“I’m an attorney, and I know the law.” Would you take any e-mail seriously that started with that sentence? I just find it really, really funny. Especially when it heads up one of those e-mails that tell you AOL and Microsoft are tracking readers and will pay up. People, people, people…how many times do these things have to circulate before you stop sending them? I’ve jumped aboard this bandwagon one too many times, so I refuse to devote any more time to it. But this particular e-mail has circulated throughout my office at least ten times. And each time, I send a scathing “reply all” e-mail, complete with the Snopes/TruthorFiction link attached. “What could it hurt?” they ask. It hurts my brain. Their stupidity hurts me to the very center of my being. Isn’t that enough??? Phew. Ok. Got that out of my system.Against everything I know to be true and just, I sat down with Miss Priss to watch the first episode of American Idol. First and foremost — I AM NOT A REALITY TV FAN. Let’s make that perfectly clear. I journeyed through one early season of Survivor, back when it was a novelty, and never looked back. Bachelors, bachelorettes, big brothers, dancers, people with horrible children, boxers, fat people — their lives do not interest me enough to devote my time to watching a scripted “unscripted” tv show. My life is both predictable and unpredictable enough to keep me busy. Watching that stuff on tv, to me, borders on the pathetic.
So now that that’s out of the way, why American Idol? Well, I started watching it last year, for the first time, because there was some local (i.e. Louisiana) talent on there. Long after the Louisiana connection had been voted off, I had, in spite of myself, gotten hooked. Embarrassingly enough, I got caught up in it enough to cast my weekly vote for Bo. And when the season ended, so did my need to ever watch the show again. But Miss Priss wanted to start the new season, and I, in the interest of having some fun girl time with her, agreed to join her.
Let me just say that I did not endure the first part of the season last year. And after last night, I know why. I don’t know which was worse: the people who auditioned, the “tearjerker” snippets (“I do not vant to return to ze Ukraine…”), or Simon Cowell. Within twenty minutes of the show’s beginning, I was done. After thirty minutes, Miss Priss was off to her room to watch it free of her mom’s ranting, raving, and groaning. Even with the tv in the family room turned off, I could hear the screeches, wails, and cries for help emanating from her tv. And that was just the judges.
I’ll wait. I’ll wait a nice long time. When the 24 finalists have been selected, I may watch with her again.
Or maybe I’ll just take her shopping.