Guilty, indeed

A discussion this morning at work, coupled with something read on another blog, led me to consider how truly warped we are as a race in constructing our self-image.  There’s a good book on this topic in fact, Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me) … Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson’s treatment of the lies we feed ourselves in order to resolve cognitive dissonance.   In fact, they cover the very thing that interests me to no end:  why people lie on questionnaires.  Seems that it is often not to fool other people, but to boost their own self-perception.  ‘Sure, I eat steamed vegetables, and never touch those Pringles!’

But I digress.

So this past weekend I found myself wondering over that very phenonomenon, that big self-delusion.  And this all arose from one of those annoying fits of reflection, where I asked myself those big questions like, What would I do if I had six months to live? and, Who am I really?  No, REALLY?  These are the familiar, tiresome questions that arise periodically, and more frequently after a wild work week or a night of overindulging in tequila.

Long and sordid story short, I have taken the cue from a fellow blogger (Ravings from the Shell) and evaluated what I thought I liked to what I actually do.  And there are some differences which I might characterize as guilty pleasures.  We’ll start today with television. 

I don’t watch much television

While I can honestly say that I find most of the really low-brow material (Survivor, Big Brother, CBS News) dull, uninspiring and often painfully repulsive, I am fanatical about watching NCIS and if by chance am working late on a Tuesday evening am certain to call my husband and remind him to Tivo the episode.  I also have a bizarre yet explicable addiction to Mission Organization, and have set Tivo to record every episode.  I also religiously watch What Not to Wear, and for a while was crazy for A Model Life.  But what’s worse, when I come home from work and plan to read for the evening, once the television is on I can barely tear myself away.  No matter how pathetic the humor, or how annoying the drama, I am sucked in by that siren, the sweet and dull soma, the box in the living room.  It’s the black hole of my lifestyle.

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