Co-worker Joel i
s adamant that I will like 24.To prove this, he has brought in season 2. I now have two months to get through it before the fall TV season starts. But somehow I can’t bring myself to get started. I hate the real-time thing; it makes me nervous.
Instead, I’m checking out the mid-summer schlock like
Victoria Beckham: Coming to America. Yes, I’m ashamed. But I couldn’t tear myself away from it. I can’t figure out why, because there is a reason that this show was reduced from an eight episode reality series, to four episodes, to a one hour special.
Ladies and gentlemen: Posh Spice Isn’t Interesting. Really. Even when she’s baiting her personal assistant (Posh: “Do you think my husband is good looking?”
...GLARE. Assistant: "Um…well, he’s not ugly.”
SUPER GLARE!) it all feels like a class in Celebrity 101: How to be Victoria Beckham.
Posh isn’t cold or mean or stupid. She’s just…there. Having spent most of her life in the spotlight, she simply expects certain things. (She says her personal assistant “can’t be too pretty or too skinny.” Guess that counts me out. Ha!) It’s all pretty silly really: She shops, she goes to the DMV, she looks at houses. The difference between her life and mine is that she has to send out a decoy if she wants to shop alone, whereas I’m lucky if I can get anyone to help me at Banana Republic. When Victoria gets pulled over she has to sign autographs. Me…well, I know how to drive, so I don’t get pulled over for making narrow turns (or whatever made-up infraction the producers of this show arranged). Posh looks at houses that have a view of the ocean; me, I have a view of a well traveled boulevard and the noise to prove it.
But I couldn’t turn away from this show, even though I would never have tuned in again if it was an entire series. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back, and yet I don’t feel guilty and I still can’t bring myself to watch an Emmy-winning show like
24. What’s wrong with me?
