The Bachelor...

It’s Sunday in Oz and that means at around 4:30pm-ish I down tools and slump in front of the TV and watch The Bachelor. Those of you who have no idea what that is probably means you have way more brain cells than me. Basically, it’s a Yankee show that features one man – ipso facto the Bachelor – and then a bunch of highly made up and generally silicon city women – meow – who all vie for his attentions supposedly in the name of true love and or a contract on Dancing with the Stars or something similar when they fall out of TV-land reality love. So from 20-something women they dwindle down to the last 4 who all proclaim love for this man they have spent maybe a hour with on a ‘one-on-one’ date while all being ‘very close’ to their fellow competitors in the race to TV love.

Why do I watch it? I think I like the schlock value of it most. I like the dramatic angst ridden ‘I love him the most’ moments, the crying, the catty looks and the carefully hidden behind a thin layer of snide remarks they make to each other. The one I’m watching at the moment is from 2009 and it features a bloke called Jason. I already Googled to see who he ended up with and the cliff hanger-gasp-shock-horror-he did-what-to-her-moment-we-all-hate-him-oh-wait-maybe-he-does-love-the-runner-up-isn’t-that-sweet-do-you-think-her-boobs-are-fake drama of it all. Love as defined by television – ain’t it gloriously plastic?