Apr 8, 2016 3 min read

When I was younger, I would get so angry at my dad when he would grab the remote and switch stations in the middle of a show because of the commercials. Now, I’m doing it. I’ve met the enemy, and he is me. I’ve gone clicker crazy! It turns out that the shoe didn’t fall far from the tree.

P.S. Don’t write in letters and call it a mistake. I actually happen to have a shoe tree.

But I digress, like I do. I blame the Cookie Monster for my remote control madness. At first, I thought it was cute that the Sesame Street creature was hocking hands-free phones.

Then, I wondered, “Cookie, why don’t you use your waiting time more productively and clean up that ginormous mess you made? Or, at the very least, make another batch of cookies?”

Now, I’ve been switching shows in midstream to avoid commercials, such as the aforementioned Muppet-centric one. Then, I forget what I was watching in the first place and fall down an endless rabbit hole of cable channels. I have TV ADD.

I get very confused. The next day, someone will say, “What did you watch on TV last night?”

I’ll respond, “I’m not sure. ‘The Bachelor’ had to cook something with five unusual ingredients in a basket while he sipped coffee at Central Perk with Chandler and Monica, then drag queens had to save Steve Harvey from Chin Ho, and Alicia Florrick and Buffy Summers fought the Flash and Supergirl. Something like that.”

It’s been a while since I could concentrate long enough to stay in one place for 30 minutes, let alone a whole hour.

Police procedurals are completely out. I find myself at the high end of the cable channels. And, as we all know, cable is the worst. There are twice as many commercials, and they are twice as terrible. The higher the channel number, the greater the stupidity of the commercials. You’ve fallen, and you can’t get up! You want your money, and you need it now!

Did you ever notice that in every state in America, some car salesman gets the genius idea of using his trophy wife (I want my Ugg boots in the shot for no real reason) or grandchild (lispy kid) to sell his cars? The only thing worse is when they try to do it themselves.

Dear car dealerships, lawyers and plastic surgeons, if you have money to make a commercial, please hire a professional.

I don’t mean a football player, either. Sometimes I can see their eyes move across the cue cards.

Commercials are for actors. You wouldn’t want your wife or child to remove a tumor from your brain. I’m not saying acting is brain surgery, but the wannabes sure make it look like it is. Hashtag me at #Bitter-actor-party-of-one.

I had to move my viewing habits to Netflix, where there are no commercials and no self-restraint. Netflix shows are like potato chips; you just can’t stop at one episode. It’s equally exhausting.

The good news is I only watch television in the winter. Eventually summer will be here, and my only clicking will be the off button.