Respect Authority

In addition to all the rappers, producers and celebrities interviewed for 50 Cent’s episode of Behind the Music: his barber. Which is even more interesting considering I don’t think I’ve ever seen 50 Cent’s hair.

"Next stop: Judge Judy."

Balloon Boy is ruining reality television.

Just one week ago the world seemed apathetically at ease with what’s easily become the most popular (or at least most predominant) genre of television. Shows like Big Brother and Survivor, which years ago paved the way for reality TV amid much controversy, now seem tame when pitted against even more low-brow fare like Bad Girls Club and Dance Your Ass Off. The barrier to entry has gotten undeniably lower. Shows used to require elaborate set-ups involving obstacle courses, cash prizes and the eating of bugs; these days all you need is a foul mouth, or fourteen children.

So when six-year-old Falcon Heene duped the nation last week, reportedly at the behest of his fame-seeking crazy person of a father, critics were quick to condemn reality TV for perpetuating these kinds of stunts, and bringing about the worst in human nature. In other words, it’s not entirely Papa Heene’s fault. Can he truly be blamed for tricking the authorities, and the viewing public, into believing his son was trapped in a giant UFO-like helium balloon? Well gee golly, certainly not, considering the effect these sorts of lowest-common-denominator programs have had on the human psyche.

It’s precisely this sort of retarded—that’s a scientific choice of words, retarded—thinking that absolves countless people from responsibility because of ideas “society” has put in their heads. Fame, all fifteen minutes of it, existed long before Donald Trump started hiring apprentices, or Jon and Kate had 900 kids. And people have long aspired to stardom; otherwise the entire entertainment industry would be phenomenally boring. Read More ›

So this is the first time since I moved to NYC that I find myself caring about city politics — the mayor, to be specific. It’s a weird feeling, caring, especially without the pop culture backing of something like a presidential election. I mean, there are a LOT of people in this country, most people, who couldn’t give a shit about the mayor of New York, and I generally like to fall in the range of “most people” on things — except U2, Seinfeld and Jell-O. But some budding adult in me decided to watch the mayoral debate last night. I could say I wanted to educate myself, or at the very least be prepared for next-day water cooler gossip, but the truth is I find political debates wildly riveting when I’m high. In some bizarre reverse-intellectual way, I think it’s because they’re the ultimate reality television. …(Someday when I’m older, I’m going to read that sentence again and be embarrassed).

So after an hour of bad lighting, awkward arguments and lots of political gibberish, I took away one thing:

Bill Thompson: “In conclusion, if you don’t vote for me, I will fucking shoot Mike Bloomberg in the head and bury him at Hudson Yards with a gravestone that says ‘Term Limit Reached, Motherfucker.’” *

*Note: Bill Thompson did not say this.

Sometimes local news promos make me kind of maybe want to watch local news. The fact that I caught this during what appears to be a reptilian grimace on the part of Michelle Trachtenberg, well, that’s just coincidence.

Also, Gossip Girl: Incredibly appropriate time to show this headline.

Politicians and public figures could learn a thing or two from David Letterman.

The Late Show host had a rather interesting monologue last night: Apparently a CBS News employee attempted to blackmail Letterman for $2 million by threatening to expose his sexual dalliance with CBS employees. Letterman, ever-resourceful, met with his extortionist a few times, forked over a faux check, and then proceeded to tell the entire story on air less than 12 hours after the guy was arrested. Genius.

Naturally, the so-called “scandal” made headlines Friday, but let’s look at the facts here: David Letterman is an adult (I’m being kind; senior citizen sounds mean), and despite being a public figure, has no moral obligation bestowed upon him by his job. If anything, one might expect the host of a snark-filled late-night entertainment show to be among the least moral television personalities, even if he is 132 years old. Moreover, Letterman didn’t molest anyone; he didn’t rape staffers or bribe 17-year-old interns. He apparently had consensual sex with more than one woman employed by his network. To which I say kudos Dave; a Viagra commercial is in your future.

Considering how willingly the vast majority of people accept the reality of sex, which is, simply, that adults have it, and often, it continues to baffle me how scandalized the country feels when it’s revealed that an adult in the public eye has given in to carnal pleasures. Politicians are one thing, particularly politicians having affairs, though even in those situations I find it a reach to equate someone’s marital fidelity to their ability to hold office. But entertainers? Musicians? David Duchovny? I mean really, who gives a fuck.

I have to give Letterman credit, not just for bedding what were probably younger women (the alternative is too frightening a visual), but for the way he handled the aftermath. He didn’t run away with his tail between his legs, or let the news surface and then deny until he was blue in the face. Nor did he take the completely justified but ultimately unsatisfying stance that none of it is anyone’s business. He addressed the issue directly, immediately, and with no shortage of humor.  If I ever have consensual sex with a geriatric comedian, I can only hope they handle the situation with similar aplomb.

And people say America’s Funniest Home Videos isn’t funny.

Jenna Elfman sucks at dating. Just when we all thought we were safe from randomly debilitating replays of Dharma & Greg, arguably one of television’s more ridiculous forays into the great wide world of mediocre comedy as a product of unlikely coupling (see Will and Grace, King of Queens and The Nanny), CBS is getting ready to debut tonight Accidentally on Purpose, a new show starring Elfman as a 30-something movie critic who gets pregnant after having a one-night affair with a man named Zack, and subsequently decides to keep both the baby and the new boyfriend around – indefinitely.

If you’re thinking this sounds familiar, you should be. Who can forget how utterly witty and modern it seemed when Elfman as Dharma married Greg after a single date and the two proceeded to plod through what ultimately became a fairly boring marriage, with the exception being their respectively hilarious parents.

According to Wikipedia, Billie (Elfman) and Zack decide to live together platonically, and hijinks ensue as the two come to the obvious conclusion that living platonically with the other half of your life-changing one-night-stand makes thing like dating, friendship, or normal day-to-day existence pretty hard. I’m picturing that season of Will & Grace where Grace decides she wants to have a baby with Will, and we’re all really happy for them and their gay-friendly decision-making until it becomes clear that platonic friend-babies, even hypothetical ones, aren’t as fun when there’s not even the remote possibility of their parents having drunken sex one night after a fight over diaper genies. Moreover, this plotline fizzles out after approximately nine months, at which point all of the hilarity of shared living space takes a backseat to the fact that these two will ostensibly have a real live baby to care for.

So I’m sorry Jenna, but this ship has sailed. Multiple times, and we know it ends up in one of two places: the no-man’s land of boring finales, where even the suggested union of Will and Grace’s respective children wasn’t enough to get the sour taste of our mouths, or the totally predictable island of happily ever after, where Ross and Rachael are probably shacked up right now.

Unfortunately, without the star power of Jennifer Aniston, or the scene-savers that were W&G’s Karen and Jack, Accidentally on Purpose is poised to accidentally suck by making poor and predictable plot choices, on purpose.

More to Love indeed. How a show that’s gotten a tepid response at best managed to command a two-hour season finale is beyond me, but hey, I’m not complaining. Somehow over the past few weeks, MTL has completely reeled me in — something about the mix of poignant fat-girl observations and otherwise predictable reality fare has turned this into a Fox masterpiece. And it helps that our bachelor Luke’s ultimate choice also becomes his fiancee. Not that engagement necessarily means marriage, or even that marriage matters for anything these days, but still - even VH1 stays away from betrothal.

There were two ladies left in the championship round. The first was Melissa A., about whom you should know this: blond, gigantic boobs, pretty, and gained her weight — the prerequisite for being on this show — in the last few years. Her immediate connection (read: sexual attraction) with Luke has made her a front-runner since Day 1, but her lack of fat-girl childhood is actually why she’s been the other girls’ nemesis. In a melodramatic confession last week, Luke told Melissa she is the one he’s most afraid will break his great big steak-filled heart. Truthfully, I think he’s right. Bitch is shady.

The other remaining lady: Tali, a surprisingly normal decorator who slipped completely under the radar until there were so few girls it was impossible not to notice her. Tali, who sometimes looks beautiful and other times like a witch—think the leading lady in My Big Fat Greek Wedding—has one recurring character trait: She’s from Israel. Not like…born Jewish but can’t resist those cheese-filled hot dogs. I mean she moved to the states all of four years ago, and her family–who still live in Israel–is none too welcoming of “outsiders.” (I’m pretty sure a 300-pound white former football player from California falls into that definition).  So she and Luke have a sort of Romeo and Juliet thing going on, which at times seems fairly sincere.

But okay, here’s why I really think this show is so interesting. Of all of the VH1 dating shows I’ve spent multiple hours watching, the word “love” is conspicuously absent about 93% of the time. The women competing for Real, Chance, Bret, or Ray-J may think their man of choice is in fact Mr. Right, but most of them are smart enough to keep it to themselves. Moreover, I don’t think too many of them really believe they’re going to end up with someone who actually makes a living by dating on television — these are, after all, strippers. They’re familiar with life’s harsh realities.

On More to Love, by contrast, the word “love” is used more often than Spanx. Everyone lovessss Luke, everyone lovveesss the way Luke makes them feel, and the last two girls fall hook, line and sinker for the fact that Luke says he is “in love” with both of them, simultaneously. Perhaps this is where the weight issue really comes in—Ladies, you may have stumbled upon a decent–if moronic–guy who happens to like bigger women, but you still stumbled into him on reality TV. Take a look at the other instances of fat people on television (Dance Your Ass Off, Celebrity Fit Club, Half-Ton Dad) and tell me whether you think Fox has your best interests at heart. Read More ›

In the interest of transparency, I’m going to tell you all something. This shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, considering the vast majority of my contributions to Respect Authority are in some way related to, or at the very least allude to, television, but I consider it a potentially damaging confession nonetheless. So here goes: I watch a lot of TV. Like, a lot. Like perhaps 20 different shows at any given point in seasonal programming, to say nothing of stalwart time-passers like Law & Order or Cops.

It’s taken me months, nay, years, to come to grips with what one might call a television addiction, but now that I’ve accepted my habit—in part by pairing it with what some close-minded people might also consider another “addiction” (thank you, delivery herb)—I’m ready to talk about it. Not in the “The first step is admitting you have a problem way;” if it were a problem, God wouldn’t have invented DVR. No, I’m ready to let you all into my world – the world of reality contestants and vegetarian vampires and fat people who just can’t find love. So get ready, because here comes the thunder. That’s right, recaps.

In the interest of preserving some semblance of variety (and dignity) on RA, I have heretofore refrained from sharing my near-nightly analysis of various television programs. After all, this is the stuff of professional reviewers, not hapless bloggers with a sweet-ass bong and lots of free time. But if you haven’t noticed, our creative well hath run dry (hey, everyone goes through droughts, California even has water police) so I’m taking this opportunity to fill my lifelong dream: getting paid to write about TV. Except minus the paid part.

Enjoy. And try not to judge. Read More ›

Every time I start to take YouTube for granted, something comes along that reminds me what an awesome technology we have at our fingertips. Every shitty television show that shouldn’t have even existed in the first place, let alone be saved for all time… every asinine infomercial you’ve gotten lost in at 3:30 in the morning with a drool covered joint hanging loosely from your lips… everything mildly funny or embarrassing to come out of a screen in the past couple decades and then some… all of this immortalized under one tidy domain name.

It is for this, but mostly for this specifically, that I am eternally grateful for YouTube’s very existence:

I mean, I don’t know about you, but until I had stumbled upon this artifact of HBO’s Lifestories: Families in Crisis, many sleepless nights had been spent wondering what exactly Ben Affleck would look like in a full blown ‘roid rage. And the answer is this, but mostly this specifically:

Seriously, though… shit, dude, everybody knows you don’t hide your performance enhancing drugs in the top drawer. Fucking amateurs.

This is a list I found written haphazardly into a “Memo” on my Blackberry. Chances I was high when I wrote it? A million percent.

THINGS REALITY TELEVISION HAS TAUGHT ME WILL NEVER HAPPEN:

1. Diddy will make a successful band.
2. Bret Michaels will find love.
3. Tila Tequila will decide between boys and girls.
4. The Real World will find something socially unacceptable enough to cause 1990’s-level drama in the 21st century.
5. People with more than five children will live happily ever after.
6. Obese people will lose weight without participating in televised weight-loss competitions.
7. Heidi and Spencer will disappear.
8. There will be something that no one is willing to do on TV.

You know that scene in Pineapple Express when James Franco is laughing at old sitcoms whilst high and chewing with his mouth open. That was me, last night, to this.