I Wished I Looked as Smoldering and Pensive in Eye Makeup as Edward Cullan

I'm not one to hate on vampires. They've been through a lot these past thousand years. The whole condemned to darkness, eternal damnation thing seems like it might be difficult - even more difficult than waiting for the next season of "Mad Men." And I love shows like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and mildly tolerate "Angel." Underworld was pretty baller, too. But seems like everyone's been bitten nowadays with something I like to call the "VampStamp." That is to say, latching on to a trend that was popular nearly a decade ago, and approaching it with as much creativity and insight as Sarah Palin does with foreign policy.

Case in point: Twilight. I, of all people, am not immune to pop culture phenomena: the Harry Potter series, "Gossip Girl," gaucho pants, and blue eyeshadow. But this is where I draw the line. I justify The Boy Who Lived with intellectual excuse: J.K. Rowling may be a literary magpie, a wordsmith of wile, but she begs, borrows, and steals from credible places. Hidden within all of the expecto millions and marketability, Rowling cleverly embeds references to classical Greek mythology, Celtic legend, and enough pathos and humor to keep the reader interested.
You're, like, totally hotter than my last girlfriend, Buffy.

As a social experiment, I decided to find out what all the fuss was about with the Twilight series. And so, I swallowed my pride as I marched in to Barnes & Noble and marched out with a shiny new copy of Twilight. On the subway ride back to my flat, I read the first chapter. "First Sight." Alright, I said to myself. This could be promising, in a sort of YA-bit-of-guilty-pleasure-to-hide-under-the-bed-when-English-major-friends-come-to-visit way. Like a cookie. Sinfully indulgent. But, as I sat on the L train and read the first few words, ("My mother drove me to the airport...it was 75 degrees in Phoenix...the sky was blue...") I cringed. This was everything - EVERYTHING - I fought so savagely against in my college workshops. Unimaginative, dull, poor writing.

It's every story I have heard before. The estranged and awkward (but appropriately pretty) new girl, Bella, has moved from her warm roots of Phoenix for upstate Washington to live with her father. (Fly Away Home, anyone?) Her new school is unfamiliar and bizarre. She seems out of place, though she manages to find friends to sit with at lunch. She asks one of the girls, Jennifer, about those five svelte hotties with the alabaster skin sitting all alone at a table in the corner. "That's Edward. He's gorgeous!" Jennifer says. Bella and Edward Cullan lock eyes. We know where this is going.

I could not make it past the first chapter. Call me closed-minded, call me a vampire-hating fishmonger, but when books are that obvious, there's little point. Please, humor me, and let me make my educated guesses:

Bella and Edward find they have much in common - mostly, their ridiculous good looks and incredible glow-in-the-dark pallor. Neither of them say much, because when you're that hot, what's the use? Oh, except he's a vampire and wants to suck the lifeblood out of her. Brilliant. Where have we seen this before? Not Joss Whedon's ingenuous "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," no? Of course, there is trouble in paradise, and something keeps Edward and Bella from being together. Insert a dark character shrouded in evil mystery. There's probably a kidnapping, a near-death scare, and a prom thrown in there somewhere.

Maybe I'm as off base as snow in Phoenix. But, maybe not. Does that mean that I'll boycott the film? Probably not. It is my patriotic duty to screen and suggest to you, loyal readers, what is quality and what is not.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to avoid the sun and try and seduce a mysterious man with a pallid complexion.

Quote of the Day: "He's gorgeous!"

The Dog Days of Summer

Some people tend to be partial to summer. No school, lazy days spent by the pool, no worries. But - of course - that also means no new shows. Yes, as the month of May wanes, so too does the quality of entertainment. Gone are the hopeful Oscar contenders, the art films, and even Blockbusters. In their place are crude facsimiles, usually to do with some talking rodent or a grown man in neon tights. Oh, and lots of explosions and things that go...

BANG!

WHIZ!

BIFF!

No new shows, alas. I am lost without "LOST," I want to be pushing up daisies with no "Pushing Daisies," I'm going mad without "Mad Men." (I won't tell you what activities the lack of "Weeds" encourages). Yes, there are the redemptive media apostles, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert - but the world needs more. More than pundit jokes about current events. More than clever taglines and theme music. But ... how? September seems like some sort of unobtainable Grail, an Elysium of plot and character development. Have faith, O ye with anxious eyes and worn sofas.

There is hope.

Here are several ways to hold on:

1. Revisit Old Favorites
What was that one thing that Michael Scott said to Dwight that was just so inappropriate? Or a steamy love scene featuring Jonathon Rhys-Myers? Thanks to modern technology, DVD's allow it. So figure out the mysteries of LOST, find out what made Betty ugly, and see if saving the cheerleader really does mean saving the world. (I'd argue, save the Nielson, save the show, but that's why I'm not an important television executive).

2. Discover Something New (That Might be Old)
There are a wealth of films and television shows that simply go under the radar. Find movies that were nominated for an Oscar but didn't win (some of them simply get the shaft when they are, in fact, the better film) and be amazed. Or, discover the beauty of television gems of yesteryear - "Boomtown," "Freaks and Geeks," and of course - the short-lived but epically entertaining "Cop Rock."

3. Do Something Old-Fashioned
Books. Ever heard of them? Sometimes they're in the pockets of DVD's and explain special features. They are heftier versions of scripts and screenplays. And some of them are pretty entertaining. And then there's hoop-twirling, four-square, and flashlight tag, for starters. For the more advanced, there are regattas, parades, poodle grooming, and French lessons. Très amusant, non?


Be strong. Please, do it for the television.
September will be here before we know it.

Quote of the Day: "Are you blue?"
"Only in color, Michael."

"The Bachelorette" Made Me a Widow: Several Reasons Why Reality Television Should be Forgotten like the Hackneyed and Trite Pseudo-Scare of Y2K

A few months ago, I had a behemoth of a cold. We are talking the Hindenburg of nasty viral infections. I was sick as a dog, I should have been quarantined and not have been allowed to resurface until Hilary is elected in office (meaning, of course, never). My point being, I had some unwonted free time, as rare as a lunar eclipse or Brittany Spears wearing more than one layer of clothing. Excellent, I thought. Now I can catch up on all of the quality television shows I’ve missed when I have so diligently been studying 18th Century British Literature.

False.

I turn on the tube only to find a terra nullius of shows—“Survivor,” “Big Brother,” “The Bachelor,” “My Super Sweet 16,” “Next,” – in fact, any show on MTV. (That network, at one point, used to play music, right? Or was that just a Buggles-induced fantasy?) The infamous Writer’s Strike of 2007-2008 had deprived me—and, by proxy—the world, of intelligent, plot-driven shows. Nowhere to be found was “The Office,” “Lost,” “Pushing Daisies,”—anything. It was a vast and desolate wasteland of shoulder cams and cleavage. Studies have shown, people have lost brain cells by watching “Fear Factor.” “Joe Schmo” has been known to cause uncontrollable drooling. And “Flavor of Love” has killed thousands of babies because of its asinine lack of plot and Flava Flav’s wardrobe choices.

Whatever happened to worthwhile, quality television that was both educational and entertaining, that stimulated a few dozen neurons and dendrites while being mildly interesting? While you’re shoving Cool Ranch Doritos in your pie hole with the same lusty vindictiveness in which Gerard Butler slays the Persians in a skimpy man-skirt watching “Big Brother,” is there any activity between thalamus, hypothalamus, and cortex? I’ll take a stab in the dark and say, probably there is not.

But it’s just a hunch.

Though I was young and naïve and had the thin veil of ignorance and callowness and extreme amounts of sugar from Hawaiian Punch, I remember the glory days of “Sesame Street.” And, of course, there was the wonder of “Wishbone,” a mid-90’s PBS show about a literature savy Jack Russel terrier who takes the viewers through lush landscapes of literary masterpieces. Ivanhoe. Paradise Lost. Great Expectations.

Now, the only Great Expectations viewers can hope for include the nagging question if Tela Tequila will ever find true love through the vast sea of sexually confused C-list actors and actresses. It is the basest form of television for those who will not or cannot follow simple story arcs and character development.

ABC recently broadcasted a teaser commercial proclaiming “The Mole” to be “the most fun you’ll have all summer.” Thanks, ABC executives. Why yes, before “The Mole,” the best hope for fun I had this summer was lathering SPF on Great Uncle Al’s back and trimming his nose hair. Geez. Just give me an embolism already.

In specific terms, “Kid Nation” is the Pol Pot of the reality TV show. Not only is it mind-numbingly dull to watch, but there are moral qualms as well. In a word, the show is about forty children, ages 8-15, who are left to their own vices in a ghost town in New Mexico. The ghost town looks suspiciously similar to the set of 3:10 to Yuma. It’s a western Lord of the Flies.

Or it would be, if not for the constant, irritating, and heavy-handed interference of the lobotomized CBS executives. Of course these children are not by themselves. They are surrounded by cameramen, producers, and child psychologists. And, like its’ big brother, “Survivor,” it is not the simple subsistence of surviving on an island or ghost town, but a heavily contrived romp of game-show like challenges and confessionals.

The children are split up into four teams—red, yellow, blue, and green. And from the get go, live, work, and play in these predetermined groups. Moreover, the socioeconomic status for the group is determined who wins the challenges. Say the Blue Team pushed all of their wagons over the finish line first. Then they become the bourgeois, and the others are below them. But do you see the flaw? (Loaded question, yes, but I mean within this context.) This is not a social experiment. It is the basic reinforcement of class and socioeconomics. In a word, it is reiterating the sordid underbelly of the American lifestyle.

The medium of television has allowed for this sort of meta-reality. It is not reality, but neither is it fictitious.

Even if this society would be autonomous—without the interference of ‘grown-up’s,’ there are the moral questions. Has television really sunk so low that they subject children to manipulative submission for the entertainment of a nation? In the “Kid Nation” contract, for example, there is a clause that reads something along the lines of the parents cannot sue and surrender all rights, including but not limited to if their child ingests bleach, looses an appendage, dies, or is sexually assaulted. For that matter, what kind of parent would subject their kid to this? And for a paltry $5,000 stipend, no less.

Excuse me, I need to release my vexation with this show and eat some Teddy Grahams.

It is called the Idiot Box for a reason, yes. But, what of what critics say—that we are in the Second Golden Age of Television? If that is the case, then there are a plethora of shows of which to chose that can be defined as entertaining, but with actual redeeming qualities. (Of course, the media is what I study, so I justify being able to watch 13 hours of straight TV). Post-Writer’s-Strike-Draught, there is a digital Babylon of quality shows. What of “30 Rock,” a wickedly intelligent comedy about writers in New York? Or “LOST,” perhaps the most intricate show to grace television since the dawn of, well, television?

What it boils down to is that people don’t want to have to think when they watch television. It is an escape, a means of travel that doesn’t cost $4.00 a gallon. It takes the viewer from the sofa to an abandoned ranch in New Mexico or an island in the Philippines without the hassle of having to follow intricate plot lines. That is, there is very little invested in reality television. You can just as soon sit down and watch season five of “Big Brother” as the pilot, and understand what is going on. Not so with “24” or “Dexter.” It’s the difference between a seven-course meal versus fries, a burger, and a shake at the local Burgers ‘R Us. One is delicious and takes time to ingest and discern, one is a quick fix.

And Americans have spoken on which of the two they like. Keep your giant hamburger with onion rings and pass me a book.

I think I’ll stay in bed with that cold.