August 17, 2007

It's probably a good thing I wasn't allowed to watch much television in my formative childhood years. I've recently discovered that I'm incredibly impressionable, even at my non-tender present age, when ideas are presented to me in audio-visual format. My parents, being psychic, must have foreseen this and limited my early television viewing to preempt the path of my future. Though they must have underestimated the subversive effect Sesame Street would have on me as even now I firmly believe I am a vampire. (Though I don't count.)

I was allowed to watch The A-Team when I was a kid and that just made me want to be "the girl" of the team. I once dove into the open side doors of my friend's dad's van while it was moving just to make sure I could do it if a quick getaway was ever required. I'm lucky I'm not brain dead, never mind a military fugitive.

I was also addicted to Star Trek: the Next Generation throughout high school leading to impressive stories like the time I wrote a letter of application to Starfleet Academy and the time my friend Dave and I drove all the way to Seattle just so I could attend a convention and get Marina Sirtis' autograph. Or, my personal favorite, the time we swindled funding out of our church youth pastor to host a no-holds-barred Trek party.

I thought I'd left such childish pursuits behind me when I made the very wise (and surprisingly easy) decision not to watch television anymore. I hate TV. I hate the endless drone of the ads, the arbitrary times, the No Mans Land of eternal Wings and Married With Children re-runs, etc, ad nauseum. I like some TV shows, though, so I'm a big believer in DVD collections. I have seen The Sopranos in it's entirety and all of Rome as well. And since I didn't walk away from either series hell-bent on whacking people or annexing Egypt, I figured it was television in it's pure form that caused all the issues in coping with reality.

I was wrong.

I decided I'd learned enough about forensics from CSI that nobody would ever find where I buried that body but... jokes, people. I do, however, find myself believing that I too could summon the meticulous patience required to sort through a metric ton of rubbish to find a single hair when I watch CSI. Even though, in reality, I have a hard time sitting still for the entire 47 minutes the show is on.

And worse, movies exhibit the kind of subconscious mind control over me that is generally reserved for alien invasions or, you know, hypnosis seminars. I have gone white water rafting exactly once in my lifetime and I was in a giant raft with about ten other people, one of whom was a guide, along a heavily-populated touristy stretch of river near Queenstown (the same river that doubled as the Anduin in LOTR, if you must know). I was provided with a wetsuit, instruction, witty quips along the way, a hot shower, and a bowl of soup at the end. Plus a bus ride back to town. Nonetheless, having recently watched The River Wild three times this week, I am now totally convinced that I too could safely take my husband, dog, and child (??) down a series of raging rapids in between camping in the rough at night and offing the baddie with aplomb based solely on my lone whitewater experience and total lack of physical preparedness. Just like Meryl Streep. Because if movies have taught me anything it's that if Meryl Streep can do it, so can I. Actors are just real people too, man. Jaguar shark? Bring it on! Handbook for the Recently Deceased? Consider it read! Woody Allen? Okay... even I have limits.

I'm just a believer, man! I'm a believer. *claps hands so the fairy won't die*