Hello. My name is Merujo, and I'm a TiVo abuser.
Okay, I suppose I should clarify that I don't have a real TiVo. I have the DVR that came with my Verizon FiOS service. Works fine, and as I spend most evenings at home, curled up with the beloved Trinitron, it's been a lifesaver. Keeps me from going out and spending money and keeps me company when things get a little lonely.
Sounds a little pathetic, no?
Well, just wait - it gets worse and much more pathetic.
Now, first, I have to say that despite looking like the world's dumpiest middle-aged woman, I am a pretty pop culture-aware chickadee. I have solid taste in tuneage, know my movies, can offer running commentary on any number of current TV shows, and (I'm slightly ashamed to say) I check TMZ.com before CNN.com most mornings. Lord knows, in an age of depressing news, it's a little uplifting to see that most of us are handling life better than Britney and her millions (and her knocked-up sister and wannabe-author-of-parenting-books mom...)
Yet... deep inside? Apparently, I am a crypt keeper. A slow driver of Buicks. A diner in the early bird special club. An abuser of the DVR.
Here it comes.
I record episodes of "JAG".
Friggin' "JAG"... One of the CBS attempts to corner the market on Shows Old People Enjoy.
I've made it through seven seasons of "JAG", I think, since getting the pseudo-TiVo installed. And dear god, I'm still watching.
Now, reading this, you're probably amazed that those old farts were so rude to me at Dunkin Donuts recently. After all, I think getting hooked on reruns of "JAG" qualifies you instantly for an AARP membership card. Yet I'm a good number of years off that list, thank you very much.
To make this worse, I've reached a point in the ten (yes, TEN) years of this show when it had clearly not only jumped the shark, but had dated the shark, spanked the shark, put it in a evening gown and slapped lipstick on it. When was this point, you may ask? (If you've stopped laughing at me for watching reruns of "JAG", that is.) Well, I'll tell ya...
It was the moment when Marine JAG lawyer, recovering alcoholic, and big-boobied, Farsi-speaking chick Sarah MacKenzie (played by big-boobied, Farsi-speaking Catherine Bell) became... wait for it... psychic.
Yep. Psychic. Out of the blue, she suddenly has visions that help her find missing children, aviators adrift on the ocean, and, apparently in episodes I haven't seen yet, help her win courtroom cases. Screw the rule of law! I see dead people!
And yet, I'm still watching, like a heavily medicated retirement home resident.
Now, there are mitigating circumstances. Honest.
First, David James Elliott is kinda hot. And the fact that he's playing an naval aviator-cum-lawyer makes him even more hot. Well, at least to me it does. Usually, someone with three first names is only seen on the FBI Most Wanted List, but every once in a while, it's just a tall Canadian actor.
Second, I like courtroom stuff, when it's done well. I think that comes from watching a lot of "Perry Mason" with my mom when I was a kid. And courtroom drama in uniforms is good.
Third - did I already mention uniforms? I love a good uniform. I used to dig it when the Marines put on their dress duds at the embassy in Moscow. Of course, there was that one time when a Marine got totally wasted and dropped by my apartment to say hello while my mother and a friend were visiting. When sober, this guy was such a delight. He'd bring me Turkish coffee when we were both working midnight shifts. He was smart, well-traveled, and so much fun to talk to. It didn't hurt that he was also super hot - 6'2" and a mix of Billy Dee Williams, Douglas Fairbanks and Errol Flynn. (Well, Errol Flynn without the Nazi sympathies, that is.) This time, though, he'd had a snootful and was so out of it, he started hitting on our 70+ -year-old family friend and somehow lost one of his medals in my sofa. But I must say, he was the most dashing drunk in dress blues I ever had over at my place.
But I digress...
So, yeah. It's entirely possible that I'm really an old person hiding in the body of a middle-aged woman. But there's hope for me yet! After all, I haven't started recording old episodes of "Murder, She Wrote" or "Matlock". Then again, maybe "Murder, She Wrote" wouldn't be so bad. At least the producers and writers never turned Jessica Fletcher into a psychic crime-solver.
They didn't, did they?
Pray for me.