In what turned into a long night of sleep depravation, I found myself youtube-ing old episodes Dallas the other night.
It was very late and I had to work early the next day, but I couldn't stop myself. My hands clicked quickly over different scenes featuring Patrick Duffy, Ken Kerchavel, Victoria Principal and Larry Hagman until I became immersed in this tawdry world of ranch houses and oversized lapels.
Something about the acting (always the perfect balance of melodrama and twang) seemed incredibly comforting to me at 3am in the near pitch-black room.
The simple dialogue between Pam and Bobby endeared itself to me in a way that fueled my need to search further down this path of primetime nostalgia.
I kept going and going, typing and clicking away at this useless site, not able to pul up images of my pre-adolescent years fast enough:
Dolly Parton
All My Children
Falcon Crest
Angela Lansbury
...looking back on it now, if someone were to look up my computer's search history, they might assume I lent this old iBook to a 60 year old gay man for an afternoon.
But I couldn't help it. I became fixated on these images and stared at them til a small, but intrusive glimmer of yellow light threatened my happiness by holding the thought of the morning over my head like a bet I'd lost the night before.
Jessica Fletcher, Erica Kane, Jordan Roberts...these were all characters I would take in beside my mom at night while helping her fold huge mounds of laundry. Dinner would be over, lights would be dimmed, and horns, violins, or piano sounds would signify that the multitasking part of the evening would commence. I couldn't help finding this somewhat exciting
