The Constellation Learning Newsletter
February 2008

January was a quiet month. I’ve spent a great deal of time watching it snow… and very little watching television.

Ah, those subtle dependencies we barely notice…

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~ Monthly Message ~

“The television, that insidious beast, that Medusa which freezes a billion people to stone every night, staring fixedly, that Siren which called and sang and promised so much and gave,
after all, so little.”

-- Ray Bradbury, The Golden Apples of the Sun --

“The triumph of machine over people.”

-- Fred Allen, about television --

I remember the first time I watched a television show. It was back in the 1950’s and the selection was limited and only in black and white. I remember watching Sky King, and Mighty Mouse, early Bonanza episodes and Perry Mason, which my Dad particularly liked. One time—I was perhaps five years old—I remember being perched on my father’s knee and my mother saying it was my bedtime and my father extending my departure so I could continue to watch whatever show was on—Zorro, I believe. That meant, in my little girl’s mind, that this small square box and what emanated from it was obviously important and special enough to extend my bedtime.

While my brothers and sisters and I were not allowed to watch TV at all on school nights (a rare practice in today’s world, but a worthwhile one to establish), gathering around the black box as a family (there being only one set per household in those days) was generally a family thing. And, being raised in a patriarchal home, my father had last word on what we watched: Baltimore Colt football games ranked high on the list. (The first “reality” shows were sporting events.) Again, the message I internalized was that TV was special, a “meeting ground.”

Once freed from parental restrictions, I’ve watched my share of shows over the years, usually latching on to some serial drama I enjoyed week to week—Hill Street Blues, St. Elsewhere, ER, Law and Order—and would become a rabid follower attempting to be home in time for each week’s show. But I’ve noticed that the quality of content has diminished dramatically even as the seemingly unquenchable hunger for non-sporting event “reality” shows has increased exponentially. With the advent of TiVo and internet available to download missed episodes, even the adherence to a special viewing time has eroded along with special viewing content.

This year, on Jan 3rd, I applied the most radical treatment plan I could think of to address my now fully acknowledged infatuation with a destructive partner: I got rid of my cable television subscription. I had been thinking about this for two years, working up to the “break-up.”

In a moment of crystal clarity I unhooked the cable company’s channel box (rather emphatically I might add) and marched it back—immediately, before my resolve withered—to the local cable store. It was an interesting experience.

Inherent in the entire event were personal explorations and internal dialogues into my own dependencies, TV’s unwanted influence in my life—the vibrations emanating from it, the subliminal messages, the low frequencies broadcast, its late-night numbing effects—and the “fear-factor” of following through with this, the void it left behind. I walked into that local store practically trembling, panic rising in the back of my head; “but what about the play-off’s? The Super-bowl? Eeek!

Ten minutes later, after relinquishing the box, remote control, and completing the paperwork, (they don’t like people who end subscriptions as much as people who start subscriptions; the young man behind the counter look dumb-founded.) I left the store feeling powerful beyond measure! Little mini-mighty-mouse-me had drawn a line in the sand! I was standing tall and sure of myself! A small triumph of man over machine! It was a delicious, heady feeling.

Now, as it happened, my service was not actually stopped for another 10 days so the cable in my bedroom still worked, though didn’t have all the fancy accessories that come with the control box. It was like a death-sentence reprieve; I gorged myself on the shows I liked. I treasured each time I turned on the set and it was still transmitting. I noticed two things: I felt like I was cheating, and the “thrill was gone.” When one day a few weeks ago I turned it on (it had now become a game) to find a white snow screen, it was with a little chuckle and genuine relief and readiness that I turned it off. It’s been on once since—for the football play-off’s.

I discovered I had become so accustomed to, so addicted to, so dependent upon TV (without even realizing it!—that’s the insidious part) that I could not have it in my home and not turn it on with the cable still pumping. There was always a good reason—it’s Aggassi’s last match, it’s the season cliff-hanger, it’s the Academy Awards. Not unlike an alcoholic in a bar, or drug addict let loose in the pharmacy, I needed to excise it from my immediate daily experience.

I get two channels now, CBC and CTV. I have accomplished more in the past three weeks with exceptional clarity. I feel emotionally and intellectually stronger and freer than I have in years. It’s remarkable how much psychic space even having the option of turning on the tube occupies in the recesses of one’s mind.

Having said that, I am very grateful that CTV carried the football playoff games and I was able to watch at least one of the Manning boys advance to the Super Bowl and then win it last night in a great game. I enjoyed every minute of it. The thrill was back and I had no sense of cheating.

Oh, I think they call that moderation….

(For back issues please click here.)

“Television: chewing gum for the eyes”

-- Frank Lloyd Wright --

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