2007-06-04
a gap that even Oprah can't fill
For eighteen long years I have existed with a gaping void in my life: a desperate yearning for tasteless reality television and low-budget Hallmark films that I could never seem to satisfy.
It seemed there was always something standing between me and the eight-hour Real World marathon. It might family, or it might be friends friends. Or work. Or school. Or my career as an mildly alcoholic yet lovable country-western singer. But always -always- there was something to pry apart the holy union between me and hours of Scrubs reruns.
But the tides have turned. I spend my days in a remote control operated bed in the company of no one but my assigned roommate and Dr. Gregory House.
And Rob and Big.
And Flavor of Love along with all of its bastard children.
In a tragic twist of fate, I've found that there's nothing like an unlimited flow of TV to remind me that I don't even like TV that much. But I'm only a week into my three-week stay, and I've already torn through my Steinbeck stash. The outlook is grim: fourteen days of no distraction besides Dr. Phil and Tyra Banks?
I'm so desperate I'd even read a Dan Brown novel.
zebrasaur at 11:00 p.m.
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