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(This is the lamest return to blogging ever.)

Last night, I took a stand.  Erin wanted to watch the Golden Globes, that marathon of celebrities celebrating themselves all over us.  I argue that watching award shows supports the concept of celebrity worship and idolatry, much as I argue that buying US Weekly keeps the Kardashians in the mainstream and out of life’s gutter, where they belong.

So, in protest, I took my Xbox downstairs and played three hours of Skyrim instead.  If I’m going to support something, it might as well be Bethesda’s ability to singlehandedly bring down the world’s productivity by 30 to 40%.

You see, Skyrim makes me think.  It makes me problem solve.  It makes me evaluate and experiment and fail and try again.  It works hard to engage me and gives me immediate feedback on my progress (like when it kills my character with a single swipe of a giant’s club).  I am part of the experience.

The Golden Globes, on the other hand, expects me to sit there and watch.

And nothing else.

I am expected to care about the acceptance speeches of pretty people being celebrated for playing make-believe.  I am told that their very expensive dresses – dresses that they will wear on this one night only – matter.  The swelling music is supposed to remind me that this is something more than a popularity contest for people that have been popular all their lives.

Sorry, Ricky Gervais.  Not even you can make me think that such a message is worth endorsing.