Bases Bloated: Come on Down and Watch Me Yell at the TV!
I’m one of those people who yells at the TV while watching nature shows when the animal being profiled does something I just don’t get.
There’s this one sect (group? gaggle? flock? association? administration?) of penguins that go to this giant rock situation to breed and have to ride a very strong ocean current to get onto the rock. Most of them can’t get on the rock on the first try and end up bashing their tiny heads against it.
They don’t get hurt, but they don’t learn that the dang rock is slippery and I’m all like, “You’re so stupid, penguins. You’re really dumb. This is why certain people don’t believe in evolution because you flightless dummies can’t evolve enough to get up on a rock to spawn. Also, learn to fly. You’re goddam birds.”
But then I’m like, why am I talking to the TV? I like nature shows even though I’m allergic to all animals and prefer to eat them than hangout with them. However, the worst nature show on television, the one that gets me yelling the most is The Price is Right.
From the moment the show starts its closing credits, I am in full YOU’RE SO STUPID mode. Watching people lose money that was never theirs to begin with is terrifying. As someone who doesn’t have any money (because I’m a copywriter, not because I’m allergic to money), it’s hard for me to watch a show where people come thisclose to winning prizes then don’t since they failed to guess how much a can of tuna is.
When someone gleefully bids one dollar I think of the original Robocop first but then I get anxious. What if someone bids two dollars? Also, how weird is it that there’s another Robocop movie and we have to refer to the good one as the original? If I’m going to buy anything for a dollar it’s the rights for whatever movie from my childhood that’s going to be remade next so I can stop it from being filmed. We didn’t need Jurassic World. We do need Ghostbusters though. We need it real bad.
Speaking of my childhood, I used to love being home sick from school and getting to watch The Price is Right. My nine-year-old self was more equipped to handle Bob Barker and his need for us to keep our pets from fucking (banging? doing it? getting busy? making babies?).
As a kid I possessed the ability to refrain from yelling at the TV when someone lost major coinage for not knowing the cost of a can of tuna. Probably because as I kid I did not know what the price of tuna was nor did I need to know what the price of tuna was. Now though, I know the price of tuna and albacore is more expensive, as it should be because it tastes better. For more information about tuna brands and which is best, come to my house for lunch tomorrow and I’ll give you the rundown. #teamtuna
It wasn’t until the new incarnation of the show when Drew Carey took over that it began to make me really nervous. It has nothing to do with Carey. It has to do with being an adult and wondering when I’ll be able to buy my next can of tuna. Freelancing doesn’t pay well. It’s something I do out of necessity not because I’m too lazy to get a job; there are no full-time SEO and copywriting jobs where I live.
My boyfriend works full-time so it’s not like we’re living in a van down by the river but watching a show where people are almost winning home theaters and jumping up and down like a bunch of dumb penguins trying to get on the mating rock is way too stressful for me.
For me, watching The Price is Right is like a bottom of the ninth, bases loaded “we’re about to make the playoffs” situation. Your team is leading by four runs. Your trusted closer is on the mound and he’s throwing tuna smoke until he gets behind on the count, fizzles out and Batter McBatterson smashes one over the fence (outfield wall? structure? big thingy?) tying the game.
The game has to go into extra innings and you know full well that you’re team is out of tuna gas. This is one of those take-a-Lorazepam scenarios that mirrors how I feel watching The Price is Right. I’m also constantly concerned that whenever a little old lady spins the wheel she’s going to get sucked into it.
These are actual “yells” that have come out of my mouth while watching The Price is Right:
- Wear a bra, hippy!
- Brush your hair, hipster!
- What is this goddam hippy going to do with a barbecue set?!?
- Hey hippy, 1971 called and it wants its look back!
- Take a shower, hippy!
- Look at this fucking hipster!
- Stupid hipster doesn’t know the price of tuna!
- I can smell this hippy through the TV!
- Stop trying to tongue Drew Carey, you piece of shit hipster!
Wow, I really hate hippies and hipsters and I need to be more creative with my “yells.” Anyway, I would love to stop watching The Price is Right but the boyfriend comes home for lunch everyday and he for some reason, loves the damn show.
I also have to eat exactly at noon (when the show airs here in Nova Scotia, the land before time) because I’m like hungry and whatever and have been writing some kind of low-paying copywriting thing for a company that has tons of money, none of which they feel should go towards hiring me as their full-time copywriter.
So here we are. It’s noon here on the Eastern East Coast and The Price is Right is about to start. I have to mentally prepare for my nerves and my throat for all the yelling. But first, it’s tuna time.