Chief and me, "bonding" at Moonshadows in Malibu, scene of Mel Gibson's boozing, pre-"sugar tits" rant
Chief watches reality TV with me. At first it was just because he's a good sport, but now he really likes it, too. I can tell.
This week we finally got into the new season of American Idol. (The early rounds are just too, too stupid to bother watching.)
We lounge on our pale-yellow microfiber sectional and attempt to channel Simon Cowell while the "contestants" caterwaul.
- "That was GHASTLY."
- "Perfectly Awful."
- "I'm just grateful it didn't on longer AND that I will have forgotten it by tomorrow."
- "You have the charisma of a dead lightbulb."
- "America will send you home tonight."
Sometimes we argue over whether Simon will label it "cabaret" or "karaoke." Neither is good, and usually either is accurate.
We sigh and roll our eyes (a patented Simon combo) while Randy and Paula are all wussy and pussy and lovey. Then we cheer when Simon drags them Back To Reality.
They say it's good to have shared interests. Some couples play cards or...I dunno, go to church together. Chief and I malign the earnest efforts of America's musical youth.
Well, it beats the shit outta bingo.