Amazing Race

A couple of years ago Mary and I were consumers of that most pernicious product of the airwaves, reality television. Oh, we watched it all: Survivor, Project Runway (well Mary watched that, not me...really), Top Chef, Amazing Race and so on. Nowadays, we pretty much only watch Amazing Race and Top Chef, and to large degree we check out the latter just to see what outlandish getup Padma is wearing. However, since during the last season she started dressing more like an adult than a seven year old with ADD, we may have to reconsider that stance.

In any case and getting to the point eventually, the one reality show we still watch with consistency is Amazing Race. I don't know precisely what it is that amuses us the most. The people who have a failing relationship and think the stress and frustration of a race around the world is going to make their love for each other magically shine again? The badly out of shape and overweight people that think that their superior brain power is going to allow them to magically outrun the twenty year old amateur Ironman contestants? Or my favorites, the ones who enter the contest and somehow, after thirteen seasons of broadcasts, still missed the memo that at some point you'll either have to swim or drive a car with a stick shift, since they make no effort to learn how to do either before starting the contest.

While watching the show we sometimes get ideas for things we'd like to do. For instance, several seasons ago the contestants tried out zorbing while in New Zealand. Mary loved this idea and even scheduled a trip out to a zorbing location, but we were running late and were unable to make it. Strangely enough we had enough time for me to crawl through an underground river in a stinky wetsuit but not enough for the zorbing.

So anyways, a recent episode on Amazing Race had the coolest event. The contestants had to take part in a wrestling match with Bolivian cholitas. This was magnificent for several reasons. It's 'professional' wrestling and I use the term professional loosely as indicated by the quote marks. It's unabashedly fake and hokey. And the wrestlers are woman. Tiny, little women. Who wear long traditional skirts and sneakers. It's amazingly fun. This is something that if I ever have the opportunity to go to Bolivia I desperately want to attend. Whenever the Bolivian government isn't throwing American diplomats out or whatever.

So check it out.