A Sorry Excuse

I'm guessing the same people who read blogs probably also like reality TV shows. My hypothesis is based loosely upon the notion that blogs are typically journals of sorts, and those who read them are - in a way - peeping Toms. Now before you go all hostile on me for that statement, please bear in mind that I include myself in this group, I'm an avid, and in some cases daily reader of several blogs and I also love many reality shows.

That said, I also hate big, epic movies, especially period ones that use a major Hollywood celebrity to portray the leading role. And I know why. I lack the ability to look at someone like Russell Crowe all gussied up in armor and loin cloths and believe that he is, for all intents and purposes, a Roman gladiator. Or even that Kiera Knightly is Elizabeth Bennet, though I've heard that Pride and Prejudice is really good. Instead, I look at those films and the only thoughts running repeatedly through my head are: That's Russell Crowe, that's Russell Crowe, he looks absolutely ridiculous, this is the 21st century, and how on earth does he take his job seriously when this is clearly a set and though we can't see them, there are cameras everywhere? Doesn't he feel like a ten-year-old playing dress-up?

It's terrible. It bothers Y to no end, because as soon as I see a preview for one of those HUGE movies that everybody can't WAIT to see, all I want to do is yawn and maybe even laugh. I can't suspend reality for two or three hours - it even annoys me.

I'm not saying I need a documentary, I LOVE fictional movies set in the present day, particularly if they offer an accurate glimpse into human nature. Y claims those bore him. They are the only kind of movie that entertain me.

So, it probably comes as no surprise that I like blogs. After all, reading them is like eavesdropping, right? You get to observe bits and pieces of self-reflection that might have absolutely nothing to do with you, but from which you might be able to learn something. It's good, clean entertainment - like watching a home-improvement show on HGTV.

But reality TV serves a completely different purpose, and it's primarily because they tend to scrape the absolute bottom of the barrel of homosapien samplings to choose apt contestants. And the editors and producers are really good at their jobs, so they know how to cut and snip pieces together to reflect the worst possible sides of these (all-too-eager-to-be-humiliated) 15-minutes-of-famers.

I like smart movies, sitcoms, and blogs, written by smart people. So why can't I miss shows like "The Bachelor," and even (YES I AM WHITE-TRASH THANK YOU FOR ASKING), I'll admit, "The Real World?"

Because they make me feel so good about myself.

Granted, there's the aspect of watching a train-wreck - it's so horrible, it should be upsetting, and yet you can't look away. But the biggest pull is the urge to boost my self-esteem, to establish that there are many, many people in this world dumber than I am, and while I know objectively that's not a great thing for mankind - on certain days, it's all the affirmation I personally need.

Like when a client wants ten-thousand revisions to a layout I had thought to be perfection, pixelated. And I think I'm a terrible artist.

Or when my kids try my patience until I snap and yell at them and pledge to give them up for adoption and am immediately plagued by guilt so heavy and misleading that I become sure that the DCFS will knock on my door momentarily.

Or when Y and I have a fight and I am convinced that our relationship is dysfunctional.

Or when I think I'm a bad daughter...Or a bad pet-owner...Or an absent friend.

You get the idea. Everyone's got their down-days - they should flip channels awhile.

My latest obsession, fittingly, is "Supernanny," led by British nanny and child-expert Jo Frost. At least I think she's an expert. She's damn good, in any event. And I learn little techniques from her, which, for a few days after watching the show, I'll employ when disciplining Elan and Ariel.

For the most part, she tells me stuff I already know, like "Parenting 101" stuff. But the families they get to be on the show! My G-d. In a nutshell: trainwrecks. The most disillusioned parents, the most devilish of all children. They make my kids look like pussycats, and me like the soccer mom/PTA parent/Stepford wife of the year. I look good blond!

I know where I lack as a mother. I don't need Jo-Jo to come in to my home, videotape me, play it back (so I can become smaller and smaller and smaller on national television), and then shake her pointer-finger at me, for emphasis.

I know I spend way too much time at the computer, I know I sometimes lose my temper, and with it, my control, and to hell if I don't know that I shouldn't put my kids to bed with sippy cups.

But you'll never hear me say something like, "I don't discipline him because, well, I just don't like doing it," which is a recurring theme on "Supernanny." And my kids might not be pussycats, but they've never given me a bloody lip and then called me a bitch, the way a kid in England did two weeks ago (Jo was really upset).

So when I turn the show off, no matter what kind of day I've had, I can take a deep breath, smile at the sleeping Y (he hates "Supernanny," natch), and tell myself, "It could be soooo much worse, and you could be soooo much worse at this." And I'm relieved, motivated - albeit temporarily - to do my best to bring out the best in my own precious devils. I'm even a little proud.

Creative types don't take criticism that well, but we get nauseatingly parasitic over the teeniest amount of positive feedback. For me, reality TV is indirect but lavish praise: You're not one of these people. Even if you are, you're not at the level of willingness to air your dirty laundry for all the world to judge. So by default, you're one of the better ones on Earth. Let's just be honest: you rock.

Maybe it's a sorry excuse for feeling good. But "Supernanny" groups my kids and husband in there with me. All four of us, looking swell, from one show. So think what you will about me, but what could be so wrong about that?

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"Of Fish and Family" is going on vacation! Unless something inspires me while I'm away, I kind of doubt I'll write much this week. But don't forget about me. I need your love. And when I come back I'm gonna expect it. Ok?

Pretty please?