Keepin' It Real (Time)

Mark and I had a friendly disagreement this morning.  While throwing out ideas for how to spend this free day,  I mentioned the usual suspects:  Holmes Lake, Pioneers Park, "Frasier" reruns, all of which Mark was amenable to.  But then he pointed out that we could watch "Frasier" reruns any time we wanted to, thanks to Netflix.

"It's not the same," I said, making an argument for the crap-shoot appeal of broadcast television.  "I like that someone else will choose which episode we get to watch."  And then, like I so often do, I took a bit of a cheap shot.

"Watching 'Frasier' on Netflix is like doing the Saturday crossword on a Tuesday," I said.  "It's just wrong." 

Now, I've been copying weekend crosswords for the past couple of years, stockpiling them for Mark, who spends his weekends at Duncan Aviation.  And, while I'm glad to do it, I also have this tiny little opinion that sits on my shoulders, harrumphing the idea of not doing the puzzles "live."

This is petty, I know, but I like to think that something nobler sits just under the annoying crust of my opinion.  After all, this focus on "live" vs. "taped" spills into other areas of my life as well, so it would be nice to think that there's some deep point I'm trying to make.

I remember when our school started showing live footage of the spring rock concert, airing it on two screens just off of the stage, while the kids were right there, dancing the night away.  I was so confused by those screens, suddenly unsure of how a person watches a concert.  Sure, I could see the kids' faces better, projected on the big screen. But I also felt more removed from the performers and the experience itself.  I ended up leaving at intermission, feeling like I'd been cheated of something.

Even though there are a thousand things in my life that I've missed because I hadn't shown up or I showed up too late, I like the idea that these experiences were both deep and fleeting, that those who were there were in for a real treat.  And the rest of us?  Too bad, so sad.  That's why I've loved the sunrises and sunsets so much these days...these short-run features that treat those who show up, and who show up at exactly the right time. 

By the time I got home the other night, anxious to show Mark the incredible western sky, fiery oranges and reds had been replaced by humdrum greys and browns.  He'd missed the show, and I hadn't taped it. 

Living a "live" life isn't for the weak-hearted.  Heaven knows, you miss plenty.  But you also get something, too--once-in-a-lifetime experiences stacked upon countless tiny moments when being there means everything.