Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County becomes Newport Harbor: The Real Orange County.

So, wait, which is real? Guys? Anyone??

Also, The Hills previews have already sucked me in. Looking forward to recaping the first half of the season feverishly and then pretending the show fell off the face of the earth, as I’ve done for the last two.

It’s a bleak TV landscape out there. Especially when So You Think You Can Dance takes a break for the fourth of July and leaves me all alone with nothing but The Best Years on the N to watch.

To be fair, I’ve always had a soft spot for fictional depictions of college life, ever since the writers of Saved By The Bell and 90210 unwittingly sent their respective casts to the same fake college but ignored my pleas to script a scene where Zach and Donna get it on. Usually I fill this need with reruns of Felicity, but then The N stepped up and started giving me something I could feel, and you know they mean business because (a) it has a Degrassi lead in and (b) it’s about an orphan. People love orphans.

Samantha Best (get it?) has been in foster care for the last ten years following the unexplained death of her parents, but we meet her on the day she begins her freshman year at Charles University which, as far as I can tell, is supposed to be Harvard. The foster care people have impeccable timing and just as Sam is headed out the door to embrace her new future, there’s a young girl in front of Sam’s old house clutching a stuffed animal stepping out of a van marked CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES just in case we aren’t quick on the uptake. As soon as Samantha sets foot on college she bumps into the Dean of Admissions who not only recognizes her on sight, but knows her dorm room offhand and escorts her there, casually reminding her that her scholarship doesn’t cover the required meal plan and that if Sam doesn’t come up with a way to pay for it, she’ll be kicked out of school. I immediately become convinced that this show is written by a bunch of people who did college via the internet. This hunch solidifies itself when a group of toga wearing guys in hard hats “streak” Sam’s first hall meeting. Please oh please let her have a bitchy roommate who, after their rocky start, will be the means by which Sam learns many lessons that cannot be found in books, even at the prestigious Charles University.

You rang?

Sam’s first few days are a whirlwind of meeting her Ice Queen of a scholarship benefator, discovering her floor’s co-ed showers when she walks in on a guy in a towel who had “accidentally” hit her with a football on the quad earlier, and ditching the geeky friend she made at orientation in order to don Kelly Taylor minidresses and hit Colony, the Peach Pit After Dark of CU. Oh, and making as many references as possible to the fact that she’s an orphan from Southie. I put the closed caption on and recite the lines in a Good Will Hunting accent for awhile and the show becomes at least 85% better.

Then tragedy strikes when her jolly fat guy friend drunkenly falls off their dorm roof (I know. I didn’t see it coming either). The two other witnesses (aforementioned bitchy blonde roommate and towel wearing basketball player guy) immediately go along with the plan to tell no one they were witnesses, having never seen I Know What You Did Last Summer. But Sam, because she’s an orphan and therefore has morals, comes clean to the Dean so that jolly fat guy’s family can know that his death was accidental and not a suicide. Sam takes the fall (heyo!) for the whole group and is told she’ll be expelled as the result of it, because that’s how they do things? at ivy league schools? when someone actually does the right thing? instead of covering their own ass? But Sam’s Ice Queen Mysterious Benefactor threatens the Dean old school style (by promising to withhold money) in order to keep Sam at Charles, and returns all questions as to why she’s taken such an active interest in Sam with a cold and distant look meaning, naturally, that we’ll soon find out that she’s either Sam’s mother returned from the dead or her long lost godmother stepping in when Sam most needs her, Sirius Black style.

I will take anything the reality tv community throws at me. I will take Paris and Nicole at summer camp, even though I know that their supporting “counselors” are hired actors. I will take MTV’s brutally agendized portrayal of sorority life, and I will take their starry eyed belief that one day P Diddy will put together a band that people will actually want to listen to. I will take culinary competitions even though you can’t taste food through your tv screen. I will follow the day by day lives of playboy bunnies, little people, professional skateboarders and their oversized best friends; I will root wholeheartedly for people I’ve never met as they follow their dreams of becoming models or fashion designers or pirate masters or backup singers or teenage interns at Seventeen magazine. What I won’t take is any show that makes me want to carve out my ovaries with a rusty spoon (this also applies to the movie Because I Said So, but that’s an issue for another day). I don’t watch reality shows because I need to hate myself for being female, I watch them because I want to see people who have worse lives than I do and feel better about myself as the result of it. I should be able to get that without considering spending the requisite year living as a man before applying to one of the three major sexual reassignment centers in the country.

I feel like this is a subtle, but important distinction—these shows should allow, or even encourage, you to hate specific women. Cami on Laguna Beach, that heinous bitch from the first Apprentice that played the race card at every available opportunity, Janice Dickinson, take your pick. They should not, however, encourage you to hate women en masse. And that’s all that Age of Love does. It picks at the insecurities of women that already have more than enough to go around when it comes to dating, and it turns them into catty, ridiculous, desperate people that you don’t want to meet in a back ally. Show premise here, trying to put it into words is giving me rage. They’re calling the women in their 40s “cougars” and the ones in their 20s “kittens.” That should be enough to get you on my side.

Now’s probably a bad time to make a joke about hot flashes, eh?

Aside from the fact that this preys on every single insecurity that women have, and that they’re relying on an Aussie to decide, ONCE AND FOR ALL, what men really want (without giving him the option of Anonymous Sex, SportsCenter, and Reheated Pasta, so I don’t have a chance to prove the theory I’ve been carefully crafting since freshman year), my main issue with this is the basic helplessness of half the contestants. *If* tectonic plates shift and the planets align and birds start flying backwards and he picks a 40 year old, the women in their 20s can console themselves by saying that they will, someday, be 40, so it’s just a matter of time before they have what men want. But if the sun rises tomorrow and Saturday follows Friday and death and taxes persist and he picks a 20 year old, what do the 40 year olds get to tell themselves? That The Men of the universe have spoken?

We keep our 20 year olds in boxes- they stay fresher that way.

I was wary when Ashton Kutcher coined the reality show term “social experiment,” but he went on to give me Beauty & The Geek and I forgave him. I don’t forgive you, NBC, for this social experiment that can bring no good into the world. Please return me to a steady diet of The Biggest Loser (Puns! The 10 o’clock show is completely different from the 8 o’clock one!) and 30 Rock.

Love,
CRISTIN

My most recent mental association with Scott Baio (and, of course, there are many) is the scene in that slightly devestating and oddly fascinating book about dudes who scam on women for sport, The Game, where a not very attractive but evidentally very skilled PUA (pick up artist) steals Scott’s woman out from under him at a bar. Who steals Chachi’s babe?

Wow, I can’t believe I just admitted I to reading The Game. Moving on.

It will SHOCK you to your very core to learn that Scott Baio is now 45 and still single. It will shock you slightly less to learn that VH1 is exploiting these factors in a reality show creatively titles “Scott Baio is 45… and Single.” I have no idea what to expect from this, but I’m hoping for a cross between So NoTorious and Lisa Loeb’s #1 Single.

Looks like I might be out of luck on that one.

No less than 14 people have emailed me over the last month to direct my attention towards the impending arrival of the Pirate Master reality tv show. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. For some reason, my mind keeps blocking it out and it just barely made it into my Tifaux “record all episodes” list before the premiere… almost as though part of me is trying to save myself from an awful viewing experience… huh… wonder what that’s all about.

I originally thought Pirate Master was going to be Survivor on a boat with lots of bad puns, but it’s more like The Real World/ Road Rules Challenge on a boat with lots of bad puns and a bunch of tools. The “plot” is complicated to the point where I’m not totally sure what they’re after… there’s some locked chest with 14 compartments, each of which will be opened with keys found at the end of individual pirate missions. Or something. And it’s based on the legend of Captain Henry Steele. Or something. But this isn’t really about history, or gold, or boats, or peg legs, or parrots, it’s about the enormous douches who decided being on this show was a good career or life decision.

“Fishing Dock Operator” Louie, I’m convinced, is Survivor’s Rupert without the tie-dyed tshirts. He looks like the guy who knows how to slit your throat to keep you from screaming as you shuffle off this mortal coil.

“Auto Parts Salesman” Jay quickly offered “I’m kind of a pirate every day. I’m in sales. I’m providing a service, but I’m also relieving them of their money.”

“Musician” Ben states “I just graduated. This show is the best opportunity I’ve ever had.” That sound you hear is Ben’s parents crying over the tuition money they spent trying to give their son… what’s the word… opportunities?

We also have Christian, a former NFL running back, Cheryl, who thinks her legal background will give her a leg up (”I’m a deputy district attorney which gives me a lot of insight to the game. Pirates are criminals.” Tell that to Jay), Joy, the receptionist who pukes over the side of the boat, Sean, the token hot guy who claims salt water is in his blood (sucks to be your phlebotomist), Alexis the fashion publicist, and Joe Don, the firefighter with two first names. Oh, and my favorite.

This is Ben. Or, as they like to call him, “Ben: Scientist/ Exotic Dancer.” What a logical combo. In fact, my school had a very popular double major in just that.

The pirates are split into two teams and paddle off towards land on their first mission. Someone shouts “land ho!” as they approach, while someone else lets out a “Eureka!” Wrong reality show, my friend. The mission involves following a map to a painfully planned set of landmarks, and the pirates joyfully raft the river until they come to the Skull and Sword crossing, and depart for a trip through the brush once they come to a skeleton hanging in a cage. If I were really, really needlessly rich, I would totally set up something like this once a year and have my friends do it on my birthday.

Eventually the Scientist/ Exotic Dancer is the one to retrieve the treasure chest for his team. He has a surprisingly easy time pulling it from the bottom of the river up onto the boat, considering it contains $40k in gold coins. The random host of the show with a vague New Zealand accent explains the respective values of the various coins and they count their loot.

Then things get interesting! Or, as interesting as they’re going to get on this ship. The winning team elects Joe Don captain, much to the dismay of the Stripper Who Found The Treasure. AFTER the election is over, they learn that Joe Don and the two “mates” he’s picked will receive the vast majority of the treasure, leaving everyone else with a measly 2 grand. The captain also has to wear the pirate overcoat and tricornered hat, so I guess it’s even, but Alexis The Fashion Publicist, along with her fellow scurvy dogs, are still upset.

Joe Don and his mates are then tasked with selecting 3 pirates for pirates court. They pick Scary Louie, Joy the puking receptionist, and the Scientist/ Exotic Dancer. All of the pirates are now forced to vote off one of the three, or mutiny and overthrow Joe Don as the captain. A mere majority will remove one of the pirates court pirates, but you need a unanimous decision for a mutiny. Also, there’s no time for deliberation among the voting pirates, so coming up with a unanimous mutiny is going to be nearly impossible. Is this needlessly complicated? Yes. It’s just pirates, guys. Let’s have more rum and less psychological warfare next time.

The Scientist/ Exotic Dancer senses that he’s about to be “cut adrift” (there’s no plank walking, to my disappointment) and, in a rather pirate-y move, steals the only 2 compasses on board. When given the chance to plead his case, he triumphantly pulls the compasses from his pocket and announces that if he goes, they go, and calls for a mutiny. Joe Don rambles on about navigating by the stars and, even though he’s unable to actually tell which way is east when asked, the pirates fall for it, and find their ship with one less Scientist/ Exotic Dancer than it set sail with.

Spurred on by Dan’s last The More You Know I’ve been internet stalking the hell out of “My Boys,” trying to figure out when the new season starts (the best the website can tell me is “this summer.” cool, thanks). I have no useful information for you, but if you need a good chuckle you should spend some time cruising the My Boys fan forum:

I haven’t gone through the other messages, but does this show not scarily compare to some girls’ lives? and I don’t mean the way EVERY girl says they have mostly guy friends, but like this is EXACTLY LIKE MY LIFE!! I am a journalism major and my four closest friends are the four most important guys in the world to me. I could even put each one to a character on the show!! I feel almost like this is a crystal ball into my future cuz I’m only 20.

I need to tell people about my story, so here it goes. My life while I was in the Navy was just like this show. I love “My Boys” in real life and on the show. I didn’t have a lot of girl friends because the military is male dominant. I have a lot of guy friends as a result. I don’t mind and I’ve never slept with any of them. What’s this $hit about comparing this show to “$&x in the city?” I don’t think it’s like that at all! I think it’s all of my favorite shows melted together. TBS HAS A NEW WINNER! LET’S HOLD ON TO THIS!

The only good thing about “My Boys” is it helps me go to sleep faster at night.
I seriously doubt that this show will ever last, and I prey everyday that the director and producers will grow some brains to make this show change, because right now ANYTHING they do to change the episodes will be a step up from the steaming pile of fresh sh!t this show is now.
The only reason why this show has even finished the first season is because of TBS’s large percent of unemployed viewers that sit around everyday to watch My Boys.
I am disappointed and ashamed that humanity has even attempted to create such a waste of time, by actually making and playing this horrible peice trash of a television series as bad as My Boys.

Heidi and Spencer tell their side of the story (4 months too late but, you know, whatevs).

Highlights:

I’m working with David Foster with 143 Records under Warner. The album will be out hopefully in September. It’s very pop - hot, fun fresh, young, and sexy. It’s gonna be a lot of entertainment – a lot of dancing similar to the Pussycat Dolls and Britney Spears. ~Heidi
…….
The bottom line about me wanting to move in with her is that I haven’t left this girl’s side since I met her. I’m obsessed with her. Everyone says I can’t get into the clubs anymore, but the truth is I don’t go to clubs anymore because I like to cuddle up in bed with my girlfriend with some DVDs. ~Spencer
…….
I want to get a blog so people can know what’s going on with Spencer on the daily. Lauren narrates The Hills. Spencer is going to narrate his blog. Imagine if Spencer narrated The Hills… It’s how you skew it. If I’m the narrator, wait to see how much people love Spencer. ~Spencer
……..

Oh, my God. ~Cristin

Welcome to the Veronica Mars Irish Wake page. Hope you’re not expecting us to talk about anything else for the next few weeks or so. Already we’ve succumbed to the classic stages:

1. Denial. If you want to get technical, the contract extends through mid-June so there’s a chance it could still get picked up. I’m just not going to worry about it until then. There’s no way they would drop a show with such critical acclaim and such a rabid cult following. That’s just insane.

2. Anger. Are you fucking kidding me, Dawn Ostroff? Have you had one good idea since the creation of this network? Remember that time you decided to have American Eagle sponsor “Aerie Tuesdays” on commerical breaks and awkward teenage girls had awkward conversations about the shows LIVE? Or how you’ve devoted HOURS of CW time to Tyra Banks performing with step teams and running Top Model bootcamp, complete with cammo booty shorts and dog tags? And then you go and effing drop VMars? You’re about to become the exec who cancelled My So-Called Life, or the editor who passed on JK Rowling. I’ll see to it that this follows you to the grave, Dawn, and then I’ll have it put on your tombstone.

3. Bargaining. See commentary here.

4. Depression. Fuck it. Break out the vodka and put “Such Great Heights” and “I Hear The Bells” on repeat. Gonna be a long night.

5. Acceptance… No clue how this one goes. I’ll let you know when I get there.

Okay, Dan/ Maggie/ Kyle… who writes I’m Sick of Your Shit: The CW?

I know all you smart people with actual attention spans are mourning the end of sitcoms and dramas and shows with “plots” that “require a base level of human intelligence” but as we get into season finale, uh, season, all I can think is: Summer reality shows! BRING THE PAIN!

Specifically:

Rob & Big comes back for Season 2– May 22.

Listen, Rob & Big might be one of the best shows on TV. This show does for friendship what Run’s House does for family. This show will make you want to call your best friend from elementary school and tell them how much they mean to you (see also: Bridge to Terabithia the movie). This show (it appears) will now include a mini horse as a member of their household:

And now, time for a needless aside where I can show off the useless information gained at the very expensive pony summer camp I begged my parents to send me to: You have horses and you have ponies. Ponies are basically short horses, they are not BABY horses. They’ll never grow up to be horses. Then you have minis, which are basically horse midgets. They won’t grow up to be ponies or horses, they’ll just stay tiny and goat-sized forever. I have no idea how genetic engineering handled this, I’m guessing it came from the same lab that gave us Mini Dobermans. Whoever did it, though, I applaud you! What an excellent use of resources! Look how tiny and cute that mini is!

Also, in my experience, the mini can be one bad mothershutyourmouth. The one farm I rode at that housed minis had to keep them in a pasture separate from the “real” horses because the minis would do stuff like biting them on the ankles then running away. Is this awesome and hilarious? Yes. Does this mean you should keep this animal in your living room? No, Rob & Big, you silly bastards! But I love you anyway! See you May 22!

Also on the tifaux: CBS’s pirate reality show. Is this a terrible idea? Yes. Am I your exact target demographic and will I therefore be watching it anyway? Yes.

Early thoughts on the Addison spin-off: Yay or nay?

I’m cautiously “pro,” as long as they don’t revisit the “I’m gonna kiss you with tongue” line.

ETA: The Times plays the blame game, and it lands squarely on Calista Flockheart. No arguments.