No regrets

(I vaguely remember this episode. Something about Norm being homophobic about gays coming into the bar, and preferring the company of "real men," etc, only to discover that he was enjoying the company of homosexuals the whole while! And we know they are gay because they kiss Norm on the face--something Vera hasn't done in years. Zing!)

As you may know, I recently watched all of Frasier. Last year, I watched all of Cheers. Besides being a master class in amazing TV, what was the point? At one time, I used to be able to name all of Carla Tortelli's children, but now can only think of two (Serphina and Elvis). And even Frasier, which wasn't so long ago, is fading.

Now, I realize that part of the charm of watching TV is its essential pointlessness, but when I set out to watch all of Cheers and Frasier, it seemed bigger than that. An accomplishment. I actually felt proud of myself that I had achieved such a goal, even if all it took was sitting on my butt for hundreds of hours. (Kind of like how other, snobbier people feel when they read all of Infinite Jest, even though Cheers is way better than that over rated crap.)

Does it matter that I can't recall as many details as I once could? The same happens with novels. I've read Crime and Punishment TWICE, and I still only vaguely recall what it is about (a dude kills his land lady and then gets the crazy flu for 500 pages?) Does that mean that reading Crime and Punishment was a waste? (Maybe.)

Somewhere, in the basement of my brain, are stacks of information. Facts about the French Revolution. A half empty box of Geometry. The plot of every novel and TV show I've read/watched. And someday, when my brain is riddled with dementia and I keep mistaking the nurse for my granddaughter, I will be able to recall each and every episode of Cheers and Frasier with absolute clarity.

It gives a person something to look forward to.