You're Watching What?

For the last three years my TV has been a device I've used largely for Office and 30 Rock marathons and the occasional it's-way-too-cold-or-I'm-way-too-lazy-to-leave-the-house workout sessions.  I'd easily go a couple weeks without turning it on, finding clipping recipes out of my various cooking magazines, reading, writing, running, or blowing things up in the kitchen to be infinitely more entertaining than the boob tube. 

I've always held myself to be somewhat superior to those who watch TV often. I feel much more sophisticated, a renegade, really, in my dismissal of the harbinger of all things socially relevant. I read, I blog, I write poems, surely I cannot be brainwashed by that insipid box.


But a couple weeks ago the TV (a hand-me-down from my parents) actually died.  The sound is fine but the screen rolls in waves and squiggles, not pleasant to stare at for any length of time.  So I've been TV-less for many days now and, I have to admit, I rather miss it.  I miss the 30 Rock intro music.  It has crept up in my dreams more than once. But my real concern isn't my current lack of DVD capability (althought that is a mild frustration), my bigger issue is that I crave really, really bad television.

I blame the gym.  They have those groovy little HD contraptions glued to every machine and they have the Bravo Network, which means I can watch hours upon hours of reruns of Top Chef All-Stars.  And I can cattily giggle at Joan River's snarky ripping apart of all things fashionable on the E channel.  I've even watched Real Housewives of Atlanta, heaven help me.  And I found myself connecting emotionally with one of the characters who not only married an ex-con but now wants to open a funeral parlor.  I liked her eyeshadow.  WHAT IS GOING ON?

I'm telling myself that this is really just the inherent laziness of late winter doing me in mentally.  I've lost it.  My mind has rejected the cold and, unable to survive without heaps of escapism, has turned to TV trash based in warmer climates or involving scantily clad celebrities who can't wear Armani to save their lives.  Once it's sufficiently warm enough to quit the gym and return for 6-7 glorious months to the pavement, I'll leave my new found TV obsession behind.  Happily. 

But for now, bring on the mental junk food.