Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Monday, Feb. 13, 2006 - 3:42 p.m.

Work is work, people. It's supposed to stay nicely on one side of your life. You have your work life and your real life. Your personal life. Your life with friends, movies, music, books, recreational activities. And the two aren't supposed to meet. For most of us, they don't. Most of us don't love our work so much that we also make it our personal life. I know that unless I'm acting, I certainly don't. I hate my work.

So imagine the karmic shudder when last night, as I'm reading the newest addition to my chick lit libary, Lauren Willig's The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, I come across the following passage:

" What time was it? Late, said the midnight-dark sky beyond the
cream-colored drapes. At a guess, it was dinnertime at least, prob-
ably later. I cast an agonized glance at the half-read papers on the
chair - not only was I no cloer to the identity of the Pink Carna-
tion, but I was dying to know if Lord Richard ever did kiss Miss
Amy Balcourt. Did he tiptoe over to her side of the boat in the
dead of night, stand on his tiptoes...and smooch Miss Gwen by
accident? It was like being torn away midway thru an episode
of The Bachelor."

I actually squeaked. In a not flattering way. And then more elaborate involuntary nerve responses kicked in, and I popped out with "That's so not right!" to the point the housemate actually stuck his head in the door to see what was wrong, while I worked my mouth in a completely inarticulate fashion and pointed at my book, which illicited an eye roll and the withdrawal of his head from the room.

The more astute of you will remember that I worked on The Bachelor. For more seasons than I care to admit. I have even blogged it here - indeterminately, of course, since I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, I had to change certain details during certain time frames, but the bottom line is I dealt with a helluva lot of Bachelor stuff, and the last damn thing I expected at 11pm on a Sunday evening while reading a frothy little pseudo-espionage chick novel set nearly entirely in the 1800's, and wholly unfurling in England, was to come across a reference to that 21st century hommage to romantic/dating cheese, The freaking Bachelor. I mean, it was the most dramatic chick lit moment EVER!

So then I had to call Em, because frankly, I needed to talk to someone who would share my shock and pain, because hello! I'm reading here. And this book was published in 2005, so it was probably written over 2004, and that means she probably wrote it during Jesse's season, which, let's face it, was like, so not "incredible", despite the antics of the uber-bitchy gold-digger everyone loved to hate, Trish. Who was not the stalker she was made out to be, but whatever. The more hideous thought is that the other season of Bachelor to air in 2004 was Byron's season, and holy crap, a bigger tool does not exist than Byron Velvick. Even Bob did not send me over the edge the way Byron did. And if she got started on this in 2003, that means she also watched Bob's season, and possibly even that of the most inane bachelor ever, Andrew Firestone. So I'm reading a book written by a woman who not only watched The Bachelor, apparently religiously, but admitted to that in print. With pride, ostensibly. AND she's a Ph.D candidate. At Harvard. The woman really oughtta know better. ::shudder::

Peace out,
Katie

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Yesterday's News - Next Stop

In which Katie shares sad news - Wednesday, Apr. 01, 2015
In which Katie returns after a very long absence - Monday, Jun. 25, 2012
In which Katie pokes her head in and brushes some of the cobwebs away - Thursday, May. 06, 2010
In which Katie asks you to write your congressman again. - Monday, Jun. 02, 2008
In which Katie asks you to please click the link and send the message to protect the rights of artists - Wednesday, May. 21, 2008