America Got it Right This Time, Dawg

I am about to reveal something very personal. You all know I work at a university. I read big, dense books filled with complicated words. I enjoy a murky coffee shop filled with intellectual-types who spend their days in angst-filled contemplation. But I also have a dirty little secret: I love American Idol. I started watching the show when some of my students told me that the voting component of the program involved "doing democracy." Really? Huh. Well, yeah, that's true if you believe that democracy is aggressively sponsored by Coca-Cola and involves choosing which pretty kid sang the best off-key version of a Celine Dion song. But still, even though I am beyond the target demographic of this show by a couple of decades, I am an ardent fan.

Deep thinker by day. Crappy reality TV show watcher by night.

Why, you ask?

Well, first off, it's terribly philosophical. I love hearing Paula Abdul say things like, "You are more than just you. You are in a zone, which is truly yourself, showing America that you are authentically about your own heart."

Second, there's something fascinating about the explicit manufacturing of mediocrity. It's a show concerned with creating a shiny, middle-class, middle-brow "product" who will sell middling music. It's like McDonalds french fries, bad for you in every way, but somehow irresistable. And if you tuned into that corny finale, you know what I mean. George Michael was there! And Bryan Adams! And ZZ Top! Not only did the show generate mediocrity, it managed to showcase mediocrity from 20 years ago. It doesn't get any better than that.

And the third reason I watch American Idol? Well, frankly, reality shows are fun. Don't tell me you don't watch at least one of these, even if it's Antiques Roadshow. You can kick back after a long day of wrestling with budgets or teaching uninspired students or scraping macaroni and cheese off the ceiling and ponder what Kristi Lee was thinking when she tried to turn " 8 Days a Week" into a country show tune.

So it is without shame that I (and Michael, though he'd never admit it) watched the season ending "boxing match" between the two Davids on Tuesday, and then the two hour (!) finale yesterday. In case you haven't tuned in, the final contestants were a sniffly teenager who said "Gosh!" a lot and a twenty-something, stubbly guy who called himself a "word nerd." And I, with considerable enthusiasm, was rooting for the word nerd.

So here's my confession: Not only did I watch this show every week, but....I VOTED on Tuesday! Oh yes I did. 31 times. I guess I wanted to know what it felt like to "do democracy" like millions of 13 year olds across the country. Just imagine how great it would be if you could vote maniacally for Obama on your cellphone, hitting re-dial with rapid fire.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this. After all, most of you come to this site to get the latest update on penguin fornication. I'm outing myself about watching, no -- participating, in the American Idol machine, because I finally feel comfortable with this side of my personality. I embrace it (And while I'm at it, I may as well acknowledge that I enjoyed "Rock of Love," too).

Speaking of embracing, several months ago I received a question from a reader. She asked, "How has being a mother changed you?" It was a complicated question, and I didn't give it a thorough answer. I remember when the boys were tiny, and I kept expecting to wake up from parenthood and be magically returned to my former life (and sleep). There was such as shift between life before and life after kids. So it was interesting last weekend, when the four of us went up to Vancouver for a little vacation. Vancouver is one of those places that I so strongly remember from my life "before." Michael and I loved going up there and just hanging out, as if we really lived there. It was, and is, such a vibrant, thriving, exciting city. But now we have the kids, and we needed to see the place with new eyes. So we exchanged hanging out in cool neighborhoods for hanging out at the aquarium. Finding a fun, funky place for dinner succumbed to finding any place that was willing to serve noodles with butter as a main course.

And I will tell you this: I loved it. I loved it even though I never went shopping. I loved it even though we never went to a bookstore (which I ALWAYS do, no matter where I am). I loved it even though we ate dinner at a terribly uncool pizza place and had lunch at a Canadian version of Applebees. We did mediocre, middle-brow, middling touristy things. And it was wildly fun, and the boys whooped with joy at the hotel elevator and the swimming pool and the kiddie train at the park. So really, the answer to the question from so many months ago is that I am just more comfortable at accepting happiness when it comes, however it comes. And for me, let me tell you, that is a big change.

(Cue up the sappy American Idol power ballad)

Don't Worry. Next week I'll put away the cheese and pull out my usual dose of sarcasm. Or maybe I'll just do a review of the recent season of Celebrity Fit Club.