The secret's out:
I am hopelessly uncouth.unsophisticated.uncultured. unrefined,
despite the fact that I graduated from a major university magna
cum laude.
Primary evidence of
my lack of taste is my addiction to television sitcoms. As is
the case with most vile habits, I acquired this shameful craving
in my youth. I blush to admit it, but I couldn't get through one
week without my Dick Van Dyke fix. And soon that wasn't
enough. I had to have more. Before long, I was gripped by an obsessive
passion for Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Murphy Brown,
the entire Mash cast, and—God help me—Archie
Bunker.
When these shows ended,
I suffered tormenting withdrawal symptoms; but somewhere deep
inside, I realized that it was for the best. I could finally get
that monkey off my back. But no. Soon I got sucked back into all
the spinoffs—Rhoda, Phyllis, The Jeffersons, Golden Girls—followed
by the spinoffs of the spinoffs, to say nothing of all the reruns
of the original series, reruns of the spinoffs, and-that's right-reruns
of the spinoffs of the spinoffs.
Then came Cheers,
Seinfeld, Mad About You.so much temptation, so little will
power. I gave up trying to fight. Consequently, even today I keep
the TV Guide next to my calendar to insure that I don't make any
social plans that conflict with my dates with Frazier, Will
& Grace, and Becker.
In my defense, I'm
still trying to kick the habit. I don't watch sitcoms exclusively.
I'm a long-time fan of Jeopardy (who says I'm not intellectual!);
and I've recently developed a mania for The West Wing,
whose cast is almost as entertaining as their real counterparts
in Washington.
But I still have a
long way to go to match the standards of all my friends who watch
only CNN or PBS. (Not to brag, but I also watch PBS occasionally-the
British sitcoms, of course.)
And my indiscriminate
taste isn't limited to TV. I love the theater, for example; but
give me a comedy (Neil Simon is my god!) or a good old musical
any time. Unfortunately, they don't make 'em like they used to.South
Pacific, My Fair Lady, Mame, Hello Dolly.I even loved Kiss
Me Kate and West Side Story, despite the fact that
they were based on Shakespearean plays; so maybe I'm not completely
hopeless.
Or maybe I am. I apparently
sank to new depths during a recent trip to the Big Apple. No,
I didn't join the ladies of the evening on Times Square. Worse.
I engaged in hick-from-the-sticks touristy activities. In fact,
one morning I actually went to Rockefeller Center to watch the
Today show. One of my friends was appalled when she heard about
it. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she tssssked, "You
did that?!" What she doesn't know is that if I had had access
to any crafts materials in my hotel, I would have made and worn
a crazy hat to catch the attention of the cameraman. Is there
no limit to my depravity?
Furthermore, I do not
subscribe to the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, or US News
& World Report. However, neither do I read The Enquirer or other
tabloids. But, then, nobody does—right? We all merely glance
at the headlines as we pass through the checkout aisle at the
super market. It's amazing that those papers can afford to keep
publishing.
Since I've come this
far, I may as well also admit that I couldn't tell the difference
between a $500-per-bottle fine wine and the stuff in jugs with
a screw top. Also, I don't shop at Saks, Bloomingdales, Ann Taylor,
or even Macy's. No, my retailer of choice is an establishment
called Frugal Fannie's.
I could continue this
confession and reveal still darker secrets, but I have to go—it's
time for Everybody Loves Raymond.
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England theater chain before discovering a passion for
writing.
Her work has appeared
in The Saturday Evening Post, Yankee, Modern Maturity, The
Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's Digest, The Philadelphia
Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, and more than a hundred other
magazines and newspapers. Actually-thousands of newspapers, since
one of her essays, The
Stranger in My Mirror (originally titled, The Stranger
in My House), was reprinted in Ann Landers' nationally syndicated
column in 1999, and after an explanatory exchange with Ms. Landers, an attribution.
Rose's new book, If These Are Laugh Lines I'm Having Way Too Much Fun, is available at bookstores, through online bookstores, and from Pelican Publishing, 800-843-1724. The book was a finalist in USABOOKNEWS.COM's 2006 Best Books Award humor category. Meanwhile, she can reached
by e-mail.
