Scriptus interruptus

Perception has nothing to do with age. I know some exceptionally astute children, and some exceptionally dense adults. In retrospect, it's amazing what I picked up on during The Show's original run, considering I wasn't even old enough to drive yet.

Case in point: Individually, RS and TDH are good actors. Together, they're amazing. So amazing that when you watch them, you start to forget that it's not real.

Or is it?

Sure, you've noticed little things while watching The Show, like the looks that pass between them, or the natural way they touch each other, or how incredibly good they look together. But you don't want to even think about allowing yourself to think about the fact that your heroes could be toppling themselves (and each other, apparently) so you chalk it up to method acting. Damn good method acting.

But what happens when the cameras stop rolling is a little harder to justify.

In the days before the Internet put celebrity gossip at our fingertips, entertainment shows were the best method of finding out what was going down in Tinseltown. And it took all of one interview in the spring of 1995 to notice that the great on-screen chemistry RS and TDH shared translated to real life. Quite well, in fact. They clearly had a great time together - flirting and touching and making each other laugh, like all great couples do.

But that's the thing: They weren't a couple. She was married. Sure, her bit-part bastard husband was decidedly less tall, less dark and less handsome than her co-star, but taken is taken. As in for richer, for poorer, in contracts, in adultery, and the whole nine yards. So surely, with BPB waiting at home, the flirting between RS and TDH was just for ratings. Turn up the heat and the viewers come running with margaritas and sunblock.

But back then, we didn't realize that the only thing keeping RS warm at night was her contract for The Show. At least not at first.

And then she went on national TV and basically said BPB had deserted her on her birthday, and therefore, she was looking for a surrogate husband to help her celebrate. (Ironically, she really didn't need to look too far.) It was the straw that broke the camel's back, and, incidentally, landed her on her back with someone other than the second man in the door after the villain.

Now, I may have been young and naive, but I certainly wasn't blind - or immune to the steam radiating off my TV screen in the dead of winter, a mere week after RS blew out her 31 candles all alone. While promoting that weekend's episode on the one of the entertainment shows, RS and TDH also promoted the fact that they may have had an interest in practicing kissing scenes somewhere other than the soundstage. But I could have been wrong. Maybe unbuttoning your co-worker's shirt and trailing kisses down his neck is common practice at some companies.

In what I will call the "mothers, don't let your babies grow up to be wordsmiths," flashback, I remember wandering into the kitchen and asking, "What does interruptus mean?" My mother eventually picked her jaw up off the floor, mumbled something about stopping in the middle of sex, and then demanded to know why her innocent little daughter, who had not too long ago been playing with Barbies, was asking. Damn you, TDH. Even so, it got me thinking - especially when the actual episode didn't get the characters far enough for there to be interruptus.

Now, admittedly, I didn't outright think they were having an affair, because, hell, I was 13, and still believed in truth, justice, etc. I figured that some if it was probably wishful thinking because I was so mesmerized by the love story between RS and TDH's characters. But I did comprehend the significance of buying body oil and wearing it to work because your sexy-as-hell co-worker likes the scent. Like I said, perception, perception, perception.

By the time The Show's third-season finale was in production, it seemed I wasn't the only one contemplating the allure of salad-scented bath products, because the camera crews were on their way back to Burbank. But this time, they were taping TDH, RS and BPB, who had landed a guest-starring role (playing a smarmy ass, no less). And they sure as hell weren't there to talk about The Show - they wanted to know if there was any truth to the rumors that RS and BPB were on the outs because TDH and RS were having rehearsals à deux.

By this point, Even BPB seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that his marriage was about as shaky as TDH after a weekend in Vegas, because when asked about it, he shot back, "Why would anyone want to know?" As for TDH and RS, they went out of their way to allay the rumors - that is, when they weren't teasing each other and pretending to make out. You know, the kind of stuff that friends do.

Wishful thinking? You be the judge.

Moments of irrationality

Ah, the walk of shame down Memory Lane.

For as good of an influence as the The Show was on me, there were times when it didn't exactly bring out my best side.

(And no, I am not talking about the time during the second season when we had to go to dinner at a family friend's house and my mother said no, I could not set the VCR, because it could burn the house down (?!), and besides, we'd be home long before The Show started ... and we weren't. You'd think the world had ended, and wow, was that an icy ride home, mid-May weather aside.)

No, I'm talking about the long, hot summer of 1996, also known as my most infamous, irrational action as far as The Show is concerned. While TDH and RS cavorted around the Midwest (Alone? Together? Your call.), their fans were left in turmoil over The Show's third-season cliffhanger. You see, this was long before spoilerfix.com, when you can find out what's going to happen on your favorite show before the cast is even finished with its table read. Nope, these were the days when you were living on a prayer that TPTB weren't going to screw with your night, your show -- and your emotions. The Show (or more accurately, The Network) had already put us through hell that winter, and as a result, the fans were understandably wary as May sweeps approached.

And lo and behold, the sky came crashing down on our beloved duo. She cried, I cried, he left, she cried more, I cried more ... it wasn't pretty. (Damn scene still makes me cry to this day.) And when the dust settled, I was pissed. Being a typical teenager, I was in the midst of an emotional upheaval as I prepared for the big show: High school.

The ensuing months had been really hard for me, and I looked to The Show for some form of stability -- and proof that people, namely my hero, could be happy. But, to my utter chagrin, the reassurances vanished as fast as RS's curves. (Hmm ... Now that you mention it ... maybe I wasn't the only one who wasn't happy ... Wait, no, that wasn't possible. Drama was reserved for teenagers such as myself, not beautiful, successful actresses who got paid to kiss TDH, and had an adoring husband waiting at home to rub their shoulders.)

So I did what any (ir)rational person would do: I went on strike.

The Show had abandoned me, so I was abandoning The Show. The tapes went into a drawer, the drawer was slammed shut, and from the day after the third-season finale aired until the day before the fourth-season premiere, me and The Show had an acrimonious split, with me playing the role of the wounded party. High-school zoning boundaries had already taken all of my friends away, and now The Show was messing with my emotions, too?

The irony was, I couldn't escape The Show. What had started out as The Little Show That Could had become a Nielsen powerhouse in its time slot, and RS and TDH were everywhere. And I mean everywhere -- from commercials (I can still remember the rug burn than I got racing -- and sliding -- into the living room when my friend hollered that RS was on TV at that moment) to talk shows to People magazine's Star Watch to movie posters to the cover of TV Guide. (And back then, that was a big deal.)

And even though I was beyond furious with The Show, I couldn't help but be proud of what it had become, and how it was influencing my life.

And all too soon, summer -- and my strike -- was over. The Show's fourth season was starting, and order had been restored to my universe. High school was going to be just as awesome for me as it had been for RS's alter-ego. Hell, she wrote the episode herself! I needed no further proof that anyone who wanted to be just like her was going to lead a blessed life, and like The Show, I would become an invincible force.

Or so I thought ...

I need a hero 'til the end of the night ... or at least nine o'clock

Ahh, the formative years.

No, not the ones where we learn to walk, talk and tie our shoes.

I'm talking about the years where we begin to learn who we are -- and who we want to become. For some people, those years don't come until late in high school, or even college.

And for some of us, they come much, much earlier.

Growing up is hard. Along the way, we learn that our parents aren't perfect, our friends aren't as loyal as thought they were, and that people change, move away, and, in the worst-case scenarios, die. There's no guidebook to tell us these things, either.

One of my friends has pointed out that people become entrenched in fandoms because they want to avoid dealing with their own issues. It's a lot easier to ignore everything that's wrong with your life when you dedicate hours and hours to watching a show, discussing it, reading about it, etc. Well, back at the end of sixth grade, I didn't even know the Internet existed, let alone fandoms -- and I definitely didn't know that The Show would become a major force to be reckoned along my road to adulthood.

My grandmother, was, for all intents and purposes, my hero. Not in the cape-and-boots sense, but she made the world's greatest grilled-cheese sandwiches, let me play with her good jewelry, and never criticized me for staying indoors to read instead of playing with the neighborhood kids. In short, she wasn't judgmental. And in short, when she died, I was shattered.

So, in retrospect, it comes as no surprise that I fell for The Show so hard, and so quickly.

I needed a hero, and fast. I found two. And they were the same person.

The lead actors of The Show had off-the-charts charisma. He was tall, dark and handsome. She was real and spectacular. It took all of 15 seconds to determine I wanted to be her -- and marry him. And somehow, as I attempted to navigate the turbulent waters of junior high, with all-too-unfortunate glasses and knock-off Converse All-Stars, I found myself relating to their characters. TDH played the accidental hero who longed to fit in -- and didn't know if he ever would. RS's Type-A career woman was fearless, daring -- and had self-confidence issues underneath the bravado.

They became my lifelines, and in return, they got my loyalty as a viewer.

And by the beginning of The Show's penultimate season, they had become the foundation on which I had built some great friendships -- and even greater ambitions. TDH's looks had caught the eye of pretty much every teenage girl in Algebra I, and RS had the kind of drive they weren't brewing up at the Central Perk. We'd discuss everything from how lucky she was to be paid to kiss him and how good he looked in a business suit to how cool it would be to work alongside them. The Show was cool -- and watching it made me cooler by association.

So by the ripe old age of twelve, I had decided I wanted to follow in RS's footsteps -- and no one was going to stop me. The Oscar, the Pulitzer, the Nobel Prize ... who said I couldn't have it all, too? All I had to do was watch The Show, apply it to my own life, and I'd live happily ever after.

What I didn't know is that what I was seeing during that sacred hour, 22 weeks a year, was nothing like what was actually going on when the cameras stopped rolling. That there was a big difference between RS, TDH and their alter-egos. That perfection was nothing but a word, and success was ephemeral.

I didn't see any of it. The Show could do no wrong. It was the guiding light of my adolescent years, and I couldn't imagine what life would be like without it.

But I was about to find out ...

The Show ...

You know that show. We've all had one. It's the show over which you'd just perish if you missed an episode. It's the show that had you staying home on Friday night to tape the previews and watch the entertainment shows, just in case they happened to mention that weekend's episode.

And, when it ended, it was the show that broke your heart.

But life goes on, and the years go by. To everything there is a season -- and when fall rolls around, it comes with a plethora of new offerings designed to steal your heart and replace The Show as the love of your TV-viewing life.

Only it doesn't.

So slowly, almost unconsciously, you start thinking about The Show again. Simpler times and all. Still, that was then, and this is now. You're all grown up -- and you don't need The Show to act as your guiding principles on life, love and, oh yeah, your chosen career. But funnily enough, that dream job has you sitting in front of a computer with the Internet at your fingertips. So, one day, you take an oh-so-casual gander to see if anyone out there is still interested in The Show. Not that you are or anything. Nope, not you. You've moved on.

But wait ... what's this ... The Show is coming out on DVD?!? Seriously ... there's a Web site where people write fanfic about it?!? Look ... a message board full of people just as pathetic as you! And ... ohmygodlookathepictures ... they've reunited!?!?

In an instant, the days of missing The Show are over. You're back, baby! And, even better, now you have company in that place somewhere between heaven and your own private purgatory.

And some 14 years after you first fell in love with The Show, you're on a plane to Los Angeles, wondering what the hell you're doing.