In defence of crap and excellence

Copped a bit of (an indirect) serve from Naomi at the Lav for my love of Big Brother.

What can I say? I don't read crap books, I don't eat crap food, I try and avoid crap conversations wherever possible. The only magazines I occasionally read are the Gourmet Traveller and I liked the last Monthly very much. The only telly I watch is the ABC news, the 7:30 report and the Insiders (when my two year old tolerates it); I am asleep when Lateline comes on, which is the only other thing I'd watch.*

So I need to get some crap somewhere. And Big Brother it is.

I'm something of a voyeur, I suppose, which I prefer to think of as a profound interest in people. I'm not going to pretend the housemates are particularly interesting or appealing people - but that's not the point. It's the ability - the access - to watch and discuss the ridiculous details that I love.

I love that O's workmate Zoran, a Macedonian, picked Vesna for a Macedonian the minute she walked into the house and said "Maaaate. She. Will. Crack. She will crack and go nuts at everyone. It's In The Culture." Now I don't know whether she has any Macedonian heritage or not, but I love to see a feisty girl, especially one attempting to explain to a mean spirited passive aggressive that when she voices what she's feeling, she isn't asking for a solution, or sympathy, or having a whinge-fest, she is just expressing something she needs to say.

I love to watch the way that a really very beautiful 19 year old girl - Geneva - struggles that she is a size 14 in a house full of what she calls "sticks". (And she's right about that, they are sticks.) Not that I love the anguish she feels, but it's real. If I had a teenage daughter I would be watching Big Brother with her, and talking about who they pick, and why, and the way life is easier when you're conventionally beautiful. I'd remind her about last year's "big girl", and what her experience was like, including her complaint to Big Brother that she heard a camera operator make a mean remark about her in the shower, and how her feelings were respected and validated. My putative daughter would probably think I was an irredeemable dag, and carry on texting her friends, but I'd try.

I love the way that the pack mentality of a particular group of boys in there is becoming apparent. I'm looking forward to them having to nominate each other if no-one's left and watching the facade crumble.

In fact, the only thing I don't love is the ridiculous adoration of Kate, who is undoubtedly beautiful, but whose "hotness" has always escaped me. But I realise that's untrue - I also don't love that Michael got evicted, because he rocked.

Another thing I love is Philip Roth. This is from The Ghost Writer:

I soon began to feel over the thinness of my imagination and what that promised for the future. Dad-da, Florence, the great Durante; her babyishness and desire, his mad, heroic restraint - Oh, if only I could have imagined the scene I'd overheard! If only I could invent as presumptuously as real life! If one day I could just approach the originality and excitement of what actually goes on!

People are cool. Except Dean. He's way uncool. To agree with me call 1902 5555 61 or text "Dean" to 19 10 10. Heh. I don't have a number where you can text disapproval of Philip Roth. Sorry. I'll do a google.


* And yes, I do realise what an hilariously tragic stereotype I am revealing myself to be. I'm OK with it.