by Lisa Curry
I’m not generally a fan of reality TV. I’ve never watched a single episode of Survivor or American Idol. Give me Law & Order or Medium. I like my TV scripted in advance by real writers, rather than scripted after the fact by creative editors.
My better half, however, is a TV head, and as I’m always telling him, there’s no underestimating what he’ll watch – including the most recent VH1 train wreck of a show, Daisy of Love, a spin-off from their previous train wreck of a show, Rock of Love, in which middle-aged rocker (and Western Pennsylvania native) Brett Michaels tried repeatedly to find true love among the skankiest group of fake-boobed young women I’ve ever seen. Daisy, one of his rejects, is now seeking her own true love among the freakiest bunch of overly pierced and tattooed young men I’ve ever seen.
As must be obvious from my familiarity with these shows, I sometimes get sucked into watching against my will and better judgment. And as with a train wreck, once you look, it’s really hard to look away.
(In Mr. Curry’s defense, I will say that we only watched about 15 minutes of one episode of Daisy of Love. It was too awful even for him.)
The one reality show my husband turned me on to that I truly like (and don’t feel dirty after watching) is the Biggest Loser. Even though I’m the original anti-fitness queen and could stand to gain five or ten pounds myself, I love watching unhealthy, obese people transform themselves into toned, fit, and much, much slimmer people. It’s amazing and inspiring, and I almost never miss an episode.
This week – the last week before the season finale – the four remaining Biggest Loser contenders ran a full marathon. Well, two of them ran. The other two had leg injuries, so they walked. But still, all four finished all 26.2 miles, including the middle-aged man with knee problems who weighed 469 pounds at the start of the season.
Their prize for finishing the marathon was a check for $10,000 for each of them to give to their favorite charity.
At the end of the show, my husband asked, “If somebody gave you $10,000 to give to charity, who would you give it to?”
I really didn’t know. I said maybe I’d surprise one of those fund-raising telemarketers who’s always calling me asking for money for SADD or the Veteran’s Fund or research for one of a myriad of deadly diseases by saying, “Yes, I’ll make a donation. I’ve got $10,000 for you,” instead of, “Not right now, but try me later,” or, “Okay, I guess I can give you $25.”
I feel sorry for telemarketers. I can’t think of a job I’d want less, unless maybe it’s prostitute. But it’s almost a toss-up.
My husband said he’d never give $10,000 to a pain-in-the-ass telemarketer. He’d give it to the West Deer Dog Shelter, where we adopted our beloved pound mutt, Brandy. (She’s the one who got lost when I took her to the vet’s a couple months ago and ended up living like a wild dog in a brush-filled ravine for five days while we searched and searched for her. Thanks to the kindness of strangers who saw our lost-dog flyers and called us, she’s happily home again, currently stinking up the house because she went out this evening and rolled in something nasty – and fecal, judging by the odor.)
But that’s a nice idea, actually. I’m sure $10,000 would be a tremendous help to any animal shelter, especially a small one like West Deer.
Although I don’t have $10,000 to give them, I think I’ll send them a check for a more modest amount I can afford, just because I’m thankful we managed to get the smelly dog they entrusted us with back home safely in the end. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.
Now I want to know: If someone gave you $10,000 to donate to charity, which organization would you give it to and why?
I’m not generally a fan of reality TV. I’ve never watched a single episode of Survivor or American Idol. Give me Law & Order or Medium. I like my TV scripted in advance by real writers, rather than scripted after the fact by creative editors.
My better half, however, is a TV head, and as I’m always telling him, there’s no underestimating what he’ll watch – including the most recent VH1 train wreck of a show, Daisy of Love, a spin-off from their previous train wreck of a show, Rock of Love, in which middle-aged rocker (and Western Pennsylvania native) Brett Michaels tried repeatedly to find true love among the skankiest group of fake-boobed young women I’ve ever seen. Daisy, one of his rejects, is now seeking her own true love among the freakiest bunch of overly pierced and tattooed young men I’ve ever seen.
As must be obvious from my familiarity with these shows, I sometimes get sucked into watching against my will and better judgment. And as with a train wreck, once you look, it’s really hard to look away.
(In Mr. Curry’s defense, I will say that we only watched about 15 minutes of one episode of Daisy of Love. It was too awful even for him.)
The one reality show my husband turned me on to that I truly like (and don’t feel dirty after watching) is the Biggest Loser. Even though I’m the original anti-fitness queen and could stand to gain five or ten pounds myself, I love watching unhealthy, obese people transform themselves into toned, fit, and much, much slimmer people. It’s amazing and inspiring, and I almost never miss an episode.
This week – the last week before the season finale – the four remaining Biggest Loser contenders ran a full marathon. Well, two of them ran. The other two had leg injuries, so they walked. But still, all four finished all 26.2 miles, including the middle-aged man with knee problems who weighed 469 pounds at the start of the season.
Their prize for finishing the marathon was a check for $10,000 for each of them to give to their favorite charity.
At the end of the show, my husband asked, “If somebody gave you $10,000 to give to charity, who would you give it to?”
I really didn’t know. I said maybe I’d surprise one of those fund-raising telemarketers who’s always calling me asking for money for SADD or the Veteran’s Fund or research for one of a myriad of deadly diseases by saying, “Yes, I’ll make a donation. I’ve got $10,000 for you,” instead of, “Not right now, but try me later,” or, “Okay, I guess I can give you $25.”
I feel sorry for telemarketers. I can’t think of a job I’d want less, unless maybe it’s prostitute. But it’s almost a toss-up.
My husband said he’d never give $10,000 to a pain-in-the-ass telemarketer. He’d give it to the West Deer Dog Shelter, where we adopted our beloved pound mutt, Brandy. (She’s the one who got lost when I took her to the vet’s a couple months ago and ended up living like a wild dog in a brush-filled ravine for five days while we searched and searched for her. Thanks to the kindness of strangers who saw our lost-dog flyers and called us, she’s happily home again, currently stinking up the house because she went out this evening and rolled in something nasty – and fecal, judging by the odor.)
But that’s a nice idea, actually. I’m sure $10,000 would be a tremendous help to any animal shelter, especially a small one like West Deer.
Although I don’t have $10,000 to give them, I think I’ll send them a check for a more modest amount I can afford, just because I’m thankful we managed to get the smelly dog they entrusted us with back home safely in the end. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.
Now I want to know: If someone gave you $10,000 to donate to charity, which organization would you give it to and why?
