As we filled up our plates and were about to sit down to dinner my honey looked at me from under sheepish eyebrows and said “I’m going to eat dinner in front of the movie, ok?” Which is fine because I’ve been known to make the same call for a riveting episode of C.S.I–who am I to judge? What amuses me is that he skipped family dinner for this:
That’s right. One of the cheesiest, bad 80’s hairdos, synthesized soundtracks, deadpan awful acting movies found on satellite television today. He eats this stuff up—the worse the dialog the better: anything Steven Segall, Blade, Vin Diesel, Van Damme, Transformers, you name it. This—THIS—is what he has decided to adore about American culture. Luckily, he also loves other things like sushi and The Office (and Ok maybe I’ll admit to a guilty love of Transformers as well), so I’ll keep him.
It all makes me wonder: in six years what will be the trashy part of Brazilian culture that I’ll gobble like Cookie Monster loves ginger snaps? And when I do, will I even realize what I’m doing?
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