Another Day with Rachael Ray

I have landed. Boxes are unpacked, artwork is leaning against the walls (that's where artwork goes right?) and plants are already dying on the windowsills. As I lord over this domestic utopia and begin the search for my next fabulous and fulfilling job, I find myself turning to a familiar face: Rachael Ray. I know. It was difficult to type, imagine the scathing self-talk that accompanies this admission. But it's true, that Rachael Ray, she of "yumm-o" and EVOO fame becomes a strange, steady companion when my life is in transition.

It's not that I love her, I wouldn't be her fan on Facebook or anything (a telling measure considering I'm a fan of a pair of mediocre delis and Orange Crush soda) but the Rachael Ray Show is the only daytime T.V. that I allow myself when I'm between gigs. It's definitely a love-hate (or love-hate's less definitive cousin, meh-ugh) relationship. She grates on me with her voice, her nonsensical made-up words and a tongue flick that I havec recently started to obsess over. Her interviews aren't all that insightful, the makeovers are underwhelming and I don't even like the set.

But there is something about Rachael Ray that draws me in. It's not her recipes. I mean hell, 30 minutes? If I was ever to have time for 47-ingredient, 2-day recipes that incorporate basic algebra, this might be it. So what is it? Is it that anyone wth such a deep affection for cheese and garlic earns some respect? Is it that I can sense her moods? Some days she seems tense and a bit angry, and her laughs with guests or at her own mistakes, seem forced over barely contained eye rolling. I take twisted comfort in that; her inability to disguise her feelings even as she walks out to adoring fans. I have very few adoring fans, and if they exist, they certainly don't congregate and pump me up while I update my resume or set up informational coffees. But on days that I'm just frustrated, antsy, lonely, barely mustering half-hearted smiles at perfectly nice people, or when I end up irrationally crabby at my dogs (they've been known to trifle with me) or my husband, I feel like Rachael Ray might understand. Crazy? I'm sure of it.

Ultimately what I am drawn to is the motivation. Rachael Ray motivates me to want to ignore Rachael Ray. As I watch each day, I am driven to work harder to get to the position where I don't know and don't care what that hour holds. I want to wrest back my 10-11 a.m. timeslot, turn informational coffees into morning meetings and stake my claim to this new city. Until then, I'm watching as Rachael tests breast enhancement products on her audience (oh yes she did) and making some sort of "stoup." I don't like it, but I'm watching.