My television is off way more than it’s on. I kicked the habit years ago and, for the most part, I don’t miss it. But sometimes, I’ll admit it: I watch crap TV. I never get sucked into a long-term series, but sometimes, a short-term event catches my attention.
Sometimes, I can hold my head high. I’m looking at you, True Detective — you were (mostly) smart and well-written.
And then sometimes, oh the shame… I don’t want to look, I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it. A few Sundays ago, that’s exactly what happened. I perused the channels and landed somewhere I never expected to linger: Lindsay on OWN. I watched every episode since. I live-tweeted the 2-hour finale yesterday.
Don’t judge. It’s unbecoming.
Lindsay sucked me in with the pure drama of the lack of drama — the unpacking! of all of those designer goods! in her new apartment!
Seriously, almost nothing happens in the 8 episodes of the “docu-series.” But I kept watching. My brain fought, as it does, this cotton brain candy. So I watched Lindsay as if it was an anthropological study. In between thoughts of “Something HAS to happen, right?” I became determined to learn… something.
What I Learned by Watching Lindsay on OWN
I’m glad I’m not a celebrity and/or an addict. Trying to kick drugs or alcohol sounds hard enough. I mean, it took me FOREVER to give up French Fries… OK, you caught me, I still eat them (back to the Betty Crocker Center). Trying to kick an addiction when you’re not used to boundaries and hearing the word ‘no’ seems more difficult than it needs to be.
Chasing what could be lost seems exhausting (as does making endless excuses) and makes one look somewhat desperate.
The real world and Hollywoodland are on different planets. Here on Earth, a non-celebrity would have used his or her last chance the third time of tardiness, not the millionth (…and counting).
If I had a hairstylist who styled my tresses when I was going out “in public,” I would hope that my hair looked more “did” than if I had done it myself. (The celebrity world can, too, be deep and shallow at the same time!)
I’ve seen documentaries that were amazing. This isn’t one of them. Why? The reluctant subject. The shooting/editing (though the production company did try to make the thousands of shots of the outside of her apartment interesting by showing the windows from the street below, from across the street, by turning the camera on an angle!). And maybe OWN shouldn’t venture into this arena (not quite Kardashian territory, but it’s a slippery slope, Oprah).
As the show ended (Lindsay has a movie to work on! Lindsay had a miscarriage? It was getting way too melodramatic… good thing there were only five minutes left when that bomb dropped), my brain felt like it was melting, like celluloid touching the projector’s bulb. After a good sleep, I hope it returns to its normal thinking self and forgives me for what I subjected it to.
Dear Brain: I’m sorry. I’ll read an extra book this week to make up for it, I promise.