The Three Best Sitcoms of the Nineties

It is no secret that I love good television, especially sitcoms. Fortunately, I grew up in a decade full of excellent television. Everyone has at least one favorite from the 1990's, even if they would not like to admit it. Here are three of my favorites. And no, Seinfeld was not even close to making this list.


3. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (1990-1996)
Cultures clash and comedy ensues when Will Smith moves from Philadelphia to the wealthy suburb of Bel-Air to live with his wealthy Aunt and Uncle. Through the magic of syndication I was able to view the entirety of Fresh Prince in the pre-Netflix era (remember that?). The show dealt with race and social class in thought provoking new ways. It also features the best television theme song of all time. If you cannot sing it from memory, I do not believe that you grew up in the 1990's.

2. Friends (1994-2004)

Friend's follows a group of six friends as they try to find happiness, love, and meaning in the West Village. There was hardly a dry eye in the house when Friends ended its run in 2004. The show provided an appallingly unrealistic representation of apartment living in New York City, but a stellar ensemble cast ensured that story lines never grew dull. While Frasier was the official spin-off of Cheers, Friends was perhaps its spiritual successor, a group biologically unrelated yet closer than most families. No show has fully replaced Friends since it came off air, with How I Met Your Mother being the closest thing. Friends was more than a show, it was a cultural phenomenon.

1. Frasier (1993-2004)
Frasier comes in at #1 on my list of best sitcoms of the 1990's, and of all time. Frasier chronicles the life of psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane as he attempts rebuild his life in Seattle after his marriage had fallen apart in the final season of Cheers. His life is thrown into even more disarray when his cop father, recently forced into retirement by a gunshot wound, moves in with him. David Hyde Pierce provides one of the great breakout performances of all time as Dr. Niles Crane. Witty writing provides mental stimulation for every kind of viewer. Intellectual references are blended with slapstick (see below) and characters show tremendous personal growth over the show's eleven year run. At the end of the day, Frasier is a show about family and how an inconvenient situation can lead to wonderful relationships. 

There you have it, my three favorite sitcoms of the 1990's. I would love to hear your favorites below!

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Five

Part Five of The Apartment Across The Way

Hamilton could not breathe. The door had opened one inch and stopped. He could feel eyes peering in at him. He waited ten seconds. He was crippled by fear. The door creaked open another inch. He was shaking and his mouth felt like sandpaper.

           

            The door opened another inch. He stared at the darkness between door and frame. The darkness stared back. Fifteen seconds passed. Hamilton lay silent, trying to think of something. Anything. His mind slowed enough for one cohesive thought.

            I am not going to take this lying down.

He sat up abrutly and the door slammed shut. He threw off the covers and wrenched open the door. He groped for the light switch and flicked it on, bathing the room in glorious light. Adrenaline poured through his veins and his hair stood on end.

            Hamilton swept the room with his eyes and his fists at the ready. The room was empty. His fists fell to his sides. He ran to the door to make sure it was still locked. Both the deadbolt and knob were locked, just as he had left them. Then he walked cautiously to the windows. With adrenaline still coursing within him he checked their locks. They were locked tight. Hamilton ran his fingers through his hair and put on his glasses. He looked up at the apartment across the way.

            The figure had returned to his window. His face remained indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. Hamilton stared up at him and he seemed to stare back. Something about the figure’s stance showed satisfaction. The figure withdrew. Hamilton continued to look up. He waited for five minutes but neither the figure nor the strange lights appeared.

            Hamilton did not go back to sleep that night.

A Brief Respite -- Three Blogs For Your Enjoyment

Taking a break from fiction for a few days, I wanted to share a few blogs with you. These have helped illuminate me in an area that I long overlooked, and is overlooked by far too many these days, how to get dressed. Here are three blogs that are worth a read.

Ivy Style - www.ivy-style.com @IvyStylecom


Founded by Christian Chensvold in 2008, Ivy Style takes a look at the past, present, and future of traditional menswear. Mr. Chensvold has been a style contributor to a variety of publications including The Huffington Post, RalphLauren.com, Robb Report, as well as being founder of Dandyism.net. His brief history of the 'Ivy League Look' is worth the read. J. Press founder Jacobi Press' grandson Richard Press heads a long list of contributing authors providing insights from around the style world. The blog covers the history of the Ivy League look dating back to roots in the Twenties, its rise to prominence in the Fifties and Sixties, and the Prep takeover from the Eighties to the present. Authors cover how classic brands like Brooks Brothers, J. Press, and Gant, to name a few, are relating to their Ivy roots. While Ivy Style is an excellent source for background on the Ivy League look, it must be taken with a grain of salt. A faux-aristocratic, snarky, and occasionally condescending tone pervades its posts.


OCBD Trad | Ivy | Preppy Blog - www.oxfordclothbuttondown.com @CollarRoll


While Ivy Style dwells on a bygone past, OCBD provides a more youthful take on classic menswear. with Midwestern charm in place of faux-New England snobbery. The unnamed author covers contemporary news and historical background on Ivy and Prep, but also branches out into the traditional American architecture near his home in Springfield, Ohio, and some more instructional pieces. While Ivy-Style often feels as if written by bitter old men looking wistfully at years past, OCBD is a joyous discovery of classic style and shares a great deal more practical knowledge, like how to find a good cobbler, make simple alterations to your own clothes, and embracing classic style in our disgustingly casual society. I particularly enjoyed this piece on dressing up in a casual office.


The Suits of James Bond - www.thesuitsofjamesbond.com

Breaking away from the world of American menswear, The Suits of James Bond, surprisingly, covers the attire of James Bond through the 23 EON produced films, the non-EON productions, and literary Bond. The blog covers the finer points of Bond's developing wardrobe, including the differences between Savile Row and Italian tailoring, and how a fictional character has become a style icon, particularly as Tom Ford has taken over Daniel Craig's wardrobe in the last few years.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Four

I have been delayed in posting due to travel. Thank you for your patience, and enjoy.

Part Four



                The next three days passed without incident. Hamilton spent the weekend taking a series of long walks, exploring the nooks and crannies that the city had to offer.  These walks helped him clear his head after a long week in the trenches. He watched the apartment across the way each night. No lights appeared. He halfway expected the light to reappear on Monday, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.

                On Tuesday he arrived home later than usual. He sprawled out on the couch without turning on one of the lights. He was unsure how long he had been laying there when a familiar flicker caught his attention. The light had returned. It had returned, but not in the same way. It had moved to the window on the far right of the building, and this time it was orange. It did its familiar dance, perhaps a little more agitated than the two previous times he had seen it.            

                Hamilton watched the light for twenty minutes, which again turned into five hours. When it finally vanished he looked at his watch. It read just after ten. He had spent his weekend walks wondering what these phenomena could be. The only scenario that seemed to fit was that someone in his building was responsible, flashing a flashlight from his building to the other. Still, he could not explain the changes in color, the man in the window, or that the light never appeared on the exterior of the apartment across the way.

                The radiator next to the couch began hissing. Hamilton rubbed his eyes and closed the radiator valve. He rose to his feet, poured himself a glass of water, and completed his door locking ritual. Then he slipped on his pajamas, closed the bedroom door, and fell into bed. He was more exhausted, without explanation, than he had been when he had arrived home. Hamilton flicked off the light and glanced a final time up at the apartment across the way. All was still. Without another thought, he rolled onto his side, and fell asleep. His sleep was dreamless.

Hamilton awoke with a start. His heart was racing. He glanced at his alarm clock, which read four thirty. The room was still pitch black. No lights from the courtyard were visible. The clock display provided the room’s only light. He was unsure of what had awoken him, until he heard a faint creak from the other room.

Damned old building.

He had been begging the super to come and take care of some old broken floorboards for six months, but had always been met with weak excuses. He rolled over to his other side to go back to sleep. A second creak pierced the air, louder than the last. Hamilton opened his eyes. The second was followed by a third, softer, but closer to his door. He held his breath and could hear his own heartbeat. The creaks were getting closer. Inch by inch, the sound of soft, measured footsteps approached his door. His eyes had adjusted to the dark room, and he stared at the door. A creak resounded from just outside.

                The door opened.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Three

                                                         Part Three

Hamilton jerked awake with a start. His heart was racing, but he had no idea why. The dream he had been having ran away as soon as he tried to remember it. There was a vague memory of something frightening. He reached out with his mind, but as soon as he brushed the surface, the dream was gone. He sat up, turned off the television, and checked his watch. It was three sixteen in the morning.

The adrenaline began to fade and Hamilton began to become drowsy once more. His neck ached from the odd angle he had slept in. He took a warm shower to clear away the day’s dirt, slipped on his pajamas, and fell into bed. The curtains in the bedroom were open, and he could see the apartment across the way. A light was on in the center-right window. Hamilton sat upright and peered at the lit window. It was opened about twelve inches.  A figure approached the window, wearing a baseball hat. The figure moved to close the window, then paused. Even with the light, it was impossible for Hamilton to see a face. He had the distinct feeling that the figure was staring at him. He turned out his own light. The figure closed the window, but remained looking in Hamilton’s direction. After ten or fifteen seconds, the figure walked away. The light disappeared from the window.

It’s just a new neighbor. A new neighbor with a strange light who is awake at three in the morning?  I guess I’m awake too though.

Hamilton got out of bed and made sure the apartment door was locked. He flipped the lock open, opened the door, closed it, and re-locked it. This strange compulsive ritual comforted him. He closed the bedroom door, flicked off the light, and got back into bed. After one last glance at the apartment across the way, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Part Four to come tomorrow.

The Apartment Across The Way -- Part Two

Part Two of our tale...

                The next day, Hamilton stopped at the liquor store on the way home from work to pick up a fifth of vodka. The week had drained him so he splurged on a bottle of Ketel One. When he arrived home he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the side table. He filled a lowball glass with ice and poured a few ounces of vodka into the glass. The warm liquid knocked the edge from the ice, which settled into the glass with a rewarding crackle. He set it on the coffee table and turned the radiator knob on. He reached for the remote, but just as his hand touched the plastic, he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

                The light had returned, but in a different place. As you may remember, it had occupied the center-right window the previous evening, but tonight it had moved to the far left window. Hamilton was filled with curiosity. He had assumed that the building across the way, which appeared identical to his own, shared an identical floor plan. Working from this assumption, it followed that the light now occupied a different apartment. The light began its dance once more. Hamilton could not help but think there was something different this evening. The greenish hue from the previous evening was gone, replaced by a shade of electric blue.

                Hamilton sipped his vodka. It warmed the back of his throat, and carried warmth down to his belly. He returned his gaze to the dancing blue light. It reminded him of a pixie. The light lulled him into a trance, as it had the previous evening. He pulled back his visual focus, and the light blurred into tailed arcs. He sipped unconsciously. The scent of the vodka brought him back. He looked at his watch. Now, Hamilton normally arrived home at half past six o’clock, and he had done so on this particular evening. His watch read nine o’clock.

                Hamilton’s jaw dropped. He put his glass down on the table and stared at it, as if it would give him an answer as to the strange happenings of the last two evenings. Maybe it’s time to ease up on the sauce. I need to get out more. He looked back up at the window where the light had been. It was gone. This is getting weird. He pulled the curtain closed and turned on the television to remove his attention from the strange lights. Within a few minutes the noise from the television lulled him to sleep.

Part Three to come tomorrow.

The Apartment Across the Way -- Part One

As is usual, unemployment has given me more time to spend writing. Over the next few days I will be publishing a short story in parts. Below is part one. I would love feedback. Who knows, your view might change the course of the story. Enjoy.

The Apartment Across the Way

Part One

There was an apartment across the way, as is common in a large city. Hamilton had never been in the building. He had always assumed that its design mirrored his own. He lived on the second floor, but the apartment in question was on the fourth. The buildings were identical, boring six story blocks, standing no more than thirty yards apart. They were the only identical buildings on the block. The apartment in question was never of great interest to anyone, least of all Hamilton. He had never seen anyone in it before, despite his daily musings over his window sill. Hamilton had moved into his one bedroom apartment twelve years ago. In this time he had never seen so much as a shadow or flicker of life from the apartment across the way.

It was an average Thursday night in mid-February. Two inches of snow remained on the ground from the previous week, while a light dusting was falling from the sky. The temperature had been holding in the naughts for three weeks. A chill permeated the windows, finally forcing Hamilton to relent, and turn on his radiator. He sat huddled at the end of his leather couch, right next to the radiator, flipping through channels, looking for something to capture his attention. He settled on a basketball game and grabbed a beer from the fridge before sitting back and falling into his basketball induced trance.

Two minutes into the third quarter, Hamilton was jarred from his concentration. He looked around, startled, just like someone awoken from deep sleep by a loud noise. He peered out the window and noticed a light in the center-right window in the fourth floor apartment, across the way. It vanished as soon as he looked, but reappeared instantly, flicking on and off. It appeared to jump erratically. Hamilton could not stop staring at the light. It jumped and danced from side to side and top to bottom. Every few moments it disappeared, only to reappear and continue its movements. Hamilton stared for a few moments and turned back to the television.

Must be someone with a flashlight.

Thirty seconds remained in the fourth quarter. Hamilton rubbed his eyes. Almost an hour of basketball had elapsed in what seemed like a moment of staring at the light. He stood up and paced to the other side of the apartment, then returned to the window. He looked up at the apartment across the way. The light was gone. He waited a few moments for it to reappear, but darkness permeated the space. Confused and somewhat startled, he turned back to the game, just in time to see the team he had put a few bucks on in the office pool miss a last second shot and lose the game.

 
              Damn.

                He flicked off the television with a disgusted slap at the power button, doused and the lights, and hopped into bed. For thirty minutes he lay awake pondering the strange light and odd passage of time. He set his alarm clock, and, dismissing the light from his mind with a resigned sigh, fell asleep. 

Part Two to come tomorrow.