR as well as I do).

And then I saw him. Jerry Rice. Jerry Friggin’ Rice. He, like, catches footballs and stuff…lots of footballs. And he’s out there doing some foxtrot…thing. So I kept watching. It was mesmerizing. Those movements. People don’t do that kind of moving. I didn’t know humans were even capable of that kind of body movement. Seriously, a few weeks later, after my addiction had…seeped in…I got up and did a spontaneous imitation of the Samba…and I pulled something (*pssst* something=groin). My wife was very impressed. I decided to go walk the dog at that moment…

Oh come on. Go ahead and sit there in smug satisfaction. Every guy has his weakness. It’s not exactly like watching those female dancers…and those outfits…is an affront to my masculinity. Seriously, just because I don’t like to personally dance, doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s pretty amazing what these folks are doing out there. It's art afterall. Perhaps I'm just more well adjusted than you...pigs.

…and it’s not like I’m watching another season of Survivor. I mean, seriously. Hello, standards...

On Friends and Netflix...

We all know that there are probably 653 great things about Netflix, but the one that I harbor some of my most gushy feelings for has got to be the Netflix friends concept. This concept allows you to see what your friends are renting and how they rated those movies upon their return. Ostensably, these ratings help each other pick movies that might appeal to them, especially if you know your tastes are in line with your friends. Or, they also create witty banter between friends who totally disagree with each other's assessment. Seriously, who can resist witty banter?

My "friends" can, apparently. I'm not sure if it's just that you feel like you'll wither under the torrent of my derision for your movie choices, but seriously, rate your frickin' movies! Some of us (ahem...me) really are interested in your opinion. I don't often say this, but daresay that I even value it? There, see, now you got me to go and get all mooshy....

On Parenting (Part I)...

I’m taking a break from my usual wacky blog hijinks to bring you this first installment into what will likely become my masterwork…a primer on parenting. As you no doubt have realized by now, I am already some sort of expert on this subject, although I am waiting on some university…hopefully one with the words “Ivy” and “League” associated with it…to give me an honorary doctorate. Actually, let’s be honest, I really just want one of those robes…the ones with stripes on the sleeves that denote “smart”.

I may be overstating my case a smidge. Smidge does mean “miles from the truth” right? The fact of the matter is that once the dust settled and we realized we were not actually just babysitting for someone else…unless “they” are just eating one long dinner…we have no clue what to do next. Well, atleast not beyond the basics of feed, clean and put to sleep. We had a OB/GYN appointment a couple of weeks ago were I told the doctor that he had failed to extract the owners manual from my wife’s innards and asked if it would be possible to go back and retrieve that. My fear is that it got misplaced behind the liver. He didn’t appear to even know what I was talking about. That’s got be some sort of malpractice.

So, in absence of that manual, I suggested to my wife that we move on to Plan B. Plan B involved giving the child to her grandparents…those same people we raised me. I figure they know something about how to raise children. Look how well I turned out………I didn’t say look hard. Just take a glance actually, there’s no need to take out the microscope. I mean, these people are clean, upstanding citizens and firmly reside in the middle-class. They are suburbanites for goodness sake. That's like heaven, right? She’d have a good life so long as she could sleep through my Dad’s chainsaw snoring. I told my wife of these this plan and she asked “What is your Plan C”? Hey, I thought she liked her in-laws. Holiday’s are going to be so awkward from now on…

Plan C is obviously to send her to a convent. Those nuns are no joke. They have rulers, and they smack. They are fully clothed, they don’t smoke or drink, and they can speak Latin. I think some of them are even Latin. She could learn to speak a dead language. How cool is that? Okay, so we are not Catholic, and yeah, there’s that whole Pope and Purgatory thing that us Protestants aren’t theologically enamored with, but I’ll take a few quibbles for some future guarantees of teenage chastity.

I was quickly told that I might want to come up with a Plan D, one which might involve our raising the child. I’m not sure that is possible though. There has to be some sort of law against giving me parental responsibility. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to be a father. I don’t think I’m a bad guy. I do have some responsibility. I change my oil every 3000…well, 5000 miles. On occasion I can color coordinate. I’ve never been in trouble with the law…mostly because they never caught me TPing people’s houses in high school. Still, it's not like I eat my veggies or anything...

You might be saying that it’s too late for me to be thinking of this now. I mean, that train has sailed. It’s only that back in the day when this was all theory, well, I made one heck of a father. You should have seen the things I could do. I knew multiple languages. We lived in a house with an actual yard. My bank account overflowethed. Heck, I even taught Kaleigh how to throw a curve ball…which she went on to do as the first female pitcher in the Major Leagues, striking out some dude in the bottom of the 9th to win the World Series.

Well, reality set in. And the reality is that I don’t have a clue. And I don't even know how to throw a curve ball…

On Banshees...

I can’t believe I got through the entire post below without once mentioning parenthood in general, or Kaleigh Madison (for now on known by her rapper name – K.M.) specifically. I had planned on rolling out an email detailing her exploits in the world of sleep over the past week. I know her sleep patterns were on your mind lately since last weeks message identified her nighttime rebellion.

Last Friday night, Dad (that would be me, scary as it may seem) decided to give Mom a break for the weekend. She had fought a hard good fight the whole week, and it was time to bring in the reserves. Armed with my steely determination, Baby Wise manual and fresh pumped breast milk, I sent the woman off to bed and started to plan my strategy for baby domination. She eyed me warily from over the top of her Pack N Play, and I regarded her with my best Clint Eastwood spaghetti western scowl while on the couch. It was a Mexican stand-off…well, without the required third person…or the Ennio Marricone whistling soundtrack in the background.

The first step, as any good role-playing geek knows, is to roll initiative. She clearly took the roll and started in with her “Banshee Wail of Eternity”. I made my saving throw, and was unaffected by her attack, despite the quivering lip. I quickly pulled out my “Bottle of Warm Mother’s Milk” and went to work. The affects were almost immediate. I had defeated her, if only for a time. The real worry was what would happen once my ammunition was spent. Round 1 was mine.

I failed my initiative roll again at the beginning of round 2. She tried for the “Whimper of Three Hours” tact. I didn’t budge. I held my ground and quickly pulled out my “Straight Jacket Swaddle of Permanence”. Before she knew it she was wrapped up like a mental patient, and my second weapon “Rock N Move, Rock N Move” was descending on her. She was unable to resist the barrage and her eyes grew heavy.

It wasn’t fair really. She didn’t have a chance. She’s basically powerless to stop the charms of Dad. As she slept into her milk coma I gently returned her to the Pack N Play. I’ll admit, due to her previous antics I was not buying what I thought was her psuedo-sleep tactics. I returned to the couch to settle in, ready to spring to action should she emerge again. I checked the clock…12:30a.m.

…to my surprise, we both woke up around 5:00a.m. I had done it! Four and a half ours of blissful sleep has been accomplished by me…Dad. I took the now whimpering and hungry baby up to Mom careful not to look smug. I think I did a good job too. I handed her the baby, said that I thought she might be hungry and quickly left the room. Honestly, all I said to her about the whole evening was “Igothertosleepforfourandahalfhoursanddidn’thavetodealwithhoursofcryingnannernanner.” I don’t like to brag you see.

I was ready to collect my father of the year award. In the following four nights, K.M. put together 4-5 hours each night. I started to clear a place on the mantle for my trophy. I wondered if they could really fit the words “Best Dad Ever” on the side of the shiny gold cup. I mean, big enough for everyone to see. My wife, well, she was less than supportive. Said something about “big head” and “you wait”.

Women are so transparent in their jealousy. I can’t help it that I have the touch…

Until last night that is… I don’t know what happened, but at about 10:00p.m., K.M. attacked in force. There was no time to prepare. I’m not sure what you call her method of attack, but she cried louder and harder than I had ever heard. I seriously thought that I had broke her. I was checking limbs to see if I sprained, or worse, broke something. It wasn’t pain though friends…it was revenge. She did the old sleep and wail, sleep and wail routine we all know and love so well.

Faced with that kind of attack, one that I was powerless to stop, I did what any self respecting father would do… I handed her off to Mom and ran for the hills!

On How DVD Killed the TV Star...

I know my delinquency has reached new lows of late. I should justify this as stating that my normal operating procedure is one of delinquency, or maybe a just delayed production. In other words, the first month and a half of my blogging was a massive over-achievement for me. So I’m going to make it up to you… since I know my words have become a life-blood to you…okay, maybe they’ve just become an interesting character study into my life. Whatever. The point is, I’m going to write two posts today. Try not to faint (I’m talking to myself here and not to you…but if you could also refrain from fainting that would be cool).

Finding something that both my wife and I agree we really like to watch on TV or Netflix is not an easy thing to do. That is one of the pleasures of marriage I’m told. I think I might have once expounded on the household remote wars that have been waged. To summarize that post, they were bloody. In addition, my wife knows my username and password on the Netflix account, but she rarely throws around her influence over the queue. That could be because I’ve filled the queue beyond capacity so there is no more room for her stuff. A clever defense, that. However, I have agreed to put “good Netflix steward” down as one of my husbandly duties.

That puts some pressure on me. Despite what you may think, I don’t really have much experience thinking like a woman. I also don't have mcuh experience thinking, but that's a blog for a different day... Even though my wife and I have known each other for over a decade, I still don’t know for sure what she likes to watch. I mean, romantic comedies exist for the X chromosome don’t they? They should be a sure thing. Apparently not. I have found out, to my great dismay, that many of these movies get a “lame” or even “this is dumb” from the peanut gallery I apparently married. Well excuse me Ebert, I’ll try better next time.

There have been successes however. Just about anything with Colin Firth is a go thanks to his BBC portrayal of Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice. Even if the movie stinks, I get a little credit for the try. There have been some odd successes too, Firefly and the movie follow-up Serenity being the major ones. Scifi does not usually go over well, although comic book hero movies do. Do you see what I’m saying…the woman is schitzo… I’m also finding anything that might fit the description of thriller or mystery works, although not universally.

To date, the one sure thing has been TV series that have been released to DVD. Recently, it seems that there really isn’t any show, past or present, good or bad, that hasn’t made its way onto those shiny discs. This is a good thing because neither my wife nor I really watch a lot of real time TV shows. I guess our lives are just busy or that we are actually that popular. I do know that Lost, 24, Alias and Firefly saved our marriage. Okay, maybe love and undying commitment had a little to do with it…

Except now I think I might be becoming unfaithful. I mean, I’m starting to not like viewing TV shows on DVD. Sure, there are major plusses to watching them via that media. The prime example is no commercials. The obvious breaks in the story still exist, but I don’t feel like my train of thought is being violently molested to buy some detergent that washes out dirt, grease and…blood. (As an aside, I’m thinking that anything that bled on me that much, or worse, if I bled on me that much…well, that’s not likely to be my favorite shirt anymore. It’s time to invest in some new threads). Another plus is you can watch multiple episodes at once and not have to wait another week…or you can devour the entire season in mere days rather than tuning in next week….

…but is that a plus? Take Scrubs. I find that comedy to be one of the funniest on television currently. I’ve only got through Season 2, but still, it has not worn out its welcome with me. One of my favorite characters is Dr. Cox the grouchy, sarcasm spewing, angry doctor that eats residents for breakfast. The problem is, a little Dr. Cox goes a long way. He’s funny in a couple of episodes, but by the third one in a row, it’s old. That character was meant to be seen once a week, but not for 2 hours at a time. If I allow myself to watch too much at one sitting, I’m afraid it would spoil it for me…

Which brings me to my real point. As stated previously, my wife and I have shows we like to watch together. That is starting to unravel though. Firefly was short lived. It’s dead, probably on the big screen too. Lost Season 2 won’t hit DVD for ages. Alias, decided to start sucking in Season 3, and Season 4 sealed it. So 24 was our last defense. Jack Bauer can save the country repeatedly in one day, he could definitely save our TV marriage, right?

Afraid not. DVD has spoiled 24 for me too. The problem is that my wife and I cannot keep ourselves from binging on multiple episodes at a time. We can't help it, we get nervous for poor Jack. A show like 24 really suffers from this inability for self-control. Taken in multiple hour installments at a time, the show becomes way too spastic, with Jack and crew going from one crisis to another. Taken in weekly doses it might be far more palatable. I also think a weekly dose masks how totally implausible most of these crises are. Furthermore, you can really see how formulaic each episode becomes when you see them back to back. That is not saying there are not major surprises from time to time, but you can rest assured that until hour 24 hits, Jack is going to go through a series of near misses, some major successes which only serve to thrust them into another impossible situation, and finally a major character development before the day gets saved.

Now, we are currently Tivo-ing Season 5 of 24. We have watched the first 5 episodes of it, and I will admit to being mildly amused once again. We are nearly caught up to the real time show, so it remains to be seen if watching it weekly will make a difference.

I certainly hope so, or it’s back to the drawing board once again…