Television is making me fat.

I don’t mean it in the way you might think.  Perhaps the vision comes into your mind of me sitting in my favorite chair, say a bark-o-lounger, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of Fruit of the Looms with nameless stains on them, which may or may not be the result of the very large bowl of Cheetos that’s balanced in my lap.  In your mind’s eye, my fingertips are crusted with orange colored deliciousness from above-mentioned Cheetos that would perhaps be causing the also above-mentioned stains on said Fruit of the Looms. Or not.
Either way, I probably look pretty slovenly.  Unwashed hair sticking up in all directions; flabby man-breasts covered in matted gray chest hair; a grizzled face that hasn’t seen a sharp razor since hector was a pup; dark, curved toenails that are regressing back to a time when men hung from trees, and possibly a pair of horned-rim glasses siting a little askew on top of a nose that gleams with sweat whenever a curtain is drawn back, which would be very rare indeed.  And those Cheetos have enough calories to make a water buffalo burst.  Three or four bags of those golden little gems would create a gut that would cover the ratty underwear, whether sitting or standing and those pesky stains, well you couldn’t really see them, right?

Perhaps that is what you think.  After all, you say to yourself, this guy is a mystery writer.  They’re all a little creepy, aren’t they?  They sit around all day trying to think of new ways to kill people, don’t they?  Sitting in your underwear eating Cheetos isn’t really that much of a stretch is it?

That’s not really it though.  I, admittedly, have eaten Cheetos while sitting around in my underwear (although I’m a boxer guy as opposed to the tightey whiteys), this activity is pretty rare. First of all, we have leather furniture, which isn’t really conducive to bare skin, and secondly, my wife would have real and meaningful things to say to me if I chose to do this particular activity.  All of which would be fairly unpleasant.

No, what I’m talking about is the food shows to which we have become addicted.  The Travel Channel and the Food Network both have a couple of very good programs that not only make you very hungry, they tell you exactly how to make the food that will advance your efforts to become like our pal the water buffalo. 
The first, Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations is probably the best of the lot.  No Reservations takes us around the world, showing foodstuffs and cultures that rarely fail to entertain.  Mr. Bourdain has an obsession with pork that borderlines on the sexual, much to the dismay of my wife, but his shows are well thought out and well written, and we look forward to them.  Mr. Bourdain is a consummate smartass, which certainly appeals to me, and the running dialog of his observations is littered with intelligent one-liners that leave us both laughing out loud. (On a side note, my wife has this…thing…about fat on food, especially meat.  If there is a scrap of fat on a steak, her gag reflex is put on high alert, so watching Mr. Bourdain chow down on a piece of pig fat turns her a little green.  Me, I love the stuff.  Fat is where the flavor is.  This causes a bit of trouble when I have to cook these recipes, but I have become very adept at trimming fat off of food for her, although sometimes I will leave a little on there when she isn’t looking.)

If you haven’t had a chance to watch this program, and you have even a slight interest in travel or food, I highly recommend this show.

Anther show on the Travel Channel is Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern.  My wife and I like this show a lot, but there are just so many bugs I can watch this guy eat.  While this is mostly entertaining, this is the show to watch when you want to lose weight.  I know that there are different cultures all over the world and they all have their norm when it comes to food, but if I have to watch Mr. Zimmern eat another fried giant beetle, I’m gonna puke.

The last show I want to let you know about is Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, on the Food Network.  This show is hosted by Guy Fieri, who seems to have born with batteries in the soles of his feet.  His energetic and magnetic personality makes this show what it is: a grand tour of food American.  His trips around the United States showcase the most comfortable of eateries that is its namesake.  The great part of this show is that he is back in the kitchen with the owners of the restaurants, showing us how to make their signature dishes.  His boundless energy and side comments make watching someone prepare food highly entertaining, especially since most of the meals they are preparing are easy to replicate, and incredibly delicious.

And therein lays the problem.  You see, I like tasty, delicious food.  When we watch these shows and see something truly good, my first impulse is to go to the store and buy the ingredients and make this stuff.  And I do.  Frequently.  When Anthony Bourdain was showcasing the “best” hamburger, I went off to a butcher shop and had them grind up some steak and pork and I put them on the grill.  Guy Fieri was wolfing down these awesome looking burritos, I went out and bought a pork roast and made the damn things.  When Andrew Zimmern went to some weird country and started chomping on giant beetles I…well…wait a second, I didn’t do that.  And thank the gods for that.  First of all, I don’t know where to buy giant beetles, and second, if I did know, would they be fresh?

My point is, it’s easy enough to get fat without these shows and now they have programs that dwell on doughnuts, chocolate, greasy sandwiches, and even cupcakes.  The temptation is too great not to watch, and the end result is a waistline that makes our pal the water buffalo a little jealous.

Bah.  I’ll just give in and get to the point that I don’t get out of bed and start washing myself with a sick with a rag on the end of it because I can’t reach some parts of my body.  Then my wife can have me on one of those intervention shows, where my friends and relatives sit around my room crying, begging me to get rid of my addiction.  I’ll agree with them, tearfully, and tell them that I need expert help.  I’ll beg them to get me Andrew Zimmern, with a bucket full of giant beetles.

Now that will be great television.