I’m getting tired of yelling at Samantha Power—for one thing, she doesn’t appear to be listening—so today I’ll go in another direction. Yesterday I was cleaning out some of old folders on my computer and I came across something I wrote close to 20 years ago, a rap on all-night DC TV back in 1996.
The early part of 1996 was definitely not my favorite year. I was attempting to make a living as a free-lance writer and failing drastically. My main escape from the thick, gray, existential despair that was settling over me was, unsurprisingly, television. My “happy time”—when I could forget about the fact that I was broke and getting broker—started at 11:30. The day, for me, was officially “over” and therefore I didn’t have to worry about not doing anything because there was nothing to do. I alternated between David Letterman and Jay Leno for the first hour of freedom and then was more or less condemned to Conan O’Brien for the second. I usually went to bed at 1:30, but as my despair deepened I wanted to make the “happy time” last longer and I searched for something to watch post-Conan. After a certain point I thought about writing a “guide” for insomniac TV. Where I thought I was going to place this I have no idea, but I did have an excuse for “research.” It didn’t take me long to realize that it was impossible to create a real all-night guide, because the networks changed their late night/early morning schedules more or less at random, but, well, since the market for such a guide was nil, the fact that it was useless couldn’t detract from its value. The fact that I went ahead and wrote the following piece anyway goes a long way to explain why I was so terrible at free-lance writing.
As a final note, I will “explain” that I did not have then (and do not have now) cable TV. In 1996, I was watching TV as people watched it in 1966, with access only to ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox, plus public television and a few local channels. Furthermore, TV stations were usually identified by their numbers rather than their call letters.
Late Night TV—An Insomniac’s Guide
It’s true. TV will get you through times of not having a life better than having a life will get you through not having a TV. In the long term, of course, it pays to get a life. But in the short term, there’s no real substitute for the tube.
Daytime TV is practically synonymous with not having a life. The problem is, no matter how absorbed you get—and how absorbed can you get staring at the likes of Regis and Kathie Lee?—you’re still conscious. At any moment, you’re likely to start thinking about the phone calls you ought to be making, the want ads you ought to be reading, the appointments you ought to be making. And that can be tough.
That’s why so many serious no-lifers bag daytime consciousness entirely. If there’s nothing that gets you out of bed in the morning, why get up at all? Why not just sleep until late afternoon? By the time you’re up, the pressure’s off. You can’t make calls after 5:30. There’s nobody there to answer the phone. All of a sudden, you’re leading an existence that’s practically guilt-free.
The trick to not getting up in the morning is not going to bed at night. And that’s where TV can be a real life-saver. Unless you’re ready for him, Old Man Guilt can come tap, tap, tapping on your window, even in the wee small hours of the morning. But with the tube warmed up, and a guide to insomniac TV in your hand, you can keep the geezer at bay around the clock.
There are several different schools of thought as to when insomniac TV starts. Purists insist that it doesn’t start until 1:30 or 2:00, when network programming ceases. Others claim that “normal” people are in bed by 12:30, when Jay and Dave pack it in. But a liberal definition of insomniac TV sets the starting line at 11:00. After all, who deserves a break more than insomniacs?
Eleven o’clock is the news hour, but most insomniacs aren’t really into news. After all, they want to get away from reality, even the candy-coated version served up by the local stations. The smart insomniac starts the evening on Channel 5, for a half hour with the Bundys on “Married with Children.” Somehow, staring at Kelly’s navel takes the chill off the long night ahead.
The five minutes between 11:30 and 11:35 can be spent in maniacal channel-surfing. Catch five minutes of “Nature” programming on one of the public television stations or a “Feel the Heat” ad for Baywatch on Channel 20. Then spend the next hour jumping back and forth between Jay and Dave. Dave is temperamental. Some nights he’s untouchable; others he spends clearing his throat. Jay is reliable. You’re never more than 10 seconds away from a punchline. And if both boys are in the tank, you can always bail to “MAS*H” on Channel 5 or “Cheers” on Channel 20.With any luck at all, you can spend the next hour without even thinking once about what you should be doing tomorrow.
Things get tougher at 12:35. You could catch the last 25 minutes of “In the Heat of the Night” on Channel 20. Sure, it’s better than having to watch the whole thing, but that’s small comfort. You’ll probably have better luck hopping between “Inside Edition” on Channel 9 and Conan O’Brien on 4. “Inside Edition’s” sycophantic coverage of Hollywood is degrading to watch, but you’re rarely more than five minutes away from a string bikini. And, frankly, Conan isn’t much better. The press has been hyping him as the new hip thing on TV, but O’Brien’s too Ivy to be hip. He doesn’t connect with rock, which is still the touchstone of hip. Most of all, he’s not really a performer. He wants the clout that only being a “star” can bring, but he doesn’t really enjoy being up there on the stage. At the end of a show, he clearly wants nothing more than to be out of those wet clothes and into a dry martini.
At 1 o’clock “Inside Edition” nominally gives way to Tom Snyder, but there isn’t much change in content. Back in the ‘70s, Snyder’s old “Tomorrow” show was a true landmark in the history of bad TV, but Tom’s lost a few steps. He’s like the guys you meet in bars who’ve had three or four bourbons and want nothing more out of life than three or four more. And his show isn’t much more than a string of infomercials for ageing stars and self-promoting writers. Nine times out of ten, you’re better off hanging with Conan.
One-thirty is the witching hour for insomniac TV, the time that separates the men from the boys. To be honest, there is simply NOTHING ON right now. You’ve got to force yourself to watch. You’ve got the last half hour of Tom on CBS. You’ve got “news” on Channel 4. And that’s about it.
Things get marginally better, maybe, at 2. Channel 5 says they’ll be running back to back episodes of “Three’s Company.” If only, right, guys? Usually you get “The Psychic Hotline,” a show so bad it’s actually been shown to increase the employment rate. People are so desperate not to watch it that even hardened malingerers will get a job just to avoid it.
If Chrissie, Jack and Janet aren’t around, you’re really in bad shape. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, on except “The Mommies.” That’s right. You hated them as stand-ups, you hated them in a sitcom, and now you can hate them all over again in their very own hour-long talk-show. They’re plump, they’re spunky and they’re non-competitive. You’ll learn about health, nutrition and taking care of yourself. You’ll meet boxing women. You’ll see the housewife Olympics. The one thing you won’t see is a size 5. You have to give the gals credit as they glad-handle an endless stream of buck-chasing Ph.D.s and never-gonna-make-it celebrities. They keep cheery and chipper to the bitter end, in front of a zoned-out audience whose zombie-like ambience makes you believe the show is being taped at 2 AM in Oxnard.
If you make it through the mommies you deserve a break, and you’re going to get it, because 3 AM is insomniac TV heaven. Check it out: on Channel 20, “Kojak”; on Channel 50, “Northern Exposure”; and on Channel 5, “Perry Mason.” Pick your decade.
I confess I never got into “Northern Exposure.” It was a real “writers” show. In other words, smug, heavy-handed, and self-congratulatory. But if you’ve got a hankering for forced Nineties whimsy and Janine Turner’s cheekbones, settle back and relax.
In the meantime, real TV connoisseurs will be jumping endlessly back and forth between Theo and Perry. Such a choice, such an embarras de richesses! “Kojak” is a veritable time machine, whisking you back to the 1970s, a period that future historians will doubtless classify as the “Ugly Decade.” Men’s fashions reached an absolute nadir. After a century of Victorian repression, styles exploded in an orgy of bell-bottoms, double-knits, gold chains, foot-long sideburns, blow-out afros, and striped shirts that even Ben Bradlee wouldn’t wear. Through it all stalks Theo Kojak, Brooks Brothers cool and completely bald, a masterstroke of counter-punching. You’ll love the bad acting, the predictable plots, the lonely streets with a wailing sax in the background and newspapers blowing in the wind. If you’re really lucky you’ll catch the Christmas show, with Theo Kojak’s message to mankind“Love thy neighbor, baby!”
But even Big Theo can’t compete with Perry Mason. The acting here isn’t just bad. It’s off the page, off the screen, through the floor. The complicated plots, the absurd businesses, the pseudo-hysterical confessions and Paul Drake’s sports jackets, with their can’t-get-through-the-door shoulder pads, all come together in an irresistible stew. “And so you murdered James Crandall, murdered him in cold blood because he reneged on his promise to make you executive vice president of Acme Tool & Die.” “Yes! That company was my life! He had no right! No right!”
By now it’s 4 o’clock in the morning. You may, or may not, want to think about that. If not, you have one choice: “Star Trek.” The real McCoy, Spock and Kirk are waiting on Channel 50 to take you where no man has gone before.
When the Enterprise finally scuds off into interstellar space, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, definitely a scary time for an insomniac. Some people are actually starting to get up. It’s best not to think of such things.
By 6 o’clock, the real world is starting to rear its ugly face in earnest. It’s either news or idiot kid shows. Even the box can’t help you now. If you’re feeling flush, you might slide out to McDonald’s for an Egg McMuffin before you curl up in a ball. Otherwise, just pack it in. After all, you’ve got a long day ahead of you.
