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"Hey, was that '30 Seconds to Fame' just now?"

Bringing ADD to new heights of... hey, what's that shiny thing over there?

I hadn't really intended on writing again tonight (tomorrow by the time I finish). But it's a guilty pleasure, and I couldn't stay away. It's like watching TV -- anything worthwhile, you know, like the news or baseball or Nova or anything on TLC that doesn't have a perky hostess -- but knowing that somewhere, out there, Buffy is on. Or whatever. For some people, it's Springer; for others, pro wrestling (and the line between blurs further each day, according to both camps).

Anyway, you know it's out there... that train wreck of a show that's 'really not my style', but your morbid curiosity compels you to peek in on. Oh, you make fun of it along with your friends, assuming it's even a show that gets mentioned in public.

(Hey, if you're sitting up watching reruns of Harper Valley PTA on late-night cable, you're on your own. Even your friends don't wanna know...)

But still, there you are, with your little sweaty thumb (do thumbs actually sweat?) punching in the forbidden numbers. Just a peek, you think, I'll turn it back when the commercials are over.

"...the PBS crowd has been voted 'Most Likely to Sneer at Inferior Entertainment' since Big Bird was just a gleam in some overfed canary's eye."

(Okay, point to make here -- you're just a little bit sadder than the rest of us if you're flipping over from PBS to your 'shit show'. First, you've got further to fall -- the slope from Frasier to Sabrina the Teenage Witch isn't nearly as steep as that from Masterpiece Theatre to Saved By the Bell, no matter how you rationalize it. And furthermore, you've got no excuse to switch, unless you were tuned in to see who's manning the pledge drive this season. No commercials means a higher exit threshold -- the rest of us can pretend that even Scariest Police Chases is better than those goddamned Old Navy commercials, but if you're last-channel-ing over to the WB every time David Attenborough clears his throat, then you simply want to change the channel. To top it off, the PBS crowd has been voted 'Most Likely to Sneer at Inferior Entertainment' since Big Bird was just a gleam in some overfed canary's eye. Judge Wapner's verdict: no sympathy for you.)

What was I saying? Oh, yeah, the guilty pleasure show.

Anyway, you don't just stop in for a 'peek', do you? No, of course not. You sit there watching that damned drivel until it's finished, if you're given the opportunity. Sometimes, you don't have that luxury, and you have to act fast. A key turning in the front door, and BAM! It's the Nightly News with Tom Brokaw, and 'How was your day, dear'? Steps approaching the living room, and CLIK! C-SPAN's on tap, and 'I didn't know you were still up'.

But it's okay. It's human nature -- at least, it's 21st century human nature -- to watch a little self-indulgent fluff now and then. It's healthy, even.

(Of course, it's healthier still to be embarrassed about it, so don't take all this as carte blanche to start taping Felicity reruns and bragging about it over the water cooler in the office.)

And so maybe, just maybe, it's okay for me to write a little self-indulgent fluff when I'd really intended to be answering email, scanning the latest news, and maybe checking a few baseball scores. (And now, an hour later, actually sleeping...)

As long as I promise to feel a bit sheepish and embarrassed about it (and I do, Scout's honor), then I think it's okay. Still, I think I'd better wrap it up for the night before I go too far. I think I hear my wife coming in to check on me, and my thumbs are getting awfully sweaty.