Public Television

I came into the world of media and entertainment with a bad attitude—that public television was for geeks, for eggheads, for rich people who could afford the guide they send only if you donate, for people who didn’t believe in allowing their children to watch anything but one-point-five hours of television a day and ONLY public television at that. I thought, that is, that public television was too much quiet documentary and snore-inducing symphony to bother with it.

But then I discovered a couple of kids’ shows that utter blasted, demolished my myopic assumptions. And how I made my discovery is pretty good, too. I watch television (not public television) all the time that I am at home. I live alone, work at home for the most part, and have the TV on for background quasi white noise or for selected programming when I am not working. One night I turned off the television by remote and must have somehow hit channel 9 (which was then and out here the channel public television airs on). The next morning, waking up with my legs half off the bed in preparation for bolting to the bathroom and kitchen for the morning wake-up rituals, I clicked on the remote. The channel was 9, and the first image that appeared was so freakishly compelling that I was riveted to the bed’s edge as I watched:

A massive baby’s head, centered in a cartoon sun that had spikes throbbing and flapping in the breeze. Four stuffed doll like things with antennae, dressed in Dr. Denton-like footie pajamas of primary colors, puppet faces but real human bodies clearly inside these costumes that were the size of children. And eerie galactic voices that were babyish yet mature cooing “Lala” in a lilting sing-songy way, and “Uh-oh,” in a giddy manner.

What the hell had I done? Had I gotten stoned on some invading gases during the night? Was public television brainwashing us with utterly absurd images and sounds? Was I being punished for my hard angles on public television broadcasting techniques? Was I still asleep?

Turns out, as I was laughingly informed by my college students that semester, the show is called Teletubbies. It is strange but hugely popular. It is targeted toward a toddler audience, yet is highly controversial for adults/parents. (One Teletubby, for instance, is male, but carries what is interpreted as a purse! Oh my!!) So public television has some chutzpah after all!

Public television also has Max and Ruby. This show I also found by accident, having worked through one night till it was time to channel surf at 6 a.m.. On the show are cartoon big sister and cartoon little brother, both of whom are (anthropomorphized) rabbits. Ruby constantly fusses over Max and Max is the quintessential toddler, getting into mischief, trying to get out of serious events and behaviors such as formal dinner parties and dressing up and staying clean. The thing that is so amazing to me, though, is these sibling rabbits live in a house, eat, play, learn, sleep, have snacks, etc., all without any parental presence. There is no mother or father living in the house. So the concept of Ruby, who is about 12 (bunny scout age) and Max, very young, completely subsisting on their own strikes me as most interesting.

It probably goes without saying, then, that I watch Teletubbies and Ruby and Max faithfully now. And therefore, I now watch public television. Sort of.