Shame

I know, I’m late.  What has kept me from you I hear you ask?  Well people, to be perfectly honest it’s good old shame.  Yes I am ashamed to be so weak-minded, so easily influenced, so unable to learn from past mistakes.  I am shamed to the core and feel like covering my face and skulking in the shadows.  And the truth is that I just didn’t want to tell you but I knew once I got here I’d be unable to keep it from you.  I don’t know quite how to break this to you because I’m afraid, no, I know, you’ll think less of me.  OK here it is – I have again succumbed to the Siren call of The Biggest Loser.

There I’ve said it. Oh I know it’s television at its most hideous, people at their most despicable, with more flesh baring than porn.  But I just can’t look away.  It’s like smoking – once you have one you’re done for.*  If I’d just been able to stay away from the first episode I would have been fine.  I could have pretended it wasn’t happening.  But I didn’t.  I almost drooled on the tv at the prospect of being horribly manipulated on a daily basis.  I didn’t even try to stay away.  And to make matters worse they’ve sweetened the deal by making it The Biggest Loser – Singles.  As well as the emotional roller coaster associated with the usual outpourings about battles with weight, now there’s the added frisson of wondering if James and Michelle will get it on once they’ve shed a few pounds.  Whoever’s on the camera sure knows how to capture a longing look ….. or create one out of thin air.  It’s pure art.

It’s only been one week and we’ve already had tears, laughter, shock, awe, and disbelief that  men over 12 can cry on tv so easily.  Who knew a treadmill was something to sob over or that lying down and refusing to get up was the normal behaviour of someone over 3?  It’s fantastic – I wouldn’t change a thing.  And Dr Norman Swan really came into his own the day he unloaded a few tonnes of fat onto the ground in front of the contestants and trainers – more than one of them had trouble keeping their low-fat, low-sugar, low-carb, low-calorie, low-flavour breakfast down.

See?  Now I’ve confessed I just can’t stop talking about it.  I should never have mentioned it. I feel possessed, and not in a good way.  I know that week after week I’ll tune in to see little Tiff screaming like a banshee, to watch Shannon’s eyes get closer together while he gets more and more confused about why his team aren’t doing what he says, to marvel at Michelle’s ability to turn a training session into an emotional breakdown without blinking, and to swoon over Commando’s tatts while they all state the bleeding obvious … and then repeat it  before and after each word from the sponsors.  I am clearly lost.  All I can do is promise to try not to talk about it every week.

My gratitude this week is focussed on the programmers at Channel 10 who’ve given me a small reprieve each week by not airing Loser every single night.  It may save me from complete and total ruin.

B

* Just an aside – I’m a mere few weeks away from two years without a cigarette.  Yay Chop!

The management of The Burnt Chop would like to express their deep concern for their client and assure the readership that they will do all in their power to influence the Chop to go to reality rehab and give up this destructive addiction.  But, as you’ve no doubt noticed before, she doesn’t listen to a word we say.

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