You are still in the running

News this week about the death of actor David Carradine, apparently from erotic auto-asphyxiation gone wrong. If you're found hanging naked in a Bangkok hotel room with your junk tied, you're obviously keeping some things secret, and if the context appears to be too much for Quentin Tarantino to talk about, you are not screwing around. Dude liked to get his freak on. 

Which brings me to my own freaky secret indulgence, one I'm not proud of but feel helpless to stop. It's not raining, and i'm not sick, but I'm going to watch TV today. For several hours. On purpose. 

Yes. America's Next Top Model. 

Don't look at me. 

I freaking love this show. The Oxygen network shows seasons in full as a marathon, so i can glut myself bender-style on an entire narrative arc in one sitting. Oh, the glamour! The camp! The pseudogravitas! Tyra teaches me I should model through my pain, y'all. I could smile with my eyes all the time. 

You can understand why I might want to keep this enthusiasm under wraps: I'm well out of their target demographic--I'm older than everyone except the former supermodels they resurrect as judges--and you know, it's not exactly PBS's Pride and Prejudice. There are many, many other productive ways I could spend a Sunday. But there must be others like me out there, sophisticated women [and gay men!] my age who know who Miss Jay is and aren't ashamed. Let's find each other at that next dinner party and let our freak flags fly.