99% of what's on television is a complete waste of time.  I wonder if we can agree on that.  It is time which could be better spent on other things.  But watch we do, either out of laziness, a lack of creativity, or because not watching would bring other things into play -- like talking to each other or reading a good book.

Thus the average American spends between four and five hours every day glued to the boob tube.  I'm just as guilty as anybody else.  And the things I watch when my wife can't see me are truly wretched.  No, I haven't ever gone for pay-per-view stuff like porn or prize fights.  But I do Tivo stuff for later viewing.  Tivo is great because it allows me to skip through the commercials with the mute automatically on.

Because I'm not a Catholic, I can't confess these viewing sins to a priest -- so I will confess them to you instead.  At or near the top of dumb things I watch is "The Bachelorette."  Here is a show that is downright perverse in its approach to romance.  It combines the artificial glitter of "Queen For A Day" (Kids: Ask your parents), the emotional turmoil of daytime soap operas, the humiliation of "The Apprentice," and the tackiness of "The Dating Game" with the decadence of Robin Leach's old show "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous."

The premise of the show is simple: A woman chooses a potential husband from a selected pool of eligible single men.  In this case, the lucky woman is Ali Fedotowski, who was herself a candidate for the affections of a single man on "The Bachelor."  She wasn't selected by Jake on that show, but some wizard at ABC programming thought she had the good looks and "girl next door" innocence to star on this variation of one of television's oldest themes.

It's fair to ask where young people can meet each other nowadays.  Go to bars (if you live outside of a dry county) and you'll meet people who drink and go to bars.  In the Bible Belt, it seems that church socials and sanctioned events are a good place to find that "special someone," and given the alternatives such events may be a great place to look.  Joining a club or organization might also provide an opportunity to meet possibly eligible partners.

People don't party in this neck of the woods the way they do in other places I've called home, such as New York or Hollywood.  It was at a party at a producer's house in Los Angeles that I met my lovely wife Phyllis.  I had to go all the way to the west coast to find a sweet girl from McCreary -- but at least I found her.

What is odd about "The Bachelorette" is the idea that somehow it's okay to carry on simultaneous romances with 25 guys while slowly whittling that number down to one man to whom the woman in question -- in this case Ali -- might become engaged.  I don't think I would be attracted to a woman (no matter how "hot") who had 24 other boyfriends.

I've worked in television long enough to know that Ali will get a pile of cash whatever she decides to do with the last guy left standing.  And the eliminated 24 men will have at least had their "15 Minutes of Fame," as the pop artist Andy Warhol once said some of us would enjoy.  What I have concluded is the real appeal of the show is this: viewers enjoy watching Ali's suitors agonize as they watch their competitors having "dates" with Ali. It's like being a Peeping Tom who watches voyeurs as they watch each other and don't like what they see.  That's where the humiliation gets borrowed from "The Apprentice." Every episode ends with Ali handing out red roses to those men who've made the cut and can continue pursuing Ali.

So after each show's "rose ceremony" where does the camera take us?  The answer is we get into the limo with the rejects and watch them squirm for a while at having been found lacking by Ali Fedotowski.  Some cry.  Some clench their jaws in soap opera agony. Others wring their hands and wonder aloud what they did to lose Ali's interest and affection.  What you never hear any of them say is: "Boy, am I glad that dumb broad let me out early!"  But I would bet good money that's what a fair number of them are thinking as they are slowly driven away into rejectland.  Better love next time, fellas!

Another guilty pleasure is "Wipeout!"  This show is a ripoff from a hilariously goofy Japanese show called "Takeshi's Castle."  I highly recommend that those who find "Wipeout!" fun take a look on-line at "Takeshi's Castle."  While similar in structure to "Wipeout!", Takeshi's Castle had a lot going for it that this pale copy lacks.  The dubbed-in narration by the two Japanese hosts was brilliantly written and delivered with enough sarcasm to fill the Grand Canyon.  But enough of that show's magic has been co-opted to make "Wipeout!" fun to watch.

The main thing is enjoying seeing each contestant exuding thumbs-up confidence as they stand poised to try and make it through an impossible maze of challenges.  It all goes back to the old Roadrunner cartoons and the constant dashing of the hopes of one Wile E. Coyote to finally snatch the prize Roadrunner onto his dinner plate.  An added beauty of this show is that it loses nothing by having the audio muted.  Unlike its Japanese predecessor it has no wit or sparkling commentary to go with the visual.

Another guilty pleasure I enjoyed watching with the mute on was "Dancing With The Stars." Like "The Bachelorette," this show was slotted on Monday nights while I am at WHAY radio doing my "Just For Fun" comedy program. While at first what caught my eye was how inept most "celebrities" are on the dance floor, that did finally give way to some genuine admiration for the hard work and rehearsals the contestants put themselves through.

Like the shows mentioned above, "Dancing With The Stars" also had a contestant elimination thing going on.  One clever twist ripped off from "American Idol" (itself a ripoff from an earlier English version) was the viewer call-in or text-in aspect to involve viewers more directly in who got the final prize.  Still, the sight of 80 year old former astronaut Buzz Aldrin dancing clumsily with a gal 50 years younger was a hoot. But as I continued watching every week, I have to admit to a growing admiration for those couples who really could dance.  Even "Baywatch's" Pamela Sue Anderson danced a whole lot better than I ever could.

Those are three of my guilty television pleasures.  How about you?  Anybody out there got the guts to unburden themselves on this page about what they watch that they don't want anybody to know about it.  As Kelsey Grammer used to say in all 263 episodes of "Frasier": "I'm listening..."