Last year, I was almost as upset about what was going on. Yes, this was me:
I have a friend, a fan of the show and media-savvy as they come, who couldn’t bear to watch the “break-up” episodes, which is a sign, if nothing else, of our primal need for suspension of disbelief when we’ve invested in a story. Previews of the balance of this season of Simmons’ show feature a glimpse of him on his knees in front of Tweed, broadly setting up the anticipation of a proposal, and perhaps a seventh season built around a wedding. You want to believe it’s true, but it’s hard to smother a hot ember of suspicion that our convictions are being flattered, and that a cynical mechanism is in play that wants to churn our beliefs about family and fidelity and manhood into marketed demographics and ratings share. Even when you’re told you’re right, it’s hard not to suspect that you’re still being lied to.
The problem now?
Shannon wants to adopt a child because I guess — in the words of the chronic baby-makers in Raising Arizona — “The old ones are getting too big to cuddle.”
PLUS there was too much time between the season finale/proposal and the start of the new season/babies (= yuck).
You’d think Hollywood would have formulated an algorithm calculating the optimal time between season finale and season premier that factors in fan distraction, boredom and impatience.
I’ve gone from having trouble watching the show because “Mom and Dad were fighting” to having trouble watching the show because after a long day’s work, Screaming Baby Television isn’t my idea of relaxation.
Idol‘s over and so is Apprentice.
What are you DOING to me, people? I have almost NO shows now.