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You'd think that between the appalling antics of Bret Michaels and Paula Abdul, I'd be too wiped out to consider other offerings of the idiot box. Oh, but you'd be wrong. The electronic babysitter usually has something worth watching. (Unless it's 3 p.m. on a Sunday. That's just a freaking wasteland.) Here's another surprise: not everything I watch is reality TV.
Almost everything. But not quite!
Here's the thing: I've only seen one episode of American Idol. (It was a bad-auditions episode, and frankly, I was hoping for worse.) I mostly know Paula Abdul as a dancer and choreographer who stumbled into a couple hit records in the late 80s and early 90s. I, um, owned Forever Your Girl on cassette. (And I still contend that "Knocked Out" is a great song, even if it owes most of its compelling rhythm to "Rock Steady" by Levert.) So I was curious to see Bravo's reality show based on Paula's life. I've watched all five episodes thus far, and have come to a few conclusions.
For one: that woman is a freaking mess!
(For another: She's kind of an asshole too.)
The second episode can determine so much about the tone of a reality TV season. It's when the themes really start to emerge, when individual personalities begin to assert themselves, when you get a feel for the kind of debasement that will be expected of the contestants.
Or the kind of debasement they'll volunteer for. That kind of thing.
Continue reading "1-2: A skank lodge divided against itself" »
Damn. I thought I knew from skank, having watched every single episode of the Flavor of Love franchise. When watching the Charm School reunion earlier this month, I thought Brooke was not only off-base but kinda racist when she said that white women "put themselves out there" more than African-American women. But now that I've seen the premiere of Rock of Love, you know what?
I think she might have been on to something.
Continue reading "1-1: Don't threaten me with nothing but a good time" »
I'm sorry to make all five of you wait for the recap of the jaw-dropping premiere of Rock of Love. Tragically, the people I work for are apparently quite serious about my helping them to meet the company's goals this week (I know, I know: the nerve!) so I'll be insanely busy for the next couple of days and probably won't be able to get you the recap until Thursday or Friday.
Speaking of extensions, though, I'd like to leave you with this trashtastic image of Bret and a couple of fans (neither of whom was on the show, I don't think). You know what the greatest thing about this picture is? He's wearing a t-shirt from his own tour. Always be closing, my friend. Always be closing.
Image cribbed from the magnificent DListed.
Or is it Oprahtastic? Whichever it is (and maybe it's both), the Charm School reunion is unlike any of the other reunion shows of the whole Flavor of Love gravy train. Of course, there are still some of the constants we've come to expect from the reunions: the transformations, the crowd favorites, the confrontations, the host.
We've got to quit meeting like this, LaLa.
Sorry this has taken so long. I've been sick for the past week, which is practically unheard-of for me. (Intestinal bug + heat exhaustion = bad, bad scene.) I'm feeling fatigued, listless, lightheaded, vaguely nauseated...
Yeah, like that. Exactly like that.
Continue reading "1-10: Slouching toward 54th and Crenshaw" »
I spent our nation's birthday feeling rather crappy (like everything else on Earth, colds are worse in the summer), but I managed to do two American things on the Fourth: I washed my car and I watched Showgirls. That's what this nation's founders fought and died for, right?
"...gave proof through the night/that her boobs were still there."
