There seems to be a great divide going on in this country at the moment and I must say that it’s making me really uncomfortable. In these troubling times I think it’s more important than ever that we are united over a common interest.
And that common interest is that we can finally, yet again, watch a group of people on the "Biggest Loser" come together with the goal of weight loss in a really inspirational and powerful way that makes you proud to be an American.
No, just kidding, it doesn’t do any of those things. At least not in the first few weeks when you watch grown men cry as they fall off a treadmill for the third time in 15 minutes and utter ridiculous phrases such as “I’m on a ‘me’ mission.”
You see, last night, a third of the greater American public was watching football, another third was watching British aristocrats doing devilish things in old timey clothing, and yet a final third were watching obese adults and children workout, faint, puke, and weigh themselves on national television.
|It's a fair point, though, that I|
totally look like someone who would
enjoy the drama of "Downton Abbey."
Oh, and then there’s the group of people not even included in my math who were, like, reading or spending time with their families crafting and stuff. But my math doesn’t include those people because I already started the above paragraph talking in thirds, and it made my head hurt to try to come up with another fraction.
Also, if you’re one of the first two thirds, you clearly don’t have your priorities in order. And you probably hate America.
You see, for a few years now I got sucked into the powerful weight-loss machine that is “The Biggest Loser.” I sit on my couch for two hours a week to watch my obese countrymen try to lose weight by working out, eating right, and manipulating their way through physical challenges and secret alliances to stay on the show and win money.
Also, I may or may not stock up on snacks like chocolate chip cookies and gummy worms each week so that I can up my risk of diabetes and heart disease while I watch others get into better physical shape and change their lives. And then I text my other friends who watch it so we can decide who we’re rooting for and potentially secure our seats firmly in hell.
For example, here’s an actual text exchange from last night:
Me: I don’t care what team he plays for, I would do bad, un-nameable things to Bob.
Me: Um….also to Dolvett.
Friend: Friday, at the gym, some of the women I work out with were like “Bob isn’t gay, is he? He just can’t be!”
Me: They’re hanging onto a dream. Like me and Sam Champion.
Friend: I love Dolvett, but put a real shirt on, dude.
Me: How are we friends? He should have his shirt off at all times.
Also, CB understands these loves of mine and really wishes I'd stop talking about them with him so that he could watch football in peace.
But something that you should probably know about me is that, while I’m physically active now, I spent years, like, not moving. And those years are basically called “college” and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
Because if there was a camera on me back then, some pretty judge-y texts would’ve likely been sent had they been witness to the Great Dune Climb of Summer 1999. And no, I will not be going into it here and you may or may not be able to bribe me into telling you about it at some point in the future.
Anyway, my point is that I feel a kinship to the people on the show and actually do root for most of them. Unless they’re whiny or shady or really creepy, like the lady last night who kept winking at everyone and said “I love you” to a fellow contestant after 24 hours.
She clearly doesn’t have normal social boundaries and so I obviously hope she makes it to the end so that Mary and I can eat our cookie dough and judge someone who’s trying to make their life better.
I mean, isn’t that what being an American is all about?