This should not be on television.

Preface: I’ve never really watched American Idol. I mean , I’ll tune in to the first few episodes for the sheer humor of watching unassuming retards belt out popular songs with absolutely no idea of how bad they are. I’ve also occasionally watched the final episode, though the drama between the last two standing is generally lost on me, having missed the season. But for the most part, Idol has been one of few instances where my love of all things pop culture doesn’t prevail (over my love of not spending three hours a week watching other people sing).

But I was swayed by the hype surrounding this year’s major changes, specifically the ousting of Simon and Paula for Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez. I had always liked Simon—how could any self-respecting fan of reality television NOT like Simon—but Paula was boring, and even Simon had in the last few seasons run out of ways to say “you’re awful.” The switcheroo seemed like a good call: today’s kids know both Tyler and Lopez (let’s be honest, Paula Abdul was lost on anyone under 25) and the change paved the way for Randy to let loose with his inner hater, which for the most part he has.

But now the dust has settled and we’re on the Top 24 (which, what the shit kind of number is that?) and Idol is asking me to spend not one, not two, but FIVE hours of my time watching this week (I’ll generously round down to 3.5 when commercials are excluded). Based on the four hours I’ve already watched, I just can’t see why. Maybe it was always this weak in the beginning; maybe all the hopefuls need Week 1 to find their sea legs and wrap their minds around performing to an audience of hundreds (to say nothing of the 20+ million television viewers) instead of singing at karaoke bars, or into hairbrushes in their bedrooms. But based on the 24 performances I’ve seen, this season is incredibly weak sauce. Here’s why.

1. What’s up with all the pop music? Considering my newness to the Idol franchise, I can’t stack this season up against those of the past, but it seems like a disproportionate number of contestants chose songs from the last 12 months. In the interest of appealing to an audience primarily composed of screeching 13-year-olds, this isn’t the worst move, until you really think about the musicality of today’s Top 40. For the most part, these songs don’t require a lot of singing, or worse, don’t sound much like music when performed acoustically. Production, HEAVY production, is de rigueur at this point, and in its absence, one realizes how truly simplistic (and borderline terrible) some of today’s songs are.

2. Variety is the spice of life, not Idol. It’s become painfully obvious that the producers this year are vying for a range of talents and “types”–there are at least a handful of contestants whose Top 24 presence is baffling to me outside of the fact that they have a unique style. More than once last night, the judges babbled about the need to bring “new” genres to the marketplace. And even though I personally enjoy some of the stylistic wildcards—Luther Vandross-esque Jacob Lusk and completely awesome Casey Abrams in particular—it kind of bothers me that the judges have taken it upon themselves to decide what America needs musically. After all, the styles they’re talking about aren’t NEW, they’re simply old styles that today’s young people may not be aware of. I’m sure there’s merit in introducing old-school R&B, or classic country music, or even Judas Priest, to the masses, but let’s not pretend that American Idol hasn’t always been about finding the next great pop star. One can’t help but wonder if the emphasis on variety came at the expense of actual quality singing.

3. It’s called judging for a reason. Despite the fact that Simon was running out of steam, the man clearly knew how to deliver an insult, and didn’t hesitate to do it. By contrast, the last two days of performances have yielded at worst tepid applause from the judges, with the exception of Randy, who occasionally attempted to tell a contestant how truly off the mark they were. I get that Jennifer is the nice one, and have learned that Steven tends to follow the others’ lead, but this is still a competition right? I don’t care if they’re nervous, or that it’s their first major performance. If they want to actually be the next American Idol, at this point next year they’ll be selling out Madison Square Garden. So get the fuck used to it, guys. So many of the performances this week were hilariously muddied by singers’ flubbing notes, missing cues, making bizarre attempts to dance or “perform” on the giant stage, and so on. Yet few of these (to me at least) glaringly obvious missteps were called out by the judges. In fact, as soon as they told contestant Brett Loewenstern (pictured above), a veritable oompa loompa of a person, that he had done a good job, I pretty much stopped listening to the judging trifecta altogether. I don’t care if they’re 15 years old Jennifer, you ARE in the business of crushing dreams: 124,999 dreams. Only 1 person gets to win.

Long story short, Idol needs to get it together. Two hours is a long fucking time to watch people struggle through cover songs, particularly if those covers more often than not sound like glorified karaoke.  I’ve put in the hours so far, and I’d like to finish the season, but only if there’s less coddling, more skull-cracking.

Figuratively.

Jesus I'm getting old.

For whatever reason, despite being well outside MTV’s target age demographic, I was really looking forward to Skins. After all, the network knocked it out of the park with Jersey Shore, and I’ve never really given up on stalwarts like The Real World. Let’s just say while everyone was moaning about MTV replacing music videos with scripted shows and reality fare, I was among the few (many?) cheering my support. Besides, what are MTV shows if not extended advertisements for new indie songs you can find (shocker) on MTV-supported Rhapsody.

So it took me a full ten minutes last night to admit something I had hoped wouldn’t be true—Skins is really bad. Having anticipated something like a fresher Gossip Girl, or a My So Called Life 2.0, instead Skins only lived up to the one show everyone has been comparing it to since MTV’s ad barrage started: Undressed.

Which isn’t to say the writing is the only problem. In truth, it’s hard for me to judge the writing, as it’s been the better part of a decade since I kept up with what the kids are saying. Part of me wants to believe some of the language—”I get to park my Chevy in Michelle’s garage?”—was tongue-in-cheek, but as the hour dragged on I started to wonder. Is this all some Juno-esque language parody? Do teenagers really speak this way? Or is this a sad television approximation of Tom Wolfe’s attempt to sound young in I am Charlotte Simmons?

But even putting the writing aside—which is a big concession—Skins is still lacking. I should clarify that I watched the British version, or at least the first two seasons of it, so for now it’s a fairly apples-to-apples comparison. Where the British version seemed dreary and nuanced, the American one is flashy and shallow. Where the British cast seemed like a group of misguided teens revolving around a mildly sociopathic but somehow endearing Tony, the American group is a roving band of depthless idiots, following around a Tony who you just want to shake while yelling “You’re not even tall!” The British parents are flawed but believable; the American parents complete and utter cartoons.  (MTV didn’t help itself by opening with a wife beater-clad father berating his son for spending too much time taking a shit.)

In fairness, it’s been but one episode and if the British version is any indication, an early-season emphasis on sex and drugs eventually gives way to deeper issues—divorce, abandonment, death, etc. In a way, this gives me hope for the MTV iteration, but it also makes me nervous: Tackling major issues from a platform of pill-popping and teenage sex is already difficult; doing so when your characters come across as irredeemable douchebags is a challenge unto itself.

Then again, maybe I’m giving MTV too much credit. Maybe Skins is just supposed to be awful. After all, this is a network that packs the same dozen 20-somethings in houses all over the world to watch them fight and fuck; that amplified the lives of a few white trash teen moms to the point of assault and arrests; that has made bank in the last year selling the idea that watching drunk guidos argue is actually entertaining (which it is.) Maybe Skins is just trash for younger set, and was never intended as a well-written and subtly insightful commentary on teenage values. In which case, kudos MTV, you’ve knocked it out of the park again.

Well, not quite. As always, it’s hit or miss. For every well-written adaptation of a weekly news topic, there’s some awkward and half-formed skit that you can just tell seemed funny at 2 a.m. on a Thursday, after 12 hours of work and eight cups of coffee each. Also, I fucking hate Gilly. I HATE HER. Learn to edit yourselves, SNL writers.

So here’s my suggestion: Every week, the group should prepare a 90-minute show, as SNL currently is, and then on Thursday or Friday, knock it back to an hour. Seriously, one hour. One musical performance (i.e. one song) and fewer skits. In 2010, unless it’s a movie, there are very few shows I’m willing to devote more than an hour to (i.e. none). Project Runway, a longtime favorite, is also currently suffering from the delusion that I want to watch 90 minutes each week, and so I’ve found myself fast-forwarding through entire conversations (as well as all weighty pauses before and during elimination rounds) to cut it back down to 60.

Listen TV, you’re surviving, and I’m happy for you. The Internet hasn’t killed you off yet. But our attention spans are getting shorter, or at least mine is. Learn to cull the self-indulgent and keep it snappy.

So here be my curated favorites from SNL this week (So I’m partial to fake commercials. Deal with it).

"Who's got two thumbs and no self-esteem? This guy."

Dear Situation,

You don’t know me, but I know you. I mean, not personally, God no, but from television, like everyone else. I’ve been watching your journey along with the rest of the MTV generation and now that your second tour of duty has come to a close, I just wanted to share a few thoughts with you, stuff I’ve been keeping inside, stuff I think you should know.

To start, I should say—I know it must have been weird growing up with that face. Not, I want to clarify, that I’m saying you’re ugly. I’ve definitely seen worse. But let’s not lie to ourselves here—you could have a 24-pack and walk around shirtless every day and I’d still notice the face. It’s weird, sort of like Droopy Dog would look if he was 20 (dog) years younger and, you know, human.

So I have to imagine that growing up, pre-abs and pre-fame, the face was a point of contention for you. In my mind’s eye, you weren’t a bad kid. In fact, you were probably pretty nice. Probably the kind of boy that until about middle school—when we all become aware of things like brand-name clothing and the opposite sex—spent a lot of time with his parents, playing board games. But we all grow up, we all fell victim to the predatory advertising campaigns of JNCO jeans and Adidas jackets. We all had our Sandy-from-Grease moment, when we realized the good was the enemy of the popular, and board games are for losers.

The Situation I see on Jersey Shore is, I have to imagine, worlds away from that person you used to be. He’s worlds away from the person you were just a few years ago, when you and a handful of strangers traipsed into a mediocre house in Seaside Heights, totally unaware that in a few months’ time you’d be famous beyond belief. Sure, you had already made up a stupid nickname for yourself and fed MTV b-roll of you flashing your abs at hapless women in bars. But you were still an innocent, still just a dopey young adult from Jersey with goals about as lofty as getting laid, once.

It’s only in the last few weeks of Jersey Shore’s second season that I see how far you’ve fallen. Berating girls who won’t sleep with you, antagonizing your roommates, proudly attempting to steal your friends’ love interests, starting blatantly unnecessary arguments, straight-up lying. Your latest appearances on television show a situation/Situation spinning out of control; I see someone who’s so obsessed with maintaining his fame and reputation that he forgot why he became famous in the first place.

And this is an important distinction, Sitch. Yes, we all laughed at your nickname; yes, we appreciate your pandering to MTV’s need for sound bites. And yes, we always liked, in some sad voyeuristic way, watching you attempt to get girls, which grew admittedly easier once you all moved to Miami and were able to capitalize on your fame. But in truth, the reason we always liked you, or at least the reason I did, was because it never 100% seemed like a television show to you. If it was just a television show, you wouldn’t need to cook dinner for everyone. You wouldn’t need to smooth over arguments that, if anything, MTV would have probably preferred get even more out of hand. Despite all of your faux machismo, it was always painfully obvious to viewers that you kind of really did care.

Which is why it’s been so hard to watch you this season. You see, you’re famous for being a guido, and an asshole, but you’re liked for being you, a guy who cares about his friends, and cares what people think of him. Because let’s be honest: You do care. You care so much it’s almost painful to watch.

The difference is, you won’t always be famous. It may seem like it now, with the cash and the offers rolling in. But it won’t last; in fact, it’ll probably be over before you know it. And when that day comes, you’ll wish you had focused more on being liked, or at the very least on not being hated. You’ll wonder whether it was in your best interest to boot a girl from your house at 5 a.m., or start a fight over a rumor you made up, or shout obscenities at people you consider your friends. You’ll see that in the narrative arc of your reality-TV life, you went from douchebag with a heart of gold, to just douchebag.

And the thing is, when all the fame disappears and you’re left with the remnants of your brief wealth and a dwindling series of offers from ever-lamer “Where are they now” reality-TV documentaries, you’ll still have that face. And you’ll wish you had listened to me.

Love,
Kira

Calling American’s perception of high fructose corn syrup ‘confusion’ is sort of like saying people who still smoke cigarettes are enlightened. There’s not much to be confused about: If you’ve read any sort of Michael Pollan-esque book, or watched Food Inc.—for the record, I’ve done neither because I choose to live in artfully imposed food ignorance—you’re painfully aware that corn is in everything, and not in a good way.

But hey, who are we to question the powers of advertising. In fact, a number of not-so-great products could probably benefit from a corn sugar-esque overhaul. Here’s a list of RA’s best rebranding ideas.

• Cigarettes  Sugar-Free Candy Cigarettes
• Donuts Miniature Cake (”Minus a ‘Hole’ Lotta Calories!”)
• Vodka Tonic Mix
• Beer Apple Juice For Men
• Caffeine pills  Stain-Free Coffee Alternative
• Bacon All Natural Beef Jerky
• Heroin Rapid-Release Sleep Aid
• Tanning oil  Jersey Shore Home Styling Kit
• Potato chips Healthy Choice French Fry Flakes
• Aerosol X-Treme Spritz

I can’t believe it was only six months ago that I wrote my first post on RA about Jersey Shore, when the show was just a few episodes in and the media/pop culture firestorm surrounding it hadn’t yet reached its peak. Oh, how things have changed.

The first episode of the much-anticipated second season premiered on MTV last night, and unless you live under a rock (or are older than 35) you know that the network’s eagerness to get the now-famous cast back on air led them to shoot Season 2 in Miami when it was still snowing buckets on the East Coast.

So far, the geographic change seems at worst harmless, and at best necessary. Since JS Season 1 only ended a few months ago, it would be exceedingly hard to revive the novelty of the show’s first weeks in the same house and at the same bars. Indeed, it’s not such a bad idea to test the legs of the cast—can they be as interesting, or perhaps more interesting, when removed from the very scene that gave the show its name? Answer: yes.

Watching The Situation, Pauly D, Vinny, Ronnie, Sammi, Snooki and JWoww (more on Angelina later) reunite was like meeting up with old friends again, and even though we know many of the cast members have spent the last four months within arms’ length of one-another, it still felt like they were all excited to be re-living the very experience that got them here in the first place. Sort of like how the three months you spend planning the prom (what, you guys didn’t have overanxious female friends in high school?) didn’t manage to undermine the greatness of seeing your peers in evening wear. (Well, that, and the drinking; everyone’s looking forward to the drinking.)

So far, MTV has approached JS2 with a balance reminiscent of its Real World/Road Rules Challenges – playing up the drama laid out in Season 1 (and over the last few months), but still promising the kind of off-the-cuff hilarity that made JS popular in the first place. To be honest, MTV doesn’t have to do much—the “give them a bed, a bar and a beverage” production model, which has floundered on Real World in the last few seasons, is perfectly suited to Jersey Shore’s characters, who are at their best when simply permitted to speak freely to each other, or to strangers, or really at all (see: every mainstream media interview Snooki has ever done). Extensive trailers for this season, shown repeatedly over the last few months, reassure me that JS will be just as good this time around as before; there promise to be fights, hookups and one-liners galore. All in all, I’m pumped, (no pun intended).

That said, watching JS now, after the media explosion, makes for an interesting anthropological study in the trajectory of reality TV stars. After all, part of what made the cast endearing in Season 1 was how their overwhelming vanity clashed with their relative obscurity. This is an entire culture (I refer here to guidos and –ettes) centered on looking and feeling fresh, getting women, fist-pumping and making a general spectacle of yourself. The show’s cast is just a microcosm of something going on in midtown literally every night of the week, and in that sense it was novel simply to peer into the lifestyle at all, whether we were watching its most hilarious ambassadors (Mike, Snooki) or least vociferous adherents (Vinny).

All of that is different these days. We know how famous the group is now and, more importantly, they know. The cast has gone on countless television shows, been the subject of at-length media coverage and even showed up in Manhattan this week to ring the bell at the stock exchange. To ring. The bell. At the stock exchange. In other words, their universe has flipped upside down.

To this end, MTV has an interesting approach, one I’m not yet decided on. On the one hand, there were times last night I wished they’d just up and acknowledge how things have changed. Like why is the group staying in relatively cramped digs in Miami, when Real World cast members, whose show has, let’s face it, become about a third as popular as JS (if that) are still shacked up in pimped-out mansions? Why did the network spend the first 15 minutes pretending the JS crew had randomly decided to take a trip to Miami together? Why didn’t they know Angelina was coming (when we certainly did)? Why the fuck did anyone actually carpool? (To this end, for all the press attention that the cast members’ $30,000/episode paychecks have gotten, they’re not exactly living it up). The overwhelming attempt to play off their fame is particularly noticeable when the group goes out—gone are the shots of an empty bar shore-side, where JWoww nurses a drink and Snooki dances by herself. More than once I got the distinct impression the group was being photographed, and the boys’ unadulterated confidence in their ability to get hot girls (Vinny ponders bedding 60 women in the 60 days of filming) suggests they are reaping the benefits of pop culture fandom.

On the other hand, Jersey Shore wouldn’t be the same if everyone  started talking about their newfound celebrity. Not to mention, most of the cast members still live in their home states—as of yet, no one has moved to LA to pursue an acting career—and those who lived with mom and dad apparently still do. Their clothes are just as tight, tans just as fake. Unlike The Hills, whose cast members were more or less encouraged by fame to become glossy plastic versions of themselves, the crew of Jersey Shore started out glossy and plastic; changing who they are to suit some Hollywood perception of beauty or class would be anathema to the source of their celebrity.

But just in case you think watching 20-somethings lounge around in deck chairs won’t be as entertaining now that they’re “famous,” there’s plenty of semi-fabricated drama to distract you. Ronnie and Sammi have broken up, though there are already less-than-discreet references to what I imagine will be an eventual reunion. Along the same lines, MTV deftly invited Angelina back this season (perhaps the truest testament to JS‘ unexpected popularity was Angelina’s Season 1 departure, something she has clearly been kicking herself for over the last year). In the first few minutes she pathetically tells the camera that she’ll do anything to ingratiate herself with the cast; by the end of the episode she’s gotten into a screaming match with JWoww and become the second person in one episode to refer to Sammi as a c-word. All in all, very promising.

If you don’t watch JS, you should definitely start now, before it’s too late and you’re like one of those weird people who somehow missed major television bandwagons like Lost and The Wire. And if you do watch Jersey Shore, and you didn’t intend to watch this season already, well, I don’t know you, and I don’t like you.

‘Another thought about Other Voices, Other Rooms. Capote’s 
complex figurative language and religious allusions give the 
narrative a sense of cosmic, or metaphysical significance. For 
instance, near the beginning the landscape is described as 
looking if it were under the sea. Another work of literature 
which has this “metaphysical sense” is Moby Dick.’”

Enough said.

All I want to know is: How did ChickenDiapers.com remained unclaimed until 2002?

[WSJ]

So here’s what I’m watching this summer, and what you should be too, if you know what’s good for you.

Verdict: Watch with a hand on the remote. Some scenes—like Ali being serenaded by anyone, anywhere—are too perfectly awkward to miss. Others, like the ENDLESS rose ceremony, are easy to skip.

Verdict: If you’ve watched the last six seasons, you might as well keep on keeping on. But make sure you have food around; after one particularly tantalizing episode I found myself dipping pretzel rods in butter.

Verdict: If you like Bravo’s other fare, this one is well worth the time. And if you don’t like Bravo’s other fare, why the fuck are you reading my blog?

Verdict: When it comes to the on-camera demonization of 20-somethings who have never had to work or think for themselves, I am decidedly in favor.

It’s pretty obvious the oil spill is a job for a superhero. In fact, it’s exactly the kind of pseudo-natural disaster for which superheroes are uniquely prepared. Can’t get into space on a whim? Call Superman. Need to ascend that skyscraper in 30 seconds flat? Text Spiderman. And if you just need a quick fix of a woman in latex, I’m pretty sure Catwoman hasn’t done much of anything since the early 90s.

So who in our long parade of superheroes and villains is best suited to handle what’s arguably the biggest environmental disaster in our country’s history? Well we at RA thought of some ideas that, frankly, don’t sound all that batshit next to “throw tires in there.” (Note: Aaron thought of most of this. His knowledge of superheroes is unparalleled and, were it not so helpful to this post, I would be mocking him).

Got your own ideas? Let us know. But let’s be honest, they won’t be nearly as awesome.

1. REAL WORLD/JACKASS

Both of these stalwart MTV franchises have been lagging in recent years—on the Real World, MTV vacillates between self-involved intellectual types and balls-to-the-wall party kids, with little gray area. Meanwhile Jackass, once the symbol of our viral video times, has since the beginning of the decade fallen into a murky audience zone. The 20-somethings who followed the show during its heyday are too old to appreciate it anymore, and there’s something inherently creepy about 13-year-olds watching men their father’s age attach things to their balls.

Combo show: Eight strangers picked to live in a house and have their various attempts to injure themselves or one-another taped.

2. SURVIVOR/LOST

The “plot” of Survivor is ungodly easy to follow—drop desperate losers off on an island and let them duke it out; each week, someone is given the boot. Lost, by contrast, has long since stopped making sense for even its most devoted followers. Throwing these two together would make Survivor fans moderately smarter (as Lost is prone to obscure literary and philosophical references), and Lost fans slightly less confused. After all, what is an island full of fame-seeking morons if not some sort of televised purgatory?

Combo show: Send a few dozen idiots to an obscure island with limited supplies and plentiful mysteries. Stage random assaults via wild animals and smoke monsters. Each week, someone gets kicked off (and put on a plane that will subsequently crash).

3. REAL HOUSEWIVES/CELEBRITY APPRENTICE

Anyone who’s seen even one episode in the Real Housewives franchise knows housewife in this case is synonymous with “marrying rich so you can start your own line of face cream/cocktails/jewelry/insert other pointless product here.” But what would happen if you actually put the self-absorbed and mildly insane women of RHNY to work for someone like The Donald? Though Sinbad and Bret Michaels have provided no shortage of hilarity so far on this season of Celebrity Apprentice (to say nothing of perennial politician Rod Blagojevich), the two-hour show is quickly wearing thin (at Episode 2, mind you). Some good old-fashioned cat fights would definitely do the trick.

Combo show: Pit two teams of Real Housewives ladies (personally, I vote for New York vs. New Jersey) against one-another in a series of challenges aimed at “raising money for charity” (by which I mean degrading people who think they’re above menial labor).