I Want My MTV!
Posted November 20, 2009on:
I love music.
Not a big fan of jazz and R & B, mind you, but gimme some o’ that old time rock ‘n’ roll, and I’m a happy gal.
I can be in the midst of the world’s worst day, and all it takes is one, good, groovin’ ditty to turn me right around.
Since I haven’t owned a proper stereo system since high school, the best place for me to jam is in my car.
I wish I could say I have XM radio, but as I am married to the cheapest man in all of human history, that is completely OUT of the question. (The man re-uses DENTAL FLOSS, for chrissake!) Nor do I have HBO, Showtime or Cinemax. Nor caller-id (and one would think, if the man had the slightest hint of a heart, that he could fork over THAT, given my phone phobia). TiVo?
Basic cable; that’s what I get. (to which The Dingus would retort, “Be thankful you have a tv at ALL.”) Oh, yeah, I got a tv; merely WEEKS after we got it, one of the M & Ms cracked and smashed in the on/off switch. Since then, to turn the damn thing on and off, we daily risk electrocution since we have to jam a pen down inside the gaping hole and root around ’til we get some action. (We DO HAVE no fewer than THREE remotes for it, but they are typically MIA.)
I hate tryin’ to turn that thing on; I usually make one o’ the Ms do it. (Hey, I figure, THEY broke it; maybe a little juice’ll straighten out the little bastards.)
Who knew that it would end up being my DAD, ‘Big Den’, who would provide me with the very best access to great music — via a kick-ass system in my bedroom — and my televeision with MTV — all day, every day. Thank you, Daddy.
The day I moved in with The Dingus (in SIN, oh, my!) is the day that, for me,
THE MUSIC DIED.
True, when we moved into our tiny, second-floor apartment, we didn’t have squat. Everything we had was begged and/or borrowed or pulled from the side of the road with a “FREE” sign on it. Our bookcase was one of those metal industrial jobbies — meant for a freakin’ garage.
Though hovering near the poverty level, I didn’t know it. We had everything because
WE HAD LOVE.
(I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.)
But we DIDN’T have MTV.
I remember when we were signing the rental agreement (and got the raised eyebrow-disapproving-scowl from the office folks when we checked the ‘unmarried’ box and had to file forms to receive mail in both of our names).
The manager was going over the lease terms, listing off ALL of the ammenities the dump had to offer: on-site communal laundry sauna and two parking spaces within a 5-mile radius of our apartment.
It never occurred to me that cable was an ‘ammenity’.
No, sir; in my book, that there’s
However, in Mr. Dingus’s book, not so.
After we got settled into the apartment, (it didn’t take too long; we had so little!) we turned on the tv. I scanned the channels for my MTV. It was not to be found.
What? I adjusted the rabbit ears and tried again.
Now, here’s a good example of just how stupid I am: I didn’t know that if you have to use rabbit ears, you don’t have cable access. It was news to me that cable nullifies the rabbit ears. Here I was, thinking that the attactive attenae bursting from the box ENHANCED reception.
Panicked, I asked The Dingus if he could try to I demanded that The Dingus find me my MTV.
Unruffled, he very simply stated that we couldn’t receive cable in our complex. He told me it probably had something to do with our location.
What did he mean we couldn’t get cable?!
CABLE is a God-given BIRTHRIGHT!
WHAT had I just done?
Had I just traded my MTV for…for…
How would I live without my MTV? It had been a part of my life since its inception when I was in 7th grade!
Had I known there would be no cable at my new pad, I’d have seriously reconsidered the decision to cohabitate. Seriously. I mean, I have standards of living.
We lived in our meager little love den for 3 1/2 years.
That’s 3 1/2 LONG years of not having my MTV (not to mention ALL of the other Fab-O shows that the rest of the civilized world enjoyed).
Not long before we moved out, a great gal named Karen moved into the apartment directly below us. She was a nurse, and she was bubbly and vivacious and full of life. She and I hit it off immediately.
One night, she’d invited me to attend some dumb candle party she was having. I arrived early to help her with setting up. When I entered her apartment, her tv was blaring a music video.
Since the only time in a few years I’d been able to see a music video was when I visited my folks, I was immediately drawn and then transfixed to the tube.
At the end of the video, down in the lower left-hand corner of the screen came the credit blurb with which every MTV video starts and ends.
I thought to myself, ‘Wow! Karen must be a huge MTV fan, too, if she’s somehow videotaped it! Great idea!’
I asked Karen about it.
“Hey, how’d you get this?”
She didn’t understand; she gave me a quizzical look.
“How’d you tape MTV?”
Again, a puzzled countenance. “It’s… not… a… tape….”
“Well, then, how are you able to get MTV?”
Karen, mouth agape, looked at me with one of those ‘I-am-bearing-witness-to-the-very-depth-of-human-stupidity’ expressions with which, over the years, I have become accustomed to receiving from those around me. Then, with the patience and enunciation of one who is attempting to make a chimp (or a retard) understand, she said,
C… A … B … L … E ….”
I stood there a quiet moment, utterly perplexed.
“But El Guapo told me we can’t GET cable up here.
How are YOU able to get it?”
God bless her; she just let that thought hang in the air.
She waited ever so patiently
for the truth to dawn on me.
When the anvil of knowledge finally fell upon my thick skull, Karen’s mortified expression morphed into one of those ‘I’m-sorry-to-say-you-have-only-2 weeks-to-live’ looks — complete with the frown-with-tilted-head-nod that one assumes the counselors of abused-women shelters have cultivated and perfected.