Do You Come Here Often?

I have sunk to a new low: I watched "America's Got Talent" tonight.

Truth is, I didn't go to watch reality TV or even any TV at all, I went for dinner. And I got that in a light, weather-appropriate lemon/thyme/chicken soup - the thyme having grown just outside the restaurant - and a crab melt with dilled Havarti on housemade grilled bread accompanied by Prosecco.

Delicious, all.

But apparently a rumor had been going around the restaurant that Puddles the Clown (whom everyone but me seems to remember as Big Mike from his years in local band the Useless Playboys) would be on the show tonight. Hence the viewing party.

Despite sitting through some of the most inane performances imaginable - a dog who could read a flashcard and bark the number on it;  a man who danced with a blow-up doll; and perhaps most appallingly, an 8 and 9 year old gaudily-clad "couple" (she wearing far too much lipstick in that Jon-Benet Ramsey creepy way) dancing together suggestively - Puddles never came on.

I don't know if you can appreciate what a punch to the gut it is to watch a show such as "AGT" when you haven't watched TV (beyond the presidential debates and election results) in decades, but the show aside, even the commercials are excruciatingly bad.

I was gobsmacked to see that after each segment of the show, we'd be shown a promo for the next section and it would inevitably contain the funniest moment to come. Seeing that scene, albeit out of context, ensured that there would be little to no pleasure in seeing it in context and why would you want to spoil the most amusing bits in advance?

Is this sort of mindlessness how we wound up with a "super-callous-fragile-racist-sexist-not-my-POTUS" in the first place? Who can watch this stuff on a regular basis and not want to poke their eyes out?

Don't answer that. I'm not judging, I'm just incredulous.

In other news, a website called Room 5 has decreed that, "Richmond has emerged as the gay capital of the South," and I couldn't be prouder.

I was one of several bar sitters tonight who had to admit (for me, the second time in a week) that I've never once in three decades in this town been to Godfrey's drag brunch. Oh, I've seen the queens taking a smoke break on Grace Street while the music pumps inside and you can hear the women's hoots and hollers bouncing off the duct work, but I've never been among the hooters.

Our server explained that you always wind up spending too much money and you go in late morning and emerge as the day slides into evening, but that it's all totally worth it. Judging by the lines of eager customers I've seen, I'm inclined to believe her.

Believing that there's any justifiable reason to spend another minute of my life watching TV, however? Not so much.

Good luck in the next round, Puddles, but you'll have to win without me watching.

I've sacrificed all the brain cells I can spare without getting any pleasure in return. Frankly, I have better things to do in the gay capital of the South.