TURN OFF THE TELEVISION AND THE RADIO! Yup, it’s that easy. After reading my last blog, it should be even easier for you to turn off the television. Even talk radio can be toxic. I was flipping through AM news stations when I heard this appalling political radio host take on the George Zimmerman trial. He must’ve run out of unwitty political musings.
Here’s a little story that will help you vomit in your mouth just a little if you get the itch to turn on the television before finding inner peace.
The blustery wind circles up the drive and speeds towards the church entrance as fast as the bride-to-be. Trees bow in the grove surrounding the west side of the steeple, and remnants of streamers bounce around the field where the monthly church bazaar was held earlier in the day. But today is not for the wind or the impending storm, it is HER day, and everyone, including mother nature, better remember that fact.
The white ridiculously large Hummer limo finally enters the circular drive slowly approaching the grand wooden doors. The limo appears to be wrapping itself around the majestic fountain of complicated tiers, spilling crystal clear water over its edges, as if to cry for the groom. On the other side of the limo past the wooden doors to the chapel stands the groom, sweating his balls off.
The trusty and oh-so forgiving bridesmaid exits the Hummer on command and prepares to escort her matron in her whiter than white gown safely to the church entrance. She stands with her hands ready to help as the bride begins her descent out of her pimped ride. It’s a race to the door between the bride and mother nature. A howl rises up, and as the dutiful bridesmaid picks up the train of the dress in one hand and holds delicate blooms in the other, like a jester for the queen, (all the while her own locks are whipping around her face and blocking her vision) the wind flies under the whitest wedding dress ever, swiftly lifting it high into the air and over the bride’s head as if to joke! No matter what the bridesmaid did, it only made the dress float up higher and higher just as the grand wooden doors to the chapel fly open for all to see the bride . . . or her undergarments anyway.
Back to reality. I had let my imagination run away with me as I wished doom upon the bride in the show I was watching. It was a day when I just wanted to sit on the couch and not have to think. I thought mindless traversing of satellite offerings would help me relax, but I stopped at a show called Bridezillas, too stunned to press the up or down arrows on the remote, I froze. I had heard of this show, but had never watched it.
Reality television is not my favorite unless it includes people getting arrested. But I guess women behave badly everywhere, not just in the back of a cop car. Watching wealthy housewives, bachelors, and spoiled beach bums on television doesn’t give me hope, it just drains my ability to like people, so I usually steer clear of anything labeled “reality.” The closest I have come to actual reality television was at a neighborhood grocery store when a young couple shopping was accosted by another woman accusing the man of cheating on her. Cameras rolling, the manager attempted to kick the trio out of the store, but not before there was a lot of screaming, running through the aisles, and a popcorn fight. I dumbfounded when I realized Cheaters was still on the air. Cheaters was the first reality television I ever watched, and I don’t even remember which decade it aired.
The Bridezilla show did me in. As I flipped around some more, I realized that television airtime is partly consumed by self-absorbed, sniveling, loathsome people that have no clue about “real” life. Maybe acting out, behaving badly, screaming at your spouse in front of cameras are ways to escape some deep-seated emotional problem they harbor? Hmmm. If you have the desire to tune in to reality television and live vicariously through these people, you are in luck, because there are plenty of shows to chose from. You can watch brides-to-be, bachelors, bachelorettes, housewives, children of stars, want-to-be chefs, people that make duck calls, fishermen, tattoo artists, treasure hunters, tiny beauty queens, and so much more. Eventually one of them will suit your fancy.
There is a lot of bad, bad television. If you are truly trying to find inner peace, television programming is not going to help. From now on, when I get home from work, I stick to silence. If I have to watch television, I stick to my vetted and pre-recorded shows, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.