A few months ago I got rid of my TV set, which was a decision I originally made out of practical concerns about space. The TV set, being something like a millionty years old, was an immense dusty thing that inhabited an area of my bedroom that I knew would be way better left empty, that I might occupy it to take vain self-portraits. Plus I had basic cable and everything on basic cable sucks(except for like the trashiest shit, and maybe Parks and Rec), so I never really watched it.
When I finally saw a recent picture of Kim Kardashian, I was alarmed to find that, unless she had met with hard times in my months away from her E! monstrosity/reality show, I had never noticed that she looks quite like a sex doll.
Anyway, so I ditched the great shadowed monolith with Chelsea Handler’s big stupid face in it and immediately realized two benefits I hadn’t previously considered: firstly, I can mention that I don’t have a TV to support basically anything I say. And trust me, I do mention it, to the bald disgust of my boyfriend, whose groans only add to my routine. (Why don’t I eat red meat, you ask? Well, I don’t have a TV. I mean, I just, you know, I avoid caffeine because it really isn’t good for you! It’ll fuck up your skin, you know, and your sleep cycles really start to spin out of control! It’s important to be, like, in tune with nature and the moon, right? I don’t have a TV! I compost! I recycle! This necklace is hemp!)
The second benefit was that I completely lost touch with popular culture. I mean, I just have no idea what’s going on at any given time. I thought that the internet would keep me hooked in, but it just doesn’t. I didn’t know what movies were coming out. I wondered who the fuck Kate Middleton was for weeks. No, I haven’t seen “that commercial with the dog,” and would prefer not to watch it on YouTube. When I finally saw a recent picture of Kim Kardashian, I was alarmed to find that, unless she had met with hard times in my months away from her E! monstrosity/reality show, I had never noticed that she looks quite like a sex doll. Of middling design quality.
So when my friend went on vacation and asked me to look after her home, which is outfitted with no less than three gigantic flat screen TVs that receive a full line-up of HD satellite channels, I agreed really hard.
Before my unsupervised week in her space, my friend asked me to spend the night with her, in part so that she could orient me to her home and her hundreds of channels. Spread out in the immense bed she shares with her partner, she gave me a tour through the TV guide, almost all of which was completely unknown to me. Lots of channels broadcast something she enjoyed and strongly recommended I watch when I had the time, and I was grateful for her advice, because I was clueless and a lot of this shit has to be seen to be believed.
Did you know that there’s a whole show on TLC about Gypsy weddings? Isn’t “gypsy” kind of an offensive word, to say nothing of the suggestion that they share a monolithic cultural experience? I guess that’s a conversation for another day, but I implore you either to immediately watch this horror show or to avoid it for the rest of your natural days. It is my queer feminist nightmare, all pastel princess gowns and mountainous cakes made for very young brides who are not allowed to learn to read. Whether or not they like their husbands, I cannot tell, as they seem more resigned to than excited about the elements of marriage that lie beyond the ceremonial festivities.