Prisoner of Now

Every year my parents rented a cabin in the woods "to get away from it all." At first we went to Ohio state parks. Then, as they grew bolder, we went to West Virginia, Tennessee, and, lastly, Michigan. It was always a big deal. We'd leave in the early morning before dawn, have breakfast along the way, and arrive in the early afternoon.

The cabins we rented were a crappier version of what we had at home. Everything was smaller, smellier, and more primitive. I imagine that was part of the charm, but for me, by then a serious television addict, it was a major crimp in my lifestyle. Absolutely no TV for a solid week. My only sources of entertainment were hillbilly radio and whatever comics I brought with me.

During most of my kidhood, I was super glued to the tube. I lived for my daily doses of what early television did best: situation comedies. I watched Hazel, I Married Joan, It's About Time, Car 54 Where Are You, and I'm Dickens, He's Fenster. I was one of the few true fans of Love On A Rooftop. And I think I may have seen every single episode of Gilligan's Island as it was being broadcast. I could never buy into an hour long drama, such as Bonanza. Hoss, Little Joe, Hop Sing. Trouble on the Ponderosa? Who cared, really. I wanted to be married to Samantha and be seeing Jeanie on the side.

My true passion was for Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone. At first I was not permitted to watch it. Too frightening, my parents thought. But I changed that. My subtle insistence wore on my mom's nerves to the point where it was easier for her to acquiesce than to punish me. Each week I gazed into the set at the designated hour and watched what amounted to a Rod Serling morality play.

My favorites were what are now considered the classics.

You know, the one where the guy sold his soul to the devil in exchange for looking young forever. But see, he only looked young, on the inside he was still an old guy. Lesson- pay attention to details when you sign a contract with Satan.

And the one where the guy was sure that the book the aliens left behind, How to Serve Mankind, proved they were benevolent. But, see, it was a cook book. Yes, they were serving man, but with a side of fries. Moral: never jump to conclusions and never, ever trust aliens.

And there was that guy who wore the thick glasses and loved to read, but could never find the time. He ended up surviving a nuclear war and having all the time he wanted, but broke his glasses with no optician around so he killed himself. Moral: well, I have no idea what the moral on that episode was. But it did involve nuclear war, so that was cool.

Years later, I made the mistake of watching some episodes of the Twilight Zone on a UHF channel. Even the good episodes were out dated and maudlin. You really can't go home again.

Now when I travel, television is ubiquitous. It's at the airports, at McDonalds, in every hotel room. So, for that matter, is hillbilly radio. You can dial up pretty much anything these days on a number of devices. All the old shows are there in rerun heaven, plus a cornucopia of shows I never saw (I recovered from my television addiction in 1971 while away at college, but that is another blog entry.)

You can go half-way across the world, but you can never really get away from it all anymore. With cellphones, the internet, and cable television we have become trapped in a prison of Now. There is no cabin in Tennessee with only a simple AM radio link to civilization.

Sartre was wrong.
Hell isn't other people.
It's an iPhone and 24-7 cable television.