Wednesday, March 13, 2013

My secret addiction

I'm fairly well-versed in poetry, and can handle myself in any discussion of the Seven Lively Arts (music, literature, dance, poetry, painting, drama, and Carney) although a bum knee keeps me from talking about dancing for long.

I'm no intellectual, not a high class guy by any means, but what I'm saying is, I know enough about enough things to get by in case the dinner conversation rises to the level of "All Things Considered."

But by any standards, there is no reason for a man of 61 summers (and almost that many falls!) to be able to sit here right now and tell you he was stunned when Olivia dumped Nick the other night.  Did NOT see that one coming. I mean, as often as we advise people to get to know themselves before committing to another in a relationship, I never thought that Olivia would heed those words.

And Gigi broke up with Carmine, after he finished painting her living room wall, and then did a special day at the Gatsby called "I'll Dye 4 U," in which she demonstrated her mastery of the art of applying new hair color over old.  And, she now seemingly wishes to be called Genelle, please.

Corey and Tracy are making their wedding plans, her family's disapproval notwithstanding.  Jackie was steamed because she heard that Gigi told Michelle that she (Jackie) is not a good mother, which Michelle intends to be just as soon as she becomes a wife again.

Yes, dear friends, my secret is out of the Jerseylicious closet now.  I am hooked on the goin's on and big doin's up in the Garden State on the Jerseylicious show on the Style Network.

About half the cast.
It all concerns the relationships, pairings and breakups, and  jealousies, romantic and professional, of people in northern New Jersey who do hair and makeup in two salons - the Gatsby and Anthony Robert.  Even the network hedges away from calling it a reality show - it's officially a "docudrama," because no group of people could pack that much commotion into a 24-hour day without a team of scriptwriters back in a dim office, writing "Gigi gets mad at Miguel because he feels marginalized by being asked to be her assistant on the special hair color day."  And then they all act out their parts.

To be honest, as I always am, there was a day about a year ago when I was ill, and spent the day on the recliner with the bottle of Robitussin in one hand and the remote in the other.  During a particularly lengthy coughing fit, I failed to change the channel fast enough, and wound up watching a Jerseylicious marathon, as entranced as a young seminarian listening to a cardinal preach.  Later that day, Peggy came home, took a glance at the TV, and asked the question that has come to be asked so often in our marriage (by her): "What in hell are you watching?"

Twenty minutes later, she was saying, "Now wait...Frankie and Gigi are breaking up because she said what....?"  and I saw another victim of the insidious Jerseylicious plot factory.  

It ain't Shakespeare, it ain't Arthur Miller, hey, it's not even "Dallas," but it's free.  Feel free to join us one Sunday evening if you're free as well.

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