Reality Has Landed
Tonight I feasted with gluttonous glee on the fat of reality TV. Oh yeah, you heard me right. It was like a perfect Christmas morning, but with a really rich family. At 8pm we had two TV's going full-speed; one showcased the underwhelming performance-monkeys on American Idol, and the other featured the equally underwhelming modeling talents of anorexic wannabes on America's Next Top Model. Immediately following that was the season finale of Project Runway, where my favorite designer Santino LOST, and Chloe the Korean refugee kitten won (boooo). And THEN, the crowning glory of MTV began, the new reality show called 8th & Ocean. It's basically America's Next Top Model starring bratty teenage catalogue models who wanna "take it to the next level". *happy sigh* Seriously, I'm full.
I'm the first to say that I like watching the American Idol finalists fail miserably--they DESERVE it if they choose a Mariah Carey or Barry Manilow song! Take that karaoke bullshit somewhere else! And while I love fashion, photography and beautiful people, America's Top Model just serves the drama mama in me--it's so formulaic, so masterful in taking these young giraffe-like women, pitting them against one another, beautifying them, taking their picture, criticizing them and then cutting them out like an ingrown toenail. Perfection! I like Project Runway for the clothes, basically, since I'm a clotheshorse at heart. I mean, I like my clothes to be made of synthetic fabric woven by an underpaid village in Taiwan, but if I had the money, I'd work it. On 8th & Ocean, I'm enjoying picking out my favorite future coke whore, and trying to find the eating disorder girl. There's always one in every family, so this show will be no different.
So. My shallow foray into the deep end of the gene pool is coming to an end. I don't think I could have planned this night better myself. It's probably like Haley's Comet and won't happen again for 80 years, but at least I can look back and fondly remember when. Goodnight moon.
I'm the first to say that I like watching the American Idol finalists fail miserably--they DESERVE it if they choose a Mariah Carey or Barry Manilow song! Take that karaoke bullshit somewhere else! And while I love fashion, photography and beautiful people, America's Top Model just serves the drama mama in me--it's so formulaic, so masterful in taking these young giraffe-like women, pitting them against one another, beautifying them, taking their picture, criticizing them and then cutting them out like an ingrown toenail. Perfection! I like Project Runway for the clothes, basically, since I'm a clotheshorse at heart. I mean, I like my clothes to be made of synthetic fabric woven by an underpaid village in Taiwan, but if I had the money, I'd work it. On 8th & Ocean, I'm enjoying picking out my favorite future coke whore, and trying to find the eating disorder girl. There's always one in every family, so this show will be no different.
So. My shallow foray into the deep end of the gene pool is coming to an end. I don't think I could have planned this night better myself. It's probably like Haley's Comet and won't happen again for 80 years, but at least I can look back and fondly remember when. Goodnight moon.