Most annoying show on television?
24.
Not because I don’t love me some Kiefer Sutherland (because I do.) And not because I don’t like a good action-y, semi-suspenseful, and more than semi-violent television show, because I can get into that on occasion as well.
No, the part that drives me round the bend is the fact that all this is somehow magically supposed to be happening in 24 hours (spoiler alert—that’s why it’s called “24”.) I mean, I’m all for suspending belief for a bit and going with the concept of the story, but really?
Now before the haters hate, I’ll own that my meh-ness may be due to my ever-so-slight obsession with order and detail (read: I’m OCD.) But I find myself throughout the entire show focusing not on the storyline (we’re saving the President, AGAIN!) but rather on the practical impossibilities of everything I’m seeing.
I can believe that someone can go for 24 hours without sleeping. Sure. We’ve all done it. Poorly and with questionable and often hilarious results, but fine fine. Plausible. And I can buy going for 24 hours without eating. I myself would not be someone you would choose to embark upon a road trip with at this point, but, if necessary, I could do it, sure. But going for 24 hours without sleep AND food? Listen Superman, no way you’re doing that AND ass-kicking-slash-saving-the-planet at that point. Clark Kent needs a nap. And…a glass of water…and potentially a bathroom break. (And do we even discuss the baffling issue of where in all the bloody universe one purchases a cellphone with unlimited service areas and a battery that lasts for 24 hours of non-stop use? I mean, seriously. You could make a fortune if you could get a hold of that patent…Whatever. I digress…) All I’m saying is that our Hero here needs one of his super-top-secret meetings to be at a diner with a cup of coffee, a nice burger, and an electrical outlet. And possibly a cot.
I guess I just can’t get my head tricked into suspending reality long enough to believe how much he can get done with so few resources in just 24 hours. The range of emotions. And physical exhaustion. The life or death situations. Too much. Not possible. Turning the channel.
J is being deployed. Again. Suddenly.
Yeah. I’ll let that sink in.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again. He’s done his time—so close to retirement. He’d already been given orders for his next assignment. He doesn’t need a command. He was not even stationed with a particular unit. But of course none of that matters. It didn’t matter his rank. It didn’t matter his family situation. Didn’t matter that we already had orders to PCS. It didn’t matter the incredibly short notice or tight timeline they put him on. Didn’t matter that he was stationed in a non-deploying position, separate from any sort of deploying unit. Nope. Particular skill set + immediate need= pack your duffel, Soldier. You’re on!
On a Tuesday morning we were on family vacation—happy, sunny, relaxed and planning our next PCS move.
On Wednesday morning, he got the email. And an hour later, we were on the phone. Trying to wrap our heads around our new reality. How do we do this? When does it happen? Why so quick? Can we delay? Say no? Ask for something else? Plead our case?
No. Of course the answer to these things was no. This was happening. (Of course it was. For any of you who know J, you know that he would never ever side-step something he felt to be his duty. It’s not only that this is his job, it’s who he is: It’s what he does. From the moment they said “we need someone to go,” I knew it would be him. And it’s why I love him. But damn, damn, damn.)
And then the planning started. What happens next? What resources do we have? What resources will we need? Who will help with the baby? How will Eleanore handle all this? Will she even know? What will my job say? Can I handle this on my own? (I’ll have to.) Can I reach out to friends and family? (I’ll have to.) Are we still moving when he gets back? Will I be coordinating that move? (Yes…and…yes.) And Christmas. And Thanksgiving. And Ellie’s 2nd birthday. And…and…and.
Off the phone. Decisions made. Plans starting to come together. Quiet in my office by myself. First deep breath. And the waterworks begin. I’m profoundly sad. And I’m angry. And I’m proud and frustrated and scared out of my mind.
My poor unsuspecting girlfriend called just about then to catch up and ask about my vacation. (sorry friend...) Trying to relay the information to her only furthered my breakdown into an ever-deteriorating mental state. (In my defense…I had *literally* just hung up the phone with J. And this really did blindside us. Plus, the most mentally and emotionally taxing thing I had had to deal with in the week previous was getting my kid to sit still long enough for me to apply sunscreen. To say that I was ill-prepared for the phone call at that particular moment is a pretty solid truism.)
“You gonna be ok?”
“Well. I have to be.”
“No you don’t. It’s ok to be emotional about this. It’s a huge deal. I’d be upset for days.”
And that’s when I realized that that wasn’t my reality—couldn’t be my reality. I sighed and pulled myself together. “I’ve got 24 hours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get 24 hours to process. I get 24 hours to be mad and freak out. And then I gotta be done with it. This is happening. And I am in charge of holding it together at home. And it’s going to be fine. I don’t have time to freak out longer than 24 hours. And honestly, J has to get his head in the game. He doesn’t have the time or energy to be worrying about what is going on at home. I get today to freak out. Privately. And then tomorrow I have to put my game face on and be done with this silliness.”
And so it was. I came home from work that night with our little girl in tow. Eyes dry. Said game face appropriately donned. “Let’s do this.”
And so we planned. And schemed. And started setting up what life would look like while J was away and more importantly, what life would look like for us upon his return. Teamwork. Resolve. And a plan.
Thursday morning, J got the call to confirm he’d be taking the deployment. (An aside, I’ll leave out the next three weeks’ worth of torture where he was going, then he wasn’t going, then they needed him, then the assignment was no longer valid, then it was a year, then it was a six months, then it was a year but no move afterwards, then it was on, six months, and we still move to the PCS we were supposed to go to in the first place. Three weeks of this. Three.weeks. I’ll offer that little timeline without any additional commentary…other than to say not cool, Army. Not cool.)
But we made it. We made it through the first 24 hours. And we made it through the next 24. And each day after that, 24 more hours, removed from the Big Clock of slowly moving time that gets us to the next thing.
So I guess, when you’re in it, the 24 hours pass. And you come out on the other side stronger, having solved the problem in front of you and ready to face what’s next (I’ll be saving the President in the next 6 months?)
Perhaps Jack Bauer isn’t so unreasonable. I guess it’s pretty amazing what you can accomplish in 24 hours when you have to. But if Jack Bauer is legit, someone needs to go ahead and grab that cell phone plan for me. I feel like I’ll probably have some important calls to make in the next six months or so.
24.
Not because I don’t love me some Kiefer Sutherland (because I do.) And not because I don’t like a good action-y, semi-suspenseful, and more than semi-violent television show, because I can get into that on occasion as well.
No, the part that drives me round the bend is the fact that all this is somehow magically supposed to be happening in 24 hours (spoiler alert—that’s why it’s called “24”.) I mean, I’m all for suspending belief for a bit and going with the concept of the story, but really?
Now before the haters hate, I’ll own that my meh-ness may be due to my ever-so-slight obsession with order and detail (read: I’m OCD.) But I find myself throughout the entire show focusing not on the storyline (we’re saving the President, AGAIN!) but rather on the practical impossibilities of everything I’m seeing.
I can believe that someone can go for 24 hours without sleeping. Sure. We’ve all done it. Poorly and with questionable and often hilarious results, but fine fine. Plausible. And I can buy going for 24 hours without eating. I myself would not be someone you would choose to embark upon a road trip with at this point, but, if necessary, I could do it, sure. But going for 24 hours without sleep AND food? Listen Superman, no way you’re doing that AND ass-kicking-slash-saving-the-planet at that point. Clark Kent needs a nap. And…a glass of water…and potentially a bathroom break. (And do we even discuss the baffling issue of where in all the bloody universe one purchases a cellphone with unlimited service areas and a battery that lasts for 24 hours of non-stop use? I mean, seriously. You could make a fortune if you could get a hold of that patent…Whatever. I digress…) All I’m saying is that our Hero here needs one of his super-top-secret meetings to be at a diner with a cup of coffee, a nice burger, and an electrical outlet. And possibly a cot.
I guess I just can’t get my head tricked into suspending reality long enough to believe how much he can get done with so few resources in just 24 hours. The range of emotions. And physical exhaustion. The life or death situations. Too much. Not possible. Turning the channel.
J is being deployed. Again. Suddenly.
Yeah. I’ll let that sink in.
It wasn’t supposed to happen again. He’s done his time—so close to retirement. He’d already been given orders for his next assignment. He doesn’t need a command. He was not even stationed with a particular unit. But of course none of that matters. It didn’t matter his rank. It didn’t matter his family situation. Didn’t matter that we already had orders to PCS. It didn’t matter the incredibly short notice or tight timeline they put him on. Didn’t matter that he was stationed in a non-deploying position, separate from any sort of deploying unit. Nope. Particular skill set + immediate need= pack your duffel, Soldier. You’re on!
On a Tuesday morning we were on family vacation—happy, sunny, relaxed and planning our next PCS move.
On Wednesday morning, he got the email. And an hour later, we were on the phone. Trying to wrap our heads around our new reality. How do we do this? When does it happen? Why so quick? Can we delay? Say no? Ask for something else? Plead our case?
No. Of course the answer to these things was no. This was happening. (Of course it was. For any of you who know J, you know that he would never ever side-step something he felt to be his duty. It’s not only that this is his job, it’s who he is: It’s what he does. From the moment they said “we need someone to go,” I knew it would be him. And it’s why I love him. But damn, damn, damn.)
And then the planning started. What happens next? What resources do we have? What resources will we need? Who will help with the baby? How will Eleanore handle all this? Will she even know? What will my job say? Can I handle this on my own? (I’ll have to.) Can I reach out to friends and family? (I’ll have to.) Are we still moving when he gets back? Will I be coordinating that move? (Yes…and…yes.) And Christmas. And Thanksgiving. And Ellie’s 2nd birthday. And…and…and.
Off the phone. Decisions made. Plans starting to come together. Quiet in my office by myself. First deep breath. And the waterworks begin. I’m profoundly sad. And I’m angry. And I’m proud and frustrated and scared out of my mind.
My poor unsuspecting girlfriend called just about then to catch up and ask about my vacation. (sorry friend...) Trying to relay the information to her only furthered my breakdown into an ever-deteriorating mental state. (In my defense…I had *literally* just hung up the phone with J. And this really did blindside us. Plus, the most mentally and emotionally taxing thing I had had to deal with in the week previous was getting my kid to sit still long enough for me to apply sunscreen. To say that I was ill-prepared for the phone call at that particular moment is a pretty solid truism.)
“You gonna be ok?”
“Well. I have to be.”
“No you don’t. It’s ok to be emotional about this. It’s a huge deal. I’d be upset for days.”
And that’s when I realized that that wasn’t my reality—couldn’t be my reality. I sighed and pulled myself together. “I’ve got 24 hours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I get 24 hours to process. I get 24 hours to be mad and freak out. And then I gotta be done with it. This is happening. And I am in charge of holding it together at home. And it’s going to be fine. I don’t have time to freak out longer than 24 hours. And honestly, J has to get his head in the game. He doesn’t have the time or energy to be worrying about what is going on at home. I get today to freak out. Privately. And then tomorrow I have to put my game face on and be done with this silliness.”
And so it was. I came home from work that night with our little girl in tow. Eyes dry. Said game face appropriately donned. “Let’s do this.”
And so we planned. And schemed. And started setting up what life would look like while J was away and more importantly, what life would look like for us upon his return. Teamwork. Resolve. And a plan.
Thursday morning, J got the call to confirm he’d be taking the deployment. (An aside, I’ll leave out the next three weeks’ worth of torture where he was going, then he wasn’t going, then they needed him, then the assignment was no longer valid, then it was a year, then it was a six months, then it was a year but no move afterwards, then it was on, six months, and we still move to the PCS we were supposed to go to in the first place. Three weeks of this. Three.weeks. I’ll offer that little timeline without any additional commentary…other than to say not cool, Army. Not cool.)
But we made it. We made it through the first 24 hours. And we made it through the next 24. And each day after that, 24 more hours, removed from the Big Clock of slowly moving time that gets us to the next thing.
So I guess, when you’re in it, the 24 hours pass. And you come out on the other side stronger, having solved the problem in front of you and ready to face what’s next (I’ll be saving the President in the next 6 months?)
Perhaps Jack Bauer isn’t so unreasonable. I guess it’s pretty amazing what you can accomplish in 24 hours when you have to. But if Jack Bauer is legit, someone needs to go ahead and grab that cell phone plan for me. I feel like I’ll probably have some important calls to make in the next six months or so.
