My husband says that I have a "reality tv" problem.
No. I. Don't.
I have a coffee problem, and a Target problem and a magazine problem, and, starting just recently, a blog problem. When I was in college and weighed one twelve and looked like I was carved out of tan, I had a swimsuit problem. Believe me if there is a problem it is not reality television.
But I do like my shows.
The Amazing Race is slated to return on February 14 and my whole family is looking forward to the date for this reason more than because it is the holiday of love. I joked to my cousin about she and I being a team, and she got off the phone to download applications. I will do it, but after the adoption is done. We decided we could at least do as well as Sam and Dan did last season. They made it to third place while verbally ripping each other to shreds. I think they could have won if they hadn't spent so much time whining and fighting. We love the race, because they go everywhere and we are just in awe of what they do. Choose your partner carefully. You need someone who will run down the street in their underwear in Siberia because it needs to be done. I think T is that cousin. We did the fighting when we were 9.
Dancing with the Stars. Now, technically, they are on probation. Last season was so dull, my daughters, who love a little sequined anything, were bored and didn't care if they got to watch. Here, here. DWTS has the task of coming up with a cast whom we care to see dance. The previous season's winner was not the best dancer by any stretch. Chloris Leachman was carried along for several weeks by Americans who wanted to see just how vulgar the network would allow her to be, causing good dancers to be sent home. No way to redo that one.
The King and all time best...America's Funniest Home Videos. I mean it. Real. That is America. Everyday is a pinata club to the zipper. There is no line of distinction. No discrimination by age education or socio-economic status. They all show themselves up. For money.
Tonight, though is my big love, The Biggest Loser. If that big fella can lose 17 pounds in one week with that foul mouthed little elf screaming at him from her perch on the control panel of his treadmill, then by golly any of us who have it to spare can take off one or two by pushing the plate away and taking the stairs. The message is good. I do get sick of the "Pound for Pound Challenge", because they make guilt seem to be a virtue in the commercial breaks between trying to get people out of their emotional prisons. Excuse my language but, WTHeck? And the name is unacceptable. Because...
The biggest losers are on Monday night on ABC in the space that used to be just before football(but I digress). The biggest losers are the women who believe that they have made a connection(on the first night at the intro-drunk-tion)..."that there was something there" and "he made a big mistake" by sending her home. No, baby, he didn't make a big mistake. You chose to believe that he came out for true love. We are down to week five or six or something and he is getting to hug and kiss 5 women with the others' full knowledge and everyone is mad but they are tolerating it believing that when they win it will have been worth it. This is the poorest preparation for marriage that I can imagine. But we all got to be on TV. Yeah, another probation. Why do I go back? It's like a car wreck on the interstate. I can't look away.