Since it’s so hot, I decide make as few decisions as possible, The sofa at 32 degrees humid is a boiling sponge and the prospect of exploring dozens of canals and lean summer grills for just an hour, or resorting to ‘decorating twins twice’, already makes me sweaty . so i hit the surprise me button netflix, The inventions I envision for customers like myself, plagued with interruptions and boredom. After several failed attempts, the television oracle offers me ‘reality’ starring Tamara falco, To be honest, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it. I usually swallow all mystery and cop series, the darker and more decadent, the better, as well as movies recommended by critics, even those too boring. I have seen ‘Borgen’ full twice, The fourth season, ‘Kingdom, Power and Glory,’ I made it down to three days in the middle of the snow with hot flashes. I’ve watched After Life in its entirety twice, and Ricky Gervais shows a nature (the analogy not apt for ministers and their court). i love rick. I’ve enjoyed Peaky Blinders and Black Mirror. I see every Scandinavian noir saga within my reach. Why do they serve me on a platter a platter of Grinon’s Marchionnese and his elite crap? Is it because I watched ‘The Crown’? the algorithm despises me, It must have been with the fact that I consumed the first season of ‘A Place to Dream’ in a typical moment of low blood sugar. Or maybe my taste for Christmas stories (only at Christmas) has kept me in nerds crate, Be that as it may, I’m not going to attack episode six of the television adventure of setting up a short-lived restaurant in a castle of Isabelle Preisler’s affected daughter, the proposal seems insulting to me. I don’t buy the hook that Vargas Llosa appears on the show, there he eats with his family. I’ve never seen ‘reality’ in my life, they don’t suit me: neither OT, nor Big Brother, nor MasterChef, nor The Voice. I know they exist and they elevate people like Tamara to offer such revelations: I would prefer to stay at home and worship Mala instead of going out for drinks, who have a boyfriend and a newly decorated apartment, and others who try a little harder and have great talent. Simply, I prefer fiction than reality TV.
The same stage bombarded me with promotions for its premiere at the beginning of the year Documentary about Georgina Rodriguez, mother, ‘influential’, businessman and partner of Cristiano Ronaldo, not in that order. ‘I am Georgina’ was the name of the program that thoroughly explored the young woman’s biography, liberating her pride as a new rich, the golden age of journalistic inquiry. I haven’t seen it. Perhaps the algorithm heeded my disapproval of our national Kardashian’s polygon reversal and that’s why it tried its luck with Tamara, dick in its antipode. But neither one nor the other. I don’t know who chooses to dissect our contemporaries, and with what criteria, but at this rate the next person to surprise me will be Vijay Federica de Marichalari, I have to do something about it, now I can. Because a few years ago when TV used to be free, only ‘japping’ and anger was the source. Now, my friends, we pay religiously and monthly for content that ranges from a soccer player’s girlfriend describing how he got hooked on the deck of a yacht, to the daughter of a celebrity who Won a cooking contest after losing 20 kilos And since then they call him Maharaj. Paying for that is such a crime that, at some point, I’ll have to make a tough decision. As soon as this summer falls.