I have opinions on something I shouldn’t have opinions on. I’m irritated at myself for having opinions about it, and I wish I didn’t. It’s annoys me so much I’d rather be living in a hermetically sealed cavern without Internet access than know enough about it to have an opinion.
Man, think of all the writing I’d get done if I didn’t have the Internet. Still, I’d be limited in my research so the writing would probably be a tad shallow.
Anyway, the thing I’m so mad at myself for having an opinion about is the whole stupid Kardashian wedding thing that happened last weekend. Ugh, even just typing in that name makes me feel like bleaching my brain and then reading some Tolstoy.
Angsty teenage Erika (who read Tolstoy for fun) would write some scathing poetry indeed if she knew I knew about anything relating to a reality TV family.
As much as it pains me to admit, I’m curious about the wedding only so much as it pertains to pretty things. I do so love pretty wedding things. It’s a holdover love from my job at Bottle Your Brand, when it was my job to research weddings and pretty things.
This wedding, where money was no object, is bound to be full of pretty things. But in order to see them I’m going to have to watch an episode of the reality show it was filmed for. And that will ramp up the self-loathing to a dangerous place. So that’s annoying.
I don’t really care anything for the people involved. Yes, I think it’s awfully vain to talk about your own wedding as the wedding of the century, and then go on to say you’re American royalty. Then again, they seem awfully good at talking about nothing but themselves, so in that way I suppose they are American royalty.
But insomuch as they seem well-known, they’re well-known for being reality stars. And that makes me uncomfortable. Because people who are famous for having no shame are not the people I want associated with the reigning royalty of where I live.
And yet, as much as my mind quails in horror that I care, I do. Not about the people involved in the wedding, but about the pretty things. And that’s not really much different than caring about the people, because when you get right down to it, it all boils down to being interested in pretty things, doesn’t it? Pretty things, pretty people. None of it’s going to help me write better, or be a better mother or wife, or change the world.
And yet and yet, I still care. Feeling-superior Fail.