Happiness is a Warm PBS

Maybe it's Daylight Savings Time leaving us, and the stern reality of Standard Time. Maybe it's the unknown stresses that modern life burrows into our unconscious. Maybe it's the espresso at 3 p.m.

All week, I have been waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes twice. It's always 2 or 3 a.m. and I wonder if I can get back to sleep, or if I'll be tormented by hours of lying there dreading the awful drag of an afternoon schedule after a sleepless night. Mostly, I start to worry and then the alarm is howling at 6:43. Yeesh.

But last night, it was terminal. Awake at 3:30, no change of position to coax back slumber. So I took the option of last resort—TV. I have only basic cable, because the expense at the next level is so drastic. (That next level is the usual cable level, with ESPN and A&E and all that.) You go from $15 bucks to $50 bucks and you get Comedy Central. It was worth it once upon a time when a $20 dollar jump got tons of sports and movies, but with ESPN's shift away from Sports to Entertainment, VH1 not that good anymore and "Rio Bravo!" on AMC AGAIN!, it leaves only Sundance. I can't justify the expense—I just can't.

What do you get at 3:30 a.m., then? Chuck Norris 'A' and 'B'; the Lord Thy God (for intellectuals or for real folks); more real estate than you can flip; and our American past. Wanting to get back to sleep, I chose the latter.

So I watched some low-end History programming, right there in the middle of the night with not a sound in the world, but Bob's porch light across the street stabbing through a small window. (Have you no Green sense, Bob?) I watched was one of those inexpensively produced pieces about an obscure battle in Colonial times. These productions copy the Ken Burns method to the nth degree, just not effectively. They dissolve documents behind slo-mo action, they feature beefy re-enactors portraying guys freezing and/or starving, and local small-theatre actors portraying great men without dialogue, only gestures. Narration is crisp and anonymous, and I'm thankful it's one doc not narrated by Peter Coyote. Commentary is offered by Historians from the local University.

Now, this isn't bad automatically. It lets film makers make films and there's a market needing them—me in the middle of the night, for one. People love History and it lets Historians reach them outside the classroom. And it connects the "yarn" that is being told with the facts of real events, which helps de-mythify history and prove its relevance.

So after about 45 minutes of Pocahontas (pretty, but carrying about 15 extra...) and John Smith raising his eyebrow about 30 times—it was the same shot, over and over (editors need work, too)—I had erased the subconscious activity that jolted me awake. My mind was mollified, new dreams were ordered by History and slumber was ushered in as an honored guest.

I awoke with the alarm, hopped to the recycling with a spring in my step, then attended to my blogs. I owe it all to Public Television, which could have gone off the air but stayed with me instead.

Thanks, pal.