I’ve had a thing for TV since I was 2 years old—Bozo, Lamb Chop and The Merry Mailman were a few of my first screen pals. I deepened my TV romance when my grandparents hosted me for an occasional sleepover at their home in North Bergen, New Jersey, in the 1950s. My bed was directly in front of their new TV. Lucky me. I was hypnotized by the small dot on the screen that lingered for a minute or two after you snapped off the set.

Over the years, TV sets and clickers have changed, but I’ve stayed true blue. Million Dollar Movie (same movie back-to-back all day Sunday), The Man from U.N.C.L.E., Chiller Theater, Bonanza and The Patty Duke Show may be off the air, but they are cemented in my gray matter.

I toyed with going into the TV (or movie) biz but opted for news, then sports then marketing. But, all along the way I watched TV. And I still do.

Like an addict with a ready supply of crack, I’ve welcomed the cable channels and networks with open arms and dollar bills. Vodka on the rocks doesn’t buzz me like HBO and Netflix do. And what would I do without Amazon Prime and Hulu?  Damned my monthly bill, full steam ahead.

Want to know what’s been keeping me up at night?  OK:  The Night Manager, The Night of, The Fall, The Killing, Narcos, Transparent, The Path, The Bridge, Marcella, Happy Valley, Penny Dreadful, Bosch, Wallender and Westworld. As you can tell, I like darker series. Last year when I was down for the count with the flu for a week I watched every episode of Breaking Bad. Mindblowing. Especially the scene in the meth lab with Tommy James & The Shondells rocking Crystal Blue Persuasion.

So, now there’s a series that’s on regular old NBC. It’s called This Is Us and it’s about three siblings and how they deal with turning 36. The show is a smart dramedy that flickers in and out of time (think Lost goes suburban). I’m hooked. Love the actors, the plot, the music, the sets. And, the last scene of every episode so far (I’ve seen three) gave me chills. That says something, especially when I don’t have the flu.

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