Reality TV Musings

I guess I've abandoned that idea I had to review all 10 of the Oscar movies. I think the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad Oscar telecast kinda took the wind out of my sails on that idea. I'm sorry I have to punish you, pretty good and creative movies, for the sins of your celebratory dinner's hosts (well, host...I'm still willing to give Hathaway a half a pass), but that's the way my ADD-like approach to pop culture crumbles. You're yesterday's news.

So lately, I've been really into Intervention thanks to its preponderance on my Netflix streaming. And it's become a bit of a problem. I seem to gravitate toward the heroin addict ones, and a lot of them talk about "chasing the dragon", like they're continuing to search for that hit that's gonna be as good as the one in their memory. I find myself doing that lately with the episodes themselves. I'll search and search the episode descriptions for the ones that are gonna give me the greatest hit for my money.

I am also one of those dumbasses that watches the Bachelor with alarming regularity. Hey, I didn't say I was proud of it, but to me, there is nothing like watching a weird, creepy, half-fake, full-dysfunctional pseudo-relationship play out before your eyes for like 24 hours worth of filmed entertainment, and then watching the sad aftermath of said fake relationship play out on TV and the internet to appease my nosy-parker instincts quite like that show. Because in one way, it seems like, well of course none of these relationships work out, they're conducted by people on TV, for TV, in a creepy, misogynistic, simultaneously antiquated and fraught-with-the-modern-perils-of-a-life-lived-without-shame-or-boundaries type of way, so of course it wouldn't ever work for real. But then there's another part of me that thinks, if these two famewhores and exercise addicts can't make it work out, what with their apparent shared zeal for both famewhoring and exercise, what chance do any of us crazy kids have in this world? I'm bumming that Chantal won't be the next Bachelorette, though. I'd have liked to see what that big-chested crazy wonder would have brought to the table, much more so than I give a shit what girl-dentist Ashley does in the romance department. Because certainly, dentist-Ashley deserves love, and I'm sure can find it someday, but really, what are the chances it's going to happen this way? There's only so many really dim, really sweet firefighters like Ryan to go around, girl-next-door types. Didn't we already see that? I'd like to see what a rich, chesty, divorcee prone to drunkeness and emotional manipulation would have done with the title. And what the men's response would have been.

I still watch the "skill-based" reality shows too; right now it's Top Chef season, which is my favorite one of all. Cuz it combines a competition with food porn. I just like to imagine what all of their crazy creations would taste like. But my two beefs with this all-star season are...really, it's Mike I., Richard, and Antonia in it to win it, still? I gots no beef with Richard Blais, clearly it's his mission in life, it's going to kill him to not win it, and he is crazy talented. Yes, he's cocky, but it's combined with a crippling lack of confidence, and that's a combination I can get behind, neurosis-wise. It makes no sense, but then, I'm sure it makes no sense in Richard's disturbed mind either, so I call us even. Antonia seems cool....to smoke weed with, but to be my Top Chef? I'm not sure she's ready for the responsibility, you guys. And Mike Isabella, oh Christ, I don't know what to think. Just a dude. Who can occasionally cook really tasty food. And seems like a woman-hater. But like, not as noxious of a woman-hater as some. And seems kind of douchy. But in a way I could maybe stand, as long as he was bringing it with the platefuls of gnocchi with a pork bolognese. Like, his jokes might be funny if they were coming from the dude that just served me a plate of that stuff that he made. So, you know, I hope he doesn't win, but I don't hate him. There's my ringing endorsement of Mike Isabella.

Maybe I can throw some love, last but not least, on The Amazing Race. Flight Time and Big Easy are princes among men, and I won't hear a bad word against them. OK, not really, but they've sure mastered the art of the finely-timed bon-mot, and the legitimate good-friends-ness that permeates through them make them a pleasure to watch on the TV's. And sure, they're more used to it than some, but good-on-em for realizing that people will root for you more if you appear funny and nice than if you appear dickish, weird, frail, or creepy, which seems to be what a lot of the all-stars are going for. I mean, really, Christina's dad (is it Ron?), are you going to subject us to your emotionally abusive behavior towards your daughter a second season? And what in holy hell was up with the Goths this last leg? Was the pressure of pretending to be in a heterosexual relationship when there's clearly more to that story getting to the both of them? God love em, they seem like nice people, but pressure-cooker situations do not seem to be their strength. Perhaps this is owing to the creepiness of the one guy eschewing his natural sexual tendencies for the more socially acceptable relationship, except not really because who really thinks a goth girl with pink hair pretending to have sex with a goth guy with matching drawn-on eyebrows is more socially acceptable than the gay dude just boning another dude and the lady goth being free to have sex with either a more masculine goth or a lady-friend of her own choosing? Do not get. Do not want.

I don't know if I can touch Idol with a ten-foot-pole this week. This is the show, more than any other of my dumbass obsessions, that I try to drag more sane friends into. Just watch it this week with me, I urge, with all the verve and charm of your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. It doesn't make you dirty, I say, it makes you more like me. I like to judge performance. Man, do I like to tell you, my imaginary friend or blog reader, about why or why not someone's talents live up to my exacting standards. And I do. I like watching that show. I thought Simon Cowell leaving was the deal-breaker for me, because I did enjoy that asshole's eviscerations of performances that I felt were also not up to my quality standards. But lately, I've felt like, what's the goddamn point, really? Some kids are gonna suck, some are gonna suck less than you thought, but I'm still gonna keep watching anyway for that elusive magic-in-a-bottle moment that makes you think that some talent that really wouldn't have gotten the light of day otherwise is going to be showcased on this goofy little show. So, I'm protective of the show, that can so easily and so usually spin off into goofball entertainment. Because of this, it makes me sad to say that none of the current crop are roping me in enough with their performances on a week-to-week basis that I can really champion them. So, I'm not going to be able to point to one performer and say, "That's why I watch this show. Because sometimes, you'll see something like that, " with a straight face this year, because even my favorites are inconsistent. But I am digging the fact that I've finally pieced together that Stefano is Tony Danza and Matt LeBlanc's love child, and Scotty is Alfred E. Neuman and George W. Bush's.

That's all I've got, folks. Don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses. They work hard so that you don't have to.