(no subject)

[muckefuck]

monshu is in the other room watching The Food Network Felates Itself. That's not the real title--it's something much more forgettable--but it might as well be. Paula Dean didn't even cook, she just sat her family on some comfy sofas and played Oprah for the live outdoor audience, preparing us for the Mediterranean woman after her who splayed on a chaise while volunteers shaved zucchini for crudi. (*Yawn*) And all of this under a smooth layer of Bobby Flay's smarmy narration. Thus, I am in here.

I've heard a lot about the increasing cannibalism of reality t.v. (the show is peppered with ads for The Next Food TV Celebrity which spares us the presumptuousness of Bravo's Top Chef cuts right to the heart of the matter), but until now it hasn't really affected me. But we watched the season premiere of Project Runway and died a little inside when we found their "special guest judge" was a losing contestant from the first season. The tail-eating continued with a reprise of the first season dime store challenge, and when the competent but unfortunate guy got auffed in order to keep around the freaky hippy chick for drama-generating reasons (she literally sent a model down the runway in nothing but strips of garbage bag) I began to wonder if anything could keep me interested in the show any more. The only gleam of hope is that the right girl won, for a design that both of us found unexpectedly gorgeous.

Just as well--there are like about a hundred things I should be doing rather than watching telly (or screwing about online) anyway. Plus, after the grief I gave mollpeartree about her Reading Confessional (what's next, slacker?) I am somewhat honour-bound to post my take on Naipaul. (Finished the novel on Thursday and, to keep with the whole African big man theme, went right into A man of the people by Chinua Achebe).

Comments

[lifeandstuff.livejournal.com]

I don't get the popularity of "reality tv". I mean, it isn't as if its reality. It isn't as if it isn't unscripted. It just isn't well-scripted (i.e. the producers often tell them do this and do that, but don't specifically tell them what words to say and such).

As such, it is (generally speaking) just worse tv.

Also, it tends to be a lot of completely fabricated drama and people having fights with each other for no good reason (because they think they are supposed to do that).

This was only sort of related to your point, but I must vent. ;)

At least there is baseball (walk off grand slam for Miles today)!!!

[lifeandstuff.livejournal.com]

That was supposed to say "it isn't as if it is unscripted". Too many double negatives...

[richardthinks.livejournal.com]

Sorry: reposted with corrections for previous incoherence:

I've been growing pretty tired of Bravo's standard formula (and if you think Runway's been getting self-obsessed, I suspect you haven't been watching Shear Genius), but half an episode of So You Think You Can Dance sent me scurrying straight back to them: it was a nauseating, boring, miserable experience, enlivened only by the fact that the presenter towered over the contestants, and insisted on hugging them all, pressing their heads into her ribcage.

There is so, so much awful television out there, so bad it makes me feel bad for watching it, and really, all I want is 40 minutes of something light but non-insulting to get me ready to sleep.

Mm. Maybe I'm part of the problem.

[mollpeartree.livejournal.com]

what's next, slacker?

I dunno. Any requests? I've been thinking about either giving it up as a bad job, or just skipping the Trollope for now and going on as if nothing had happened ...