Tonight I went to hang out with my parents (okay, and to experience the delicacy otherwise known as "Mom's home cooking"). I didn't want to eat and run, so we settled in front of their tv. I should mention here that watching tv at my parents' house is like taking a trip back to 1986, when the G's didn't have cable. Wait, that was 1996. Anyways, when they moved to California, they became prisoners of the Cable Industrial Complex and were forced to have cable in order to have tv. So they have basic cable.
I SAY THIS ALL to say that our viewing choices were limited. After back-to-back episodes of Becker (where did I sin in my life to deserve a dual heaping of Ted Danson, I ask?), my mom flipped channels and something compelled me to ask her to stop when I saw Celine Dion. The devil made me do it. We proceeded to watch the Biography episode about Celine (pronounced with exaggerated French accent honed over 7 years of schooling in said subject).
Ok, sit down. Here's the confession:
I didn't wince. Not once.
I SAY THIS ALL to say that our viewing choices were limited. After back-to-back episodes of Becker (where did I sin in my life to deserve a dual heaping of Ted Danson, I ask?), my mom flipped channels and something compelled me to ask her to stop when I saw Celine Dion. The devil made me do it. We proceeded to watch the Biography episode about Celine (pronounced with exaggerated French accent honed over 7 years of schooling in said subject).
Ok, sit down. Here's the confession:
I didn't wince. Not once.
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