My televised viewing has taken quite a hit as this seasons shows are winding down. I think I’m still mourning the loss of Lost and have not recovered from the so-called finale.
I gave up on Survivor, because I didn’t think my blood pressure could handle another season of Russell. Although I hear he’s gone, and Boston Rob rules the roost. Still. I just can’t watch anymore. My kids have gotten me somewhat hooked on a Survivor rip off show aimed at the tweens called Endurance. Which is good because unlike Survivor, I no longer have the need to lob footwear at the television screen.
I’ve quit watching Glee as well. For many many reasons. Which I can’t even bear to give voice to. All I will say is that if Glee is any indication of the moral compass of our youth, we are sunk. The end.
Surprisingly, the only show that I’ve set my TiVo to record is American Idol. When Simon left the building, so did I. Alas, I was intrigued by the new panel of judges. And I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying them. Okay, Steven creeps me out a little. But Jennifer is a vision to behold, and I love the heart she brings to the show. And Randy is actually using more, you know, real words. And I can tell that they all respect and admire one another. It’s a good mix.
And the contestants. Oh my word. Never have they ever had such an amazingly awesome group of talented young people. And I do enjoy watching the behind the scenes mentoring from, you know, REAL MENTORS THAT DO NOT INCLUDE MILEY CYRUS.
I’ve retired my hair net. I did not book the Publix gig, and I have to tell you that I’m not all that broken up about it. And it’s not even about the hair net. Well. Okay, a little about the hair net. But by NOT booking the commercial, I do NOT have to drive back to Tampa in the dark and work from 9 PM until 7 AM, and then drive 2 1/2 hours back home. Physically I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull that one off.
Fiddledaddy and I were able to audition for another commercial together on Wednesday. We took the kids and called them our entourage. They were looking for a couple of kids for the spot, but our kids did not meet the right age requirement. However, the casting director wanted to put them on tape anyway.
Fiddledaddy tried to follow them into the casting to make sure that they didn’t do or say anything inappropriate on tape, and he was shoo’d out of the room by the casting director. Stage Father. Snicker.
Not to be dissuaded, we camped outside the door with a cup against our ear, while trying to peer through the blinds on the glass door. I’m pretty sure they couldn’t hear us breathing through the air vent. From what we could gather, our offspring did just fine and there is no cause for us to have to change our last name.
Imagine my relief.
Have a wonderfully blessed weekend, my sweet friends!