I'm realistic to the current formulaic stasis of television. Occasionally it'll poop out something great, like the entirely derivative yet still charming show, The Office. Maybe it's my advancing age, but nowadays I get only mildly choleric at the lack of diversity and representation on television. It's not like we're in the 21st century or anything. Oh, wait. Sorry, having an episode of Law and Order featuring Asian triad gangsters facing off against Black drug dealers, while the investigating cops get their coffee from the Hispanic bodega clerk doesn't count--but it does pay the bills of minority actors! What world is it that we live in where Wayne Brady can't even get his own show renewed? He's Wayne Brady, bitch! Does Wayne Brady have to choke a bitch to get a series renewal?! Anyhoo, my roommate was watching an episode of HBO's show Tell Me You Love Me which I happened to catch most of while eating dinner (Yes, Jesse: Ramen, but the good kind with the kimchi flavor). The show's shtick, it's punch line if you will which has been covered ad nauseam in reviews, is the (...big word alert...) punctilious display of its characters' sex lives in graphic detail, well graphic by American mainstream television standards (the Internet has some really fucked up shit, literally, so I've heard from others). Don't be too dismissive: when was the last time you saw a couple geriatrics go at it like rabbits...big, saggy rabbits? Until tonight, my answer would have been "never" (on purpose). However, it is this realism that is suppose to lend the show some measure of verisimilitude and authenticity. Nonetheless, instead of the sex, I walked away from the show thinking "Wow, Tell Me You Love Me makes Friends look like Ken Burns' latest documentary on the racial history of the United States." Maybe it's the one episode I saw, and the other episodes might be more diverse than your company's sensitivity training video, but this HBO show might be the whitest thing on television.