2004-09-29 - 2:55 p.m.
Updates twice a month: I guess that’s not bad.
Tuesday nights are getting a little out of hand at the Bootkiller residence. I’ve already confessed my addiction to “Queer Eye” which is on 9 PM Tuesdays. (I’m not as big a fan of the UK edition; these guys look like refugees from a Frankie Goes to Hollywood video. Way too ‘80s.) Thing is, J has developed a fascination with “Dog the Bounty Hunter”, which is on at the same time. So we have a weekly coin toss to see who gets control of the remote. During commercial breaks, we switch back and forth.
I gotta say, I’m no great fan of Dog the Bounty Hunter. I tend to despise reality TV in general, but this is no shining example of the genre. Ex-biker and former felon turned bail bondsman/bounty hunter runs around Honolulu chasing people, mostly Samoans. He has a team comprised of his oldest son, a cousin, and his lady friend. They find people, bring them in, and Dog browbeats them with Bible verses. Frankly, I don’t see the fascination. Maybe it’s schadenfreude: watching people less fortunate than yourself get busted for screwing up their lives. Maybe it’s getting to see the less savory aspects of Honolulu. Maybe it’s the “human drama”: these guys bicker and argue with each other like nobody’s business. There are some insights into the family life: Dog has three small children of whom he is very protective, and he obviously loves his lady friend. At least to my eyes, though, there’s no particular interest. He’s kinda hoosier, his lady is even worse (big hair, tacky clothes and a fascination with Ultimate Fighting), and the whole business is sleazy. If I must watch reality TV, I’d much rather learn something from it, however infinitesimal. (Flip-flops and a couture suit? Ummm…yeah, right Carson. I’ll be sure to try that.)
In other news, my sister-in-law got married this weekend. Both J and I were in the wedding party, so I got to rent a tux and J was forced to buy a strapless ball gown in a rather nice shade of burgundy. She does look good in it, I must say. Still, it was a pretty stiff price to pay for something she’s only going to wear once. We both looked real snazzy, as did the Professor. We got her a really nice peach-colored dress with a gauzy overskirt cut like flower petals. I often referred to her as my human boutonniere. It was a pretty hectic and emotional weekend for us, especially for J. Even though J may get pissed at them occasionally, she loves her sisters fiercely. She was moved to tears more than once during the whole process of the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, and the reception. We had to drive back and forth between St. Louis and Alton several times during the weekend. The food was good and plentiful, the company excellent, the ceremony full High Church Episcopalian, and the reception opulent. All of my sister-in-law’s prior sins, insults and faults were expiated in one supreme act of instant karma: the Professor pooped on her wedding dress during a conga line. Rachel was carrying the Professor on her hip, her diaper was askew, and sure enough… The stain came out easily enough, but now J feels vindicated for every insult, kidney punch, hair-pull, and snide comment.
Familial peace and harmony is such a wonderful thing…
