Hang low, thy honorless head.
Thursday, August the 21st at 10:20 PM
in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eight (3 months ago)
T
here used to be a time, several years ago when I had risen above the plebeian desire for television and only watched DVDs. It allowed me to snobbishly dismiss all the lowly folks who still needed their fix of mindless channel surfing. "Did you see last night's episode of Matlock?" they'd ask, and with barely veiled superiority I'd reply "No, because I don't watch such trash."
Ah the heights I reached.
Tonight I write to expose myself and the shameful depths I've fallen to. Sally, in reprising the role of Eve in the Garden, picked a particularly fruity temptation from the Tree of (pretty much) Evil.
Every week now we watch
Shear Genius, a show that profoundly destroys any semblance of respectability I gained from my once TV-less life.
I know the names of the contestants, and find myself giving critical attention to the various hair-dos they make every week. I'm familiar with the different sorts of "product" they use, and cringe when they eliminate someone in their "final cut."
It's shameful, I know. I can barely look in the mirror, except to make sure a dab of gel gives me the right amount of spikiness.
How far the mighty have fallen.
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