We Real Cool

This will officially be my last post regarding reality TV. Why? Because even the criticism of the genre has grown mold and gone bad.

Case in point, the New Yorker publishes this story. Gee, thanks, Nancy Franklin for your totally original opinion on the evils of faux-reality TV. No one has ever chastised MTV for making their "realities" so unreal. Never.

Let's face it, as the era of the reality show forges on, the ability to look cool for criticizing has officially escaped us. At this point, our bitching and whining just makes us sound like the unpopular girl who spreads rumors about the cheerleaders.

After fifteen seasons of Survivor, two Laguna Beach spin-offs, Bravo's promotion of spoiled housewives, a new-found verve for prime-time game shows and an entire series following Snoop Dogg around, we have to admit the genre shown its fangs and firmly implanted them into the flesh of the American public.

Even the most defiant have fallen victim to the nocturnal yearnings ... er ... the shows. I'd venture to say that numerous intelligent individuals enjoy a relaxing night watching mindless light shows (The Hills), entertaining freak shows (American Idol), or contrived competitions that just try a little too hard (Survivor, Big Brother). Hell, I've admitted in the past to being a fan of America's Next Top Model and other "unscripted" series.

In the grand scheme of things, it ain't so bad. Maybe its time to live and let live, in a manner of speaking. I won't give up my insistence that reality TV is simply celebutizing the untalented or, in some cases, handing success to those who never earned it (as is the case with Project Runway and Top Chef). But it's become quit evident that kicking and screaming does nothing to quell the hullabaloo around other people's filmed existence.

Besides, the best way to quiet an attention-needy child is to ignor them (a method I've employed in real-life situations). Perhaps we should give that a whirl.

Question

Has Carmen Electra ever turned down a script?

Music Is My Boyfriend

Since watching TV ads is the meat of my everyday job, I know as good as anyone that those damn jingles are oh so catchy. But more and more, brands exploit talented new artists to sell their shit. Then those bands/singers get their songs played on the radio and “hit it big”. Can you imagine if back in the day the McDonald’s menu song got played on the radio? Gross!

Whether you think the commercial whores are sell outs or not, there’s something to be said about their determination. Yes, for them it’s about more than the music but why shouldn’t they make a little money off their talent. Isn’t that what we all strive to do? Make money doing what we truly love? Or maybe that's just the capitalist ideal and I'm confused.

I defend these guys because I honestly admit that I was not a fan of Feist or Rogue Wave until I heard their songs on TV. (And I don’t mean the iPod ad featuring Feist; they were in some ad way before that and I atleast knew about them before they joined the Mac family; And I kind of think Justin Long isn’t bad company for the likes of them; they all appeal to that hipster persuasion). Both of these bands provide some amazing tunes and I feel completely justified listening to them even if I did discover them while watching “America’s Next Top Model”.

My defense also brews from possible admiration for their accomplishment. I’m proud of these guys for acheiving what I have yet to manage: success. If someone had me sign a contract that said I had to write 5 McDonald’s ads and then promised me a contract to write a script about anything a wanted, I’d sign that shit. It might not be the ideal road but if it works, it works. Call me a capitalist pig but all my other attempts have failed and I’m empty handed looking only to do the things that I love. I only need someone to give me a chance.

Of course, the commercial writing example is completely hypothetical since writers don’t write commercials; copywriters at giant ad agencies write commercials. That’s not an entity capable of offering Hollywood deals. So, in reality, if someone tried to sell me the five-commercial deal, I’d be a bit weary to pull out my pen.

A far more likely scenario might involve big Hollywood studios asking a talented writer to sign a contract to write some throw-away romantic comedy in return for producing the script that they already wrote (something else on my to-do list) and spent countless years completing (and only after the romantic comedy is produced).

However this type of selling out is difficult to acheive, as well. As noted before, said writer must spend years slaving over a script which he/she must then spend atleast another year making it flawless. Once finished, he/she puts it in the hands of a studio: not an easy task, mind you: the writer must know someone or be so persistent that he/she manages to alienate all his/her friends and family and abandon any hope of a romantic relationship. Even when the script is in the hands of a studio bigwig, there’s no guarantee that they’ll read it or like it; the chances of sell out dwindle but there is still the chance.

I feel as a group, writers don’t dream of selling out. We don’t imagine that throw-away movie we’ll write. We don’t consider who might be cast (even if, chances are, Matthew McConaughey will be the lead male). We simply dream of making that movie bouncing around in our head. But, hey, some of us also are open to that slim possibility of making a little money while doing what we truly love. Call us capitalist pigs.

And as the above scenario continues to ellude me almost as much as the ideal situation of writing an incredible piece of work which wows everyone and immediately gets produced and even wins an Oscar against all odds, I learn to resign myself to just admiring those who got the opportunity to sell out and then “hit it big”. You go, Rogue Wave (which, by the way, has composed a song called “Lake Michigan” seemingly about global warming; but it’s catchy enough to sell Microsoft’s Zune on TV in a very happy commercial where some girl dances with giant pink bunnies)!

An Old Article from My Early 20's

Ah youth. I wrote this item years ago when I still thought it was easy to get a column (ala Sex & The City).

"The smell of cheap cologne poured over the tiny table as my date lurched toward me. He feigned interest in me for a split second after monopolizing our meal with his interests and opinions including the confession that his main goal in life was the ultimate vanity: modeling. He asked, “What do you really want?” I answered, “To be a super hero.” But he missed my attempt at humor and continued blabbing about how he can’t possibly continue modeling because of the economy. I realized that he thinks he is a super hero.
"After a relieving end to my date, I decided to look into the delusions of grandeur abounding in dating twenty-somethings. My date was certainly not Super Man but he’d like to be and after a date with him, I’d rather make-out with The Joker. But, as twenty-somethings, men and women with super powers have been our idols throughout life and that is our aim. The economy sags like a sick joke as we seek jobs but jobs, let alone dream jobs are few and far between. What else do we have to think about but super-power fantasies and dating.
"Tammy Gillette, a twenty-four-year-old teacher told me she’d love to be a super hero with some super power that she could use to change the world; “at least my world,” she explained. Giovanni Vargas, a twenty-three-year-old student admitted to wanting some super powers because it would give him control. He said, “[I could] make a change that I want.”
"Tammy also confessed to using dates as a way to get her mind off work. “Dating equals fun,” she said. On the other hand, the idea of dating a super hero turns her off. Most disliked the idea of dating a super hero. Kristie Smeltzer, a twenty-five-year-old graduate student found super heroes appealing but conceded that a super hero has larger responsibilities than a relationship and “I would have guilt for asking him to choose.” Matthew Smith, a twenty-four-year-old videographer agrees, “Someone who has that much on their plate couldn’t fill my needs.”
"Another reason twenty-somethings dislike dating a super-human-being is the idea of being powerless in comparison. Giovanni wouldn’t date a super hero. He explained, “I’m the man; I would be immasculated.” The idea of a super strong woman also scares Fabian, a twenty-something guy I met at a party. He said that he wouldn’t be good to someone to whom he felt inferior.
"When we all want to be super heroes but no one wants to be with a super hero, how can we ever get together? Keith Sherwood, a twenty-five-year-old writer explained that the bottom line of his relationship is much baser than super powers. His ideal relationship simply involves sharing, equality, respect and love. But those ideals probably sound simpler than they are to acheive.
"Georgianna Miller, a twenty-three-year-old Doctorate student knows that a relationship is more about compromise: learning when to compromise and when not to. But Georgie hasn’t gained that knowledge as of yet.
"So, basically, when twenty-somethings have the ability to get over themselves and realize that super powers are even less of a possibility than finding the perfect job in our sick economy, we can find something we’re looking for. The problem then is figuring out what we want.
"The twenty-somethings I know tend to want attention. Everyone had one thing in common when addressing the question of dating a super hero: everyone craved more attention than a super hero in one form or another. Some wanted to be stronger than their mate; others wanted the super hero to shift their attention from saving the world to them.
"Super powers aside, almost everyone I talked to had a solid idea of their future career but no one had any clue what qualities their mate might have. Georgianna and Kristie think that we come by that information through heart break. Georgianna adds, “It seems unfortunate that you would have to come by growth in that way.”
"But we’re getting stronger with heart break, too. Maybe it won’t make us super heroes but the heroic twenty-somethings told me that they will still date even after these seeming disasters. Kristie said, “It made me a stronger person.” And Tammy fearlessly attempts blind dates after heart break. She still looks for chemistry and doesn’t mind a free meal here and there.
"And each date we boldly go on helps us narrow down the dating pool. Giovanni has learned that he needs someone who can be supportive. But Matthew knows he wants someone unpredictable, unlike other girls he dated in the past.
"Eventually, we’ll narrow it down to one person, I suppose. If we have disqualified everyone else, perhaps we’ve found our one and only. Or maybe the only one left. That person will be super but probably only to us."

What an idyllic little world the immature live in.

The Levels of Reality TV Entertainment

One of my favorite topics, Reality TV, developed a new wrinkle. New York Magazine identifies the downfall of reality TV: it's not real. I discovered this article a few months ago and kind of forgot about it. As the Writer's Strike burns on, something must be said of our future propects for prime time entertainment as they chew up and spit out their contestants.

Jay McCarroll's split-second design fame no where near matches the experience one gets from clawing their way through the fashion world from intern to success. The designer's name was instantly known around the world but he couldn't get a job if his life depended on it.

Even while Project Runway champions skill (not that Survivor doesn't champion grunt work as a skill and Big Brother, surviving boredom as a skill), it still manages to drain their subjects of all their integrity in the industry, leaving even their most talented, like Austin Scarlett, to turn down bit parts on crappy sitcoms and once again return to the clawing. Scarlett managed to tear himself into a pretty good job, no thanks to his patrons in the reality TV world.

Perhaps such a fate beats that left to those veterans of the early reality show formula. Eric Nies, who made young girls swoon for a short time on the original Real World, enjoyed a quick career with some exercise videos. Now he's set to air in some ill-fated TV series but he hasn't had acting work since 1995 when he played a "Hip MC" in the Brady Bunch Movie. He hasn't even been invited back to the Real World/Road Rules Challenge for a number of years. Certainly, this was not what he'd intended when he signed up to be one of the first reality stars.

Newer victims of the same formula, like Howie Gordon of Big Brother, may be destined for something darker. On his Web site, Howie has posted video of himself doing a commercial for a shoe store in Syracuse. It might remind one of something that cocky guy from high school sent to everyone to prove that his "career" is really taking off. Unfortunately , he fails to mention that he's only in the commercial because he's working at the shoe store.

Of course not every reality show is out to exploit everyday people just looking for a chance at fame. Some of them exploit those who are already kind of famous for a few more moments. The Simple Life gave us some pathetic role models while Hogan Knows Best bores us with the daily activities of a retired wrestler. And we keep watching.

I will note that our attention has granted success to those savvy enough to use it. Rocco DiSpirito of Top Chef fame used his Bravo connections to sell a cook book. And Nick Verreos manipulated his fifteen minutes into a stronger career than he had before. There has to be a couple happy endings, right?

Anyhow, what viewers should really be considering is how much time they are willing to invest in shows so apt at exploiting people just like them. Or maybe a bit more talented. I guess it is rather similar to those ancient lion's dens where Christians were ripped to shreds. This time the lion is TV.

A Wish List

The glossy pages slipped out of its plastic covering, making a crisp, clean sound. Joey's fingers anticipated the feel of the comic book's binding in the tips of his fingers. But he was hardly satisfied by simply touching it. The teenager had to have it. If it wasn't for the nosey cashier rearing his pimply face over the counter, Joey thought, he'd have taken it.

Of course, Joey would do no such thing. His acute conscience would not allow it. The other boys at school would have said that he just didn't have the "balls" but Joey knew better. As he read the adventures of JumboMan, he could feel his own superpowers growing. He was destined to be a good guy. His failure to steal revealed how strong he'd become. One day, his alterego would be complete.

Joey slipped the plastic sleeve back over his prize and replaced it on the shelf as the pimply watched from the counter. As he exited, his feet hovered just over the ground. Of course, to the untrained eye, he only appeared to be walking.

What Ages Me Most

Another birthday approaches. This one wears a ski mask and wields a tire iron over its head. I can see it lurching toward me even though I'm blinded by the headlights shooting into my eyes from behind the dark figure. I've fallen to my knees, spitting out pathetic petitions like blood dripping from the corners of my mouth. But it won't stop coming. It's never been quite so mean to me before. But the mercy has ceased. Death will arrive behind it one day. I pray it will have a long journey before that time.