The Hills

Since I've been feeling sort of sick lately I decided to take it easy last night and watch movies on the hostel's communal television. First I watched Best in Show, followed by the Princess Bride, which brought out an international contingent of fans from every crevice of the hostel. Apparently Inigo Montoya's vow to avenge his father's death is known and loved across the world. After the Princess Bride two Australian women, who work as tour guides throughout Asia, confessed to me that they had just purchased bootleg copies of the Hills from Sukhumvit. The students that I've taught at UCR all enjoy watching the Hills and I've always sort of wondered if it's really as bad as I imagined it would be. It is! In fact, it's worse! I love it! It may seem sort of masochistic to enjoy watching untalented, stinking-rich 19 year olds snag highly-prized jobs in Los Angeles, but instead it's pleasurable. It just sort of reaffirms the fact that life doesn't make sense, the good are not rewarded, the meek shall not inherit, etc. etc., and all that's okay. Justice is a fantasy, whereas the Hills is Reality, in its most artificial incarnation. Yeah, it's totally PoMo.

Tonight we're going to watch a couple more episodes. Maybe I'll pop open the bottle of Japan Airlines' wine that Owen left here and the three of us will all happily toast the lives we'll never lead, represented by the shimmering blondes of the Hills. And, of course, under my breath I'll utter a second toast to train wrecks.