The Temptation of Tyra Banks

I blame it all on my wife. And that damned VH1. And the she-devil Tyra Banks.

It started about 4 months ago - this curse placed upon me.

I was an innocent bystander, sucked into a world of glam, betrayal, suspense, would-be supermodels and J. Alexander.

Having just finished up a delicious Salisbury steak dinner and looking to relax in front of the television for some high quality viewing, my wife and I sat down while I channel surfed through the massive amounts of programming. Each station I paused at was met with a barely audible grunt of dissapproval.

World Poker Tour? Ugh.
Home Improvement? Ugh.
C.S.I.? Ugh.
WWE Smackdown? Ugh.
Naughty Neighbors #17? UGH. (damn)

Now I knew up front that our list of suitable televsion programming would be hindered by our little one, so most of those choices were in jest. Why? Because once the GOD (grunt of dissapproval) begins, I have lost my remote powers. Oh sure, I may physically HAVE the remote, but that is only elementary. So I did what any man would do in this situation (especially if wanted any chance of scoring that night).

"Honey, would you like the remote?"

"Oh no! You go ahead." she replies.

"No, there is nothing on that looks good to me - you decide." I lie.

"Ok, if you are sure." she says as she quickly snatches the remote from my hand.

Having been through this ritual countless times, I snuggle in beside her and prepare myself for the usual post-dinner selection: Friends, Everybody Loves Raymond, or Roseanne. Oh, the joys of syndication!

But tonight is different. She has stopped on VH1. This opens up a whole new realm of possibilities - Celebrity Fit Club, Best Week Ever, Web Junk 20 and any of the I Love The...series. The commercial break is over...the anticipation mounts...the show comes on and who is on my screen?

Tyra freaking Banks.

As I stare in utter disbelief her eyes turn a crimson red and this demonic voice comes from the TV set.

"You are still in the running to become America's Next Top Model."

4 hours later I am throwing my empty Pepsi bottle (plastic) at the screen when my pick, Kahlen Rondot is beaten out by anti-talented Naima Mora on the seasons finale. Needless, to say I was beside myself when I came to, first for Kahlen getting the boot when she was obviously the better choice and second when I realized I just wasted 4 hours of my life that I will never get back.

And is it just me or does Janice Dickinson look like she's been used more that a New York subway? (Shiver) Yech.

Yesterday we went through a similar channel flipping venture with the wife behind the wheel of the remote. She quickly passed over shows she normally would have stopped on, like she was searching for something. Suddenly she stopped and I heard the music before I could look and quickly shut my eyes.

"Nooooooooooooo! Look away! Look away!"

I turned my head over to where my darling wife was sitting and peeked through clenched eyelids - I was too late. Like being caught up in Medusa's gaze, my wife was essentially a statue - eyes transfixed on Tyra Banks and her brain robbing show. I flashed my hand over her eyes and, getting no response, bowed my head in grief. Tyra had gained another victim...at least for another 47 minutes - longer if it was a marathon.

47 minutes.

What was that I hear? John Madden calling to me from the family room?

"BOOM! 47 minutes? You could play 2 1/2 quarters of football in 47 minutes!"

On my way Mr. Madden. On my way.