Last week, NBC announced they would be canceling their seven-year-old cult hit soap ""Passions"" in favor of adding another hour to ""Today.""?
Apparently there's no more room on daytime television for lovesick orangutan nurses, dolls who come to life and the never-ending saga between the hardworking Lopez-Fitzgeralds and perpetually evil Cranes. ?
I immediately called my mother.
""But they can't do this to us!"" she gasped. Cue the dim lights, overdone eye makeup and dramatic string music. ""I've been faithful to this soap and they go and do what?"" ?
""You had to have seen this coming,"" I told her. ""The desperate attempts to get viewers, the addition of new characters""—one wore a diamond-studded eye patch—""it couldn't last.""?
""And just when I thought everything was going to be alright."" ?
I was a little ashamed when I heard myself in conversations uttering phrases like, ""Remember when evil clowns trapped Sheridan in a pit and stole her baby?"" or ""No, little Ethan is really Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald-Crane's baby with regular Ethan."" But just because I fell into a shame spiral didn't mean I should stop watching my stories. ?
Dating back to summer vacation and exacerbated by no afternoon classes, I've always watched soaps. There's something about knowing a botched Econ 101 midterm can't be as bad as being frozen in a block of ice by your evil zombie twin, and at least I didn't have to resort to magic spells after not getting called back for a second date. ?
But I knew the end was coming. ?
""Passions'"" downward spiral can be traced to the on-air death—and subsequent real-life death—of its most beloved character, the doll-turned-real-boy Timmy. He was famous for his conscience, his love for Charity and his Martimmy's. He even won over the show's notoriously cranky (and increasingly botoxed) Julian Crane. Alas, it all had to end at the hands of evil zombie Charity. ?
In the end, it became just another soap opera. Sure, there was still the ridiculous dialogue—""Don't you remember when I drugged Ethan, dressed up in a blond wig and forced him to make love to me? Did he have me arrested for sexual assault? No!""— and over-the-top characters.
Three weeks were even spent running in the Rome catacombs from wolves (actually very tame huskies) and foam boulders (I'm sure they really hurt). But the bland plot lines, unnatural loud lip smacking, fake snow and blackmail threats began to make ""Passions"" resemble every other soap opera. ?
Despite its decline, ""Passions'"" influence was far-reaching. ?
I never quite knew its extent until I was at a random house party. Waiting in line for the keg of Milwaukee's Best, my friends had disappeared and I was sick of making conversation with a boy I barely knew. ?
He turned to me. All possible conversation topics—major, hometown, football—had been exhausted. The awkwardness had killed any initial attraction. Please, don't say anything more.
""So, did you watch it that summer during the prom boat disaster?"" he asked nonchalantly. I was stunned.?
""I don't think I'll ever be as shocked as the day that Gwen and Rebecca actually sent information to the tabloids about Ethan's true paternity,"" he continued, pausing to sip his beer. ""And now what's he doing? Running around with Gwen as he pines for Theresa? Puh-lease."" ?
What self-respecting, appearing-to-be-intelligent engineering major openly admits to watching ""Passions""? At a house party? Freshman year? ?
I know I would. ?
