It's the third week of the semester. That means it's time to find our routines and fall back into our groove. Your body should no longer cave in to the cold. You should no longer avoid the library. You should no longer switch classes and you should no longer drink Heineken before sundown. It's time to get down to brass tacks.
But this semester, I'm faced with a troubling old acquaintance: television.
Television and I once had a passionate relationship. In the early days, we would share leisurely mornings of \Sesame Street"" and fancy-free afternoons of ""Darkwing Duck."" Then we would wind down with romantic moonlit evenings of ""Full House."" I lost my first tooth while watching the Super Bowl. I discovered girls the same time Cory and Shawn did on ""Boy Meets World."" Television was my one and only. But forces beyond our control would soon try to tear us apart.
Some time around junior high, my parents got antsy about my TV-watching. Maybe it was because my brother and I could flawlessly perform the Dance of Joy from ""Perfect Strangers."" Maybe it was because I seemed to care more about Bayside High from ""Saved By the Bell"" than I did about my own school. Whatever the reason, my parents took away our TV and ended a golden era.
A couple of years later, they returned the TV. But things had changed. My mother now used the TV room to work. So we learned to compromise. I no longer watched TV quite so incessantly and she didn't always freak out when I did. She came to like ""Seinfeld"" and I grew fond of ""Sleepless in Seattle.""
But that never answered the question of what would happen if I ever had to police myself. Last year was the first time I ever had a TV in college, but I never felt compelled to watch it when my roommates were watching stuff like MTV's ""Rock 'n' Jock Kickboxing."" Last semester, I only used my TV for movies, and I wanted to keep things that way. But having a roommate always complicates these matters.
This semester, my roommate Ben insisted on getting cable. Being a big tennis fan, he refused to miss the Australian Open. So we ordered cable for the semester and I paid half the cost. But it turned out that Ben forgot where Australia is located. All of their daytime events take place at night here, when Ben is either studying or going out. This left us signed up for a semester of purposeless temptation.
I quickly learned that there's still a spark between my old flame and me. Friday night, after an evening of martinis and marginal adulthood at the Kimia Lounge, it only took 30 minutes of the Disney channel to undo 10 years of maturity. By three o'clock, we were still in front of the tube, discussing the racial implications of ""Duck Tales"" and analyzing the career trajectory of Launchpad McQuack.
Now I'm presented with a tough challenge. I'm faced with a former love and must remain strong. Falling into my groove and finding my routine this semester means I cannot fall back into the loving arms of television, no matter how tempting it is.
But maybe I can still find time to relearn Balki's Dance of Joy.
Ben does actually know where Australia is. He can be reached at amosap@hotmail.com. His column runs every Wednesday in The Daily Cardinal.
