My friend Maria has two university degrees: one in communication and one in something that has to do with sport (I DON’T HAVE A FACT CHECKER OK?!). This makes me think that she must know the human body very well and must also be extremely good at communicating stuff about it.
One day she gave me a concerned look and told me, confidently, “you know, our body is not made for running”. I don’t know if that was just an FYI or if she had picked up on the fact that all that sport was ruining my life, dragging me away from all the tv personalities I had come to love and follow, from my social media friends and, to sum it up, from reality. Whatever her motivations were, her words changed me deeply.
Suddenly, the idea of addressing the United Nations about my middle school organizing outdoor endurance running competitions in January didn’t seem so dumb anymore. Suddenly, I had the courage to look back at that time of my life and say “I was a victim.”. Suddenly, screaming “there’s a baby on the rails!” seemed much more justified than running to catch a train about to depart.
The whole universe started to make sense and in this cascade of pieces falling into place I felt stupid for not recognizing all the hints that Mother Nature had given me about the horrible, dangerous practice of running.
First of all, my locker room selfies looked nothing like this one.
Au contraire, my post-treadmill shots always seemed like a desperate call for help. Read More
The only times I hear stories about Wedding is when people swear they found dead bodies in it.
Ok, maybe it was only one body and only one story. But still, it’s not like Wedding ranks incredibly high on the list of Berlin’s most loved neighborhoods and that’s a big, fat shame.
Wedding is like a lo-fi cover version of (the idea people have of) Berlin. It’s subtle and hard to hold on to, like that stray cat you once adopted even though it was ugly and traumatized but you ended up loving him anyways.
Here’s some photos:
One day I got home and my boyfriend looked excited.
I immediately compiled a mental list of possible reasons and realized that the most likely ones wouldn’t really be relevant to me.
“I found an amazing tv show!”, he exclaimed, and my mind flashed back to fifty-seven different conversations proving how our tv tastes can often diverge.
– “What’s it about?”
– “It’s a reality show about a bunch of amateur British bakers who take part in a baking competition! Every week there are baking challenges and one of the contestants gets eliminated!”
I was shocked.
Ages ago I wanted to write a tv series about a group of elders who tour the United States on a bus and take part in Bridge competitions. It would have been a mesmerizing mix of Golden Girls and Friday Night Lights. Then I was reminded by pretty much everyone that old people and card games aren’t on anybody’s radar and that no network – “NOT EVEN HBO” – would ever consider producing that.
So there I was, years later, hearing from the mouth of my very boyfriend that BBC is airing a show about baking stuff and that retired housewives are not the only ones watching it.
But I decided I would give The Great British Bake Off a try. I watched the first couple of episodes from a distract, skeptical distance until it actually grew on me. And then came love. And then came obsession. And then I realized all the alarming ways this show has changed me, possibly forever, and decided to enlist them here.
1) The GBBO made me a bipolar viewer