WARNING: The following is likely to plant annoying
earworms in the psyches of readers of a certain generation. The author takes no responsibility for the
effect upon your mental stability.
A horse is a horse, of
course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course. That is, of
course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.
I could go on. I
know all the lyrics. That’s the most
troublesome legacy of growing up with television: I know all the lyrics.
I know Rawhide: Rolling, rolling, rolling, though the streams
are swollen, keep them dogies rolling, Rawhide!
I know Secret Agent
Man (and I’ve used it as a ringtone):
There’s a man who lives a life of
danger. To everyone he meets, he stays a
stranger.
Car 54, where are you?
I know that Johnny Yuma was a rebel, and I can ask Paladin
where he does roam. Love is all around—no
need to fake it. Suicide is painless. Let me tell you the story of a man named Jed.
If the analogy comparing our minds to computer hard drives
is accurate (and I think it is), then my mind seems to be a filled-to-capacity
iPod, and a huge segment is taken up by the ghosts of television shows of the
past. They’ve been permanent implants,
for decades linking me to a (by now) ancient popular culture.
It’s not just the lyrics; some of the most persistent are
instrumentals. Hawaii Five-0. Peter Gunn. Get
Smart. Bonanza (Da da da da da-da-da
da-da-da da da da DUH!). Through
them, I was introduced to jazz and surf-rock and even classical (The Lone Ranger, of course). Repeated weekly, at the same time, with
predictability and regularity, they drove their melodies indelibly into the
minds of my generation. AND THEY’RE
STILL THERE.
Sometime in the 90’s, it all changed. The swan song was at least one of the most
iconic: The Rembrandt’s I’ll Be There For You. But increasing, programs eschewed theme songs
or turned to borrowing old top-40 hits that resonated with baby boomers with
less effort to create something new (The Who—at least those who survive—have enjoyed
a whole new revenue stream thanks to the CSI
franchises). But for most, something’s
missing—a prelude, an overture that provides the backstory and sets the mood
and provides continuity from episode to episode. Something to remember. Something to carry around as baggage for the
rest of our lives.
Maybe it’s an improvement.
Maybe.
Oh, well. Just sit
right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip …
