Friday, March 24, 2006

Candid Camera?

I have watched a lot of Lifetime during the course of mine. Apparently this is a quality that I radiate, enough for a guy doing a reading on stage to identify me, out of an entire audience, as a "Lifetime kind of girl."

I mean, whatever. So long as what gives me away isn't a pair of mom jeans and a seasonally printed turtleneck, I'm okay with it.

I know that the "Television for Women" channel is filled with the kind of trite, sappy, overacted drama that would make even a soap fan hurl up her bonbons, but I just can't stop myself. The only person I've ever met with a more severe Lifetime addiction than mine is my high school best friend Kai, whose knowledge of every plotline, actor, and Issue featured on the channel in the last ten years is absolutely encylopedic. I mean, seriously, like, disturbing. You mention syphilis and she can't shut up about "She's Too Young," the one where some tween bangs the entire basketball team and then a whole school catches the crotchrot and someone hisses "sssslut" at someone else, but I couldn't tell you who or why because the only reason I know about it is that Kai has repeated that line at least once a week for the last two years.

But it's true. I do watch a lot of Lifetime. The movies are just so gloriously bad, so shiningly, astoundingly, bloody-head-wound-staggering-from-the-wreck bad. Meredith Baxter-Birney? Bulimic? Throwing up sixteen cheeseburgers in a dumpster? How is anyone watching anything else, ever? What else in the world is more entertaining than watching Tracy Gold stretch her bony, atrophied acting wings to play an anorexic?

I mean, besides watching Tracy Gold play a crime-solving detective divorcee former child abuse victim hunting a Satanist serial killer picking off victims affiliated with a halfway house for troubled children.

I shit you not, that one aired on Monday.

There is a point here, which is that I think a Lifetime movie might be happening right down the street from where I work. I've walked up and down the same block twice a day for seventeen months now, to and from a job so boring that the people I pass on the street are by far the most interesting thing that will happen to me all day. Without the possibility that I might see Famke Janssen's dog pulling her into traffic, or the crazy guy who makes this sort of half bark/half yell noise that you can hear for blocks, there's very little reason not to blind myself by staring directly into the photocopier.

I know the people I see every day pretty well. It's only within the past few weeks that this new girl, seemingly homeless, has taken up residence on one of the cobblestoney corners.

She is so a Lifetime movie.

She's uber-fashionable, she's always got all this eyeliner on, and twice I've seen her sketching with pastels in a bound blank book. I mean, I feel like crap about this if she's really homeless but I swear, swear, swear to God I'm looking for the cameras every time I pass her. She's only been around a few times, but it's so Lifetime I want to put on some flannel pants, grab a tub of Ben and Jerry's and pull up a chair.

If Phylicia Rashad isn't playing the stubborn, won't-give-up-on-you-yet! social worker to her hipster hobo the next time I pass her, I'm just going to write the script my own damn self.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Rebecca said...

Lifetime has my eternal gratitude solely for keeping Nancy McKeon's career alive. I lust after her, and thanks to her Lifetime movies and her role on the Division, I don't have feel dirty about thinking a teenager is hot.

10:45 PM  

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