The Bride of Television

When I am at home, the television is on. One can count on this without fail. I wake and turn it on. I return from work and turn it on. And it stays on until I go bed. However, I am rarely in the room to actually watch or follow a program. I do not turn on the televsion for the picture or story, but for the noise.

I grew up an only child of parents who left me to my own devices for amusement. My neighborhood was not provided with abundant packs of children, so I passed many days with only myself for company. I was, and am, a very avid reader and could contentedly while away the hours with a good book. I also maintained hobbies such as stamp collecting. I did not sit and brood over my solitary fate and did not use it as an excuse for such nonsensical activities as drug or alcohol use. But, this missive is supposed to concern television; where does the boob tube fit into the picture?

The television was my pal, my buddy, the crowd, the world. It was the voices that create the connections with society. It was company, a friend, a visitor. Someone to listen to and, occasionally, speak with. It was there when I was sick, when I had things on my mind. It was there when I was working on pasting stamps into an album or the kibbutzer when I was playing solitaire. Silence amplified the sound of my solitude, television muted it. The channel did not matter, as long as voices came forth from the box on the shelf, I was satisfied.

My parents often bought me records to play on my turntable. They thought that appropriate for a child and young woman. They made sure that I had a nice radio and tape player. Mostly, these gathered dust. Music was imaginary to me. The sound of voices raised in song was pleasant, but artificial. It was not a "normal" noise. It was an intentional cacophany. Voices in conversation are the sound of the day. They make up the continuous, thunderous buzz that surrounds human encampments. Whether whispery, coarse, shrill, sweet, sexy, languid, raspy, stern...conversational voice is the voice of people wearing their casual clothes. A songster is trying too hard. They are calling attention to themselves, without any real interaction with the listener. The person on the other side of the vinyl does not have the opportunity to respond, to interject, to rebut, to spar or parry...Music did not suit my needs. I needed the sound of television.

Television brings conversation into my house. No matter where I go, I can hear people talking, laughing, crying, shouting - I can hear the sounds of normal life. I have a house filled with people. I am included. I can follow their lives through their words and tone and find parallels with mine. I can talk back to them, laugh with them, share their difficulties and sympathize with their pains. I have brothers, sisters, even pets with television. I thrive on stimulation and television provides me with many interesting people with which to converse. I revel in revelry and television lets me interact with very sharp wits. I love to chat and I am included in the discourses provided by the faces on the screen. When the television is silent, I am disquiet, uneasy. My sense of isolation magnifies. I feel somewhat lost and turned in a circle. I have tried to listen to the radio and this satisfies for a few songs, but then the artifice of the medium becomes too apparent. I listen to music or cd's when I want to sing or dance or when corporeal visitors manifest at my door. But, all alone and on my own, I want television.

I am as closely tied to my television when homebound as a newlywed to her spouse. When out and about, I miss it not. I never hurry home to catch a program. I do not record shows for later viewing. I do not rearrange my schedule around a sitcom favorite. In fact, I can't tell you at day's end what I actually watched in the preceding hours. But, I know, for that day, my house was filled with people. I was not alone.