tv happy land

An episode of Bonanza sounded really good right about now. My head was pounding like a thousand aspirins couldn’t help me now. What a dumb idea: that vise.

You know why TV Westerns were so popular back in the 1960s? Because society was imploding, and the Old West was the perfect place to get away from it all. Some good ole, mindless TV from a simpler time; and Bonanza was the king. John Wayne was getting old by then, and couldn’t do it all.

Did you know that the Ponderosa Ranch was more than half a million acres in all? Not only that, it was situated right in the middle of the Comstock Lode, the greatest silver strike in American history. The Ponderosa took up the whole east side of Lake Tahoe (the map at the beginning of every episode was sideways), and today would be worth billions of dollars. And that’s just the land, never mind all the silver.

I remember an episode of Bonanza once where the star character was Mark Twain, thinking: what a corny gimmick that was. Later I found out it was actually true: not only did Samuel Clemens actually work right there in Virginia City, that was where he came up with his pseudonym, Mark Twain.

The Cartwrights were an oasis of sanity in a world gone mad, whether it be the 1860s, the 1960s, or even today. Kind of the same way I felt. They always did the right thing. What I wouldn’t give to have a dad like Pa Cartwright.

I used to watch Bonanza all the time growing up, especially in summer when I went to visit my grandparents in Texas. My grandparents were huge fans of the show. Did I mention that Dan Blocker, the actor who played Hoss Cartwright, was born in De Kalb, Texas, my grandparent’s hometown? Maybe I did; but it’s true.

I loved watching Bonanza when I was a kid. Maybe Hoss Cartwright was a friend of the family, but whenever I went out to play I was always Little Joe. What kid wasn’t? Even today, I still love watching the show. The whole idea of being in the Old West, all the fresh air, away from all the chaos and craziness. What a life. Even if there was the off chance of being kidnapped by banditos or scalped by Indians, it’s a chance I’d take every time.

And the memories it brings… Not only of the Old West, but of the late 60s and early 70s, back when I was just a boy playing Cowboys and Indians on my grandparent’s farm. For me, old-time TV is a vehicle, a time machine to a much simpler time and place.

But I couldn’t find an episode of Bonanza, Gunsmoke or The Big Valley anywhere. Not today. So I was stuck with the usual garbage.

Besides bad television, did I mention that I had one helluva hangover the next morning after my big night? A real doozy. Most people get a hangover from too much alcohol. For me, it was from that damn vise on my head.

So I decided just to stay in bed. All day. Every now and then, when I thought I heard something, I’d jump up and look out my peephole; but it never was Fanny.

Didn’t matter. It was the weekend, and there’s no better way to set the old brain cells free than watching hours and hours of mindless television. Like a slow cooker. The next best thing to watching TV on marijuana, is watching TV with a hangover.

The serial killer struck again, this time over in Hermosa Beach. Hermosa Beach is even more hoity-toity than Redondo Beach. Seems nowhere is safe anymore.

They finally gave the killer a moniker, too. The police don’t like giving serial killers nicknames; it only encourages them. This one, however, they’re calling the Cranium Killer. Apparently, he murders his victims by cracking their skulls open and letting their brains leak out all over the floor like so much spilled macaroni. Imagine that.

According to Action News, man-on-the-scene Flint Rockway, the victim was a 62-year-old shut-in by the name of Buford Bitters. What kind of world is it when even being a shut-in isn’t safe anymore?

TV is the worst. If they make one more crime-scene show, one more series about doctors or lawyers, one more sing-along or dance-off, I’m going to throw my TV right out the goddamn window. I mean it. Just how many half-ass reality shows about pawn shops and lumberjacks and the Amish do they really need, anyway? You know why the networks love reality shows, don’t you? It’s because the actors come cheap. The networks are all owned by huge conglomerates now. It’s all about the bottom line.

But still, like everyone else, I keep watching, no matter how much crap they continue to put out. Hell, they could show someone sitting on the toilet all day and I’d still watch. So would you.

Why? Because TV is a narcotic. It’s just as addictive as any drug. If you don’t think so, try getting off it sometime.

Remember the good old days of television, when everything was all fine and dandy, and everybody was happy? I call it: TV Happy Land.

TV Happy Land was a magical place. It reassured us: even when it seemed like our whole world was coming to an end, there was still life out there, and everything was going to be all right.

In TV Happy Land, there was no such thing as a bad day. Or, a bad job. In fact, TV Happy Land was a place where going to work was fun, whether you were a maid, a garbage man, or even a nun.

In TV Happy Land, even a shoe salesman on minimum wage earned enough to make a living. Own his own home. In TV Happy Land, you never had to worry about paying bills; and even if you did get six months behind on your utilities, they wouldn’t cut you off.

Tell me where that happens in real life? In real life, you get two weeks behind on your electric bill and you’ll be in the dark faster than you can say Nikola Tesla.

In TV Happy Land there was never a mortgage to pay, and somehow, even if you got years behind on your property taxes, the government wouldn’t foreclose on you. I don’t suggest trying that in real life.

In TV Happy Land, even if the whole economy was in the crapper, YOUR job was safe. In TV Happy Land, there was no such thing as downsizing, or layoffs, and even architects had jobs.

In fact, in TV Happy Land you never even had to worry about how much anything cost. If your car needed fixing, if you needed new clothes, no matter what the situation, when paying for something all you had to do is reach into your pocket and pull out whatever amount was there. Somehow, some way, it was always just the right amount.

In TV Happy Land, of course you went to school, but it was just the fun parts, never any real class or homework at all. In TV Happy Land, you never had to go to the bathroom, either. EVER. Even on Star Trek, thousands of light years from home, not once on that five-year mission did the Enterprise have to pull over for a pit stop. If Mr. Spock’s blood was green, I wonder sometimes what color his pee must have been.

And don’t forget: in TV Happy Land there was always a parking spot waiting for you right in front even if you’re in the middle of Manhattan. Even in front of the Empire State Building. You could just leave your keys in the car; there was always a spot waiting for you in TV Happy Land.

In TV Happy Land you could live in a junkyard, a ghetto, even a war zone, and still live a life filled with fun and hilarious hijinks. Go take a trip down to the projects sometime and let me know how many happy families you come across; go sign up for the military and let me know when you’ve been stationed in the Ha-Ha zone.

TV Happy Land is all but gone now. It’s been pushed aside by freak shows and all those programs where they’re screaming at you all the time. The days of television as your friend are over. TV as that happy place, is gone forever. Just a few sad rerun channels remain. Ruins of a once great society. Now, it’s all politics, reality shows, and news programming. Heaven help us all.

I thought I heard Fanny pull up, but it was just some cats. Speaking of Fanny, I wondered where she was on this Saturday night. She didn’t usually go out on Saturday nights; but it was none of my business, anyway.

Just another hangover Saturday, watching a little TV. I never did hear Fanny come home. I hope the serial killer didn’t get her.