On Saturday morning, waiting for breakfast to be prepared inside a lovely beach house on South Padre Island, my friend Rudy and I sat in front of the TV, partly killing time, partly relaxing on a long weekend away from home. In a scene not dissimilar from Tommy Boy when Tommy and Richard finally settled on a radio station playing what they considered a lame Carpenters song only to be singing along minutes later, the TV landed on E! and a marathon of Keeping Up With the Kardashians.
The very show I had made fun of numerous times. The same show my wife said she would be watching when the Kanye/Kim wedding (if it ever makes it on TV like her last disaster of a marriage did) made its appearance while I laughed about her interest in the nuptials she followed from a distance via the Daily Mail app on her phone -- she actually gasped audibly when she learned Jay-Z and Beyoncé had not attended.
It never ceases to amaze me how otherwise intelligent, normal, rational human beings could be sucked in by this trite, superficial nonsense, yet here I was 50 yards from a pristine stretch of Texas beachfront rapt by Bruce Jenner's admission to Kris Kardashian that he would prefer to live in a different house from her even though he wanted to remain married.