Some of you (okay, maybe four of you) might be wondering why I haven't been blogging The L Word this season. Others of you (Ivan!) are probably happy. For those few that are wondering, keep reading—Ivan, move along—I'm going to do a bulleted list after the jump of the most memorable moments thus far.
I don't know about you, but every time I hail a cab, I hope and pray and cross all fingers and toes, that I'll be lucky enough to hail cute Ben Bailey and his disco-lit Cab o' Cash.
See, I'm not much of a game show fan, but I love me some Cash Cab. And yes, like some kind of demented granny, I yell out the answers at my TV. I inevitably screw up the geography and ancient history questions, but I do pretty well with just about every other topic. I've racked up $700 on some imaginary rides. After calculating my illusory winnings, I imagine how I'd spend that money. I have a boyfriend, but I know he wouldn't mind if I took Ben Bailey out for a cocktail or three. I'd definitely put some towards a new computer as this one is on its last legs. Anyway, as you can see, Cash Cab isn't just a show for me. It's more like a life goal.
So imagine my shock, horror and devastation when last night I find out that Cash Cab is actually fake! I don't want to get the breaker of the news in any trouble in case he signed some sort of confidentiality agreement, so I won't mention names, but it turns out this guy was cast as a contestant! And it wasn't even tryouts like Jeopardy! This guy had worked on some other TV show and the casting agents thought he'd be good and so he got the gig. They don't just randomly pick up people on the street. Sigh. Oh, and that wad of cash Ben forks over at the end—nuh uh. You do win, but they send you a check weeks later.
Hours later and I'm still reeling from the news. It's going to take a while to fully process this information. I guess I should've figured that anyone who listed their #1 do-not-miss spot in New York City as "The Comedy Cellar" on MacDougal St. was up to no good.
(Edited for clarity's sake.)
Physically speaking, Anthony Bourdain is totally my type. Tall, skinny, big-nosed and wise-assy. Unfortunately, he's also become extremely annoying and so I somewhat reluctantly put the kibosh on my crush. (I've heard through the grapevine that he's devastated, poor guy.) Lucky for me, just as my ardor for Bourdain was fizzling, my attentions were captured by another fancy chef. Gordon Ramsey.
While not as conventionally good looking as Bourdain—more bulldog than babe—a Kitchen Nightmares marathon on BBC pulled me over to his side. I don't even normally like blondes.
Have you been watching Mad Men on AMC? If you haven't, you should be. It's available on on-demand and not only is it addictive, but if you're a secret design nerd such as myself, you'll spend most of any given episode coveting the furniture.
This show is styled better than anything I've ever seen on TV—well, since Pee Wee's Playhouse, anyway. Set in 1960, the period details are amazing. Incredible furniture, clothing. . . the prop master on this deserves an Emmy. This is Don Draper's headboard and it's almost as dreamy as he is. Mrow!
Has anyone been watching Rescue Me and/or Californication? What is up with these mid-40s guys suddenly becoming catnip to the scandalously young ladies of TVLand? Now Denis Leary and David Duchovny are both attractive guys, but—sorry, fellas—a tad past their sell-by date. (Though in Duchovny's case, he's rumored to be hung like a tree trunk, which has a certain appeal.) Yet watch either of the shows and marvel as both of them are constantly set-upon by wildly horny young nymphos, seemingly driven to distraction by their intoxicating (and often intoxicated) presence.
Californication even has a 16-year-old Lolita-esque cutie going after Duchovny. Now, true, I don't have daddy issues, but when I was 16, 45 may as well have been 105 for all the appeal it held. In the last episode, a porn star flagged him down while driving for a little anal exploration. WTF? Who besides Tommy Lee gets laid this often? Certainly not most of the aging alcoholic writers I know.
Rescue Me is possibly more irritating as there is apparently not a female alive who won't thoroughly debase herself to git with Mr. Ginger-vitis. And then there are the retarded dream sequences we the viewer have to live through each week. Sigh. Duchovny gets a pass because he didn't write his show, but Leary is a creator, producer, occasional director and writer on his. If I were his wife, we'd be having a reality check right about now.
—Anthony Bourdain is on my nerves. Last night's cross-pollination with the Travel Channel's uber-irritating "weird food" guy was the last straw. First off, it was obvious from jump that Bourdain was forced into this and believes himself to be way cooler than the weird food dude. As the WFD wears dad jeans and a gee-whiz expression, being cooler than him isn't exactly difficult. Hell, I'm sitting home in a mumu and moisturizing face mask and I'm cooler than that guy.
So yeah, we get it. You're skinny, wear a Ramones t-shirt and work hard cultivating a world-weary demeanor. Plus, you just had a mid-life crisis baby with your trophy wife. Who could've predicted that? Yawn.
God knows it's not all bad—I was happy that he featured two female chefs on last night's episode. Women are severely underrepresented in that world. Even still, it just wasn't enough to keep me watching. Bourdain's incessant "writerly" observations, combined with myriad pensive b-roll scenarios, have always worked my nerves, but last night he would not shut his yap about tourists. Scene after scene of dopey, camera-toting Japanese tourists. . . Was the store out of bigger clichés? And how is a Japanese tourist in Times Square—an area real New Yorkers avoid like the plague unless they have absolutely no other choice—more irritating than a smug New Yorker trekking through Uzbekistan or Bali with a camera crew in tow?
Pot, meet Kettle.
What was I thinking? I hate being photographed more than I hate Jenny from The L Word, yet something possessed me to send in a resume when I saw an ad seeking a writer to appear on a reality road-trip show. Maybe it was the $4,000 they were offering for six days work. In fact, I'm sure that's what it was. Regardless of my motivation, I never expected them to call. Yet seconds after clicking "send," my phone rang.
And so began one of the more humiliating experiences of my life.
Tonite I watched the season premiere of Rescue Me and because I skipped the last few episodes of season three, I was unsure about a couple things. Mainly, did Sheila die in the fire?
Being a resourceful gal, I went online and looked for episode summaries. Though I'm still unsure whether it was a ghost or the real-deal Sheila in the lawyer's office, I did learn from The Parents Television Council that in the season finale last year
The word "shit" was used 18 times in this episode. "Asshole/ass" was used 16 times. "Goddamn" was used 12 times. "Jesus/Christ" was used profanely 11 times. "Pecker" was used eight times, and "hell" was used five times. "Balls" was used three times and "piss" was used twice. A variety of other words, such as "cock," "pussy," "douche bag" and "blow me" were each used once.
Tee hee. Can you believe someone actually sits there and counts the curses? Sign me up for that job! This organization—whose mission, it would appear, is to keep impressionable minds from being poisoned by prurient TV—relays every naughty instance with such relish that I started to question their motivation. For example:
Probie lies in bed bare-chested kissing Sarah. She kisses her way down to his waist. Probie's face assumes a blissful expression. Sarah is heard whimpering. Greg's naked leg lands across Probie's chest and his foot rubs against Probie's face. Greg and Sarah are heard making kissing, licking and whimpering sounds, both brother and sister performing oral sex on Probie.
Erm, wouldn't a little banner reading, "This show isn't suitable for kids," suffice? I suppose it might, but it definitely wouldn't be as hot. I still don't know whether or not Sheila pulled the big croak, but I'm for sure Netflixing that episode.
There's a reason that posting has been light this week. A very good reason: I'm still trying to get over last week's Sopranos episode.
I'm not talking about the shock of Tony killing Christopher (after he had Adriana wacked, Christopher Moltisanti was dead to me anyway). I'm talking the horror of watching Tony's enormously fat corpus defile the beauteous Carmen from The L Word. Repeatedly.
How come when Rosie O'Donnell gets semi-nude and hot and bothered with some good-looking guy on Nip & Tuck it makes all the papers, yet when James Gandolfini—who has a good 100+ pounds and a great deal of fug on Rosie—does the same, it's just another Sunday night?
Since my very special L Word Viewing Party got cancelled, leaving Mabel the Cat and I to watch solo, I thought I'd give live-blogging a try. I know from watching the previews that the Ghost of Dana will be making an appearance. I wish the L Word was like a real soap opera, because then Dana would really be back because it would turn out that her death was faked by a rich (royal) relative who spirited her away to Bulgaria for a controversial, un-FDA-approved cure. At worst we'd at least have an evil twin to comfort us. But alas, I'm betting that we're merely talking flashback tonite. Sigh.
I've never done a live-blog before, so forgive me if I get distracted and give up halfway through.
9:44 Wasting time watching the Fine Living channel because I aspire to be the kind of person who lives a Fine Life. So far, I'm not finding much to relate to. Oooh, they just ran a commercial for the film version of Running with Scissors. Am I the only person who hated this book? I mean, besides the family who are suing him. It was almost as irritating as the film, which I rented only for Annette Bening.
9:49 I turned to Showtime because I was finding it hard to relate to Fine Living. What's "Hick-Spanic?" Is this like that white trash, get-er-done comedy show, but for Hispanic peeps? I'll let you know if I laugh.
9:51 Not laughing.
9:55 Still not laughing, but the next time I have a fancy picnic, I'm definitely buying this. (Thanks, Notcot!)
9:56 Haven't even cracked a smile, but today I made this banana bread and it KICKED ASS! I may go cut me another slice.
9:57 Oooh, the comedy show is over! Now only an overly long Tudors commercial and we can get started! I'm feeling very Shane today!
9:59 OMG! No Tudors commercial! Just a recap from last week! Yippee!
