(Guilty?) Pleasures

I have a confession to make. I have several confessions I should make, but that won't be happening any time soon. Not until my membership into Opus Dei (light or dark) is confirmed. And before you ask, "No. I haven't read the book, nor will I. Nor will I see the film."

However, seeing as that would require some actual effort on my part to see religion as more than a collection of beliefs propagated by the priestly caste in order make up for their lack of sexual, emotional, and social prowess; and as tempting as getting my hands on a modern Cilice might be; it probably just isn't going to happen. Relax and read your Nietzsche people—I'm being very general in my religion-bashing. Hell, at least they're trying to satisfy their will to power. So what if they've done so to the tune of 206+ million martyrs. At least they're trying... (I know, it's a debatable number—it's a debatable term, too—and no I haven't done the legwork to vet the research. I actually imagine the number to be much higher. So, fuck off...it's just a blog.)

Anyway, I've gotten off topic. I was about to make a confession. Here it is: I'm fascinated by children's television. Not cartoons, mind you. Or even the retro-nostalgia (figure that one out—it isn't as redundant as it sounds) of watching a little Sesame Street just to get an occasional I-really-was-a-child-once fix. Nope. Toddler TV. The trippy, psychedelic, repetitive, nonsense that hypnotizes the bejesus out of the "fluid-factory to ankle-biter" demographic on a daily basis. Simply put, Boohbah summons up more residual chemistry in my brain than I care to believe actually exists.

I love it.

It makes me happy and scares the shit out of me at the same time.