Pretending to Farm

In Which I Justifiably Berate Myself

All week long, I had planned on posting today about the last of the three reality shows I enjoy. Last night, however, I was returned, ironically, to reality whilst watching “American Masters” on PBS.

I was furious with myself. What was I doing watching silly junk food programming when I could instead learn in awe about Jose Orozco and Diego Rivera, pioneering, daring, and wondrously talented Mexican muralists whose work left me frozen with knitting needles in hand, wondering how I ever dared to think myself talented?

Maybe that’s the problem with television today. Just like the typical American diet has led to rampant obesity and illness, the average network programming has led to widespread stupidity and incuriousness.

Of course, if people didn’t want to watch stupidity in action, the ratings would be bad, the advertisers would leave, and the networks would pull the shows. So the show goes on and we all pay the price in brain cells. I’d rather lose mine over a cocktail, thank you very much.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying people don’t deserve a little junk food now and then; nothing tastes quite like a baggy of hot salty French fries. Yet, this is a guilty, and hopefully, rare pleasure. The same argument could be made for Reality Shows.

Am I going to give up watching “How Clean Is Your House?” No, probably not, but I am definitely going to watch more American Masters and History and Biography.

By the way, if you were wondering what the third show was that I was going to highlight, it was HGTV’s “Design Star,” because it involves home design, decorating, and art. Unfortunately, it also includes a few stupid and/or combative people selected to heighten the drama and, in turn, the viewership.

Me? I just like seeing what a true artist can make of a blank canvas (or wall).

A Pirate's Speech for Me

Ahoy! I just learned from the girls over at Mason-Dixon Knitting that today, and every September 19th is “Talk Like a Pirate Day.” Why this is I do not know but, garr, any excuse to sing “Yo ho ho ho,” drink grog with me hearties, and fantasize about the so-not-a-bilge-rat Johnny Depp works for me. Yup, that Johnny Depp can show me his buried treasure anytime.

So avast ye maties, we were speaking of reality shows I have taken a liking to, the ones not filled with bilge rats that deserve nothing better than to join their fellow scurvy-ridden blaggards in Davey Jones’ Locker. My first choice was “How Clean Is Your House?”

Second on my roster is “Project Runway.” Anything that involves design whether it be clothing, home, or fine art shivers me timbers mightily. Now, if ye be in the least bit intolerant of pirate smokers, this show is not for you. In a past season, one of the male crew rolled his hair and wore a shade of eye shadow that matched the beautiful briny sea. Savvy?

Since this matters not to me, and shouldn’t to you, the show is great with a few caveats. Each week, a challenge is thrown down to the mates involving everything from designing a gown for the Emmys to creating an outfit from recyclable materials. Some of the challenges admittedly push the ridiculous gimmick scale and deserve a good heave ho but all in all, they fit the bill nicely. Also, due to the inevitable scuttlebutt, a fair amount of flotsam and jetsam spills out between the contestants, my main issue with reality shows, but no scabbards are drawn and all is forgotten when the designs are finished (I love watching them make them; that’s my favorite part) and the runway comes alive.

At this point, a bunch of self-important lobsters including Michael Kors, Nina Garcia, and Heidi Klum examine a bunch of very thin landlubbers march up and down the deck. They seriously scrutinize each outfit while making little notes on their parchment. Finally, after questioning the crew and discussing amongst themselves the way one wannabe designer or another have bilged on his own anchor, they make their decision. The loser then walks the plank and the winner, all ship shape and Bristol fashion, receives a small treasure. At season’s end, the main winner gets major booty, and I’m not talking about J Lo’s arse.

I could go into more detail but, arrgh, this talking like a pirate thing is a little more challenging than I thought it would be and I am feeling a bit scuppered. Just do yourselves a favor and watch it. It’s on Bravo in reruns now; the new season starts in December.

For now, it’s time to swab the decks, weigh anchor, and raise the Jolly Roger. Yes, we have one; did you ever doubt it?

Reality Bites

I’ve always claimed to despise reality shows, mostly because they’re an insult to my intelligence. Besides, I watch enough people (children) bicker on a daily basis that I definitely do not need to watch complete strangers do the same in Technicolor. My stress level is somewhere in the disappearing ozone layer as it is (yes, David, I allow it to be there; only I can decide to not let things get to me like they do).

Yet, lately, a few shows have entered the picture, get it, picture, that do not have anything to do with eating giant, mud-covered living slugs, or having tribal ceremonies, or, worst of all in my opinion, vying for the affections of one undeserving asshole by multiple bimbos. Apparently, a lot of people have no shame.

Today I will both reverse my I-will-never-watch-reality-shows stance (someone once told me to never say never or you will find yourself naked on the courthouse steps reversing your opinion, food for thought) and recommend a few I like. I realize this doesn’t technically fall in the knitting/spinning/farming/family categories so here’s a brief summary to prevent the blog police from coming to my virtual doorstep: I’m knitting Tasha in my first attempt at absolute perfection, spinning nothing because I have no time and it makes my hands hurt, growing nothing while we wait for cooler temperatures, and raising a bunch of stubborn, intelligent, authority-challenging mess makers who, despite all this, I love to the ends of the earth.

Take “How Clean Is Your House?” on BBC America. Although I am by no means a stickler for cleanliness and have been known to let the laundry pile fester until it comes to life and attacks me in my sleep, I love this show. It features two British women (I’ve always been a bit of an Anglophile; I blame it on Masterpiece Theater.) who visit the homes of very messy people who one day decided to no longer do housework and the next thing you know, ten years had past and they find themselves living in disgusting hovels. I think one of the reasons I like this show is because it boosts my challenged self-esteem by making me feel really good about my own house which looks pristine in comparison. It also inspires a few changes in my own cleaning habits, mostly because of the lab results from the lady who goes around the house with swabs and takes samples. One wee bit of cleaning advice? Close the toilet BEFORE you flush. Otherwise tiny bits of waste spew into the atmosphere, go forth, and multiply. Ewww. When I shared this bit of knowledge with my family, and added the suggestion that they also use a sanitizing wipe (I placed a pack of them in each bathroom) to give a quick once over to the seat and rim after business is done, they all stared at me like who-is-this-woman-and-what-have-you-done-with-our-mother. Anyway, I really like the show, the two very entertaining women who host it, and the effect it has had on me. Give it a try yourselves, why don’t you?

Since this post is getting on the long side, I’ll save the other two for later in the week but I cannot end without sharing Hunky Husband’s own reality show idea. He thinks it’s a real winner; I’m reserving my opinion and would love your input. He calls it “Get Your Drink On.”

In it, a group of somewhat interesting people in their 30s and up (no bimbos or butt cracks) would get together, imbibe a reasonable amount of alcohol, and let the conversation flow. They might talk politics, tell jokes, get catty, regret or relish past decisions, cry (we have one friend who always cries when we drink together; she’d definitely have to be on the show), laugh, and reveal secrets. David says this is not a binge drinking show as he doesn’t want to promote over-indulgence, just practice it. Like “Seinfeld,” it would be a show about nothing and everything.

I think it has potential but would definitely need some heavy editing. One aspect of the show does scare the bejesus out of me. You see, we might find out we’re not nearly as clever as we think we are when we’re buzzed, that the joke so-and-so told really didn’t deserve the tears that streamed down all our faces or that the solution to world peace we all collectively arrived at was just a bunch of gobbledygook. And the next thing you know, we’d have to eat giant, mud-covered living slugs to make the show worth watching. Maybe I haven’t reversed my opinion on reality shows after all.

Summer's Over, Except for the Whole Heat Thing

Tomorrow marks the first day of school. August 9th and on a Thursday? I think that’s criminal but, as both boys are excited to start, I can’t really vocalize my displeasure. “Guys, how can you be excited about going into 8th grade when it’s still early August? You could slack and swim and play World of Warcraft for three more weeks if you started after Labor Day like a majority of the country. Geez.”

Regardless of how I feel, it will begin and with it, the morning shuffle to get them up, fed, and out the door to meet the bus in time. After the initial excitement wears off, tears and excuses will flow and I’ll have to use our shepherd’s crook to roust them out of bed. All we like sheep will go astray.

Yet, all in all, my boys are well-behaved, particularly compared to some I see but they have their moments and have unfortunately inherited their parents’ raunchy sense of humor. I’ve gotten calls. So it is with great embarrassment that I have to admit that two nights before school started, we all watched “The Daily Show” together which guess-starred Andy Samberg whose parody song with Justin Timberlake, ____ in a Box is growing, so to speak, in popularity exponentially on YouTube. Although part of me wishes I could reverse the fact that we watched this together, the rest of me does not because of their priceless reactions.

They laughed until the tears ran down to their necks as they sang the chorus over and over. Hunky Husband, kid that he is, joined in with them and I was left hoping Hell would not be as bad as it is portrayed. To top it off, this morning my twin 13-year-olds cut a hole in a box and stuck their fingers, thankfully fingers, through the hole and sang the chorus to me. I guess I should be happy my boys feel open enough with me to do this but don’t think I didn’t feel groady. I did.

Back to school, I’m going to get calls.