Dave Randall writes...

First, I should say the word blog reminds me of a sound my father would make early in the morning. But I digress.

I've been a radio disc jockey for 27 years--1 in college, 5 for the public radio station that supplanted our college station, and the rest between San Diego and L.A. I 'm currently one of the few function overnight personalities working live on the air in Los Angeles. All the rest are doing news, talk shows, orare in the can...literally and figuratively. What I do, however, will not be the focus of this blog. I'll be making weekly observations about life and love, likes, dislikes, and what happens when you work all night and try to rest during the day.

Emphasis on the word TRY. I've come to the conclusion that the only people who rest well while the sun is out also drink corn liquor from a bottle in a brown paper bag. It's not a natural thing to do, but necessary.

Once you're asleep, it's staying that way that's the toughest challenge. The door slammers, garbage trucks, the functions of every day life can rattle you from your reverie, and keep you from falling asleep again for hours. And then there's plain-old middle age and the predictable trip to piddle that can keep you from lapsing back into the refreshing God-send that is sleep.

When this happens, there's always TV, but the horror of what's there can frighten the grogginess out of any intelligent person, and leave you awake for the rest of the day, wondering aloud, "Who watches this vomitous spew?"

It was JFK's FCC Commissioner, Newton Minnow, who, in 1961, called TV, "...a vast wasteland." It's as if Mr. Minnow had a crystal ball and saw the flotsam and jetsam that washes up on the sound stages of Maury, Jerry Springer, and the endless assortment of "Judge" shows that make a mockery of clear-thinking human beings, far and wide.

These are the shows that bombard the airwaves after the morning coffee clatches and news shows exit stage left, with their enormous beverage mugs: Today, GMA, The Early Show, whatever the cable channels offer. It's an early AM blur of graphics, pundits, weighty weather guys (sorry Al Roker...not so weighty), and stunning beauties, like the woman on CNN, Keiran Chetry, who is so incredibly attractive, it's hard to focus on what she's saying.

I could do a couple of pages on those shows, but the thrust here is how appalling things get once they are done. Again, I ask the question: Who watches this bile? Someone piled up on a spongy couch alternately inhaling donuts and Doritos?

Okay...that was way harsh. And the mystery of Maury Povich revealing the paternity of a baby born to a woman with more tattoos than the crew of the Nimitz DOES rival the plot of a lot of network soap operas. You'll have to agree, though, that the soaps, at least, offer gorgeous actresses. Two minutes of Springer, make you think they hauled the cameras into an emergency room after a "Just got out of jail," party.

I can see, however, where plopping down in front of this televised (and perhaps thoroughly staged) P.T. Barnum spectacular would be an alternative to reruns of, say, Magnum P.I., a series so ancient both its acting and theme song yield more cheese than all of Wisconsin.
A bored hausfrau might choose eyeing the bellied-babas who point an accusing finger at prospective baby-daddies on Maury, over the mustachioed Tom Selleck, because the plot lines from 1979 might be to contrived for her taste.

The fan of these shows might hang in there for the omnipresent Lucy reruns, but not long. Maybe they venture toward The View, network television's Tupperware party from hell. The only thing missing are the cigarettes and Bloody Marys.

An oasis here would be The Price is Right, the enduring game show, completely in line with our basic human nature: we become euphoric at the aspect of getting something for nothing.
At one point, I thought that when Bob Barker left, the show would join Password in game show heaven. Now, even with Barker retired and Drew Carey assuming the hosting duties, The Price is Right HAS to stay, just to keep daytime viewers from embracing their darker, voyeuristic angels, and offer something other than a forum for individuals with horrendous teeth to sue each other before a retired judge.

What, then, do I watch when I'm trying to dose off, once again? The History Channel, another running of "In Harm's Way, " on TCM, anything else without commercials, or a baseball game if it's on. That usually does the trick. I go back to sleep with a renewed faith in my fellow human beings that certainly wouldn't be intact if I hung around for more than 30 seconds of "Texas Justice."