Is there a word for the feeling you get when you realize the syndicated sitcom rerun you've been hoping to burrow into for a little while, away from the world, turns out to be a clip show? You know, it seems to be a regular episode for a few moments, maybe even one you don't remember ever seeing before (this dawning, fragile possibility like the fringes of a low-grade miracle since the syndicated sitcom you are hoping to enwomb yourself in with the help of some Pabst Blue Ribbon and a huge bowl of three-for-a-dollar generic macaroni and cheese is one you've watched repeatedly, chronically, medicinally, for years), but then one of the characters begins relating the presently unfolding (and noticeably thin) scenario to something that happened in the past. Remember when Fonzie had to start building birdhouses to control his rage? Or when Kramer threw a giant ball of oil out the window? Or when Apu wore a cowboy hat and pretended to be a fan of the Mets, his "favorite squadron." The edges of the screen start to get blurry and wavy, and with that your hole-in-the-ground hiding place is gone. The clip show, that sack of used, thoroughly deflavored pebbles of gum, leaves you nothing to gnaw on but the air of the moment from which you'd been trying to escape. God, I hate that feeling.