For most of my childhood, I subsisted on antennae alone. I was left to search fruitlessly for mindless entertainment on a few fuzzy major networks. My family lived like savages, I know.
The only time I got to watch a television with more than five channels was when I went to a friend's house or when we went on vacation. Oh, those few, glorious days each year spent laying luxuriously on a semen-stained comforter at the closest Holiday Inn to the interstate off-ramp, watching shows that my parents probably should have monitored a little more closely.
But I did not have to live like this forever. Soon I grew older, my parents grew wiser, and they found that they couldn't subject their budding pubescent teen to the American third world: life without MTV.
So we got a dish.
And before you knew it, I was all caught up on my favorite guilty pleasure (that I am sure every fourteen-year-old girl shared): the "Golden Girls."
I loved each of them equally: Sophia, with her caustic wit; her daughter Dorothy, equally as razor-tongued; Blanche, the whore with a heart of gold; and sweet, congenial, but dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks Rose.
Today we have lost another legend, the third thus far, Rue McLanahan. May she rest in peace (hopefully on a sunny hill under some grand oak tree on Big Daddy's plantation).
Let us also remember today to take care of one of our greatest national treasures: the last living Golden Girl, Betty White.
Stay gold, Betty. Stay gold.