Well, dutiful readers, the short life of the Teev comes to a close this week, along with my college career. True, I will be given one last opportunity to speak in the Daily's commencement issue, but this is my last chance to impart some words upon my underclassmen brethren. That sounds pretentious, but bear with me.
I've had this column idea brewing in my head for the past six months or so, but I thought I'd holster it until finals once again reared their ugly head. It holds some valuable pieces of advice for anyone else under the spell of broadcast and cable television.
Around the 3rd or 4th of December last year, I mistakenly knocked my television remote control behind the bed, amidst all the clutter that belongs in such a place. If you're placing anything under the bed, odds are that you aren't looking to access it anytime in the near future. Such was the case with the space under my bed.
Naturally, I burrowed through the catacombs, the boxes and stacks of old history books, but I could not find the remote. For the duration of the semester, if I wanted to watch any sort of programming, I would have to operate my 13-inch television set by hand.
But I'm lazy. I'm not going to get out of my desk chair, or arise out of my bed, just to change the channel But that's not to say I'll remain in a vegetative state while the
programming goes from watchable to unbearable. Once "Seinfeld" is over at 7 p.m. on TBS, am I going to settle for an hour of "Friends" reruns? Hell no! After "The Daily Show's" moment of zen, will I really want to watch a repeat of last night's episode? Jon Stewart is a golden god, but really, I won't.
So in lieu of changing channels by physical exertion or sitting on my butt and watching crap, I simply opted to not watch television. It was a strange sensation, but I did have two twenty-five (plus) page papers due at the end of finals. For a procrastinating fool like me, losing my remote control was perhaps the best thing that could have ever happened.
As fellow members of Professor Gill's "U.S. Homefront During WWII" class can attest, I spent almost every hour possible cooped up in Eaton pounding out my paper. I realize that it is quite sad that I attribute my ability to finish my work to losing a TV remote as opposed to my own diligence, but I yam what I yam. A couch potato.
There are some important lessons to glean from this experience, however. While the obvious one is to mistakenly lose your remote control, I felt that, on the dawn of a new finals period, I should provide some tips on coping with the allure of the small screen.
Cable reruns are by far the most dangerous of all television series. You've seen that episode of "Law & Order" five times before, and you know it's a good one. You even know the patented twist at the end, but you still watch. Why? It's guaranteed to entertain. So Tip #1: If you've seen it before, simply replay the episode in your head at quadruple speed and turn off the channel.
With playoff basketball just starting and the Red Sox getting into their comfortable groove of losing to the Orioles and fighting the Devil Rays, televised sports can be a devastating distraction. When it comes to the NBA and the Celtics, tune out until the fourth quarter. For the Red Sox? Normally, I'd advocate just ignoring the game because it's only May and the games are irrelevant. But since Boston fans are irrational, and that's sacrilege, just do your take-home exam between innings during commercials. You already know where to go when your windshield's busted.
Avoid any and all marathons. While some of our fellow Jumbos ran 26.2 miles last week, others fell prey to the "West Wing" marathon on Bravo. Who knows what could be aired over the next couple weeks, but with "Pimp My Ride" and "Punk*d" closing in on their season finales, I could easily see some MTV crap-fests being aired during finals. Nothing against Xzibit, whose Cheshire grin is the goofiest part of his show, but it'll be much easier to finish the IR paper when it's not 4 a.m.
I, on the other hand, have no will power. Come May 2, my remote control is headed for the dark, gloomy spaces behind my bed. And there it will stay, until Wolly packs up the Teev in the sardine can of a room in Hillsides and readies himself for the post-graduate world. Lastly, it wouldn't be one of my columns without mentioning two words: "Arrested Development."
Brian Wolly is a senior majoring in history. He can be reached via e-mail at brian.wolly@tufts.edu.
