I thought we had a real connection, but I guess not. Maybe if I had blonde hair and fake boobs, I'd still be in there

It's the busy season where my husband works, so a couple of evenings a week when he goes back to work after dinner, I have the house to myself. Monday night was one such evening, and it was already after 9 when he went back to work, so I settled into a little reading/watching tv. Dave Eggers is one of my favorite authors, and I'm really enjoying You Shall Know Our Velocity! I'm alternately reading and watching, and then, then, the most ridiculous thing I've seen on tv in a very long time came on. Now for a brief tangent on ridiculous tv: I've seen an episode of "I love New York," and it's certainly ridiculous, but it's ridiculous in that these people are doing everything they're doing just to be ridiculous way. It's not believable in any way. Last night, without paying attention to what I was half watching, I was sucked into the season premiere of "The Bachelor," and I spent a full hour cringing.

Twenty five women in makeup and sparkles compete for the attention of one man, who is widely considered to be the perfect man. Though upper lipless, he's an officer in the navy, a triathlete, and a humanitarian. They all want to marry him because they read all about him on the internet. These satin-clad women (by the way ladies, satin is the easiest way to show off a dimply ass and a gut) are doing gymnastics, talking about ex-boyfriends, and in more than one case, guzzling champagne. Now, I don't know about you, but to me, being drunk enough to fall backward off of your bar stool is the perfect way to impress a man who has 25 women to choose from.

Things become more desperate as the evening wears on, mainly because the dude had to eliminate 10 women on the first night. They cut back and forth from one-on-one interviews with the women and their interactions with the guy. One woman says to the camera, "I know I'm not the prettiest woman here, and I know I'm not the smartest woman here, but if I can just show him a little bit of my talent, I think I can make enough of an impression to get him to remember me." Oh shit. I know something awful is coming. They cut to that woman alone with the guy, making small talk about their lives, and she says, "You're so great and I'd like to do something for you. I'd like to sing you a song." I paused the show as she took in a deep breath, and I said outloud, "Oh I need a cocktail before this miserable display."

She stands up, places her hands on her stomach as if it will help her singing abilities, and proceeds to serenade the bachelor with a pitchy, scrunchy-face, karaoke-esque version of "The Star-Spangled Banner." Later, he says to the camera, "It was so sweet. And I'm so patriotic! It's amazing she would have chosen that song. I loved it."

At first I was feeling sorry for all of those women, looking so desperate and acting so needy. Now I feel sorry for everyone involved: the needy women, the clueless guy, the poor camera dudes that have to live through it, and me, for having to keep all of those awkward moments forever in my brain.

single handedly destroying this country's legitimacy

I watched American Idol during it's first season, 16 years ago. I'd faithfully tune in each week, and I'd even make those voting phone calls after the show (Justin, of course). I haven't religiously watched a season since then (maybe it's because I'm out of puberty. Take a hint, America), and I can't help but feel like the show has reached a level of absurdity in its ripe old 47th season that prevents me from watching it. The intoxicated hosts, the pitchy, teenage contestants, and the obnoxious predictability of it all is a little too much. As I drank coffee this morning and watched a little news, my fears for society were confirmed. The Today Show splashes headlines and explosive graphics across the screen during the first 30 seconds of the show, and in one grabbing preview, Matt Lauer cooed about how a kid on American Idol (Sanjaya Malakar, who was in the bottom each week and said to be kept on the show by an internet contingency vowing to vote for the worst contestant) could be "the comeback kid." Sean and I look at each other. "That's news?" he asks.

Despite the reduction of our faith in American broadcasting, we continue to watch, and when the American Idol segment comes I brace for the imminent cringing. They show a clip of the skinny, thick-haired, big-toothed teenager singing The Kinks, and they cut to a shot of a little girl in the audience crying. I throw a fit: "See, that pisses me off because now they're going to compare this kid, this kid on American Idol that doesn't sing very well, to Elvis and The Beatles, just because some idiotic little girl who's been brainwashed by this television phenomenon cried on camera. Damnit."

The segment ends, and Matt and Meredith (Meredith Viera, the single worst news anchor known to the world; she who cannot conduct an interview with any sort of feed delay without looking like an idiot and making the interviewee totally uncomfortable; she who includes the answer she wants in any question she asks, thus rendering the interviewee useless for any answer other than "yes" or "no": "So did you feel scared and nervous when you were huddled up together on the side of the mountain while her head was bleeding and you were relying on the dog for warmth while you waited for rescuers to arrive? Weren't you so thankful you had the tracking device with you?") do their obligatory chit chat about the bit, and she says, "I remember being a teenager and seeing the Beatles, and there were always girls crying like that."

"How old are you?" Sean asks.

I lose it. "Goddamnit! This is insulting to the Beatles!"