The other night, my husband, Chet, and I were watching television. No, wait, let me take that back; we weren’t really watching television. Chet was channel surfing, which is what he does for approximately 15 minutes before he will finally hit “Play” on the remote and allow us to watch another scene or two of some movie we started a few days before (See, it normally takes us three nights, sometimes four, to view an entire movie because we never sit down to relax until around 1:00 in the morning—it’s a long story).

Anyway, Chet was channel surfing, and as I alternated between yawning, sipping a chilled glass of Merlot, and nodding like I was really paying attention to his ongoing commentary on everything from the Presidential candidates to the War in Iraq to the state of the economy, mixed with something about C. Wright Mills and John Locke, I noticed—for about the zillionth time—the pathetic state of today’s television fare. And I came to the conclusion that it’s really quite appalling what viewers are subjected to on television, not only in the form of shows but also commercials.

For starters, there are those stupid reality shows that have proliferated during the last few years like mushrooms have a tendency to do on lawns down here in the swamps of southwestern Louisiana. Oh, please, reality my-you-know-what. Is it reality for a bunch of attractive, buff, tanned people to be stranded on a deserted island—with a film crew and a convenient way to escape if disaster ever happened to occur? If producers want reality, why not take about a dozen or so average people—all sizes and shapes and ages—plunk them down on a real deserted island and leave them there, completely alone, with only a camcorder to record events, then go back in six months and see how many of them had actually survived? Plus, is it reality for someone to be immersed in a vat of roaches or spiders, to munch on worms, or to race across the country vying for a million dollars? Is it reality for a dozen good-looking women to compete to see just who gets to wed some wealthy bachelor, who, by the way, isn’t really wealthy at all but a sanitation worker?

Then, on top of the inane shows, there are the commercials. Today’s commercials include ads for products like Viagra and all sorts of feminine hygiene goodies, as well as adult diapers for the incontinent, not to mention drugs for everything from herpes to periodontal disease to pattern baldness to psoriasis. I don’t know about you, but if I see one more commercial with some middle-aged couple sitting in matching bathtubs on a beach in Florida (Why bathtubs? Heck if I know, and what I want to know is where is the plumbing?), and holding hands while they giggle over the wonders of Viagra, I think I will puke, to put it bluntly.

So, given the pathetic fare on television today, it’s no wonder I don’t complain but patiently nod in agreement with Chet’s ongoing commentary on current events as he channel surfs, while I wait for him to finally hit “Play” so I can view yet another installment of some movie we started several days before. At least we’re not munching on roaches, duking it out with other contestants on some deserted island, or, heaven forbid, sitting naked in matching bathtubs on a beach in Florida.