Pioneer Valley Days

Joe's TV List Answers the Can

#13: Wonder Pets
(Nick Jr./Noggin, 2006-present)

I want a Wonder Pets ringtone for my cell phone. Really. You know, just so everyone in the elevator at work -- or the bank president I might be interviewing -- knows that the phone, the phone is ringing. Of course, this is a pipe dream. Do you know how I text-message Jenn? I handwrite a short note, take a picture of the note with my phone, and transmit the photo. Such is my level of high-tech expertise. So, even if I found the ringtone I crave, I'd certainly never figure out how to load it onto my phone. Perhaps what I need is my very own episode:

Tuck: “A professional writer … ignorant of technology…”
Ming-Ming: “This is sewious!”
Tuck: “We have to help him.”
Linny: “Let’s help the moron!”
All: “Let’s help the moron! Let’s help the moron! Whee!”

Then they all jump into the toybox and emerge dressed up as a Victrola, a Gutenberg press, and a butter churn. “We’re obsolete technology!” Linny says, and they laugh. Then they don their capes, launch into their refrain (“Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we’re on our way … to meet a helpless technophobe and save the day…”) and start putting together the flyboat, only to discover that one of the flashing lights isn’t flashing. Tuck starts to get frustrated, but Linny just fiddles with it for a second, and it’s fixed. “Linny’s so smart,” Tuck says. Then Linny starts singing a song about how successful people need a bare minimum of technical knowhow if they want to be productive members of 21st-century society. Then they leave the schoolhouse and eventually meet me, and everyone’s cheerful at first, but after several failed attempts to help me understand the uploading process, and with the episode’s allotted 11 minutes ticking away…

Tuck: “Just press the damn button!”
Linny: “It’s not good to swear, Tuck.”
Tuck: “I know, but even Ollie isn’t this stupid!”

…Linny just finishes the install herself and thrusts the phone at me. “You weally do not desewve this, you know,” Ming-Ming spits out, wings on hips. I try to hug Tuck, but he just kicks me in the shins. Then, too depressed to eat any celery or sing the refrain again, they fly off in silence, the orchestra fades out, and Nick Jr. goes to commercial. Meanwhile, back home on the couch…

Jenn: “That was a surprisingly strong episode.”
Nate: “Linny was Mommy!”
Joe: “Oh, go to bed, Nate.”

Joe's TV List Fills in the Blanks

#14: The Match Game
(NBC, 1962-1969, 1983-1984;
CBS, 1973-1979; ABC, 1990-1991;
Syndicated, 1979-1982, 1998-1999)

“George blank,” I say. Where does your mind go? Clooney? Bush? The timeless Washington himself? Catch a rerun of The Match Game during its CBS heyday, though, and watch the clearly whiskey-besotted Dawson-Reilly-Somers ensemble scribble out ‘Segal,’ ‘McGovern,’ and ‘of the Jungle’ between swigs, and you’ll wonder where the years went. (And Lord help us all if Gene Rayburn asks them where Dumb Donald likes to spread his butter.) This was the 1970s, though. If you stumbled from your cocaine-fueled swinger weekend into the merciless sunlight of Monday morning, Jimmy Carter slathering malaise over everyone’s psychological sandwich, adulterous couples musically bonding over piña coladas and irony, and on top of all that your agent plunked you down amid a blinding sea of orange and convinced you that bantering with an endless parade of squealing, feather-haired dullards to the delight of bored housewives and truant schoolkids was your best career option, well, you’d drink, too. So lay off my crew. Because, in the end, The Match Game was so lame -- how lame was it? -- that it was actually kind of awesome. No, you TV elitists, it wasn’t challenging in that Jeopardy! sort of way, but who really needs that kind of mental workout right before lunch? Housework ain’t easy, people. So go blank yourselves.

Joe's TV List Also Likes to Count Things

#15: Sesame Street
(PBS, 1969-present)

The messages were so subtle, we hardly realized we were learning. Lessons about sharing and tolerance. About how letters form words. About birth, death, marriage, careers, and overcoming handicaps. And, especially, about how you should never, ever carry too many pies to the top of the stairs. Four decades on, Sesame Street has remained so remarkably true to its original concept (well, except for Elmo’s World sucking up the final 53 minutes of every hour these days), and influenced so much children’s TV that came after, that it’s impossible for today’s youngsters to understand what a groundbreaking idea this was in the late 1960s. I mean, imagine setting out to simultaneously encourage literacy and attention deficit disorder … and accidentally spawning the MTV generation. Seriously, in so many ways, this show was the cauldron that brewed Gen X into the stew of neuroses it is today. From Cookie Monster we learned instant gratification, which led directly to the subprime mortgage mess. Oscar taught us to snark at the efforts of others, which gave birth to blogs. We got our OCD from the Count, our dangerous risk-taking tendencies from Grover, and our poor conflict-resolution skills from Ernie and Bert. And, whenever I hear about someone snapping at the office and mowing down 14 co-workers, I think, Prairie Dawn finally got pushed too far. But can we toast Sesame Street anyway, despite the fact that years of direct exposure to Big Bird left our nation shackled by a creepily wide-eyed, unquestioning naivete? Yes we can!

Joe's TV List Wants to Believe

#16: The X-Files
(FOX, 1993-2002)

Jenn is a wee bit baffled by The X-Files appearing on this list below Wonder Pets, but I don't see why that's so controversial. Wonder Pets, after all, finishes its stories and ties up loose ends. The baby kangaroo doesn't get reunited with its mother only to discover an alien implant in its neck, which is intriguing for awhile and then forgotten about, so that, after the series finale (plot: Tuck drowns when his sink fills with black oil), we're like, "so, what about the baby kangaroo's neck implant?" And years later, the emu shows up on Men in Trees as a pastor. This could be why Mark Snow -- really -- agreed to compose music for the recent Wonder Pets "Save the Visitor" episode, about a lost extraterrestrial: because he wanted to work on something with, you know, closure. On the other hand, the pets never saved a baby flukeman, a baby shape-shifter, or a blight of murderous baby cockroaches. Or even "three baby Peacocks..." "...whose Mommy's stuffed under the bed..." "...this is sewious..." Any of which would certainly have improved the adventures of our classroom heroes, granted. And, sure, The X-Files ran a lot longer than Wonder Pets has so far, and produced some really classic, creepy moments. But then I think of one evening in the spring of 2002, when, with the series finale looming the following week and some 247 plot strings still dangling, Chris Carter gave us a whole hour with a guy who lives with ... wait for it ... the Brady Bunch. At that point, even Linny's head would explode. If she had a TV hookup in her cage, I mean. That's all I'm saying.

What Is Joe's TV List?

#17: Jeopardy!
(Syndicated, 1984-present)

I know Jeopardy! has been around in one form or another since the dawn of time ("Thag kill this with rock." "Uhhh ... deer." "Oh, sorry. You not say what deer"), but I've only seen the Alex Trebek version, so that's what I'm recognizing here in the #17 slot. The high placement is mainly out of awe; I consider myself a fairly intelligent person with way more than my share of useless knowledge, but unless I'm watching, say, the Teen Tournament, I generally can't get more than half the answers (I mean, questions) on any given episode. But just in case your brain feels too broken by the end, this airs right before Wheel of Fortune in many markets, to give your intellect a much-appreciated breather. Seriously, after a long workday, sometimes you need that transition from "What is commedia dell'arte, Alex?" to "T! T! Say T! There are FOUR FREAKING Ts up there, you mouth-breather!" And, let's face it, Alex knows he's hosting a highbrow event ("No, no, no, we were looking for Emperor Vespasian, not Domitian. Vespasian. Hmm. OK, despite that faux pas, you still have control of the board"). I used to watch this (and, yes, Wheel of Fortune, too) almost every night I spent at Nana and Pop Pop's house, and it was fairly obvious to Nana -- especially during the College Championship -- that I was always rooting for the cute girl, and she'd laugh at me. Nana, not the cute girl. Although, had the girl heard my attempts at questioning the high-level answers, she might've had to suppress a few chuckles, too. Oh, shut up, Alex. You try it without cue cards.

Joe's TV List Is Filled with Turtle Meat

#18: Mystery Science Theater 3000
(KTMA, 1988-1989; Comedy Central,
1989-1996; Sci-Fi, 1997-1999)

One bright summer afternoon in 1998, I returned home from a screening of Saving Private Ryan, sat down at my computer, and promptly typed up "Joe's Guide to Moviegoing," 10 tidbits of escalating obscenity masquerading as advice for my fellow patrons, along the lines of "stop @#$%ing complaining about the popcorn prices," "shut the @#$% up about having to sit through commercials and trailers," and "quit @#$%ing whining about the Jimmy Fund appeal." But my ire was most concentrated on certain emotionally stunted twits who felt compelled to supply additional dialogue to the official screenplay during key moments. But, again, this was Saving Private Ryan. Maybe I wouldn't have minded so much had it been Eegah!, Manos: Hands of Fate, or one of several Gamera adventures, and if we had been forced to watch them, as were Joel Hodgson (later Mike Nelson) and a pair of snarky robot companions. Perhaps the most arcane of comic endeavors (really, the more obscure references you can follow, the funnier it is), MST3K attracted a hardcore cult following during its lengthy run, yet always stayed true to its ultra-low-budget origins, in both its shaggy-dog ethos and its pawn-shop props and set design. Occasional episodes could drag, but when the Satellite of Love crew latched onto a turkey for the ages like Cave Dwellers ("Uh-oh, the fog's starting to obscure the action." "What action?"), well, let's just say no one was in a hurry to rescue their asses.

Joe's TV List Can Crow Like a Rooster

#19: The Magic Garden
(WPIX, 1972-1984)

Quick recipe for magic: take two unreformed hippies, dress ’em in the swingin’ styles of the ’70s, and give ’em playground swings to sit on. Throw in a surly pink squirrel, an overmedicated bird, a chest full of dress-up garb, and a bunch of flowers that laugh at some of the worst jokes ever told, and you have The Magic Garden, one of the happiest, corniest, most inclusive kids’ shows to grace the small screen (well, screens in the Tri-State area, anyway). During the heyday of Romper Room, Zoom, and Mister Rogers, Carole Demas and Paula Janis easily outcharmed all of them with an acoustic guitar, some low-tech puppetry, and some of the most unappealing hairstyles ever sported by otherwise attractive women. I'm not sure the show's sweet simplicity -- basically a half-hour of singing kiddie standards and acting out classic fables -- would even work today, which is why it's refreshing to know that Carole and Paula are still kickin' it old school at small concert venues and children's birthday parties. Where I'm sure the parents all stand around with silly grins on their faces while the kids just mill about, incredulous and scowling, before heading upstairs to play Grand Theft Auto IV and upload breathless confessionals to YouTube. Times change. But not in the garden.

Joe's TV List Stays After to Clean the Erasers

#20: Head of the Class
(ABC, 1986-1991)

During the first season of Head of the Class, one of my English teachers complained that no school would ever let a substitute teacher take over an advanced-learning program. Because, clearly, no public school would ever make a decision based on expediency rather than the welfare of the child. How could ABC even think it? Well, aside from some of them taking five years to graduate, this bunch didn’t fare too badly. And in the eyes of a certain 15-year-old from Connecticut, Khrystyne Haje’s Simone was one smoking-hot literature geek, although the actress’ parents really should serve time for a premeditated assault on vowels. My fondness for Howard Hesseman’s gang of smartass bleeding hearts probably stemmed from the gifted program I had attended once a week during grades 4-6. We did a lot of creative, independent-project-type stuff that seemed more like playing than school to me, and I remember we watched the first space shuttle launch on TV. Sure, we never visited Russia or produced a music video that completely missed the point of "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades," but I like to think some of my classmates went on to greatness. Maybe none of us became an ace TV producer like Dan Schneider, but hey -- none of us married Mike Tyson, either.

Joe's TV List Gets Sent to the Cornfield

#21: The Twilight Zone
(CBS, 1959-1964)

My Mom has this antique doll named Mae Starr, who has real human hair and very likely wanders the house at night crying real human tears, which may explain why the pomeranians have never calmed down like normal dogs. Besides marrying Julie, I believe the very existence of Mae was the main reason my brother, Jeff, moved out. Anyway, I sometimes called her “Talky Mae” because of The Twilight Zone, the only series to date in which a doll pushes Telly Savalas to his death down a flight of stairs. (Well, I think it's the only one, but I never watched Kojak, so I can’t say for sure.) Despite those occasional flights into camp, Rod Serling’s masterful anthology series remains one of the most thoughtful, literate half-hours in TV history, and certainly among the most influential. I imagine its playful edginess made an even greater impact during the Father Knows Best era, and at its best, the head-spinning twists (broken glasses, a broken stopwatch, an alien cookbook) became instant cultural touchstones; the latter, for example, became a great escalating gag on a Simpsons “Treehouse of Horror” episode. If you're still not convinced of Serling's greatness, at least sit back and enjoy the spectacle of the only sentient, talking doll ever to have its head squeezed in a vise on TV. (Well, I think it's the only one, but I never watched Small Wonder, so I can’t say for sure.)

Joe's TV List Walks Out $50 Poorer

#22: Night Court
(NBC, 1984-1992)

Broad comedy (and not ‘broad’ the way Dan Fielding might use the term) is tough to pull off, but as the longtime back-end anchor of NBC’s Thursday-night comedy block, Night Court managed to be both humane and slapsticky, often at the same time, and make the effort seem graceful. Networks were more patient then; the show didn’t really soar until a few seasons into its run, when Markie Post came on board and most of the seismic cast shuffling (God bless Marsha Warfield, who surely knew she was staring down certain death by taking that role) was in the rear-view mirror. Dan Larroquette won all the individual awards (and his chemistry with Post was remarkable), but Harry Anderson, previously best-known for his can-you-top-this appearances on Cheers, brought an underrated humanity to the nonsense – and what glorious nonsense it could be, what with recurring roles for the likes of Yakov Smirnoff, Mel Torme, and a pre-Data Brent Spiner. In the end, Night Court worked because it was funny – but it remains inspiring, too. After all, wrapping up my monthly newsletter-design project kept me up well into the wee hours last night, but Harry once got through 207 cases before midnight – and won an arm-wrestling match to boot. Well, he had help, but still.

Joe's TV List Plays Ball in the House

#23: The Brady Bunch
(ABC, 1969-1974)

Hey, Fluffy the cat here, and I've got some, um, confessions to make. See, they were planning to write me out after the pilot. I tried to escape at the wedding, but they corraled me. Said they were taking me to visit some youth in Asia. But I got away again. They never did find me, but I was always around, hiding in the corners of that crappy house in California -- you know, the one where the exterior facade didn't match the interior, and Mr. Brilliant Architect installed one bathroom for six kids. They never did know all the damage I caused. But who do you think really broke the vase? Who summoned the Tiki gods and brought down horrible curses in Hawaii? And Marcia's nose injury? Actually a deep, infected scratch. Oh, I was everywhere. I sent Cindy those love notes to screw with her head. I switched Mike's plans with a Yogi Bear poster. I locked Bobby and Greg in the freezer. I curled up beside Jan every night and softly purred suggestions of inadequacy and self-loathing in her ear. And who do you think pushed Tiger's ball into the road at rush hour? Things like that don't just happen, you know. They finally caught me passing notes to the producers about the need to add an obnoxious cousin to the cast, and I got hauled off to the pound, but the damage was done. I had my revenge. Oh, don't look at me like that. What's that? Other actors haven't turned into sociopaths after being written off shows? Really? Tell that to Chuck Cunningham, last seen dragging a kerosene barrel away from Arnold's, the light from the flames shining in his eyes like dancing laughter.

Joe's TV List Unpacks Its Adjectives

#24: Schoolhouse Rock
(ABC, 1973-1986, 1993-1996)

It’s an oft-repeated legend that countless Gen-X schoolkids, when asked to write the preamble of the U.S. Constitution from memory, sang softly to themselves as they scribbled. Of course, they all got points docked for jumping right from “We the people” to “in order to form a more perfect union” because Schoolhouse Rock didn’t bother to include “of the United States.” Oh, well. These three-minute shorts – 52 in all – got most everything else right, whether it was Interplanet Janet touring the solar system, Lolly spouting off about adverbs (not as memorably as Tom Lehrer did on The Electric Company, but close), or Jack Sheldon giving immortal voice to a downtrodden bill longing for his chance to become a law (today, he’d be a crumpled judicial nomination stuffed behind Nancy Pelosi’s filing cabinet). Schoolhouse Rock was a misnomer – the music tended more toward jazz and pop than rock – but the educational value was immense, ranging from grammar and math to science and American history. Still, history is an ever-changing beast, and when the Dems control everything next year, it would be nice if the show returned to document our cheerful descent into socialism, with winning numbers like “You’d Just Spend It on Your Family” and “Siphon This.” The latter would tell the witty story of how the environmental lobby and Democratic lawmakers spent decades restricting America’s ability to drill and refine its own oil, leading to overdependence on unstable foreign markets, all the while extorting billions in revenues from oil companies, yet somehow Republicans got blamed when prices hit $4 per gallon. It would be hilarious. Someone call Jack Sheldon.

Joe's TV List Would Like to Spin Again

#25: The Price Is Right
(CBS, 1972-present)

Readers of this blog know about my Nana and Pop Pop’s house in Bridgeport, where I spent countless weekends of my childhood and teen years. It’s also the only place where I ever watched The Price Is Right, because that’s what kids of that era watched in the morning with their grandparents. (Evenings: Wheel of Fortune and The Carol Burnett Show, with particular emphasis on the end credits, when cartoon Carol scratches her ass. Afternoons: General Hospital, so hopefully you brought a book.) But here’s the thing about The Price Is Right: college students watch it. Housewives watch it. Everyone watches it, no matter how lame and gaudy it gets, because lame and gaudy are the point. I mean, Password never featured a yodeling mountain climber lazily plummeting off a cliff. No one ever played miniature golf on Card Sharks, and Jeopardy doesn’t let the audience yell out answers. (“Four! Four! Count my fingers, you moron, four!”) But let’s give due credit: no one could have carried off this brand of supermarket insanity better than Bob Barker and Rod Roddy, although others still try. Pop Pop watched until he died. He’s probably watching right now, still muttering angrily each time a Plinko chip drops into the $0 slot. And Nana’s still laughing at him. But she doesn’t mind. It’s almost time for her stories.

Joe's TV List Wants to Dip ... Never Mind

#26: The State
(MTV, 1993-1995)

While the sheer, long-running ubiquitousness of SNL (first host: Richard Burbage) contributes to its high ranking on this list, The State, which ran for just a few years on basic cable, gets a higher spot because it burned brighter. During the years I spent living at home post-college, this was ritual viewing for me and my brother, Jeff, and we still break out the references at family dinners. (“Could I get more of this neon blue … is it meat?” “No, it’s Muppet.”) The State, a company of 10 guys and one gal (most of whom still collaborate on various projects), managed to work within the sketch-company tradition while subverting it in subtle ways (particularly Ken Marino’s Louie, a parody of recurring characters whose entire persona was one ridiculous catchphrase). If nothing else, The State led indirectly to Michael Ian Black’s career in pop-culture snark at VH1, doing basically what I do on this blog, but getting paid for it. Anyway, if MTV ever gets around to releasing some State DVDs, scoop ’em up (unless you’ve doubled your orphans … you’ll need to spend that extra cash on food). Oh, and if you ever have the pontiff over for dinner, no need to fret about spilling waste oil on him. Because, seriously, the pope-a? He’s so nice-a.

Joe's TV List Acts All Goofy and Stuff

#27: Leave It to Beaver
(CBS, 1957-1958; ABC, 1958-1963)

Leave It to Beaver is like Everybody Loves Raymond in reverse. Where the latter show sort of ignores the kids in its detailed profile of a marriage, everything we know about June and Ward Cleaver relates to their dealings with Beav and Wally. We know nothing, really, of their relationship with each other. It’s never even clear what Ward does for a living. That’s not a flaw; it’s actually one of the small, brilliant details of one of the most sharply written shows in TV history, one that never forgets that its stories are always told from a child’s perspective – and isn’t the adult world always a bit hazy through those eyes? Leave It to Beaver was nothing if not sly – it dwelled firmly in the conformist ’50s, where moral lessons could be effectively imparted with a stern stare from Dad (you’ll notice that Beav was always worried about getting “clobbered,” but Ward only lectured). Yet, it occasionally wove topics like divorce into the threads of petty misbehavior that framed most episodes – not to mention the show’s groundbreaking portrayal of the toilet, which had been one of the weirder TV taboos; doesn’t every house have one? Certain friends called me the Beav in college, as I was the youngest of the group. I was probably as naïve as Theodore, but I got into less trouble. Come to think of it, you can’t get much duller than that. No wonder Meredith Vieira keeps rejecting my advances.

Joe's TV List Stays Up Way Too Late

#28: Saturday Night Live
(NBC, 1975-present)

After 33 seasons, anyone who’s ever watched Saturday Night Live thinks they know what era was the best. I suspect that, for most, it’s probably whatever seasons aired when they were in college. They all can stake a legitimate claim (well, except for anyone in school between 1980 and 1985). I mean, I can appreciate the original five seasons in the late ’70s, but they don’t speak to me; they seem like funny museum pieces from someone else’s life. My peak SNL-watching period, the late ’80s into the early ’90s, was the era of Carvey, Nealon, Lovitz, Myers, Hooks, Sweeney, and especially Phil Hartman, who remains one of my all-time favorite TV people, as well as an instructive lesson on why it’s important to marry wisely. Anyway, by throwing so much at the collective wall of pop culture over the years, SNL scored dozens of lasting direct hits, but my top two moments are probably not yours. My favorite musical performance was Robbie Robertson in 1992, backed by a large, multicultural ensemble, giving thrilling wing to “Go Back to Your Woods” and the Band classic “The Weight.” As for my all-time favorite skit, it’s not even a contest: the 1987 music video, introduced by Walter Payton, for “We Are the Kickers,” with ‘Raul’ Carvey, ‘Hosni’ Lovitz, and ‘Horst’ Hartman, backed by … well, a large, multicultural ensemble wearing football jerseys and shouting, “Brrr Green Bay!” OK, for sheer artistry, it was no “Lazy Sunday,” but in its time (that is, my time), it captured everything grandly nutty about a comedy show that will never know when to quit. Indeed, we are kickers. We kick ball. We play with ball. We kick the ball. Oooph.

Joe TV List Play Turtle, Draw Turtle, Sing Turtle

#29: Oobi
(Noggin, 2003-2004)

On first look, Joe think Oobi creepy. Hands ... eyes ... lack of linking verbs ... no place for kids. Possibly damaging. But then, Joe keep watching Oobi. Joe decide Oobi funny. Joe read that Oobi might actually benefit early language skills. Nate like Oobi, too. Joe and Nate watch Oobi together, but not for long time now, since Joe want Nate learn verb conjugation. Still, Joe think fondly of Oobi. Sometimes Oobi charming, like when gang make train, boat, and plane from boxes and Uma take trip through house. Sometimes Oobi bizarre, like when Kako conjure pretend circus. But mostly, Oobi hilarious, especially Tyler Bunch as Grampu. Joe wonder why all neighborhood women swoon over Grampu, though. Sexy arm hair, maybe? And why Uma obsessed with chickens? Why Angus eat own eyes? What hell happened to Frieda? More important, where Oobi and Uma parents? How much Grampu know about disappearance? And why Grampu practically raise Kako? Grampu possibly blackmail Kako's father, after Papu accidentally poison Oobi parents with tainted okra? Questions ... too heavy. Too many. Better avoid altogether, or risk unfortunate accident involving falling piano. Look up and last thing see, Grampu and Inka at window. They laugh, then crash, and all go black. Then they sigh and shake hands. A lot. Grampu happy. Inka happy. No more questions. For now.

Joe's TV List Said Anything but Brown

#30: Trading Spaces
(TLC, 2000-present)

In the days before DVR, Jenn and I would skip going to a movie on Saturday night when there were two new episodes of Trading Spaces on. Now that's appointment television. Unfortunately, TLC went so insane with the scheduling, with new episodes a few times a week and a stream of new designers signing on, that they basically killed the golden goose. Or, if you're Laurie, the goldenrod, corn chip, daffodil, sun glow, drawn butter, egg yolk, old newspaper, sissy mustard, smoker's teeth, or advanced jaundice goose. But at its nutso peak, with Paige, Ty, Amy Wynn, and the six core designers (I never watched the earlier Alex episodes), Trading Spaces was predictable only in that you could match the designer to the general category of tragedy that was about to be inflicted. Frank? Arts and crafts, sweaty armpits, and oversensitivity. Doug? Callousness, ego, and occasional brilliance. Laurie? Something yellow. The good news -- despite legendary meltdowns by the likes of Crying Pam, Brown Jessie, and any number of other unfortunate, sleep-deprived suburbanites -- was that the damage was usually reversible. Unless Hildi pulled up with a truckload of something (hay, wine labels, fake flowers) that she could permanently affix to your bedroom walls with glue, lacquer, and the maniacal laughter of the damned. Then it was time to call a Realtor. She still shows up on the new shows, so watch out, homeowners: at some flea market, there's a whole crate of diapers or dead insects with your name on it.

Joe's TV List Chugs the Caf-Pow

#31: NCIS
(CBS, 2003-present)

NCIS (or, as Jenn and I pronounce it, "nickis") is a perfect example of strong cast chemistry lifting a series. But more than that, I've increasingly come to appreciate the high-wire difficulty of what NCIS manages to pull off, tone-wise. Specifically, it's a crime procedural (set loosely in the Navy) with some pretty grim subject matter and hard-hitting emotions. But it's also funny, packed with playful banter and character quirks. I'm frankly awed at how the writers and cast maintain the balance. Lose the nuttiness, and you have CSI. Tilt the balance too far the other way, and ... well, you have Scrubs when you were shooting for ER. Yeah, some of it doesn't work; Ziva's mixups with American idioms always take me out of the moment. But that's hardly a problem when the character is Mossad-trained in the art of kicking bad-guy ass. Mark Harmon's the perfect anchor for all the focused chaos, and Pauley Perrette's Abby, fueled by intellect, caffeine, and salty snacks, is one of the great comic creations in any crime drama. Considering how good this show has become, Sasha Alexander might want to reconsider that bullet in the head.

Joe's TV List Gets a Speeding Ticket

#32: Late Night with David Letterman
and The Late Show with David Letterman
(NBC, 1982-1993; CBS, 1993-present)

David Letterman probably realized the power he wields long before Meg Parsont's birthday in 1992, when he had a Manhattan street closed off so that a marching band could spell out her name below her window at Simon & Schuster. His move to CBS the following year effectively spelled the end of his cheerful intrusions on Meg's life. But a new location offered new friends, like Mujibur & Sirajul and Rupert Gee, and Dave just kept on cementing his place as our generation's Steve Allen, mixing irony, self-deprecation, and man-on-the-street charm for what is now more than a quarter-century. Of course, Allen never donned a velcro suit and threw himself against a wall or had himself dunked in a tank of water wearing thousands of Alka-Seltzer tablets, to name just two of Dave's early stunts, not to mention the venerable Top 10 Lists, Stupid Pet Tricks, or live feeds to Mom. He may be the most unpredictable of late-night interviewers -- I mean, Leno typically doesn't get cursed out or flashed (as Letterman did by Cher and Drew Barrymore, respectively) -- but Dave balances the smarm with genuine feeling (the post-9/11 show, the return from heart surgery). I don't stay up late enough to watch him anymore, but hopefully a new generation of college students is tuning in. Even if it's just to see what Dave throws off his roof next.

Joe's TV List Rocks on the Front Porch

#33: Evening Shade
(CBS, 1990-1994)

I've never been a Burt Reynolds fan, per se, but I've always admired the way, especially in the second half of his career, he'll take on anything, jumping gleefully from Boogie Nights to a cameo as God (or the devil?) in a wonderfully quirky X-Files episode. He just seems to enjoy himself, and the best evidence is Evening Shade, for which he basically gathered a bunch of his close friends -- Marilu Henner, Charles Durning, Michael Jeter, Hal Holbrook, Ossie Davis, the list goes on -- and, for the most part, played it straight and let the other nuts cavort in the spotlight. The result was one of the deepest, most chemistry-laden casts in TV history, in the service of something truly rare: a comedy series of genuine warmth that was also terrifically funny. I'm still quite fond of Evening Shade even though today we can recognize the diabolical motives of its creators, Linda and Harry Thomason, who clearly were softening up America for the ascendance of their pals, Bill and Hillary. "Hell, I'll vote for him," many probably said. "Those two are from Arkansas, and by golly, if they're anything like Wood Newton and the gang, it'll be a great time for everyone!" Of course, when scandals began to emerge early in Bill's presidency, supporters just said, "aw, I still like 'em. And anyway, what's the harm? It's not like they'll ever cause trouble for us Democrats!"

Joe's TV List Furrows Its Brow

#34: Twin Peaks
(ABC, 1990-1991)

So, I told all my college pals, there’s this new show coming out that is going to change the face of television, and you have to watch it. At first, many did. After a few episodes, not so many. Oh, I tried to explain that what they were seeing actually made some sense, that we have to trust David Lynch, he’s brilliant, and the repeated motifs of doughnuts and owls and logs and dancing dwarfs are all very meaningful, and you just have to keep watching. And then the season ended, and we didn’t know who killed Laura Palmer, but it didn’t matter, because it was all so deep and artistic and atmospheric. I even bought the soundtrack and the Julee Cruise album to tide myself over. And then the second season began, and the murderer was revealed, but maybe not, because there was this malevolent spirit, Bob, who possessed Laura’s dad and eventually possessed Agent Cooper after kidnapping his girlfriend and taking her to the Black Lodge, which may or may not have been just a place in Cooper’s head, and my face wrinkled into a contemplative stare as I knew, just knew, that it all had to mean something, ’cause this was David Lynch, dammit, and he was going to change television. But the rest of America had already changed … the channel. Damn fine effort anyway, Mr. Lynch. Thanks for screwing with us.

Joe's TV List Has Just One Hour

#35: Top Chef (Bravo, 2006-present);
#36: Iron Chef (Fuji, 1993-1999)

I originally cheated and had these two cookoffs listed as one entry, but my recent dismissal of Meredith Vieira's sorry ass from this countdown provided an opportunity to separate them. Had I done so before, I’d have been forced to eliminate That’s Incredible at #50, and I wasn't about to do that, because, hey, a guy ate a whole bike. Which was, sadly, never one of the featured ingredients on the original, Japanese Iron Chef, although I’m sure it received some consideration before giving way to sea urchins or natto or Fukui-san’s toenails. It was great TV, highlighted by creations like cod roe ice cream and characters like Hiroyuki Sakai, the French chef who dressed like a lobster but could never, ever properly prepare one. America tried to drop a cultural bomb on Iron Chef with an appalling, William Shatner-hosted mockery that lasted two episodes; the second attempt at a U.S. remake, truer to the original, has endured, but I’ve watched it only sporadically. Far better is Top Chef, which brews up an innovative meld of speed cooking and elimination shows like Survivor. Crankypants Tom Colicchio and the mellower ex-Mrs. Rushdie make an appealing Simon-and-Paula duo (would that make Ted Allen Randy?), while their charges walk a knife's edge between mouthwatering inspiration and laughable disaster (um, airplane broccolini, anyone?). Utensils down and fauxhawks up, the show simply cooks with adrenaline.

Joe's TV List Brings Over Some Food

#37: Everybody Loves Raymond
(CBS, 1996-2005)

Make no mistake – no matter who you are, it’s easy to call Everybody Loves Raymond one of the most pitch-perfect comedies of the past 20 years, but it’s even funnier if you’re married. I suspect it gets better the longer you’ve been married, which may explain why it’s the only show besides FOX News and American Idol that my parents in Carolina watch. One time, on a visit, I called them Frank and Marie, and my mom was all, “we’re not like that, are we?” – her tone was mildly incredulous, but it was funny because you could hear in her voice the creeping possibility that it could be true. (It’s not, seriously. Then again, we’ve only stayed for a few days at a time.) Raymond certainly boasts one of the greatest ensembles in sitcom history, but I’m pretty sure it has forever ruined my favorite X-Files case, “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose,” because now, whenever Peter Boyle’s on screen in that episode, all I’m going to hear in my head is Doris Roberts yelling, “Frank, it’s bad enough you go around predicting other people’s deaths, but now foreseeing your own! Have you even considered how this is affecting me? How could you be so insensitive?” And then she’ll make Mulder and Scully eat something.

Joe's TV List Just Ate, Thank You Very Much

#38: Criminal Minds
(CBS, 2005-present)

"So, what’s on the DVR?"
"Let’s see … well, we can watch Criminal Minds, with the first five minutes no doubt featuring a faceless character slowly and cheerfully torturing a crying, terrified woman before ending her life in some unthinkably horrific way, while her young child is probably forced to watch. Then there will be an hour of sharply written, character-driven drama featuring one of the most appealing, cohesive casts currently assembled on TV, whether or not you’ve fully come around to Fat Tony replacing Inigo. Of course, this narrative will be interspersed with a couple more brutal abductions, tortures, and deaths involving women, children, and occasionally cute fluffy dogs, before reaching a downbeat but ambiguously satisfying ending. Whattaya say?"
"Um, hey, look, we also taped Men in Trees."
"Yeah, let’s watch that."

Joe's TV List Synchronizes Its Swatch

#39: Parker Lewis Can't Lose
(FOX, 1990-1993)

One of the earlier FOX comedies, this ripoff of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off far outlasted NBC’s actual, sanctioned Ferris Bueller spinoff. But while both featured a cocky hero, a meddlesome sister, a loyal friend or two, and a principal-as-nemesis, Parker Lewis was the superior product partly because of its conceptual hook, which was to cast a broadly surrealistic sheen over the world of Santo Domingo High School – hence, Ms. Musso’s ever-shattering door and the very existence of Larry Kubiak, a walking cartoon (played by a young Abraham Benrubi) always on the prowl for his next meal. A bunch of us at college used to cross the street for Taco Bell takeout on Sunday nights before crashing in front of FOX for Parker Lewis (followed by In Living Color and The Simpsons); our pal Ken, who never liked to miss a meal and was always knocking on our doors to gather us to the cafeteria, eventually appropriated a guttural, Kubiakesque “fooood” or “eat now” when summoning his dinner companions. Almost two decades later, that’s what still goes through my mind whenever I watch Men in Trees. Well, that and “Krycek’s a pastor?”

Joe's TV List Is Not a News Broadcast

#40: Unsolved Mysteries
(NBC, 1987-1997; CBS, 1997-1999)

You watched it for the crime stories, cheesily re-enacted by actors who lacked the talent to land any other job. You watched it for the emotional tales of long-lost loves or estranged family members suddenly meeting after decades apart. You watched it for the government conspiracy theories and supernatural tales: haunted houses, miracles, UFO sightings, and alien abductions, all related with a straight face and ultra-serious demeanor by Robert Stack, possibly the single most perfect reality-TV host, at least until the glorious arrival of Phil Keoghan. And you looked forward to the breathless update that ended each episode, telling you of how your phone calls (yes, yours!) led to the capture of another crazed killer, putting Unsolved Mysteries only 132 captures behind America’s Most Wanted, which was slightly more diligent about, you know, results. But you didn’t care, because your show had something John Walsh could never dream of: that unforgettable Unsolved Mysteries music. Yes, that gently creepy, relentless, coffin-door whine that bookended every segment. Oh, you remember it. It’s in your head right now, in fact. It will remain there for some time. Good luck sleeping tonight.

Joe's TV List Turns a Can into a Cane

#41: The Electric Company
(PBS, 1971-1977)

Hey you guuuuuys! If we’re going to add new blood to the cast of Heroes, why not Letterman? By simply pulling a letter from his shirt, narrator Joan Rivers told us, the guy could turn, say, a peanut butter and jam sandwich into a peanut butter and ham sandwich. Think about it: today, he could singlehandedly stop global conflict: for example, he could turn Iran into bran, immediately redirecting that nation’s aggression toward fighting cholesterol and poor digestion. Alas, such thoughts are the residue of the mind-bending education we 1970s youngsters received from The Electric Company, sketch comedy that was, at least in its final two seasons, structured as in-the-classroom curriculum (I can vouch for the half-hour of free time this show gave my first-grade teacher). So that’s how a generation of kids wound up learning phonics and reading skills from the likes of Morgan Freeman, Rita Moreno, and Spiderman. Yes, Spidey was somehow involved. I don’t think Miss Tufano cared, as long as we all made like silent E and just watched the damn TV.

Joe's TV List Saves the World

#42: Heroes
(NBC, 2006-present)

Sort of like X-Men without a training school, Heroes posits a similar next-step-in-evolution concept, tossing a bunch of engaging-but-clueless folks into a brave new world of genetic hardwiring, and stirring in a supervillian who collects powers by mentally sawing off people’s scalps. And you know what? Despite its occasional pretentiousness, it’s great TV. (Extra points for being the only serialized show that foresaw the writer’s strike by shortening and wrapping up its plot in season 2.) But when it comes to powers, why stop at flying, teleportation, regeneration, invisibility, walking through walls, and the like? How about some powers for us everyday shmoes? Super line-cutting would be awesome at the DMV. And what about super metabolism? All the burgers and nachos you want, and never gain a pound! Of course, you might eventually need a super stent followed by a regimen of super statins, but hey, you’d look great on the gurney! Complacent Heroes, we’d call this brand-new cast. But the kid who talks to machines can stay -- because there’s no friend like an obedient ATM.

Joe's TV List Shows No Mercy

#43: South Park
(Comedy Central, 1997-present)

OK, say you're easily offended. Then say you're a Christian. Or a Jew. Or a Muslim. Or a Mormon. Or a Scientologist. Or say you're a woman. Or a man. Or perhaps you're black. Or white. Or Asian. Maybe you're gay. Or straight. Or liberal. Or conservative. Or just minding your own business and flipping channels. Well, flip right by South Park, which is merrily celebrating its 11th year of pissing you off for no good reason except that you take yourself too seriously. Trey Parker and Matt Stone continue to write, direct, and edit every episode -- occasionally with three- or four-day turnaround times, allowing them to respond quickly to any real-world headline -- and they don't particularly care who gets caught in the satirical crossfire. Which makes this perhaps the most intellectually honest, least agenda-driven show on TV, and certainly the only series ever to (a) use the s-word 162 times in one half-hour, (b) use the n-word 42 times in another episode, (c) feature a talking stool sample, and (d) win a Peabody Award. That's right, a Peabody. Of course, the South Park movie lost a Best Song Oscar to Phil Collins, so take all awards with a grain of salt.

Joe's TV List Kicks Ass at Tempest

#44: Silver Spoons
(NBC, 1982-1986; syndicated, 1986-1987)

During its first season, Silver Spoons was appointment television for a certain geeky 12-year-old. (The fact that it aired on Saturdays should tell you something about my social life.) Oh, how I marveled at my young, suddenly wealthy hero, Rick, and his many Very Special adventures, like finding a homeless family in a cave in his backyard ... and hiring Mr. T as a bodyguard to fend off bullies ... and dressing in drag so Jason Bateman could have a date to a party ... and teaming up with Arnold from Diff'rent Strokes to hack into classified military intelligence ... and taking a shower with the Maytag man ... oh, wait, that was also Diff'rent Strokes. Now I'm confused. Anyway, I'm sure Rick had many other adventures, but I eventually lost interest. So did young Mr. Bateman, who bailed after two seasons, apparently realizing that, even though he'd have to languish for 15 years with nothing but Teen Wolf 2 on his resume before reclaiming a respectable career, such a wait had to beat spending any more time with the Rickster. Even though he swears nothing happened on their date.

Joe's TV List Is Crushed by Falling Plaster

#45: The Apprentice
(NBC, 2004-present)

I almost didn't include this in my top 50, simply because it has gotten so silly in recent seasons. Then I looked at what else I was including and realized silliness isn't exactly a deal-breaker for this list. When NBC first started promoting The Apprentice, I thought, great ... a bunch of successful, ambitious, type-A wheeler-dealers running around New York. Sounds, um, charming. But when I realized these people would be set up for mockery on a weekly basis -- by a real-life cartoon character awash in self-importance and tacky gold apartment furnishings, no less -- well, sure, I thought, I'll watch that. Yeah, the show was better with George and Carolyn (although they do defrost George and wheel him out every now and then), but as long as the Donald's self-worship, throwback sexism, and queasy pandering to higher-grade celebs continue unchecked, this will always be worth a watch. A bulky, gaudy, gold watch with zirconia studs.

Joe's TV List Completely Freaks Out

#46: Jon & Kate Plus 8
(TLC, 2007-present)

Let’s get one thing out of the way: I might wash my kitchen floor once a week, and I only have one child, who takes normal naps. Kate Gosselin washes hers three times a day. On her hands and knees. So what is wrong with me as a parent? That, in a nutshell, is the core message of J&K+8: if a high-strung woman with OCD, germophobia, a chronically half-asleep husband, and a crippling fear of magic markers can raise eight well-adjusted children (well, seven, plus Mady), then why should I complain about my daily stresses? I’ll tell you why: because we have to pay to go to Disney World. So stick that in your massive, blinding ceiling lights, Kate. On a positive note, thanks for not killing Collin's teddy bear right in front of him. Um, lighten up. It’s gum, not anthrax powder. Even Aunt Jodi doesn’t have access to that.

Joe's TV List Is Called for Illegal Use of Paws

#47: Puppy Bowl
(Animal Planet, 2005-present)

Puppy Bowl is the single greatest counterprogramming idea in the history of television. Why? Because if you don't dig a bunch of puppies rolling around for three hours on a faux football field, you are ... well, you're just a bad person. So celebrate with me the bowl cam, the random penalty flags, and the year (2006) when springer spaniels dominated the field like no one since the '85 Bears. If actually watching the Super Bowl is your thing, don't worry; Animal Planet usually runs its pooch party over the pregame, too. And if you'd pass on the puppies in favor of listening to the likes of Deion Sanders or Steve Young yapping their muzzles all afternoon, you're possibly beyond help. As are the halftime kittens, after enduring a full 30 minutes of streamers, strobes, and confetti. I think my parents are caring for one of those cats in their backyard these days. If you listen carefully through the open window at night, you can hear his gutteral, feral moans: "So bright. The flashes. No place to hide. So, so, so bright..." Suddenly, he gasps, twitches, and squeezes his eyes shut. But it doesn't stop. It never stops.

Joe's TV List Gets the Hook

#48: Boston Public
(FOX, 2000-2004)

During its too-brief run, this show espoused plenty of liberal causes, but to conservative fans, every week was a brilliantly articulated advertisement for school vouchers. You want guns? Racism? Gay-bashing? Underage sex? Drugs sold out of lockers? You got ’em! Actual Boston accents? Not so much. Despite its wild mood swings and occasional outright nuttiness, it made for great TV — until FOX banished the show to the Friday night death pool and then pulled the plug altogether. Chi McBride eventually resurfaced on The Nine, playing a bank manager taken hostage by armed robbers, probably thinking throughout the entire three or four episodes, “Hey! This is just like my last job!” That’s Winslow High, all right — a place where every child gets left behind.

Joe's TV List Doesn't Suck

#49: Beavis and Butt-head
(MTV, 1993-1997)

Mock if you will, but if you never actually watched Mike Judge’s first major gift to pop culture and only heard about the damage it supposedly inflicted on our nation’s youth, then you don’t realize that Judge wrote (or, in the case of the video interludes, improvised) some caustically intelligent, incisive commentary on the middle-American MTV crowd — right to their faces — but did so with a gentle fondness for his characters, a quality that he would later bring to the more mainstream but also-excellent King of the Hill. But mostly, Beavis and Butt-head was funny as heck, and surreally wise to boot. When the pair sell each other a bunch of candy-drive chocolate bars for the same $2, well, it makes no less economic sense than Hillary’s whole platform, right? Heh-heh-heh. I said ‘hole.’

Joe's TV List Tries This at Home

#50: That's Incredible!
(ABC, 1980-1984)

"Hey, Fran Tarkenton! You've just lost your third non-competitive Super Bowl in four years! What are you going to do now?"
"Go to Disneyland?"
"Um, nope. We're sending Biletnikoff."
"Well, then, I guess I'm gonna retire and then resurface in a couple of years alongside a couple 0f B-list celebs, and we're gonna watch a guy eat a bike on TV!"
"A whole bike? That's incredible!"
"Hey, that has a nice ring to it."
"But not a Super Bowl ring, eh, Fran?"
"Go to hell."