I think I may have a problem. I'm finding myself more and more interested in reality shows. I hear people talking about them at work and the beauty parlor. In the past, I've scoffed at these people and their taste in tv. Before now, I wouldn't waste one precious second of my viewing time on people who survived something horrific or Hollywood types telling mildly scary stories. It seems my tastes are changing.
At home, I only have basic cable. So, for the last few weeks, I've been going over to Margie's house to watch Dish Network. She is totally in love with that guy from New Jersey who makes elaborate cakes and the English ladies who clean peoples houses. Aside from those shows, we've been watching food network shows and crafting, sewing and hours of DIY. Margie is also a Simpson's junkie, so we look at plenty of that too.
This afternoon when Mick came in, I think he was expecting dinner. What he got was a bunch of shooshing and hand waving because Margie and I were engrossed in some horrific crime scene investigation programme. I like to think of myself as a little more intellectual than other folks who love reality tv. It turns out I am not. I feel a weird sense of intrigue when peeking in on someone else's life. I guess voyuerism sells and I have been a television addict since my parents let me stay up to watch Carson and The Midnight Special. Up until then I was shooed off to bed after Disney or Wild Kingdom.
But I am positive I would never sign up for people peeking in on my life. The ratings would tank after viewers realised all I really do is watch tv. Now there's a thought, a whole show revolved around me and my infatuation with the boob tube...