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What’s On

Almost every night after the kids are in bed, Dave and I refill our wine glasses and settle in for some TV time. We are trucking our way through Veronica Mars, a show that somehow we missed when it first aired. Kristen Bell is a private detective, solving and resolving crimes in 42 minutes. Veronica is sassy, brainy, and locks up date rapists. It’s just too bad that she keeps getting back together with Logan Echolls, the mopey son of a man who once trapped her inside a refrigerator and set it on fire.

I love Gogglebox, a show about people watching TV. Like many great reality shows, it is originally British. I’ve been watching the Australian version on Thursday nights on Channel Ten. The marketing for Gogglebox was clearly the last agenda item at the network meeting, after “Clean Up the Scan Folder on the Shared Drive.” This is the only explanation for Gogglebox’s tagline: “The TV Show About People Watching TV.” Each episode begins with the following:

Every evening in Australia, more than four million of us choose to spend the night in front of the telly. But have you ever wondered what other people are watching? Find out what people thought about what was on in the last seven days.

Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? But who cares that the promotion of this show was cobbled together by interns. It’s awesome!

Gogglebox depicts ten different living rooms across the country (to represent a cross-section of Australian life?). There’s a couple in their fifties who like to poke each other adorably, surfer-looking best mates Adam and Symon, Wayne and Tom who drink martinis and stroke their lapdogs, two embarrassed teenage girls on the couch with their parents, you get the idea.

All of these good-natured people are watching an equally diverse set of shows: the news, an episode of Real Housewives, a cooking show, Game of Thrones, a rugby match. We simply watch them watch and respond to the TV. It’s like Beavis and Butt-Head, except they’re not cruel idiots.

The Gogglebox households are filmed via remote-controlled cameras with the crews in a separate room. As a result, the people seem very natural. They comment on the shows, occasionally being snarky but mostly just being curious. They turn to each other, sometimes to say things that have nothing to do with what they’re watching (“Love, are you picking up the kids tomorrow?”). I know they know I’m watching. But I swear it feels like spying on nice people having a cozy night on the couch. OH MY GOD MAYBE THEY’RE WATCHING ME WATCHING THEM WATCHING TV.

Willa’s favorite show is called Letters and Numbers, a game show where two contestants compete to unscramble words and solve math problems. One refreshing aspect to the show is its Game Show Pretty Lady is a mathematician. The losing contestant gets a dictionary. The winner gets to come back and compete on the next show. And if you win six times, you get kicked off and… wait for it… a dictionary.

I am thankful for many things lately and one of them is television. This might be an outdated notion, but I believe the purpose of television is entertainment. A show doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. Mad Men, Girls, and Modern Family are considered to be important shows, carrying the weight of historical and cultural evolution. Good for them. They’re great shows. But if I’m in a place (say, Perth) where I need a distraction (say, from a major life change), give me a show about people watching TV.

Windy Day

My husband possesses a unique quality that his close friends refer to as present nostalgia. He is able to be wistful for a moment that is currently in progress. It is not unusual that Dave and I are doing something incredibly ordinary like cleaning up after dinner or reading in bed, when he’ll catch my eye and say, “Life is good.” It’s different from gratitude. It’s more like his future self is visiting his present self and reminiscing about this particular moment in time. He does it with friends too. Our friend Sarah is particularly adept at recognizing when Dave is about to fall into one of his ephemeral trances. In the middle of a round of Cards Against Humanity, she’ll smile knowingly and ask, “Dave, are you having one of your moments?”

It is one of the qualities I love most about my husband. It is right up there with his dedication to paying bills on time and his willingness to crack my back on demand. I will miss all of this when he is killed by a giant Perth wave.

My special quality is a unique ability to sense danger regardless of whether or not danger is present. Of course motherhood has thrown this quality into overdrive, because obviously, any minute now, my children will be killed in a car crash. It is exhausting, constantly rescuing my family members from imagined accidents.

Last Sunday, my family and I went to Swanbourne Beach in Perth.

[The beaches in Western Australia are so magnificent that not mentioning that seems deliberate. I once shook Nicole Kidman’s hand at a work event in New York. I was supposed to tell her something about my job, but who cared about my job when the only thing that mattered at that moment was NICOLE KIDMAN IS VERY TALL AND PRETTY. Perth beaches are Nicole Kidman in Far and Away.]

Swanbourne Beach was, like all the parks and beaches in Perth, conspicuously uncrowded. Sunday was blustery and the surf was rough. The conditions were perfect for burying your feet in the wet sand and laughing hysterically while running away from the crashing waves. No one was in the water, with the exception of a few twenty-something surfers who were getting tossed around like tortellini in a pot of boiling water.

After a power nap in the sun, Dave popped on his goggles and announced he was going for a swim. To me, it was as if he declared he was going to cartwheel across the Mass Pike. As he sought out the perfect spot to embark on his dubious adventure, I tentatively called out “Be careful!” while mentally planning his funeral. What will I do with his body? We’re in the middle of nowhere, for god’s sake.

I watched my husband like a hawk as he made his way out beyond the break. I lost sight of his head once, as he dove into an oncoming wave. But then it appeared, popping up on the surface like a piece of fuzzy seaweed. I have to hand it to him. Once he made it out past the tsunami, he seemed to have a nice leisurely swim. He even stopped to smile and wave at me a few times. I took careful notice, as that was the last I’d ever see of him. I continued to track him as he bodysurfed his way back onto shore.

Dave looked a little hunky as he walked out of the sea – Poseidon in Lands End evergreen swim trunks. It could have been his brush with death. He was probably thinking, “Life is good.”

FAQ: Are you working?

We have established that I am currently living in Perth because my husband accepted a job here. You may be wondering, what are YOU doing for work? Is this 1962? Why are you following your husband around like a puppy? What happened to your career?

Thank you for asking this question in such a polite manner. And, like an obedient little golden retriever who is snuggly but occasionally wets herself, I will now address this important issue.

Firstly, yes it is 1962 and I am wearing a corset, chain smoking, and waiting for my hot rollers to set in. Secondly, hi, I’m sleepy.

Last October, when my husband and I were considering moving from San Francisco to Perth, there was one sticking point. The wife has a job. And the wife would be sad to leave her job because it is enormously fulfilling and it is not portable. The kids would be fine. The extended family, however sad, would be fine. The friends, the house, Arizmendi Bakery, they would all be fine without us. But the wife, what do we do with this working wife situation? Wives are such a hassle, with their insistence that they have their own identities and are treated as equal partners. Down with wives!

It was important to Dave that the decision to leave my job and move our family to Perth was my decision, because the last thing he wanted was for me to be sitting in Australia, filled with regret, creating this quokka-dung narrative about how we had no choice but to move to Perth and how I sacrificed my own career for my husband’s. In fact, Dave and I would both be overjoyed if I landed a job that could fund an international family adventure and he could walk the kids to school, go for a swim, and write a blog post. However, I have spent my career working with nonprofit organizations. I have been outrageously fortunate in my various jobs, but all I’m saying is no one has offered to pay my family to move to Australia. Thank you Chevron. This post is sponsored by Chevron. If you need gas, go to a Chevron station. They have clean restrooms and seven flavors of Gatorade.

Tangent Alert!

Nonprofit organizations of the world, please pay for outstanding employees and don’t apologize for it. Talented people will make you even more money, which translates to more programs and services. If your donors don’t like it, they will move on and you can get new donors who agree with your priorities. And you will get these new donors because you will have outstanding employees who create much-needed services for the community. It’s a magical fundraising love circle. Thank you.

Ok, where was I? Oh yes, it was definitely a family decision to move to Perth. And telling my wonderful job that I was leaving felt like a breakup scene in a rom-com where you’re like, “Whaaat? But they have such a good thing going! This makes no sense! I need more popcorn!” But, also like a rom-com, I think there’s a chance we could get back together someday.

So I am now unemployed in Perth. Which coincidentally is the name of my new country album. I have a working visa, which is great news and means I can work for an Australian company. And I may choose to do this. I could also pick up some consulting projects. But I can’t wrap my head around either of these scenarios yet, because we just got here five minutes ago. For the moment, I am happy and beyond grateful with the current situation, which involves exploring the city, trying to write more than 140 characters, and making sure the little people are smothered in sunscreen.