Reality TV

I decided something, reality tv takes guts. Not going to lie on this one, it must take some major guts to get on national tv and actually prove that you truly do match the lines of your demographics. I mean, I'd be ashamed to show off my tattoos that I got on a drunken trip down to TJ, but hey, these people get up and show them everyday for an hour of nationally broadcasted television. Good for them, show off dem tats girl, you just show off how dumb college kids can be on spring break. PS I can say "dumb college kids" because I am going to college.

So, the way I see it, people go a lifetime looking for love; people go online, they do speed dating, I mean come now, wrestling in mud for the attention of an 80's pop star, what's the difference? Some people check out a potential suitor's profile and some just go through a casting director's tapes. No biggie. So one is a little more classier then the other by about the size of a football stadium. Anything for the enjoyment of the American public.

That's another thing, "the enjoyment of the American public." We, yes, I say we enjoy this stuff, because don't even try lying to yourself, you know you loved the battle of the Adams during Idol. We complain it's on television, but really, it's us that's keeping it on air. Hey, I'm guilty of watching America's Best Dance Crew or So You Think You Can Dance. I will even admit to watching those very sophisticated VH1 shows. I'm disgusted with myself, but don't knock it. Can't we all just live in reality tv bliss with another....?

Don't drop the baby

My entire life seems to be a string of entertaining events, with a splash of the occasional seriousness. From getting attacked by a monkey in Bali at age 6 (honest to God, that did happen), to seeing a Priest in Mass almost dropping a baby in the Baptismal fountain last Sunday, my life, the past 18 years... well, technically 17 years and 12 days, has been a laugh and a blast.

Sometimes I feel like my life would be a very entertaining novel, sort of a Kristen Chenoweth biography meeting a Chelsea Handler bio-minus all the drunken escapades, meeting Jack Kerouac at some point- substituting the late night drug fueled creativity sessions with late nights of studying for final exams.