MikeyOpp.com

As a child I suffered from what I call “Saved By The Bell Syndrome,” which means that I watched so many episodes of this ‘Los Angelesian’ depiction of High School, that I grew up imagining, hoping, and earnestly believing that my life could turn out similarly to my personal hero from the show, Zack Morris. Zack was my hero because he could outsmart anyone in his way, was so popular that he always got the best girls (Kelly Kapowski), and despite his popularity, he remained best friends with one of the biggest dorks in school, Samuel “Screech” Powers. He was an appropriate idol, had I been born in 1970, and if, by the time I got to High School, I had grown up to be over six feet tall, physically fit, and looked like I was in my mid twenties. But I didn’t, and I still don’t. And this is my chief beef with television: It replaces the individual imagination with an artificial one, constructed by the advertisers and executives in charge of Hollywood.

Suffice it to say that I watched way too much television as a younger child. This all began one summer when I got so sick, that I was couch-ridden, and had to “eat” ginger ale and watch every lousy 80’s sitcom to ever make it to a network. In my pathetic ‘summer of fever’ I watched almost every episode of “Out Of This World”, “Cheers”, “Growing Pains”, “Full House”, “Silver Spoons”, “Family Matters”, “Perfect Strangers”, “Family Ties”, “Alf”, “The Wonder Years”, “Degrassi Junior High”, “Night Court”, “The Cosby Show”, “Mama’s Family”, “Married With Children”, and of course, “Saved By The Bell”. These shows all feature lousy writing, predictable plots, and right wing values, but they also feature brilliant theme songs that I still sing in the shower.

I don’t like to admit that I’m addicted to anything, but I need a support group for my addictions to two shows: “The Sopranos” and “Lost”. This week I realized I was truly addicted when The Sopranos was supposed to air its series finale (the last episode of the show, ever) and then, instead, managed to call it a season finale, and advertise the fact that eight episodes remain to be aired in “early 2008.” Imagine if you went out to eat, and all the restaurants and supermarkets said “Closed until early 2008.” You’d probably break their windows, and steal some food, because you need to eat, right? Well, I need to know if Tony Soprano is going to be killed by his rival NYC mafia boss, and who or what is behind all the hatches on the “Lost” island, or else I need a show to air that will act as my methadone clinic while I attempt to quit watching these shows, cold turkey.

It’s 2006, and now that I look back on a career of television watching, it pains me to realize that my imagination is not my own. For example, when I have a flashback, I see things surrounded by a fuzzy pink highlighter, just like how Zack viewed all of his flashbacks on “Saved…” What is even worse, is how often I compare my own life to the greatest network series ever made; “Seinfeld.” “Seinfeld” was the first show to prove that there is such a thing as quality television: Meaning a show that is actually worth your time, focus, and attention. “Seinfeld” doesn’t bore you with melodramatics involving drug abuse, Aids, or the dangers of hitchhiking, but instead reflects on the real, painful aspects of living in a modern world: like the episode in which the entire show is about how the main characters can’t find their car in a parking garage. I have yet to get raped hitchhiking, but I once spent more than an hour trying to find my own car at the mall.

This week, a good friend of mine had quite the “Seinfeld Moment” when he went to meet a friend and that friend’s girlfriend at the movies. My friend got to the theater on time, and purchased his ticket, and then proceeded to wait outside of the theater for his two friends to show up. Finally, when glancing at his watch and realizing that the film was about to start, he called up his friend, only to discover that the friend had already purchased his own tickets and food, and proceeded to take a seat in the theater. The friend should have known better, and called my friend to tell him that he had beat him to the theater and already found seats. When you are meeting people to hang out, even in as anti-social of an environment as a movie theater, you still owe them the courtesy of meeting up in the lobby, or at the very least, you should call and alert your friend to the fact that you’re a selfish prick and you’ve already bought everything that you need and found your own seat, and you could really care less if your friend shows up or not.

Seinfeld was actually created by two men, Jerry Seinfeld, and Larry David, the inspiration for the character of George Costanza. Larry David has since created and starred in an HBO series that actually rivals “Seinfeld;” “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” This show is similar to Seinfeld only it is on HBO, so the language and content are not subject to the fascist FCC standards of network TV. My dad hates “Curb Your Enthusiasm”, because the main character is a deplorable man who speaks his mind freely, antagonizing friends and strangers alike just to spice up conversation, and he is also an overly proud man that stands pat in his convictions about selfish ideals like his right to park in handicapped spots. My dad hates the show, and it’s my favorite, because it is about my dad, and I think it makes him squeamish to see how he comes across to our family and friends whenever he goes on one of his notorious rants at the holiday dinner table.

Another aspect of Seinfeld that I love is the way it depicts just how ridiculous New Yorkers are. I love the West Coast, and plan on spending the rest of my days here until I die, and I’m buried on public land in a mausoleum that puts Joseph Stalin’s to shame, but I have some East Coast tendencies that I have yet to shed; like the fact that I am frugal. But at least I’m not cheap. Being cheap means that you don’t spend money on anything that is not for yourself. Being frugal means that you don’t spend money on yourself. I’ll spend a fortune on my friends, but at home, I eat five minute white rice from a box with soy sauce purchased in a ridiculously large tub from Costco, and round things out with whatever beer was on special at the supermarket. I drive really far out of my way to buy cigarettes at the discount cigarette mart located in a pretty shady area of Portland, and I only go out during happy hour to get the cheap dinner specials at bars.

I hit a new low in frugality this week when I didn’t have enough cash to fill up my car, and still afford my happy hour chicken wings at the local pub. But I’m innovative and creative; I’m like the “Macgyver” of frugality, so I filled up my car with all the change I could dig up from the seats and my coin cup. I scrounged up a little over four dollars in mostly dimes, and nickels. And as I drove away, I noticed that the empty light didn’t go away, the gas gauge didn’t even move, but the car was still driving, I still had cash in my wallet, and I got to the pub on time and able to afford my happy hour chicken wings.

When I was a vegetarian for five years, the only meat I missed eating were chicken wings because scientists have yet to make soy products that properly replicate the texturally exciting process of gnawing fried meat from a bone. The only problem I encounter with my love for chicken wings is that I am probably the most disgusting person in the world to watch as I devour them. This is because when I eat food, I don’t pick and dabble; I seize and attack. There is a finish line in sight, and that is my plate, devoid of anything edible, and it’s a race. But I know I’ve made a real friend that I can trust when I’m willing to eat chicken wings in front of them. You have to really trust someone if you’re going to slobber, spit, gnaw, and chew every last bit of meat from a bone in front of them.

Speaking of friends, one of my best friends turns 25 tomorrow, so, even though I doubt that he reads this column, because he’s lazier than George Costanza, I’d like to give a Happy Birthday shout out to the venerable Demar. Demar; I don’t know how you managed to get engaged, become a real teacher, and create an adult life so well, when, after all, you are the same kid who once cried over a spilt bottle of Jack Daniels for nearly four hours at a party, but, um, congratulations, and thanks for making me feel even worse about my lack of a serious girlfriend, job, and sense of responsibility. I’d also like to punch you in the face for getting me hooked on the show “Lost.” Demar, it certainly does not “suck to be you,” so have a happy birthday, and try not to drop “Jack” this time!

Side Notes: Thoughts from the Philosophical & Fictitious Universe of Mike Oppenheim:

*A good friend from college has been telling me for months that I look like one of the characters on the HBO series “Entourage”. I didn’t believe him, until I finally saw a newspaper clipping of the cast at a premiere in L.A. The physical similarities between this actor and myself are actually so shocking that I think I should check into a mental ward before I turn all psychotic, like the dude who killed John Lennon.

*I’m tired of the constant close calls I have with bad drivers who cannot judge the turning radius of their own car, but what irks me even more is that these cars typically have several huge dents that further discredit the driver’s ability to operate a car, and this makes me want a law that revokes drivers licenses if a car has more than two large dents.

*I take a distinct pleasure whenever I am using a urinal that has a splashguard that reads, “Just Say No To Drugs”. I’d like to thank the ironic inventor, who surely must have giggled when he realized that millions of people would someday literally piss all over this aptly placed propaganda for the war on drugs. I enjoy pissing all over the war on drugs, because it’s dragging on, expensively and ineffectively at the same rate as the war in Iraq.

* Gas prices suck, but I think that we can all agree that we don’t care what Europeans pay, or how much gas costs compared to water. No, we Americans only care about how much greater the amount we now pay for gas is in comparison to what we’re used to paying; and I think that this is the very attitude that makes Americans so popular with the rest of the world! I think the rest of the world is hooked on the reality show that is America in the 21st Century, because we’re as equally self-obsessed and shallow as an American Idol contestant, and we’re equally unaware of the fact that most of our viewers secretly hate us. It makes me wonder how many of my readers secretly hate me!