This Thanksgiving is going to be particularly challenging, right? I’m all for giving thanks for the basics: my family, my job, my health. But in 2024, it can get kind of grim when I think about all the things I’m not thankful for, like Nazis emboldened to openly march through American cities or grown adult elected officials bullying their colleagues over their potential bathroom use.

You know what I am thankful for? Stupid streaming movies about hot snowmen who come to life and teach sad hot widows the meaning of love and himbos. Silly procedurals about hot doctors and hot firefighters who learn lessons about humanity while saving lives and being hot. Hot reality show contestants backstabbing their way to a million dollars while sleeping on the ground and rationing rice during a monsoon. (Are you noticing a pattern?)

I am a journalist so I cannot take a so-called “news blackout.” But between stories of our depressing reality, completely inconsequential media lets me escape to a place where nothing that happens has any impact on my life whatsoever. Leave your brain at the door and enjoy the pretty.

Here are five gloriously meaningless pieces of entertainment I am thankful for. The wars and racism will still be there when I turn the TV off. But not right now.

‘Hot Frosty’ (Netflix)

Did you ever sing “Frosty The Snowman” and think, “But what if the song described the titular mythical winter creature as having ‘six-pack abs with a magic scarf’ instead of eyes made out of coal?” The end result is “Hot Frosty,” which is dumb and pretty and I’m eating it up like fruitcake. In it, a young widow (romance movie vet Lacey Chabert) brings a stupidly chiseled snowman (Dustin Milligan of “Schitt’s Creek”) to life. That’s it. That’s the plot. Somehow he teaches the town about love and acceptance, whatever. TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF, SNOWMAN! I feel dirty saying that, but it’s not my fault you could wash clothing on the dude’s stomach — and isn’t that kind of the point?

The ‘One Chicago’ franchise (NBC)

I’ve been drinking the Dick Wolf procedural Kool-Aid since the early ’90s, so I naturally gravitated to his Illinois-based universe of medical, fire and law enforcement professionals. There’s a real-life benefit to “Chicago Med,” “Chicago Fire” and “Chicago PD” all being filmed on location, providing a thriving industry to that city just like “Homicide: Life On The Street” and “The Wire” did here in Baltimore. But lately, my interest is less civic responsibility and more, “Why are all of these firefighters attractive? Why does every case that the emergency doctors take closely parallel their own personal struggles? Why does no one have a bad hair day ever?” I don’t know the answers and honestly, I don’t care. Trauma wrapped up in an hour? Yes, please.

‘Survivor’ (CBS)

My sister Lynne used to joke that if she ever found herself a castaway on this show, sleeping in a leaky shelter where food is a luxury item, she would convince her tribe mates that they should vote out Lynne. “Aren’t you Lynne?” they would ask. “YES.” Now in its 47th season, some of the rules have changed, but the basics haven’t. People who are not me are battling each other for power, money and mid-looking pizza while host Jeff Probst and his dimples show up every week after obviously having showered and slept in a bed. There’s an odd pleasure in watching the series while eating food with seasonings on my couch. They’re suffering humans, but they signed contracts for their suffering. Let the games begin.

‘Dancing With The Stars’ (ABC)

I have two third-place mirror ball trophies — literal disco balls glued onto a trophy — from local celebrity dancing competitions in South Florida. I am in no danger of being famous enough to be on the real national deal, where everyone from a young Zendaya to former White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer don sparkly costumes to rumba their hearts out. I love the show because it makes something as low-stakes as a famous people in a dance-off seem paramount. Commit to the salsa! Point your feet! Take “Disney Princess Week” seriously! There’s something ironically satisfying about watching pretty rich people nervous that judge Derek Hough dislikes their KISS-themed tango. Real life is ALL stakes. This is just fun. (For me, anyway. Because I am eating and not dancing.)

‘The Great British Baking Show’ (Netflix)

This is the pinnacle of brain-off viewing for me because it’s pure hedonism. Amateur everyday people a world away with charming accents assembling in a tent to create intricate delicacies I can neither replicate nor have ever heard of. That’s part of the escapism for me: hosts Noel Fielding and Alison Hammond solemnly announcing the challenge of making perfect Devonshire splits and treacle puddings. I have no idea what those are, but it sounds impressive and delicious. It’s work I don’t have to do, and judge Paul Hollywood is cute in a slightly scary way. It’s a win-win. The only bad part is that I can’t eat any of it.