I really love television. Like, a lot. I was arguably more upset during the Writer's Strike than I have been at many funerals. I am pretty sure I'm the only person left who watched CSI:NY every week, but dammit, I love television.
And I do love old television. There was a time when I had every episode of My Three Sons on tape. My friend and I do the Jeannie blink almost as a greeting (it's significantly less alluring when we do it, as we're usually fully clothed and not wearing a bikini top and kept in a bottle only to service our astronaut masters- gosh, I wonder if a guy came up with that idea???). I could give you a rundown of every Bewitched episode EVER. Moving into the eighties, do not get me started on Who's The Boss or ALF. *love*
Tonight we're watching The Love Boat on DVD, which is pretty embarrassing even to write. But, oh, my God, the hilarity. Captain Stuebbing? Being all captainy and "I need to command respect!" AHAHAHAHAHA. Doc, of course, is in touch with his esteemed colleagues who are doing wonderful things with brain surgery/cancer care/osteoarthritis. Gopher is currently astounding me with his ability to be both an idiot and a representative to Congress, and Colleen is yelling cocaine jokes at the screen regarding Lauren Tewes'...um...issue.
Oh, it's a good time. Even better, this is a Charo episode. In a stunningly sensitive portrayal of our Mexican brethren, our favorite Coochie Coochie Girl has stowed away in both the ship...and Doc's heart.
I should have been born in 1960.