I Like to Watch

May 21, 2006 | Dearly beloved chickens, we are gathered here today to marvel at the fact that last weekend, I became legally wed to a man of great courage and optimism, a man whose courage and optimism perhaps outweigh his good sense. For it is a somber and weighty thing, making a commitment to a woman of my temperament and sensibility, a woman who not only insists on watching every minute of every hour of every season of "The Amazing Race," until cancellation shall we part, but who breaks into regular conversation with talk of "The Hippies" or "MoJo" as if any random person is supposed to know what the hell she's talking about.

And who of sound mind would enter into that state deceptively referred to as "matrimonial bliss" anyway, but a fool armed with delusions too mighty to fathom? Who would fancy himself capable of bestriding the certain perils of lifelong commitment, as if he alone has the patience and generosity to endure day after day with the same stubborn troll of a spouse, bouncing as she does between bossy proclamations and discussions of Tyra Banks' latest preening, self-satisfied maneuver?

Pity him, chickens, for he's hopelessly ensnared by my limited charms, and seems eternally grateful to be snagged thusly.

Waiting to exile

That's right, I got married. But don't think for a second that my new status will hinder my hunger for crappy TV. As many of you know, the structural integrity of any committed relationship depends on a solid foundation of multiple amusements and distractions that prevent one from focusing too narrowly on that smelly human who'll be elbowing in on one's personal space for decades to come. Therefore, a steady flow of televised entertainments is just what the doctor ordered to ward off the contemptuous outbursts, seething silences, spontaneous bickering matches and other nasty ills so common to marriage.

I know what you're thinking: "I can't believe she tricked someone into marrying her." No, not that thought, the other one: "TV is just a drug that keeps people comfortably numb, blocked off from true intimacy!" And to that I say: Precisely. TV is one of the strongest, most relaxing, most effective drugs I know, one that keeps the many unfortunate side effects of "intimacy" -- boredom, irritation, rage -- at bay. Thus does my relationship thrive on the sweet sustenance of television the way the humble lavender soaks up every last drop of pure, delicious rainwater to keep its blooms fragrant and lovely in the heat of summer.

That's right. TV engrosses our minds and souls so that the awkward gestures, rambling anecdotes and offensive smells of those around us become less obvious. Instead, we're shackled by a steady flow of diversions. TV is the force that binds the family, if not the galaxy, together.

Take "Survivor: Panama -- Exile Island." While the travails of those ragged island dwellers draw the family into the living room each Thursday night to feast on pizza and speculate as to whether Courtney or Danielle will be the next to go, the survivors themselves have no such amusements to share in. Without the rich and potent nectar of TV, those poor people are left to annoy the hell out of each other, bore each other to tears, and pick each other to tiny little pieces using their bare hands.

This season's gaggle of survivors were an ornery bunch, too. Aside from Cirie, who seemed to have a healthy friendship with everyone and was thus doomed to get kicked off before the final three, none of the tribemates was very beloved by any of the others. Terry hated Aras, everyone hated Terry, and Shane and Courtney snapped and bickered like small children from the moment they laid eyes on each other.

Were Courtney and Shane madly in love, or did they want to kill each other? Any married person knows it can be difficult to tell the difference. But whether it was love or hate, it hardly matters, for when Love stumbles and skins its knees, Commitment drags itself to its feet, dusts itself off, and fixes itself a stiff drink. Look at most married couples: They may not be able to tolerate each other for more than a few seconds, but thanks to the vows they've made, they'll stick by each other's sides long enough to get what they want out of each other, whether it be children, a warm meal, a hefty pension or a three-car garage.

Unfortunately, as time wears on, couples often discover that underneath their lifelong alliances lies an unfortunate truth: They frackin' hate each other. This is the fragile pact we found between Courtney and Shane. Courtney could barely say two words to Shane without making him grit his teeth and visibly flinch. They bickered and cursed and rolled their eyes and fumed for weeks. Like many of those who quarrel constantly with their lovers, Shane was convinced by this perpetual strife that he should stick by Courtney to the bitter end. After all, who would vote for Courtney instead of him? A reward challenge confirmed that everyone thought Courtney was the most annoying person at camp, which meant that she was the oft-annoying Shane's only hope.

Next page: The lesson we learned from Courtney, and the tortured Meredith Grey