When I was in Singapore, I didn't watch TV for the entire ten days. Not sure why, really, only that I had better things to do, I guess, things like eating at buffets. Do you know how many buffets I ate at while in Singapore? Hundreds! And they were all really fancy buffets too, the kind you want to go back to again and again and again.
Hang on, let me just count the actual number of buffets I ate at last week, including both lunch and dinner. Hmm, five. Alright, so not hundreds, but still, five buffets is kind of a lot of buffets for ten days, don't you think? In fact, you could say I'd been buffeted to death.
(When my parents were younger and in school together---did you know they were in school together? They met when they were thirteen!---a boy in their English class made a rather embarrassing mistake that has since lived on in infamy in my family. The English teacher was making everyone read aloud to the rest of the class, and when this poor boy got to the phrase "buffeted to death by the wind"---wherein "buffet" should be pronounced, obviously, with a hard "t," like, say, Jimmy Buffet---he wasn't quite sure what to do or how to say it and so, rather sweetly, he pronounced it as though you would a lunch buffet. This, of course, gave the impression that the character---"boofayed to death"---had met a tragic demise by going back to the platter of shrimp cocktail one too many times.)
Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, television: the lack of watching it. That's kind of a new thing for me, see, because I'm absolutely unashamed to say that I like watching television. Nothing drives me crazier than a person who says loftily (and often with an arched eyebrow of disdain) "oh, I don't watch TV," because really? Really? You don't? Ever? I'm not saying we should all be devoted fans of American Idol (never seen it in my life, actually; I prefer my reality TV stars to be vapid and talentless), but come on: television can be fantastic! What about The Wire? Or The Office? Or Extras? Or Freaks and Geeks? Or My So-Called Life? Or Peep Show? Or Little Britain? Or Flight of the Conchords? Or Six Feet Under? Eh, non-television-watchers, I will never understand you. It's not all A Shot of Love With Tila Tequila, you know.
That's not to say, however, that I do not have my limits. I tried to catch up with all the Fake Tivo-ed shows on my Fake Tivo last night, top among them The Bachelorette, which I figured would be nice and fluffy and light and silly, and Internet, I don't know what has happened to me but I HAD TO TURN IT OFF. I only started with the premiere---which: really? two hours?---but I just found the whole thing so grotesque and ridiculous that I couldn't stand myself for watching it. Seriously, I started to hate myself! I actually found my self-esteem dipping! Does DeAnna Pappas, pretty girl though she may be, really think she's going to find a husband among 25 over-tanned, over-plucked, overconfident gameshow contestants, among them men who say things like "I'm a snuggler" and "she looked like the perfect wife for me"?
(Oh my god. Who says that? Do you know men who say that? In public arenas? Will you do me a favor and cut them out of your lives forever?)
I don't know, dude, I just think I've finally found my own personal bottom of the barrel. I can't explain it, but for some reason The Bachelor---although, yes, it's horrifically trite and twee---is fun in its triteness and tweeness. It's almost ironic. It's almost kitschy. You know there are going to be cat fights and bitch slaps and most dramatic rose ceremonies ever, and you know the happy couple is never going to last because the bachelor will eventually let fame go to his head and think that a wink from Hayden Panettiere at the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards actually meant something and end up leaving the girl he chose for a Hooters waitress, or, I don't know, have a brief fling with Marla Maples or something. The Bachelorette, on the other hand, just seems sad. There's something too clawing and desperate about it. I'm just not sure I'm going to last the season.
Speaking of sad, and I swear, this is the last thing I'm going to say about television, because have you noticed how I CANNOT SHUT UP AT THE MOMENT, WHAT IS WITH THE POSTING? APPARENTLY MOTORMOUTH IS A SYMPTOM OF JETLAG TOO, did you happen to catch the season finale of ER......um, three weeks ago? (Sorry, just catching up on that too.) Now, I know we've talked before about how Sean and I feel like we might be the last two people on earth actually watching ER---because yes, eleven billion years later, it's still on!---but in the comments to that post, a surprising number of people came out of the woodwork and said that actually, they too watched ER, so I figure by this point there must be eight or nine of us at least.
And to those eight or nine, I say: Oh Em Gee. Seriously. Oh Em Gee! I was inconsolable at the end. I was weeping! I probably actually needed to go to the ER, just so they could use some sort of IV or something to stop the tears and the shaking and the wailing. Was it Pratt who died in a fiery ambulance explosion? Was it Sam? Was it Abby? I cannot stand to know.
And come to to think of it, perhaps those people who don't watch TV do have a point after all. Because, you know, between the shuddering revulsion and the minor hysterics, I do wonder if I should be having quite such a visceral reaction to watching the box on a Wednesday night.