You�ll all be relieved to know that yesterday�s unfair accusations of my general incompetence have been proven grossly exaggerated. However, that still does nothing to curb my swelling impulse to grab an awl and bury it in my solar plexus.
But since I�ve done little else but bitch about my job lately, I�m going to try and find another topic. I feel it will be a refreshing change of pace for all involved. How about we talk some more about my deep-seated loathing for Rachael Ray, of 30 Minute Meals fame.
You know, these cooking shows all go to some pretty great lengths to prove their relevance. I think I learned 17 different ways to prepare a turkey for Thanksgiving this past November, and don�t even get me started on the crushing brigade of Holiday-themed episodes they aired in December, pimping Christmas ham, gingerbread, eggnog, and even potato latkes for Hanukkah. But this latest one takes the (fruit)cake. For the past two weeks or so, they�ve been touting �Game Day� recipes.
That�s right, folks. If you�re in such a state that you don�t think you can adequately prepare snacks for a tailgate party, or entertain Super Bowl fans in your home, tune in and we�ll show you how to, uh�buy chips! Yeah, and french onion dip! And also how to, like, buy beer, and stir the french onion dip! I mean, if you seriously require step-by-step instruction on how to host a Super Bowl party, you need a lot more help than any one TV show can give. Just saying.
But I�m getting distracted from my point, which is that, in the last week, I have seen Ms. Ray do not one but two totally separate �Game Day� specials, touting "fun and convenient" recipes, and instructing us all carefully on the skilled art of opening and stirring. And in both, she has persisted in trying to make me snap my twig and run amok through the streets of Los Angeles, yodeling and tossing eggs.
To wit: her obnoxious giggle grates against the very fabric of my soul, and last night as she giggled endlessly about the little mini-sandwiches, which she maddeningly referred to as "sammies" over and over again for the entire program, I almost leapt from my seat and broke the fourth wall with my bare hands. Plus, the exceedingly irritating way she pronounces Worcestershire ("WUS-ta-sheer") and the way she spanks her hamburger patties when she sets them on the grill also puts me in a murderous mindset. Not to mention the way she perennially refuses to make two separate trips when gathering her ingredients, but rather insists on carrying everything with her all at once like some balancing act on Ed Sullivan, that just makes me hope fervently that she�ll drop something, slip, and come crashing down like a condemned high-rise.
Worse than all of these combined, though, may perhaps be the last ten seconds of every single program; those few final frames on which we close every single day, where Rachael finally gets to sample the "delicious and healthy" offerings she just ever so helpfully guided us through. First she takes a succulent bite, and then rolls her eyes back in her head like she�s having an orgasm, and then smiles and nods approvingly at her own masterful accomplishments in the kitchen as the music plays us into the credits sequence. Every. Single. Time. Just once I�d like to see her disapprove, or spit something back out, or maybe just chew contemplatively without editorializing on her own abilities. It�s the O.J. Simpson Murder Glove school of cooking -- like she needs to demonstrate as broadly as possible the point she�s trying to get across or else WE WON�T BELIEVE THE GLOVE DOESN�T FIT -- er, I mean, THE FOOD TASTES GOOD.
And yet, despite all of this? I love that show. Heaven help me, but I love that show.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: "five pounds to lose" And: giant bazoongas I�m Watching: America�s Next Top Model, and I think I may be in love. Again. And: Okay, I caved and watched a bit of American Idol, but I�m not proud of it.