Wallaby Wednesday: Turdy, the live-fast-die-young type of bird

If only Rocko and Dr. Hutchison knew the finer points of Turdus Minimus. Then they might have been more understanding of Filburt’s precautionary tearful good-bye to his “precious Turdy.” In addition, the pet-sitting wallaby could have been ready to expect the unexpected while the bird was alive and in his house.

According to Google Translate, the scientific name of this ficticious species translates to “Sylvia least.” Other sources note that the first name connotes relations to a robin. Based on that, Turdy is somehow the least of the thrush (or Turdidae) family.

As “Bye-Bye Birdie” demonstrates, he has the least amount of time to live of any known avian pet. By that token, he also has the least to lose, and his actions suggest he knows it. Based on his sentiments when they part early in the third-season premiere of Rocko’s Modern Life, Filburt knows it too.

When another psychosomatic flare-up sends Filburt to the hospital, he bids what appears to be a melodramatic good-bye to his bird. Hutch rolls her eyes as Filburt tells Turdy to “Remember who loves you the most! That’s right, Papa loves you the most!”

But when he reappears and learns of Turdy’s abrupt death, he indirectly explains his prior emotions. He even admits to neglecting to mention a pertinent fact beforehand.

As it happens, Turdy was of a species that normally does not live beyond three weeks. By contrast, the real-life American robin (or Turdus migratoris) lives for an average of two years. One study found that roughly one-quarter of the population reaches one year.

An exceptional specimen of the American robin reportedly reached the age of 14. In Europe, members of six other Turdus species have exceeded expectations to tunes ranging between seven and 21 years.

But even at one year, Turdus migratoris dwarfs Turdus minimus in its expected time on Earth. To that point, in reference to Turdy, Filburt adds, “I’m surprised he lived as long as he did.”

Whether he is merely mindful of the species’ average lifespan because of its listing in books in unclear. Filburt might know more as to why the lifespan is so short. Based on Rocko’s brief experience with the bird, Turdus minimus has a penchant for peril.

Then again, as far as he lets on, Turdy’s worst behavior in Filburt’s residence was pecking at the furniture. Perhaps the bird’s biological clock had not reached its not-much-time-left warning point before Filburt went to the hospital.

Being in a new setting and away from his doting owner is bound to give him a greater sense of leeway as well. After all, Dr. Hutchison offers Rocko no warning at the beginning of the episode. There may be something to her tired “Good luck” wish, but perhaps she is relenting and refraining from making any points that would upset Filburt. It is bad enough that she does not want to kiss the bird.

Or maybe she has never faced anything warranting a visit from the avian equivalent of Jackson Galaxy. As Filburt’s girlfriend, soon-to-be fiancée and eventual wife, she has implicitly not been a target for Turdy’s pecking.

Even if she had been, at the very worst, that phase ended in due time as the two grew on each other. Although Hutch’s indifference to Filburt’s emotions signal the pet has not wholly endeared himself to her either.

By contrast, being surrounded and approached by strangers can make the bird anything but boring. Even if he is not rattled by the change of scenery, he is poised to play while Filburt is away. He is less susceptible to guilt if his loving owner is not around to potentially admonish him.

Regardless, no later than when he reaches his maximum expectancy, Turdy is more inclined to elevate his inner nuisance. And so, Spunky is his first victim as soon as he breaks out of his cage at Rocko’s. The customers of a complaintant later suffer the same pain by pecking.

All things considered, pecking fellow living creatures is a mere next step from doing the same to inanimate objects. For the bird, that is no different than the way domestic, non-humanoid, territorial cats rub their heads against people and furniture alike.

The what-the-heck, death-defying steps continue. As the episode highlights, Turdy’s most daring and dangerous vices start with repeated intimate interactions with a man’s monkey. He subsequently escapes the house to engage in seven other aggravating activities.

Beyond the typically avian misbehaviors, he ingests enough gas to breathe fire, sets a car ablaze and devours a pony. Inexplicably, the timeless nursery-rhyme old lady’s undoing has no visible effect on the bird that has already stretched its lifespan.

Like Homer Simpson, in the words of Frank Grimes, he logically “should have been killed dozens of times by now.” Even “the monkey guy” could have worked up enough rage to inflict physical harm on the bird. Given the revelation that confirms the nature of the bird-monkey relations, he could have snapped at what he witnessed.

Yet neither emotionally boiled-over humanoids nor flames nor oversized meals spell mortal injury. Whether Turdy has naturally aged or is of a species whose behavior regularly shorterns their lives, he is going against the norm. Barring fatal intervention by another species, he could enter the record books.

Instead, Turdy is sitting placidly, chained to Rocko on the couch, when he finally meets his demise. Heffer’s gargantuan gluteus, which will later nurture Filburt and Hutch’s unhatched children, does in the nuisance bird.

It all happens on the living room’s symbol of inertia, the antithesis of activity. Turdy had thrived on activity, defying death and scientific trajectories all the while. So in terms of keeping him alive, it was the quiet times his caregiver needed to watch out for.

How does HIMYM hold up in the hockey world 5 years later?

Lizi Norton is a fellow Minnesotan of Marshall Eriksen’s (Jason Segel). Her birthplace of Long Lake and current town of Orono are within a 50-mile radius of Marshall’s St. Cloud.

Gordi Myer shares a native state with Ted Mosby (Josh Radnor). He as born in Toledo, Ohio, and played five years of elite youth hockey in Mosby’s home metropolis of Cleveland.

As a bonus, Myer’s mother is a fellow Canadian of Robin Scherbatsky (Cobie Smulders), Ted’s initial love interest and implied eventual second wife on How I Met Your Mother.

Both current college hockey blueliners, Norton and Myer were below the recommended viewing age for the better part of HIMYM’s run on CBS. The series carried a TV-14 rating, a boundary Common Sense Media has since echoed.

During the show’s inaugural season, Norton was the right age to be one of Lily Aldrin’s (Alyson Hannigan) kindergarten students. She did not turn 14 until six-and-a-half weeks before the finale premiered five years ago this Sunday.

But whether unofficial barriers had any bearing on her late arrival to the nine-season saga is a moot point now. No later than her first year at Orono High School, she found a perfect way to unwind from a grueling day in the life of an elite student-athlete. It has since established itself as the go-to for her to “binge watch at night.”

“After watching a couple of episodes, I was instantly hooked,” the Minnesota-Duluth Bulldogs freshman told Pucks and Recreation.

“Hooked” is an apt choice of metaphor in multiple senses. No fewer than nine current collegians or professionals around North American hockey cite HIMYM as their favorite series.

St. Cloud State and Team Switzerland goaltender Janine Alder has said as much. Ditto SCSU graduate-turned-ECHL journeyman Nate Widman and Florida Panthers prospect Cliff Pu. (Until recently, Pu was in the Carolina Hurricanes system, and his since-deleted Charlotte Checkers profile listed his favorites.)

When he was in college, Brady Norrish of the Idaho Steelheads also mentioned Carrie Underwood as his celebrity crush. In Season 5’s “Hooked,” Underwood played one of Ted’s many one-off girlfriends, although Pucks and Rec has yet to confirm whether “Hooked” is Norrish’s favorite episode.

In The Show, Finnish import Sebastian Aho of the Hurricanes mentioned HIMYM, along with Friends, as a preferred stateside sitcom. It is a standalone favorite of Tampa Bay Lightning staple Tyler Johnson and Worcester Blades forward Megan Myers.

Given how stingy most team websites are about disclosing outside interests in player profiles, this group is hardly negligible. It stands out all the more given how many active pucksters admittedly or implicitly joined the HIMYM fan club after the premiere, the peak or even the finale. Moreover, all of the show’s fans in question divulged their interest after the finale.

 

The tally of outspoken HIMYM-loving hockey players also rivals that of the show’s references to their sport. While it never had a puck-centric plot like Seinfeld’s “The Face Painter,” it dispensed allusions in more moderate, though more frequent and numerous doses.

Wayne Gretzky comes up on multiple occasions in multiple contexts. Another Hall of Famer, Luc Robitaille, parodies himself by citing Robin Sparkles’ music as a guilty pleasure.

When Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) starts dating Robin, Ted recommends the 2003-04 Vancouver Canucks division title as a topic to appease her when necessary. Robin, in turn, lists “shaky goaltending and, frankly, the declining skills of Trevor Linden” as that team’s obstacles.

Clips from a Rangers-Flyers game introduce the scene where Marshall takes Lily to visit Madison Square Garden’s organist, an estranged teenhood friend of Robin’s.

On her wedding day, Robin and her younger sister pass a puck while wearing what look to be logo-less Atlanta Thrashers jerseys. A few hours (or episodes) later, in a bout of cold feet, Robin proposes following Ted to Chicago, even if it means learning to “root for the Blackhawks.”

“I think it is definitely something I noticed and appreciated throughout the show,” Myer told Pucks and Rec. “It is rare to see on an American show, so as a hockey player you appreciate it more than someone else. They do a great job using Robin to show this, because she is a Canadian.”

He added, “I definitely appreciated the Canadian slang words and accent Robin would use when she would talk or mention hockey.”

Indeed, with her Northern patriotism and Canucks fanaticism, Robin is a slightly out-of-proportion take on her portraying actor. A real-life Vancouverite who once crushed on Pavel Bure, Smulders got the freedom to be herself in character as the series gained traction. The NHL would capitalize on the hockey aspect by enlisting her as a celebrity presenter at its 2011 awards show.

As early as HIMYM’s third season, Robin was referencing such up-and-coming Canucks players as Mason Raymond. At the time, in 2007-08, Raymond had signed out of Norton’s future university to turn pro two years early.

Coincidentally, within two nights of his HIMYM mention, he was called up from Vancouver’s then-AHL affiliate in Manitoba and scored his first big-league goal.

 

For Myer, though, Lily’s big save is the top HIMYM hockey highlight of all time. The flashback scene kicks off with Marshall recalling when Robin “got all super-Canadian” after overindulging in Molson.

Sporting a Roberto Luongo jersey, Robin implicitly reenacts Game 6 of the 1994 Stanley Cup Final. “The Rangers are aboat to be sorry they ever played shinny with the Canucks,” she says before taking aim at the open apartment door.

When Lily snares the airborne puck with her oven mitt and orders Robin to stop, a potential brawl ensues. Robin pledges to give her friend “summer teeth. Some are here, some are there.”

“Great chirp, Robin,” Myer said.

That Lily halts Robin’s game fits all the more given that her hometown Rangers vanquished Vancouver in the 1994 championship. Although, she is clearly not a hockey fan, as she later mistakenly calls the local franchise the “New York Rogers.”

For that matter, while her husband hails from the State of Hockey, he never engages Robin in Wild-Canucks banter. This despite the fact that the series ran from 2005 to 2014, with most the final season taking place on a May 2013 weekend. All in an era when Minnesota and Vancouver were Northwest Division rivals.

Of that missed shot, Myer said, “Yes, it is odd for sure, especially because of how big the game of hockey is in Minnesota. I know a lot of guys from Minnesota, so I know this from a personal account. The show could have for sure used this to an advantage.”

Even without that, or even with its majority of puck-free episodes, HIMYM has quickly seized the hearts of its first all-syndication generation.

“I find How I Met Your Mother to be an incredible show that is able to capture one’s attention instantly,” said Norton. “It has wonderful, humorous episodes that I enjoyed watching with my friends.”

 

For her age group, it is largely a glimpse at the not-too-distant past. For all viewers, it dishes up generous backchecks to the previous century in the lives of its core cast.

“I have always liked the episodes where they take you back in time to before they met each other, or when times were different,” Norton said.

Even the polarizing fast-forward to 2030, when the long-widowed Ted mercifully ends his prolonged story and acts on his children’s encouragement to pursue Robin once more, has Norton and Myer’s approval.

“I was surprised that Ted did not end up with Robin originally,” said Norton, “although happy they ended up together.”

Myer was wrapping up his fifth season in the Cleveland Barons elite youth program when the series ended. He did not dive into the show until he briefly moved out of state for two gap years in the USHL. But when he did, his peers instilled an itch to stream through the reruns in a hurry.

After being mesmerized by the yellow-umbrella motif and how it led to the title figure, Myer was floored by the twist in the two-part finale.

“The guys on my team were telling me, ‘Just wait till the end. It’s gonna blow your mind,’” he said.

“And that is exactly what happened, mind was blown. I truly believe that Ted and Robin go off and get married at some point. Some people have other theories, but that is the one I like to believe.”

Wallaby Wednesday: Did Mr. Smitty set up the Mt. Frosty misadventure?

Why send Rocko away on business unless you might make his journey profitable?

Granted, several pieces must fall into place, largely out of your control, for such a scheme to work. That is unless you have deep connections with the establishment keying the potential payoff, all but assuring success.

But even if the plan falls short, at least you have some solitude in the store for a time. Fulfilling the ulterior motive is savory green gravy.

This is the only explanation for the storyline of “Snowballs.” Mr. Smitty, the manager of Kind of a Lot O ’Comics, must know about Mt. Frosty, given its proximity to his supplier’s headquarters.

Perhaps through direct acquaintances, he knows of the resort’s underhanded ways of luring customers. If he lacks first-degree connections to Mt. Frosty, he has likely caught wind of its ways through his own travels to the comic-book dealer.

He is exactly the business-oriented personality type who would admire such trickery, if not emulate it as best he can. More crucially, he is in a position to take advantage of it for his own enterprise’s benefit.

To that point, he knows when Mt. Frosty will dare amateur skiiers to jump for a substantial cash prize.

From his perspective, it is a logical incentive to give his top (if not only) employee a questionable assignment. The task of acquiring a bulk order of comics is sensible enough on the surface. Although sending a representative to pick it up is an uncommon first resort. The other option is shelling out for shipping and handling to have the dealer deliver.

But this way, Rocko is out of sight, though presumably not long enough that his absence strains Smitty’s store operation. That alone gives the irascible purple toad a rare happy medium. It is worth giving him a travel budget on that front alone.

Where the dice fall on the payoff, however, hinges on Rocko deviating the task at hand. After all, that is the only way he can enter, let alone win the Mt. Frosty jump promotion.

But of course, he alone is too honest, shrewd and focused to make that ill-advised decision himself. If Smitty is going to force a detour, he will need to ensure the right travel partner to coax Rocko.

The first piece of the plan comes into play when Mt. Frosty personnel unleash a manmade avalanche. Incidentally, the bear-like lookout watches Rocko’s car pass by immediately before giving his colleague the initial cue.

Along for the ride, Heffer persuades Rocko to pass the road crew’s cleanup time at the neighboring ski resort. Unfortunately, the place’s deceptive “Everything for $5” policy traps the business traveler into squandering Smitty’s budget.

Rocko’s empty pocket renders him unable to pay an attendant when he wants to get off the dangerous Devil’s Crevice. Accordingly, he must go through with it, and his unsteady downhill slide leads him into the perilous contest.

The good news: He fulfills the challenge to “jump and win instantly” without even trying. The bad news: He ends up bandaged from head to toe, out of commission indefinitely.

As a smidgen of consolation, Heffer assures Rocko that he delivered the comics. While it is obvious already, he adds that winning the unquantified prize saved the day.

But from Smitty’s standpoint, is all well that ends well? Can he absolve Rocko for blowing the travel budget and disobeying his “no goofing off!” directive?

Per his sadistic nature, he will not necessarily express forgiveness, but he should feel it inside. After all, the entire “Snowballs” sequence reeks of a Smitty-type scheme.

While no one mentions the figure of the Mt. Frosty cash prize, it is likely five or six digits. It undoubtedly dwarfs the allowance Smitty had literally handed Rocko in cash.

In addition, as penurious as Smitty is, he clearly offers his employee(s) a decent salary and benefits. Although he has his share of financial-strain episodes, Rocko consistently maintains his own two-story house. And between his insurance coverage and out-of-pocket hospital costs, he still has something left from his prize.

Except it is technically not his prize. He wins it on the store’s time and dime. If necessary, his boss would surely lawyer up to argue that he jumped in the company’s name.

Given Rocko’s state of affairs after that inadvertent stunt, however, he is in no position to argue otherwise. Even if he were, he would not be the type to challenge his intimidating superior on those grounds. That is doubly the case when he knows he did not assert himself against Heffer’s request for their irresponsible diversion.

Of course, without that cave to peer pressure, the waste of time and money and eventual redemption would not happen. If Smitty is behind the misadventure at Mt. Frosty, he must have subtly pulled Heffer into the equation.

Heffer has spent enough time in the store for the boss to have a read on his inclinations. If nothing else, Smitty likely made sure to reiterate Rocko’s assignment within the steer’s earshot.

For good measure, he may have secretly informed Heffer of Mt. Frosty’s location on Rocko’s route. Or he might have made a more general reference to the mountains when reminding Rocko of his task.

The most he could have done to boost his odds is single out the Devil’s Crevice. After all, despite the obvious crowd during Heffer and Rocko’s visit, no one else is trying that stratospheric slope. Everyone else, including those back in O-Town, knows better. That would explain why it is free of charge, as opposed to all of the other $5 services.

Regardless, the idea is planted in the steer’s fruitcake-shaped head when he hops onto Rocko’s car at the episode’s outset. By that point in the saga (Season 2, Episode 12A), Rocko’s foolhardy friend has cemented his track record. Risky recreation is all but sure to ensue and build up like, well, a snowball.

In this case, Rocko pays the steepest price while Smitty has the technicalities on his side to collect the profits. If that gas-and-food per diem he chooses over shipping-and-handling fees was on the setback sheet, it is off now.

The Prevue Channel should have stayed a little longer

Let’s be honest: 1999 was wasted on people eager to launch shiny change ahead of or along with Y2K.

One of the dying decade’s definitive entities, the Prevue Channel, was among the first casualties of that impatience.

It happened literally overnight when January gave way to February. At that point, the long-hyped TV Guide Channel took hold with new music, radiant graphics and unmistakable magazine ties.

Last year, Derek Johnson, associate professor of media and cultural studies at the University of Wisconsin, described the motive best. In his introduction to an essay collection, From Networks to Netflix: A Guide to Changing Channels, he wrote, “Prevue would be renamed…to exploit the print publication’s legacy brand.”

Even in the young stages of the old millenium’s penultimate (not final) year, the future could not wait. A deal was done, and TV Guide’s constant bumper clips of excited viewers leaping offscreen served to symbolize its hurry.

But those visuals also inadvertently represented the uncertainty as to what was ahead. Much later, we found there were only so many ways to change Prevue to preserve its long-term viability.

In mid-January 2015, the repeatedly redressed network scrapped the unique format it had utilized for more than a quarter-century. The space lives on as Pop, yet another full-fledged programming platform.

Which begs the question: Was the TV Guide Channel’s (later TV Guide Network, later TVGN) 16-year run worth it? At the very least, did it need to hog 1999’s last 11 months, denying Prevue a more dignified exit?

Ask any ’90s nostalgia aficionado, and they would likely say no. And that demographic rather unabashedly exists. Handfuls of YouTube uploads capturing snippets of Prevue draw their share of thoughtful, wistful comments.

The remarks convey a yearning for slower, simpler entertainment consumption. Prevue was plenty conducive to that all around. It dressed the part with its Maine Black Bear-like combination of two shades of blue.

Where other channels might offer healthfully momentary escapism from the real world, Prevue provided a getaway from the rest of TV’s occasional comparative commotion. It also commanded a measure of attention viewers could not afford to withhold, lest they defeat the purpose. With that formula, it was firm but fair.

“When Prevue became TV Guide it lost its charm.” – YouTube user Tyler Knox in a nostalgia-heavy comment thread

As such, Prevue is a prime candidate to catalyze the American millennial and Generation X “In my day…” speeches. Such reminiscence is already cropping up in YouTube comment threads.

In one discussion, under a replay of the brand’s final moments and switch, user Victor Mariscal offers the following:

“It’s strange, but I miss Prevue Channel. Sure you had to wait for the programming info, but there was something reassuring about it.

“Sometimes I wish technology hadn’t advanced like it did. These days you can just get on your smartphone and look up what’s on TV. People have no idea how easy they have it.”

To that, a concurring viewer by the username lolhahah21 replied, “You are so right. I truly wish technology didn’t advance like it did.”

But alas, it did. Even so, although Prevue was bound to go obsolete, there was not much point in hastening its demise.

From its advent, the concept it embodied was destined to be a stand-in. Its practical services would hold consumers up before online, on-demand listings became commonplace.

The channel’s first incarnation, a slow-rolling listings message board, permeated the better part of the 1980s. Near the turn of the decade, a split screen gave more life to the guide (or Prevue Guide).

Before the jumbotron boom among sporting-venue scoreboards and the news crawls on cable networks, Prevue (rather aptly named in this regard) started offering video and text in a single space.

A 50-50 divide put the existing listings on the bottom half. Above it, you got a rotation of text-only classifieds or promos and TV commercials. Over time, the channel phased in and refined original clockwork segments on hot programming.

For the better part of the format’s run under its original banner, the Internet was barely out of gestation. (This author’s household would not go online until the autumn of 2000.) In addition, there were only so many digital-cable or satellite subscribers.

As such, other than opening a physical TV Guide, Prevue was the mainstream way of knowing what was on.

With its top-half content, though, watching the channel became less tedious. Even if a full bottom-half rotation yielded nothing of interest, you could stick around for a while. You did not even need to pay attention to derive any pleasure.

“This was such perfect background noise when nothing was on back in the day,” wrote YouTube commenter Pennsylvania History Buff.
 

For those who kept their eye on the screen, Prevue Tonight was a convenient coming-attractions service. By early 1998, that program was gone, but had a web of enjoyable round-the-clock offerings in its stead.

For the channel’s final year, there was a copious rotating variety of supermarket-free-sample-sized programming. Twice apiece each hour, Prevue News and Weather, Revue, Family, Sports, TV and This offered more substance.

These segments expanded upon the likes of Prevue Tonight, Family Vue and other precursors. The latter four would hype shows and telecasts beyond anything in the bottom half’s immediate 90-minute listing.

They also packed more detail to entice prospective viewers to the whole serving. In between, some of the advertisements pointed to programs that would air at a later hour or date.

In terms of finding something to watch, this beat sending your thumb snipe hunting atop the remote’s channel-changing button. Even if nothing appealed, this network’s varied offerings could offset ennui and service those who like a little repetition. It was pleasant company on an empty, bad-weather day.

Of course, after a while, the segments were also liable to distract from the listings. Those were why the Prevue powers that be built it, and why viewers came, to begin with.

Today, with more prevalent digital cable, dishes and Internet, a programming search requires less labor and less patience. With the web, content providers can digitally tease their output on a host of platforms.

The top half was a nice treat, but the ostensibly new-and-improved TV Guide brand overdid that part. Deeper into the new century, it could not help continuing in that direction, as the bottom half lost its utility.

By 2007, Johnson wrote, it began “deemphasizing navigation of other channels’ offerings in favor of its own original programs.”

When Pop came into being, network president Brad Schwartz essentially told the Washington Post’s Emily Yahr that TV Guide had become a victim of what did in its predecessor.

“To an older generation, there’s that nostalgia for that magazine on your coffee table every week,” Schwartz told Yahr. “But it’s like being nostalgic for anything you grew up with.”

Yes, including the Prevue Channel. Bless the Internet for letting us have back whatever we can of what it took away.
 

In the last two decades, the nostalgic appeal of Prevue’s distinctly ’90s vibe has strengthened. TV Guide proved louder and more chaotic, like the talking-head news channels it listed in its bottom-half rotation.

Perhaps no one is more grateful for that than YouTube user Alicia Jones, who shows up below several Prevue uploads. On one 10-minute, 40-second upload, taken from April 2, 1998, Jones simply states, “Thank you for this! #throwback #90s #memories.”

Meanwhile, two other users posted similar critiques of the successor in contrast with the predecessor. “When Prevue became TV Guide it lost its charm,” wrote Tyler Knox.

Added GDelva2003, “I love this Prevue Channel so much! I wish they never changed it back in the late ’90s.”

So then, what purpose did TV Guide really serve in its life after pushing Prevue out? Very little, it turned out.

To accentuate the print media-TV blend, the new network infused goggle-box versions of the magazine’s staples. As its icebreaker, the TV Guide Channel spotlighted John Lithgow on its first “Insider” segment.

But the more telling indicator of the format’s sustainability was the way TV Guide retained all of Prevue’s features. In short, they were essentially the same, but with “TV Guide” replacing “Prevue” and unremarkable words added to the name.

That is, Prevue Sports gave way to TV Guide Sportsview. Prevue Family’s old twice-hourly time slot would go to TV Guide Family Finds. The former Prevue News slot became home to TV Guide Newsbrief. Prevue Revue, which made the most of that oh-so-’90s penchant for intentional misspellings, became TV Guide’s Movie Profile.

For the viewer, Prevue’s unique offerings were good in moderation. Yet you are only going to live so long on a diet heavy on empty calories. Likewise, a novel persona is only novel for a limited time.

Naturally, 20/20 hindsight confirmed as much. But for the powers that be, the new idea seemed good at the time.

Two months ahead of the midwinter 1999 switch, Prevue executive vice president and general manager Pam Missick spoke with Kent Gibbons of Multichannel News. Of the new colors and graphics under the new name, she assessed, “It’ll be a new platform. It’s going to have a sexy new look.”

To be fair, TV Guide phased in its take on the bottom-half, initially leaving Prevue’s old dark blue alone. Its eventual yellow-gold in the bottom half and the red of the network’s emblem glowed more than Prevue’s dark blue. The same went for when it flashed combinations of white, green, blue or purple in its bumpers and bite-size programs.
 

But in the last two decades, the nostalgic appeal of Prevue’s distinctly ’90s vibe has strengthened. TV Guide proved louder and more chaotic, like the talking-head news channels it listed in its bottom-half rotation.

“There was something sort of relaxing about the Prevue Channel,” YouTube commenter SuperTugz opines beneath the transition video. “TV Guide ruined that when they replaced the beautiful jazz music and hilariously bad 900-number ads with celebrity gossip crap.”

Those whirlwinds got worse after the 21st century began in earnest, but these channels had started beforehand. In so doing, they encroached on the 1990s’ rightful territory.

At no point was that encroachment more egregious than when Feb. 1, 1999, stood at the Eastern Time Zone’s threshold. At T-minus nine minutes before midnight, TV Guide’s logo, music and colors were already hogging the northeast quarter of the screen.

The new music furthered the juxtaposition with the Prevue emblem on the upper left side. For short spurts, Prevue broke back in with its more diverse scores, still shots and messages. (Male voice): Check this out! (Female voice, singing): Oooh, yeah!...

Upon reliving those let-me-have-my-last-bow cuts, the aforementioned Jones commented on YouTube, “WOW the Song at 1:09! I have been waiting to hear that forever!” She then complimented uploader HulkieD, “You are one cool dude for this Thank you!”

Jones was referring to one of the short selected scores that filled time between commercials and segments. Ordinarily, Prevue would run three scores in a pattern, switching to a new hat trick every month.

But just like Y2K, TV Guide lacked patience in the late hours of Jan. 31, 1999. That first Prevue soundtrack snippet had barely given way to the second before the new network’s theme returned.

Commercials issuing the umpteenth reminder of the new amenities continued before a regularly scheduled Prevue News and Weather and Revue. For its final five minutes, the lame duck acted like no upheaval was imminent.

Except the promise of Prevue This at midnight and Prevue Family two minutes thereafter was never fulfilled. Instead, the Lithgow-centered premiere of TV Guide’s Insider filled that slot.

“And with that a chapter of my childhood ended without ceremony,” Jonathan Price commented on YouTube.

Rhode Island has never had a year like 1999 for scripted or spontaneous stories

No one said a plastic surgeon servicing Southern California celebrities could not go home to Rhode Island. The respectable run that premise spawned proved the idea anything but far-fetched.

But the truth was, when NBC picked up Providence and premiered it Jan. 8, 1999, glamour was already returning to the show’s real-life counterpart. A cultural renaissance defined the decade for a long-downtrodden state capital.

It would have been trickier to try to script the winter and spring the locale savored in that culminating year. In January alone, primetime network TV premiered two series set in the 401 area code. While that signified the place’s renewed photogenic appeal, real-life Rhode Island had its share of riveting storylines in the works.

Over the ensuing months, one Providence sports team went on an unprecedented thrill ride and record-book rewrite. Another traveled a rockier emotional road with a halfway Hollywood ending that would have been cheesy were it not the naked truth.

The two shows and two teams would all succeed despite low-to-middling expectations, unfavorable preseason assignments or both.

Yes, some harsher political realities concurrently fizzed in the area. In that regard, some of the unpleasantness was not vanishing. But in a timely coincidence, one of the new works of fiction was offering Rhode Island some laugh-at-itself satire for the other 49 to see.

Under the growing shadow of a new century, these developments gave the Ocean State a perfect storm of attention grabbers. This place was ahead of most others in experiencing much-anticipated change, largely for the better.

News, sports and entertainment media never combined for this much gratifying concentration here at once. Some of the first-time visitors instantly noticed what they had been missing.

In a Jan. 6, 1999 Deseret News article, Providence creator John Masius admitted to never having previously seen the city. He told reporter Scott D. Pierce that he took his first impression of the location after the NBC greenlit the series.

That first-time firsthand experience only emboldened his intrigue, and brought everyone back for several on-site shots afterward.

“I was incredibly impressed with the diversity of the town and also the sort of renaissance of the city,” Masius told Pierce. “It’s good timing all around.”

Oh boy, he really did not know the half of it. Then again, even the locals who live to “Catch the Wave” could not be sure of the delectable deluge ahead.

Look what we’ve got now

An all-encompassing Rhode Island history and culture website, quahog.org, ponders the reason for the uptick in depictions of the state.

“Up until the last few years, television has had very little use for Rhode Island,” begins the site’s facts and folklore page. “Now, every other show seems to be set in the Ocean State. Is it because of the Providence Renaissance? The natural beauty of our coastline? Our lovable accents?”

Masius’ word was one endorsement of the first theory. After all, the other (or “othah”) two qualities are essentially immutable. But more a positive perception of the state and its capital can equal more attention for the rest.

That effectively began with the personal redemption of Providence mayor Buddy Cianci and his second stretch in office. He redressed his image and was reelected in 1990 after assault charges and near-imprisonment forced him out six years prior.

Upon returning in 1991, Cianci pushed for a host of new attractions to the town’s Downcity district. His first major head-turner was enticing the Boston Bruins’ AHL affiliate from Portland, Maine. With that, the newfangled Providence Bruins took root at the Providence Civic Center for the 1992-93 season, replacing the long-bygone Rhode Island Reds.

Two years later, the Rhode Island Convention Center opened next door to the Civic Center. In warmer months, locals and tourists got their first look at the original WaterFire display in the city’s rivers. The new Waterplace Park served to amplify the show’s aesthetics.

The park was a product of scrapping an eyesore of a bridge, replacing it with walkways and accentuating the majestic modern and Venetian-inspired architecture around the water. WaterFire would be the site’s first of many recurring festivals.

New or revamped restaurants and hotels only capitalized on and furthered the cycling downtown (or Downcity) economic boom. For those seeking a glitzy vibe away from L.A., Providence was a ringing new option.

Two decades prior, the area’s residents were reportedly deriding it as the “armpit of New England.” Escaped zoo animals embodied the disarray before and during Cianci’s first reign (1974-84). The city was teetering on bankruptcy in 1981.

By 1997, it was ranked among the 10 most livable American cities by a variety of general and niche magazines. And that was the year before the two scripted series began production in earnest ahead of their midseason premieres. By then, those who had not traveled could have a weekly look from their living room.

In the meantime, other communities were getting in-person looks at what made the Divine City the Renaissance City. In 1998, WaterFire creator Barnaby Evans, a Brown University alum, spread his gift to Houston. A who’s who of more cities, stateside and abroad, have demanded a version of his magnum opus as well.

Back in Providence, a downtown state-of-the-art shopping center was in the works. In addition, residents could not help taking notice of Masius’ cast and crew taking shots for the show.

Both the mall and the program would come in 1999. Ditto a less-publicized Rhode Island-set animated series being produced back in a SoCal studio. While they waited, the citizens renewed Cianci’s tenure once more, this time in a one-candidate election.

But not all of the big news was rosy for Rhody culture that autumn. In October 1998, citing Title IX, Providence College announced it would fold its 76-year-old baseball program. The next spring was designated the swan song for a program that produced, among others, then-Red Sox infielder Lou Merloni.

Concomitant with that prickly pill, the P-Bruins were starting their seventh season desperate to kick ice chips on its predecessor. They had won 19 games out of 80 in 1997-98, finishing 18th out of 18 in the AHL’s collective standings.

Further struggles on the ice would potentially test the loyalty of the fans, who now had more on-the-town entertainment options than in 1992-93. Fortunately for the Bruins brass, the team at least regained a competitive persona to start Season 7.

With one-time captain Peter Laviolette as their new head coach, they climbed above the .500 mark by Game 12. By the time 1998 gave way to 1999, they were 21-10-3 on the season.

Although, with many of its home games occurring on Friday nights, AHL Providence would soon go head-to-head with NBC Providence.

 

 

From a TV town to a title town

With a self-explanatory title, Providence had protagonist Dr. Sydney Hansen (Melina Kanakaredes) moving back cross-country to the Rhode Island capital. While no locals permeated the cast or brass, the show had reason for lofty expectations. It was the creation of an award-winning Touched by an Angel veteran in Masius.

The program took its share of fact-and-flaw liberties in portraying the town. Beyond the on-location outdoor scenes, it relied on its Los Angeles hub to look the part. But there was enough to flatter Ocean State viewers. As the network’s local affiliate, NBC 10, noted ahead of the pilot’s premiere, SoCal spots did their best impression of the Foxy Lady strip club and Roger Williams Park.

Meanwhile, up-and-coming actor and animator Seth MacFarlane was putting his Rhode Island School of Design education to use. MacFarlane had graduated in 1995, when the Providence renaissance was in full swing. The P-Bruins completed their third season of existence, and their third of four straight as the AHL’s runaway attendance leaders. Meanwhile, the Rhode Island Convention Center and WaterFire were each in their first full calendar year at the time.

As part of his senior thesis, MacFarlane produced an animated short, The Life of Larry. He himself gave title character and his dog, Steve, the same basic voices as Peter and Brian Griffin later on. The familiar cutaway gags were an immediate habit as well.

Upon moving to L.A., amidst other work, MacFarlane produced a sequel, Larry & Steve. That played no small role in convincing Fox to give him a tryout at a full-fledged series. He triumphed, and set Family Guy in fictional Quahog, an obvious Providence suburb based on the remarkably accurate backdrop drawings.

The series premiered it on the final night of January as a Super Bowl lead-out. Going in, there was some critical skepticism, as many adult animated series were susceptible to unfavorable comparisons to The Simpsons.

Three weeks ahead of the premiere, Chicago Tribune pundit Steven Johnson questioned MacFarlane’s experience. “A 25-year-old is behind it, so expect something more like “South Park” than “The Flintstones,’” he wrote.

After the first episode aired, some critics cringed over its crassness and supposed shortage of originality. But others envisioned a solid foundation for the series ahead.

Regardless, six more installments constituted the short inaugural season, all airing in the spring. This introduction coincided with Fox’s last ride as the NHL’s U.S. network abode, allowing for a cross-promotional teaser.

The only question is why did a family of Ocean Staters cheer for a Rangers goal against the Bruins? Did the Connecticut-born MacFarlane lean New York?

That aside, Rhode Island’s real-life Bruins affiliate was generating unprecedented fervor among its fans. While NBC viewers were checking out Masius’ new creation, the P-Bruins were on the road, edging the Rochester Americans, 4-3.

That Jan. 8 win was their eighth in an eventual streak of 11. They would keep going unbeaten until the eve of the Family Guy premiere, when they lost a 6-1 laugher in Hershey.

Despite that uncharacteristic stinker, the Baby Bruins still went 10-1-1 on the month. In between, four of their players participated in the AHL all-star game. Three forwards (Randy Robitaille, Andre Savage and Landon Wilson) each scored an assist. Goaltender Jim Carey played one period, stopping all seven shots faced.

(That’s Carey with one R, not the Jim Carrey from the first Farrelly brothers movie — 1994’s Dumb and Dumber.)

With their streak carrying over from December, the Bruins had gone unbeaten for 16 straight outings before the January finale. They would drop seven more regular-season games after that, never by more than two goals.

By mid-April, the P-Bruins were the AHL’s regular-season champions with 120 points and a league-record 56 victories. Robitaille was the regular-season MVP, Laviolette the coach of the year.

The run signified a resurgence for the entity credited with spearheading Providence’s modern renaissance when it came to town in 1992. The Bruins’ historic turnaround put any specter of a Reds-like demise to rapid rest. As the modern representative of one of the league’s charter cities, they looked like they were there to stay.

But the same could not be said about another sports team across town. By January, PC baseball was in the homestretch of a bittersweet offseason ahead of February’s opener. The team entered the season ranked seventh in the Big East poll, which only turned up the fire below.

While a Major League-like surge would not reverse the school’s decision, the Friars channeled the Rachel Phelps-owned Cleveland Indians’ mentality. In so doing, they also matched the contemporary P-Bruins’ otherworldly output, winning a program-high 45 games leading up to the conference tournament final.

The week after Rhode Island’s historic TV season ended (Family Guy’s Season 1 finale aired May 16, Providence’s May 21), the Friars delivered on their defiance. They won their second and final Big East pennant and an automatic bid to the NCAA regionals.

In a subsequent in-depth wrap-up, Hartford Courant columnist Jeff Jacobs called the Friars’ mid-May home finale “a scene both sad and wonderful.” Outfielder Michael O’Keefe told Jacobs that, despite the decision’s obvious downside, “it did turn a lot of college kids into young adults.”

Two nights after Jacobs’ report was published, the P-Bruins throttled the Fredericton Canadiens, 6-1. That home triumph at the Civic Center in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Final gave them a slot in their first Calder Cup Final. To sweeten the moment further, it happened on May 29, Rhode Island Statehood Day.

But even with everything else quieting on the entertainment front, hockey was not the only local newsmaker. While Fredericton, the affiliate of the Boston Bruins’ dreaded Montreal nemesis, was briefly staving off elimination in Game 5, an indictment was made in connection with a Providence mayoral scandal.

The FBI had made its first Operation Plunder Dome arrests the preceding month. Ultimately, the investigation made its way to the top of Cianci’s office. The late Prince of Providence was no Adam West of Quahog. But he was one of the reasons for Rhode Island’s reputation for political corruption.

Cianci, who guest starred on the March 12, 1999 Providence episode “Taste of Providence,” lasted another three years. But racketeering would catch up to him, ending his political power in September 2002. He would serve a five-year prison sentence and then spend the rest of his life as a radio talk-show host.

 

But that was not before the man who campaigned to bring the P-Bruins down from Maine joined in their party. Providence met the aforementioned Americans, the regular-season and playoff champions of the Western Conference, in what paper proclaimed a titanic final card.

At home, though, the Bruins were multiple cuts above. East Greenwich native and Brown University graduate Steve King spelled the difference with two goals in Game 1 on June 5. The next night, Providence posted a 6-0 runaway.

A week later, after splitting two tilts in Rochester, the Bruins sold out the Civic Center and paced themselves to a 5-1 Cup clincher. It was Providence’s first AHL playoff title since the bygone Reds raised the trophy in 1956.

A midweek parade followed in Downcity, ringing in the summer solstice in style. Two months later, the newly opened Providence Place Mall offered a little dog-day relief. Now, instead of going out to Warwick, Lincoln or out of state to Massachusetts, local shoppers could flock across the street from one of WaterFire’s best viewing spots above the river.

And not to be forgotten, the Farrellys released their third locally shot-and-based film in six years prior to Labor Day. Adapted from Peter Farrelly’s 1988 novel, Outside Providence fetched a decent 65 percent audience score on Rotten Tomatoes. The movie variously utilized and depicted the city proper plus Cranston, Kingston, Pawtucket and Woonsocket.

Still no encores

Two nights after the anniversary of the fateful Friars baseball announcement, the P-Bruins raised their Calder Cup banner. A more tumultuous 1999-2000 regular season did not indicate their playoff preparation, as they came within an overtime goal of another Eastern Conference crown. That was enough for Laviolette to move up the coaching ranks to the NHL afterward.

It was also enough for the Bruins to remain the royals of Rhode Island’s sports scene for a while longer. And still no other team has ravaged the AHL record book quite like the bar-setting 1998-99 Providence squad.

 

Meanwhile, the state’s two fictional sagas caught on, with one enlisting the aforementioned West for an April 25, 2000 episode.

With Providence and Family Guy, January 1999 proved the beginning of a still-uncontested one-two punch. In the annals of Ocean State teleplays, no other era comes close in collective prominence and staying power.

Previously, CBS had 40 episodes of Doctor Doctor from 1989 to 1991. In 1992, the same network contemplated the Providence-based Better Days but never aired its pilot.

No other Rhody-set network program mustered a full season between then and the Providence premiere. Ocean Staters’ best bets for entertaining local depictions in that interlude were the Farrellys’ Dumb and Dumber and There’s Something About Mary.

Since the pair that premiered in January 1999, none of the state’s scripted small-screen sagas have matched their legs.

In the spring of 2008, Julianna Margulies played the title role in all six episodes of Fox’s Canterbury Law. Margulies would soon have more success in another legal drama, CBS’ The Good Wife, set in Chicago. Meanwhile, back in “Rhody,” ABC carried all 13 episodes of Eastwick in the fall of 2009.

CBS could have fictionalized the state and capital city government’s infamous side, but decided against it. Five episodes of Waterfront, featuring Billy Baldwin as the state attorney general, were produced but never aired.

Outside of the four main networks, only two Rhode Island series have sustained a multi-year run. Last year, historic Newport got the last of its love from Comedy Central, which cancelled Another Period after three seasons and 32 installments.

Beyond basic cable, Showtime shot Brotherhood on location, giving Providence an authentic depiction from July 2006 to December 2008. But that only amounted to 55 episodes in three seasons.

Conversely, despite occupying the inauspicious Friday-night slot for its whole ride, Providence mustered five healthy seasons and 96 episodes.

Family Guy was cancelled in 2002, the same year Cianci was jailed, but returned in 2005. It is now in its 17th overall season, a Sunday-night staple opposite The Simpsons and Bob’s Burgers. As of this week, it has churned out 320 episodes.

Besides MacFarlane’s breakout brainchild, the P-Bruins are only other holdover from that momentous winter and spring. They still draw exemplary fanfare in the AHL, but have yet to win another championship. Four return trips to the penultimate round of the playoffs have not yielded a second Calder Cup Final ticket.

And PC baseball has had no renaissance. In fact, America’s pastime is preparing to peel more of itself away from the Ocean State. The Pawtucket Red Sox will conduct their 48th and final campaign next year before moving to Worcester, Mass., in 2021. Providence could have kept that club in its eponymous county, but no deal for a venue nailed down the pegs.

Both Providence and Quahog’s most famous mayors have passed away within the last three years. Cianci was still hosting a local talk show when he died unexpectedly at age 74 on Jan. 28, 2016. In June 2017, West’s 88-year-old homonymous voice artist of Batman fame succumbed to leukemia.

But even with the former’s sketchy side, each are remembered for their shots in Rhode Island’s cultural arm. West was the first established A-list ringer with a recurring role on Family Guy, appearing 117 times. His 17 years in office (also nonconsecutive, as Lois Griffin briefly replaced him) fell only four short of Cianci’s.

Amid West’s reign, his constituents were seen advertising Del’s Frozen Lemonade, buying groceries from Stop & Shop and driving by the Big Blue Bug. More out-of-staters undoubtedly saw those entities because the guest star’s veteran presence drew them to the series. He gave it some Y2K compliance after its 1999 grace period.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you have given us, Mr. Mayor,” MacFarlane stated on Twitter after West’s passing. “You’re irreplaceable.”

Quahog’s school system even acknowledged West’s Providence counterpart with Buddy Cianci Junior High.

“I wish I had gone there myself,” the namesake joked to Bloomberg TV in a June 2015 interview.

Well, you can’t have it all, as Cianci learned the hard way when his misdeeds caught up with him. But he and others also warrant credit for the way substantial scripted and sports narratives went through his city and state two decades ago this year.