When I was very young, I believed it was real. That Marcus Welby was a doctor,
that Laura and Rob were really married.
But then confusion set in when Laura changed her name to Mary Richards
and moved to Minneapolis, leaving Rob and Richie behind.
Only then did I realize it was made up. And I loved it even more.
I loved Mary Richards; I wanted to be her – but not in Minneapolis. I already lived in a
winter place; why couldn’t she live in NYC, like That Girl?
I also wanted to be That Girl, but without the meddling father and goofy boyfriend.
I was in love with Bill Bixby, both as Eddie’s father and David Banner.
I was raised on TV dramas.
Little House on the Prairie, Emergency!, Gunsmoke.
I preferred ridiculous comedies – The Monkees and The Partridge Family; I snuck upstairs
to watch Soap on my parents’ TV. I rushed home to watch “Afterschool Specials” on
teenage alcoholism, pregnancy, the occasional STD.
In my 20’s I loved Marshall Herskovitz – Thirtysomething, then later, My So-Called Life and
Relativity, though they each lasted only one season.
I adored unusual characters like Mary Hartman and Molly Dodd.
I once saw a few minutes of Everybody Loves Raymond – funny show, but too real. And as reality TV
flourished, I gravitated more to the most unreal TV, that which has the least to do with my real life.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer remains my favorite show ever; absurdly violent dramas like Sons of Anarchy,
True Blood and Copper currently keep me riveted through short but ruthless seasons.
And while I'm amazed by American Ninja Warrior and will watch almost anything on HGTV,
I’m always up for a mindless episode of H.R. Pufnstuf.