Often in the evenings after work I find myself too unfocused for reading, and I just want to pick up the remote and passively watch something mindless and entertaining. I don't want to be challenged by anything too PBS-ish or pseudo-educationally Discovery-ish, or offended by toilet humor (those words don't even go together in my world), or yelled at. I rarely find what I'm looking for on cable TV, and after a couple of trips around the channels I typically give up and go online.
But now, thanks to high-speed Internet and my Netflix subscription, I have my perfect prescription for unwinding before bed: the original Dick van Dyke Show. This show is the definition of comfort to me. It was the show I watched when I was home sick from school; the reruns that I could always find in the afternoon between classes in college. I loved everything about it: Rob and Laura's cozy bedroom with the twin beds, knick-knacks and bedside lamp; the nosy but lovable next door neighbors, Millie and Jerry; Rob's office with the TV, dartboard and piano where worked as the head writer for the Alan Brady show; and his coworkers, wise-cracking Buddy and husband-hunting Sally. It was funny without being mean, slapstick without being stupid, clever without being patronizing. Even the theme song has a calming effect on my brain. It's kind of jazzy, but also has funny little cartoon-like riffs so you know it's not taking itself too seriously.
Sometimes people ask you, if you were ever stranded on a desert island, what would you want to have with you? Given that the island has a magic television, I choose unlimited access to every episode of The Dick van Dyke Show.
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