Brief trip to DC

From my first cab driver I learned that while Ethiopians speak Amharic, they (at least the Orthodox Christians) read from a bible written in an ancient Ethiopian language called Ge’ez. Like Latin or pre-Israel Hebrew, Ge’ez is used mainly in religious contexts and provides our modern ears a window into the utterances of our ancient ancestors. We stumbled onto this arcane topic because his son, Nawalit, was born only weeks apart from my son, Caleb. Both have biblical names. Caleb in Hebrew and Nawalit in Ge’ez.

My second cabdriver, an overweight loveable curmudgeon type told me about his experiences during the recent apocalyptic scale snow storms, “Lady, it was Hell. I didn’t leave the house for 7 days. But I ran out of liquor on day 3.”

I miss DC

Rose ceremonies and other compelling nonsense

How did I get here? I consider myself a smart, mostly evolved, modern woman, but I’m starting to feel emotionally manipulated by a badly produced reality TV show. I’ll say it, and then shield myself from punches….. the Bachelor.

It all started very innocently. My friends and I would use it as an excuse to get together on Monday nights, drink wine and make fun of the show, ala Mystery Science Theater 2000. The contrived dramatic devises – the pregnant pauses before the delivery of a rose, the gratuitous shirtless Bachelor shots, the wistful looks at portrait studio headshots of the women as our Bachelor scratches his head in an apparently last minute decision on who to cut, the Hallmark-like tableaus of a couples in a beachside embrace – were so transparently manipulative as to be laughable. And yet. And yet.

I’ve since moved away from those girlfriends, and because my husband refuses to be in the room while the show is on, I now watch it alone. Like a pathetic Bacheloholic. (It all started innocently as a little social watching with friends, but pretty soon she was watching alone…)

Now, I’m smart enough to know that “reality” TV notwithstanding, careful editing can tell just about any story the producers want to tell. By sequencing choice clips and not showing others, they can make someone either a villain or a saint. But to make that even easier, producers also help “reality” along with a combustible combination of sleep deprivation, adrenaline-inducing experiences, and a good measure of alcohol. The very situation of dozens of attractive women (the kind unaccustomed to chasing after a man) vying for one man’s attention is ripe for drama without all that, but just in case…

Even knowing all this, the show has somehow sucked me in. And not just in an ironic post-modern kind of way. Maybe I’m simpler than I think I am?

In my defense, we watch TV to escape our lives, and it’s definitely an escape. Whether they are manipulated by the situation or not, these women really do feel that they are falling in love and they nurse genuinely broken hearts. We can all relate to those two emotions – the two extremes on the emotional pendulum of life that make everything else mundane in comparison. Who wouldn’t want to vicariously recapture some of that?

And even though I know I’m not watching “reality,” I do start to root for some women and wish others would go away. You can watch the show fully knowing you are being toyed with and even laugh along with some of the more obvious devises, but still want to take sides, to identify with someone and root for them. It’s only setting you up for the inevitable disappointment. You know it, but do it anyway.

In grad school, my roommate and I watched only one episode. It was the season finale, and the hapless bachelor was choosing between 2 remaining women. The blond was a clear apartment favorite and seemed the obvious choice. When he instead proposed to the brunette and sent our new friend away heart-broken, we were both so crushed we had trouble sleeping that night. Seriously. We talked about our insomnia sheepishly the next day.

Does that make for good drama? I guess so. It’s an apparent plot twist and good water-cooler fodder. It takes the viewer on an emotional ride along with the contestants. But it’s also pure fiction.

Despite over a dozens seasons of Bachelor(ette) shows, each ending with a seemingly heartfelt proposal accepted by a jubilant partner, there’s only been 1 marriage (ceaselessly covered by the gossip media machine). After fewer seasons, the Biggest Loser (a weight-loss contest show) has a markedly better track record for long-term match-making. The Bachelor fails at the one thing it ostensibly intends to produce: a marriage. But it succeeds wildly at the real goal: fabricating enough drama, without having to pay actors or screen writers, to suck in even unwitting viewers.