The Beginning of the Never-End

Watching the Y&R is most definitely something I am not proud of. Its not something I would write on a resume and is not something I would disclose to just anyone. Like a recovering addict, I have to chose my audience wisely and take great caution when I make the disclosure. The risk can be well worth it though: when one finds an ally, a fellow watcher who also has their tongue planted firmly inside their cheek, there is simply nothing like it. It is a secret society that holds more power than the Knights Templar. Given the sheer volume of people who watch the show worldwide, you would think that I would feel a connection to a brethren of literally millions. In theory yes, but as was demonstrated by the line of questioning from the audience at a recent Y&R cast Q&A my friends I went to, it was apparent, that we were alone. Their commentary revealed an alternate universe of watchers, that was quite frankly, chilling. It was like The Invasion of the Bodysnatchers. The banality and earnestness of the questions such as "Nick, are you and Sharon getting back together?" or "Was it hard for you when Cassie died?" were not at all like the questions we would have liked answered, such as: "Who has the worst halitosis on the show?", or "How much is a membership to the Genoa City Athletic club? , and "Is there a waitlist?", or "Is Gina's lasagna really that great ?, or "Who's better in bed, Sharon or Phyllis?", or as my friend Jen did ask the cast, "What exactly is in the corporate file folders that everyone is always leafing through?"

The knowledge of having watched the show for over 20 years is information you do not want getting into the wrong hands. It could ruin you. These enemies lurk at every turn. Even my mother is one. Never one to withhold judgment, when she would overhear the intro music , she would give me a look of disgust and well, pity. "The music depresses me", she'd say, or simply, "I don't get it". Let's face it, the music is depressing. It is the quintessential soundtrack for mid-afternoon malaise, where one is on their third gin and tonic, still in one's bathrobe, and depending on the decade, has already consumed their 15 mg of Valium, Prozac, or Zoloft. Fair enough, mom, on some level, I don't get it either.

I first started watching Y&R in 1986 in my boyfirend's parent's basement. In the days of little choice in terms of programming; no pvrs, heck no VCRs even, we were a captive audience. It was on right after school, and gave us a reason to stow away to the privacy of the basement. It was not our intention to really watch the show, but as either a testament to the show, or my boyfriend not being able to capture my full attention, I became hooked. As the years have worn on, I have earmarked other devotees, people with that certain je ne sais quoi for their ability to deride the show, an abstract creativity that is appreciated by few. Of course, it also makes me feel a lot better about my own problem. Like with any guilty pleasure, there is solace in knowing that you are not alone. As for my boyfriend, I would love to know if he still watches the show, and if he does, he was way cooler than I thought.