Humor

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There is an old adage that says, "Beware what you wish for. You may just get it." That, sadly, has been my experience.

I've often found myself perplexed whenever I heard that some nincompoop-created television show received the highest viewership ratings for any given week. What is with these twits, I would wonder. How could they vote for something as sophomoric as "The Office" or debauched as "Will & Grace" when there are quality reruns such as "Ozzie & Harriet" or "Walker: Texas Ranger" all over cable? Just give me the power of the Nielsen pen, and I'll show you how to rate television.

Then it happened.

I came home one evening after a grueling 10 hours at the office (no, not that one) to be greeted by my lovely wife with the exciting news that we had been selected to keep a one-week Nielsen diary.

Finally! Now the ratings would take on a more balanced, educated and debonair flavor. My years of astute and objective dissection of the media would better enable the great unwashed to pick programs well suited for them.

Ummm, except for one thing. We had to actually fill out the diary.

There were spots for each person in the household (and even a visitor) to be listed. OK, that part was easy. Then you'd list the program you were watching, including the channel it was on. Alright, not too hard.

Then came keeping track of who was watching, who was leaving, who was coming, who was sleeping. The nightmare had begun.

It's 8 p.m., and we've just put on "Bananas" on GTN. Dad's here. Mom's here. Amanda, Faith and Josh are here. James is taking out the trash. Where are Kirsten and Kaitlin? Mom leaves to make sure the girls aren't getting into something. James comes in from outdoors, pauses for a minute or two, then heads to the kitchen to put a new bag in the trashcan.

"Are you coming right back, James?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute to fix this."

"Well, I need to know so I can mark you down."

"Whatever."

Kaitlin comes scurrying through the room ... minus her pull-up. Thirty seconds later, Mom bursts into the living room, knocking over the end table as she chases her little one. Does running through the room qualify as watching a program, I wonder as I absentmindedly tap the pen on the arm of the couch.

Kirsten comes into the room. " 'Bananas.' Cool."

"Will you shut up?" an older sibling (who shall remain unnamed to protect her reputation) screams. "I'm trying to watch this!"

"Will you clam up, too?" I yell. "I'm trying to watch this and keep track of who's who and who isn't."

James still hasn't returned to the room. He decided to make a cup of tea while in the kitchen. I reach for the white-out to change him from "watching" to "absent."

Katlin darts back through again, laughing as Mom bangs into the doorjamb in an effort to execute a one-eighty. Amanda decides to go surf the Internet, while Josh pulls out some homework and starts in on it.

"Do you want a cup of tea, Dad?"

I answer yes, really wanting to say, "Give me a cup of tea and SOME PEACE AND QUIET!"

"Dad, do you know how to dissect a worm?" Josh asks. "Can we dissect one after church Sunday?"

"Gross," Kirsten spits out.

I pick up the diary and scan to see if there's a category covering sibling arguments.

James still has not returned from the kitchen. I change his status from absent to AWOL and consider having his picture put on a milk carton.

Mom finally sits down, her face red with exhaustion, just as Thor Ramsey says, "Thanks for tuning in to 'Bananas'! See you next week!"

And then, straight out of Mary Shelley's novel, came Frankenstein - wearing my wife's clothing and make-up.

"You DID keep track of who was watching, RIGHT? You didn't miss anyone, RIGHT? You marked it down correctly, RIGHT? RIGHT? RIGHT?"

I had never thought of a pen as a weapon of mass destruction before, but I'll admit, the thought crossed my mind at that moment. Although it is a truism that the pen is mightier than the sword, to destroy this cursed diary would take much more. There was only one thing that would end this wretched blight, and it wasn't garlic, a crucifix or a silver bullet.

Time. One complete, annoying week.

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