There was a scene in the series premier of “Rome” on HBO where, in some sort of ancient Roman sacrificial ceremony, a topless woman stands beneath a platform holding a live bull, and a soldier slits the bull’s throat, raining blood down upon the woman who can only move after having been thoroughly saturated.
That’s the best way I can describe how The Girlfriend feels at the start of the football season. Just naked and helpless and covered in blood with nowhere to go for help.
Which is why it was odd that she chose to spend the night at my apartment yesterday, the night of the first football game of the season. (Actually, it’s not that odd. I didn’t tell her a football game was on until after she came over, at which time she said something like, “I hate you. No really.” I’d like to say that I don’t blame her, but in a way I do.)
After having an argument about it, which wasn’t an audible argument so much as an argument of subtle gestures aimed at pissing the other person off without ever saying why you were pissing the other person off, it was settled that I would buy her take-out (like giving a kaleidoscope to an autistic child), we would watch the season premier of “The OC,” and then we could watch football. Or I could watch football. And she would pout as quietly as possible off to the side of the television.
“The OC” . . . what can I say? I don’t really watch the show. I watched a few episodes of it while I was in London a few months ago but only because it was on right before the Greatest Reality Television Show In The World, “The Games,” where B-list British celebrities (one was described as “Former Pop Star” Chesney Hawkes) compete in Olympic style events for . . . nothing at all. Maybe it was for money, I don’t know. And I didn’t care. I was addicted. I skipped going to the Tate Modern museum to watch the finale. True story. (I went to the museum another say, stop ridiculing me.)
Anyway, “The OC” was beyond ridiculous. One of them is wanted for an attempted murder he didn’t even commit, so to “take his mind off it” the gang goes to the beach and frolics in the water? It would have been more plausible for them all to sit down in their bathing suits, pour water on their half-naked bodies and have a serious discussion about the implications of being convicted of attempted murder and the possibility of taking a plea bargain for attempted manslaughter, with a sentence recommendation.
But, as with all good drugs, by the end of the show I found myself actually caring, leading to this exchange between The Girlfriend and I sitting next to each other on the couch:
Me: (leaning in to the TV) “I wish I knew why Marissa shot Trey . . .”
TG: “I don’t.”
And I don’t think I want to watch “The OC” anymore.
Quote of the Day:
“Good job honey. You’re the best.”
- The Girlfriend, as she’s reading something at the computer, praising me after I jump off the couch cheering because Tom Brady completed a pass to Ben Watson, both players on my fantasy football team.