“That’s really her name?!” Crankenstein asked late this afternoon, having emerged from her nap to find me half-watching an episode of Reba while folding laundry.
She was referring to Park Overall, a national treasure whose credits I’ve rehashed for her in the past. But it never sticks, and once every year or two Overall is new to her (though she remembers her voice from The Critic). That she was able to memorize and understand the metabolic pathways but can’t identify a single member of Empty Nest’s cast intrigues me.
You could argue the two are related; that her inability to pick David Leisure from a lineup is what enables her to cram so much useful information into her noggin. But I’m unconvinced and will cite as evidence Terry Meeuwsen, the former beauty queen turned 700 Club host and performer of grisly odes to Jesus. That Crankenstein remembers Meeuwsen (but not my birthday) and probably thinks Dinah Manoff is a canned stew or lesbian golf tournament is more about her parents’ weirdness than anything else.*
I thought of them this afternoon during my introduction to Reba, which came by way of algorithmic recommendation by whatever streaming app was open. Though I was one of only 12 or so people who tuned into Reba McEntire’s Malibu Country over a decade ago, I’d never seen her WB sitcom. The only time I laughed during the first few episodes was during its execrable theme song, which was specifically written to appeal to viewers like Mother-in-Law, who watches the Hallmark Channel (incidentally, a purveyor of Reba reruns) religiously.
The show was still playing when Crankenstein appeared. “You have to hear this song,” I told her, and she was instantly smitten and vowed to sing it whenever I least expect it. She laughed when I said it was something her mom would’ve liked and replied “Oh, I’m pretty sure she watched it. This is right up her alley.” I left the TV on as she opened her computer to edit an upcoming journal submission — she likes sitcoms as background noise while writing — and when the episode ended asked if I should turn it off.
“Keep it on,” she said, and I knew it had happened once again; I’d fallen into a trap of my own making. By selecting a show Crankenstein would normally avoid like the plague I’d somehow ensured she’d take a shine to it. Who knows how many episodes I’m on the hook for now, which will play while she’s immersed in citations and gives the TV maybe 4% of her attention. At least I’ll have Park Overall for another few episodes, and maybe her role will be memorable enough this time that a certain someone won’t ask “That’s really her name?!” when she catches me watching Fifteen and Pregnant for a review.
* They probably vetoed Empty Nest after hearing the dog’s name was Dreyfuss and assuming he was Jewish.