Boob Tube
When do you say “enough is enough?” When are you no longer watching stupid television ironically, but because you are, in fact, stupid? This is my current dilemma. I consider myself a connoisseur of trash TV, but have recently started to feel pangs of guilt surrounding this indulgence. When it comes to what I read, I’ve got a 2-for-1 rule. For every piece of candy, I make myself finish two pieces of actual literature. The problem is that, for some reason, I can’t seem to get myself to apply this same rule to my television viewing habits.
I realized I may have crossed the point of no return when I caught myself watching my second episode in a row of the Oxygen network’s Bad Girls Club. Produced by the same folks behind MTV’s The Real World, this show is a powder keg of daddy issues, hair extensions and vodka. Seven mentally unstable self-professed “bad girls” are picked to live in an LA mansion. They do not have to work. They do not have to compete in feats of strength or endurance in order to remain in said house. They do not do anything – but beat the living hell out of each other. And I don’t mean Brenda Walsh/Kelly Taylor school yard taunting…I’m talking Linda Grey/Joan Collins Dynasty shit. If Dynasty took place in a Detroit trailer park.
I can find nothing…I mean NOTHING redeeming about this show. The cast of characters are so-old-they’re-dusty archetypes of reality hot-mess-ness. There’s the alcoholic stripper (named…wait for it…Brandi), the Miami party girl who keeps yelling at everyone about how many bottles she “pops” (I’m assuming she’s referring to booze, right?), the tattooed tomboy vixen with a heart of gold, and blah blah blah. Yet I continue to watch. All they do is scream and yell and get into fights with each other and random spray tans at mid-level LA clubs and I continue to watch. What is wrong with me? I think that I’m tottering on a dangerous precipice. Pretty soon, I’ll be auditioning for “For the Love of Ray J 6” or something.
I tell myself that I’m just enjoying this trashy entertainment as a release; that after a long day at work, sometimes I just want to turn my brain off. “You’re smart, you went to a really good school, so it’s OK that you’re more up to date on the Guidice’s financial woes than their bankruptcy lawyers.” But really…I don’t know if that’s true. Nor do I know if I actually care, or if I am just surprised at how much I just don’t. Evolving, devolving, potato, tomato…
So I’m making a personal resolution to stop watching so much garbage. That’s not to say that I’ll be glued to the next Nova marathon. But I will probably be passing on the next Real Housewives: Unaired Footage special in favor of something a little more fortifying. Or at least DVRing it for a rainy day.
