30 Day TV Challenge - Day 16: "You know, when we're in college we're going to laugh about this."

16. Your guilty pleasure show.

One of these people is still on television every day. It's not the one I would have expected.

Oh, dear.

This is usually the part where I say "I can explain," but that's just it -- I can't. I cannot for the life of me explain this. I don't like the show. In fact, I don't think I ever liked the show. But that didn't stop me from watching every single one of the 86 episodes of Saved by the Bell, a half-assed no-budget comedy series NBC parked on Saturday mornings in 1989.

I can't really say I watch it anymore -- I haven't watched it regularly in probably fifteen years. But if I see it while going through channels (if for some reason I'm awake at five in the morning when it still gets aired every day), I will stop. I will watch, for at least a few minutes. If it's a "good" one -- like when Zack and Kelly break up, or Jessie gets hooked on caffeine pills -- I might watch the whole goddamn thing. It's the television equivalent of eating a tube of raw cookie dough. And about as healthy for you.

Saved by the Bell was a heavily retooled version of Good Morning, Miss Bliss*, after they realized the kids were more interesting than the lone adult. It took place in southern California, but it might as well have been set on Vulcan for all that it matched reality. I mean, maybe I'm weird, but my high school certainly had more than one classroom, and I don't think it was attached to a diner owned by a magician. And how many students did Bayside have? Twenty, twenty-five? And our principal had been as abominably clueless as Mr. Belding, the drug dealers would have a much easier time.

As I said, I can't explain what attracted me to this show. It was about teens, but they were so alien to me that they I couldn't relate to them. It was a comedy, but it wasn't funny. It had an ensemble cast, but I'm pretty sure I hated all of the characters. It dealt with real issues kids faced every day, but did so in a laughable, cartoonish manner that rendered it ridiculous. Screech had a goddamn robot, for crying out loud.

I understand why I can enjoy it now: nostalgia, pure and simple. I can watch Saved by the Bell and reflect on the innocence of my youth.

But why the hell did I ever watch it back then?

I don't have a damn clue.

*Okay, a) Why the fuck do I know this? b) Don't act like you didn't know it, too, and c) Have I also seen every single episode of Good Morning, Miss Bliss? What do you think?

The face that launched a thousand enranged throws of the controller

Over the course of a life, one makes enemies. My life is no different.

When those enemies are made in childhood, the grudges can fester. Grow. Their evil can seep into the soil and bring forth blooms of seething, spiteful hatred. Again, my life is no different.

And over the course of two decades, that hatred -- unchecked, unabated -- can become monstrous, an animal no longer controllable or consolable.

Even if the target of all that rage is a drunken pink cartoon boxer.



You motherfucker.

When I was kid, I played Mike Tyson's Punch-Out a lot. A lot. I didn't have my own copy of Zelda yet, and I'd beaten Mario fifteen times by then. Getting to -- and then defeating -- Iron Mike was my sole focus for a good long while. My cousin Brian, he had a post-Mike version of the game, and again, the quest for victory over Mr. Dream consumed me. But I never beat Tyson, or his white-bread revisionist counterpart. Because I never got there.

Because of Soda Popinski.

Pop is your second opponent in the World Circuit, which actually consists mostly of rematches. Piston Honda shows up to fight you again, and in the interim he's learned how to duck. Not exactly a stunning revamp, to be certain, and he's easily dispatched.

And then: Soda Pop. The fucker.

I couldn't beat him when I was little. Couldn't, ever. I returned to the game briefly in middle school, and found that, if my timing was just right, I had no distractions, and the gods smiled in the heavens over Maryland, then I could actually beat him...once out of every, oh, ten tries. The other nine: defeat -- shameful, ignominious.

Remember that fucking dog we talked about, from Duck Hunt? Remember his laughter when you'd miss? Soda laughed, too. A strikingly similar sound, though a little rougher, I think. Deeper. Callous. Evil.

The fucker.

When I got my big batch of NES ROMs a few years ago, I fired up Punch-Out. And guess what? I still couldn't do it. I cheated, even -- used save states to keep my place just before the big fight. It took me hours, and I finally got him. Once.

There are myths and legends that speak of rivalries like this. I've written of them of myself, even when it comes to old video games -- remember Fester's Quest? My continued failure, followed by righteous triumph and victory?

Last night, we bought Punch-Out from the Wii's Virtual Console. I started it, remembering my Fester's triumph and picturing a similar story unfolding. Surely, I would achieve victory. Surely, I would put those old demons to rest.


"I don't think so," Soda Pop said. "And don't call me Shirley."

You...you....you fucker.

Urge to kill rising.

God, I'm a complete sucker for these things, aren't I?

In case you miss the joke with the song, "The Touch" was originally recorded for Transformers: The Movie back in 1986. The version used in this video, though, is from Boogie Nights; Paul Thomas Anderson, genius that he is, used it as the song Dirk Diggler is recording in an attempt to make it big as a rock star.

And Soundwave rules.

If only this were a real trailer, huh?

He's late on his power bill. From Nintendo Power. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

This is what I'm doing when I should be writing.