I’ve been watching afternoon episodes of Being Bobby Brown the last couple of weeks. We assumed it for the last decade, but Bobby and Whitney are officially insane, aren’t they? You don’t act like that on national TV if that’s not who you really are, right? When the cameras turn off, they don’t magically transform into the black Cleavers, do they?
There’s a part of me that feels dirty about watching it, since you’re seeing the basis for years and years of therapy for their kids in each episode. But that is what reality TV is all about, right? Trainwrecks? Seeing other people in completely ridiculous, demeaning situations that are generally the result of their own actions and choices so we feel better about our own lives? But the fact that the Browns/Houstons agreed to share their lives with the world removes some of that reluctance to watch. They want us to know they’re crazy. They’re proud of the fact that they’re nutso. They want us to see them fuck their kids up for life. If nothing else, it’s a good primer on how not to act as a parent and proof that just because you have some money, you’re kids still have even odds of having messed up childhoods. It bums me out, yet I can’t stop watching. The producers have me right where they want me.
Now Playing: <strong>I Like</strong> from the album “Guy” by <a href=”http://www.google.com/search?q=%22Guy%22″>Guy</a>