My Name is Earl Cancelled, Rural Trumbull County Mourns

You know the kind of guy who does nothing but bad things and then wonders
why his life sucks? Well, that was me: every time something good happened to me,
something bad was always waitin' around the corner. Karma. That's when I
realized I had to change. So, I made a list of everything bad I've ever done,
and one by one I'm gonna make up for all my mistakes. I'm just tryin' to be a
better person. My name is Earl.

I've never spoken to you of my love for My Name is Earl. To me, the show has always had a maddeningly familiar air to it, the sort of thing it takes about 30 seconds of viewing to pick up on. Series creator Greg Garcia may have based Camden County on an undisclosed southern location but I'm telling you right now that rural Trumbull County is as close as you'll come to finding the real thing. And now the show has been canceled.

My Name is Earl is the story of a Earl Hickey, a ne're do well petty thief who wins $100,000 dollars and promptly loses the lottery ticket when he gets struck by a car. Upon waking in the hospital he sees Carson Daly explaining the concept of Karma and decides to turn over a new leaf. He makes a list of his wrongdoings and embarks on a life altering journey to make up for the misery he has caused others.

If you head north up Route 7 into Brookfield, Hartford and Kinsman, you will find locations and folks that look eerily familiar to Earl viewers. I know of where I speak. I was raised in that area. I spent a fair number of years in a trailer in a trailer park not unlike the one Joy and Darnell call home. It weren't no doublewide, neither. It was a cramped 14 x 70 with a matching shed and gravel driveway. Earl drives a dilapidated El Camino that bears a fair resemblence to every $300 clunker I drove from high school through college.

And just look at Earl himself. His unkempt hair, wild mustache, inexhaustible supply of flannel shirts and faded blue jeans (with required wallet chain) is the exact ensemble so prevalent at church fairs and festivals in the area. I dare you to toss a rock at the Rib Burn Off this summer without hitting a guy who is a dead ringer for Jason Lee's karmic do gooder.

Earl's ensemble cast is filled out by a host of other Trumbull County fixtures. I know for a fact that I went to school with or worked with more than a few women who could have been the basis for Earl's ex-wife, Joy Farrah Darville Hickey Turner played by Jamie Pressly. A stunner with a personality like sandpaper, women like Joy are equally easy to find in low places. His big goofy brother Randy is every dimwit who ever dropped out of school. In fact, I used to run into all sorts of curious folks like those who inhabit the Crab Shack. Troll the auto parts stores, junk yards and the 3rd shifts of convenience stores and you'll see a fair number of people who would be happy to call Camden County home. Work the afternoon shift at a small town Sohio station and they'll beat a path to your door.

I can't forget the music. Earl's soundtrack was lifted straight from 93.3 The Wolf. A steady stream of classic rock from artists like Foghat, Santana, George Thoroughgood and Golden Earring was used to great effect. I'm telling you, someone on the production staff of that show has roots in Northeast Ohio.

Watching Earl was like being broke and twenty again. You could hang out with your friends as long as you could drag yourself to school or work the next day. True, you couldn't afford to do much but if your ensemble cast was quirky enough (as mine was) you didn't have to do much.

So NBC has taken away Earl and will try out something newer and cheaper in its place while I lament what has been lost. No more will I hear, "Hey Earl", "Hey Crabman". No longer will Thursday night comedies provide a reflected bookend to my life; Earl was my early 20's and The Office is my today. I just wish i could have seen him finish that list.