Tifaux Dan has kindly pointed out that it’s TV Turnoff week. I’m sure you don’t need me to kindly point out what a god awful idea that is. Also, even if I did abstain for a week, I would then just spend all of Sunday snuggled up to my DVR so, bite me, TV Turnoff Week. Technology: 1, Well Meaning Parents: 0. I think in honor of Ye Olde Turnoff week you should instead watch as much television as humanly possible, and make sure as much of that as possible is reality programming, because I can think of nothing that would upset them more at Turnoff HQ than knowing you’re cozied up to Taquita & Kaui instead of reading Anna Karenina. (Also, I spelled “Karenina” right on the first try, so TV couldn’t possibly have rotted my brain yet. Random Luck: 1, Well Meaning Parents: 0).

I’ll be the first to admit that there’s a ton of crap out there and that it’s hard to throw around the phrase “Good, quality, reality tv” (I’m looking at you, Katie and Peter. Does anyone actually know who these people are? Don’t say yes or I’ll call you unpatriotic and make freedom fries jokes like it’s 2005 all over this bitch. And you’re not off the hook either, every show on Bravo that isn’t Top Chef or Project Runway, particularly the one about weird people who cut hair. I’m starting to think that all of the decisions over at the House That Queer Eye Built are based on how many puns they can squeeze out of the show’s theme {Lather, Rinse, Compete! This is your final cut!}, which is a mildly satisfactory reason for casting a hairdresser who refers to himself as Dr. Boogie {Yes, Doctor. He didn’t spend 7 years at medical hairdressing school to be called “Mister,” thank you very much}. As the result of this, I find myself constantly searching for the next profession that Bravo will pounce on, but the best I’ve come up with is a show where music snobs show up to be mentored by DJ AM {of Nicole Richie fame! C list name recognition- check} as they race to produce the perfect playlists for wacky fake occasions like Britney Spears’ funeral or the marriage of an Olsen twin {challenges that won’t ever help your actual career- check} before being harshly critiqued by Lindsay Lohan and Pharrel {celebrities vaguely associated with the profession- check} and ultimately asked “Any Last Requests?” {puntastic tag line- check}. I don’t have a name for it, but I’m thinking… stay with me… Top DJ).

In case you’re still reading after all of those parenthetical asides, let me get to the brunt of this– there is good reality TV on. I promise. Here’s your homework for TV Turnoff Week:

Celebrity Fit Club
Premiered last night, soon to be replayed ad nauseum by VH1. I’ve dabbled in The Fit before, but I can already feel myself committing to this season. From the Picture Worth A Thousand Words school of thought:

And from the I Can’t Say Enough About How Ridiculous This Show Will Be school of thought: Not only did Fit Club sign on Screech himself (who, in episode one, made the Philosopher King statement “I battle with truth and logic, so I can never be wrong.” And just to clarify, he meant that his weapons of choice are truth and logic, not that they are deamons constantly haunting him and his robot Kevin), they also got Tiffany, Warren G (who needs to REGULATE his waistline {okay, take me out back and shoot me}), and a guy I’ve never heard of named Cledus who hasn’t been inside a grocery store in two years because they give him panic attacks. And they’re citing Dustin Diamond as the one who’s going to become the Bad Ass to end all Celebrity Fit Club Badassness, which I just have to see.

The Springer Hustle

This doesn’t quite make it into the Life Affirming category of reality tv (and yes, there is one– I’m getting there), so much as it’s fascinating because The Springer Show is still on air. And it’s time that the nation finally understood exactly what goes on behind the scenes (Cliffs Notes: Lots of yelling and baiting of rednecks). I was on the fence about this until last night’s episode when they were listing accolades in Producer Toby’s portfolio and he was credited with formulating my Favoritist Springer Show Ever, the one with the little person klan members that came on and yelled WHITE MIDGET POWER at the audience. I might still have this on VHS, next to 8 pounds of mardi gras beads and information on the morning after pill in that box of stuff I still have to unpack from college.

The Girls Next Door

If you don’t spend enough of your day saying “Wait… really?” over and over in your head, this show is for you. I don’t know how they’ve magically edited it so that I actually believe that Hugh Hefner and his 3 twenty something girlfriends function as a normal and healthy family, but I do. I don’t understand why he pulled Kendra, the trashy one with the horse laugh, into the holy trinity, but I’m so captivated by Bridget (who shoots rainbows and unicorns out of her ass and appears to be a real life version of Tara Reid’s character in Josie & The Pussycats, who would cry whenever someone told her that all puppies will someday grow up to be dogs and then get old and die) and Holly (the alpha female). It’s like the perfect storm.

Run’s House

You’re going to think I’m being snarky when I say that I consider this show as the most shining example of how American families should be, but I’m not. Not even a little. In a time when MTV’s going through an ironically adolescent identity crisis, trying to figure out what they should be (more shows about surfers! The kids love surfers! Also, get those Engaged and Underage kids back on to talk about marriage more! That should hold us through June!) they hit the nail on the effing head with this one. Not that I’m giving them any credit for how amazing this family is, just for being intelligent enough to air it and sensitive enough to treat the tragic death of a newborn that opened this season with the care and the grace that it demands. And, yes, I’m a little swayed by the fact that they live near my hometown and occasionally stop by my local B&N (”Who goes to B&N for fun?” one of the kids wonders at one point. People who think TV Turnoff Week is a good idea, that’s who. Coming Full Circle: 1, Well Meaning Parents: 0), but mostly I’m completely enraptured with how they’ve built such a strong support system and kept all of their children, who range from their twenties down to single digits, so involved in the family and not in, you know, various prisons spanning 4 states (well done, JWahl). I haven’t loved MTV so much since Rob & Big.

After catching the first two episodes of the season this weekend, I’ve decided that I’m now obsessed with the show Work Out on Bravo.

There’s nothing you can say to me that will make me feel any worse about liking it, so please curb your hostility. Please.

The show focuses on personal trainer/entrepreneur/lesbian extraordinaire Jackie Warner and her gym full of hard-bodied employees.

The good thing about Work Out is that I actually like Jackie. The closest cousin to this show is Blow Out, starring the utterly ridiculous Jonathan Antin, and that show was sabotaged by Antin’s narcissism and trying-too-hard-ishness. Jackie, on the other hand, is plainspoken and professional, but fun and spunky (as you can tell by her hair).

There cast is rounded out by:

Jesse, the young gay trainer who is actually ‘ha ha’ funny much of the time.

Brian, the young straight trainer who is very southern and a magnet for conflict — particularly with Jackie. Jesse and Brian have that sort of weirdo relationship where they tease each other all the time out of love, but deep down you kind of get the feeling that they hate each other. It’s this sandwich of animosity, comeraderie and then more animosity on top.

Zen, the aspiring comedian and reluctant sportswear model.

Gregg, who used to date Zen, and weirdly asked her to come to his trial for punching a guy. Just seems like a bizarre thing to ask a former romantic interest — as if she’d say “Sounds like fun! I’ll bring the Fiddle Faddle!”

On the finale of season one, we were lead to believe that Jackie had cut all ties with her batshit crazy girlfriend Mimi — a hot Brazilian firecracker prone to biting and throwing glass instead of using her words. The season premiere found them back at square one — having apparently phenomenal sex but hating each other the rest of the time. They did one of those ethically questionable camera-in-the-therapy-session things (a la Breaking Bonaduce) to show just how much it wasn’t going to work out.

Now Jackie’s officially playing the field, with dates ranging from a chick named Tiffany (who beat Jackie’s ass at the batting cages — and I still can’t tell if she was mildly turned on by that, maddened by it or a combination of the two) to trainer Rebecca (a former Amazing Race contestant) who has decided to become a recreational lesbian the way other people might dabble in intramural floor hockey or pottery classes.

Tonight’s episode promises to be quite heavy, though. Back in January, trainer Doug Blasdell died of kidney failure at the age of 44. Doug was the gay father-figure of the gym and I half don’t want to watch tonight’s episode for fear of getting upset — but I know I don’t have that kind of resolve.

Playing it Straight — I don't think I'd be exaggerating to say that this show is the pinnacle of human achievement.

Like Top Design, I can't help but love this show based on the fact that it has the gay factor and the elimination factor. Plus, it has a high degree of psychological intrigue. I'm powerless. 

Here's the story behind it.

Take The Bachelorette format.  Put it in a fakey Texas ranch.  Make (more than) half the dudes gay.  Bring in a cash prize of a half million dollars — if she picks a straight suitor, they split the cash.  If she picks a gay guy, he gets it all. 

Seriously, this is some good shit. 

I recently caught up with the show when they had a marathon on Fox Reality Channel (I have no idea what I was doing looking at that channel — don't ask).  I saw a few episodes when it originally aired on FOX.  The show was a dismal failure ratings-wise and forced Fox to cancel it mid-season, unresolved. In fact, they didn't even burn off the remaining episodes over the summer — they announced the winner via press release.

The bachelorette's name is Jackie and she is completely ordinary. And that's not a slam, it's just that she's like every pretty girl in a strappy H&M tank top you've ever met. She seems like somebody you went to school with and can barely remember.  "You remember Jackie?  Long brown hair, really cute. She was in our sociology class first semester junior year… No, the other one…  Yeah.  She was nice."

One of the best parts of the show is watching the bachelors turn on each other, exposing each other's perceived gay qualities. The boyish (and obviously straight) bachelor Banks receives sideways glances for his interest in architecture and knowledge of which one's the salad fork.  Anytime someone shows refined taste or proper hygiene, the other guys are like "Hey there, Susie."

At the end of every show, when Jackie eliminates bachelors, she has to ask the rejected suitor (who, in this case, I will call Gustav): "But before you go, Gustav, I have to know — are you straight or are you gay?"  And then Gustav, with his well manicured (too well manicured?) fingernails and impeccably shaped eyebrows says: "Jackie, I never wanted to hurt you.  But you chose well — I am gay!"  And then everybody gasps and Gustav goes back to the house to pack his gay bags. 

One of the noteworthy events of the season was when the aforementioned Banks had his accident. Halfway through the season, he got into an arm-wrestling competition (with a guy who I think turned out to be gay) and grotesquely got his arm broken.  It was like he was waving a baguette bag filled with sticks.

I have to admit, the producers did a good job of casting the bachelors.  They all live in the grey area between metrosexual straight and uber-butch gay. For the most part, they were pretty damned ambiguous. One of the gays (who lasted a long time) gave himself away, though, because he was so concerned with sabotaging the other players, he was all "Jackie who?"

If this actually sounds interesting to anyone but me, Fox Reality is having a marathon on April Fools Day.  Get it? 

So, Top Design.  Let's just dive right in, shall we?

First of all, I knew I was going to watch this show beginning to end before it even premiered.  If there is a reality show that involves an elimination aspect, you've already got my interest.  But when you put the Bravo homo spin on the whole thing, it's basically required by law that I watch it.  And since Project Runway doesn't appear to be coming anytime soon, Top Design is a good enough methadone.

Is it any good?  Yes, it's alright.  I'm not going to say it's wonderful, but it's probably not as bad as everyone says it is.  If Project Runway is gourmet, authentic tiramisu and Top Chef is a freshly baked Mrs. Fields cookie, Top Design is probably some sort of Sara Lee or Entemann's treat.  Not exactly my first choice, but you better believe I'm going eat that shit in its entirety. 

I'm sure you know the premise without me having to tell you — it's Project Runway with interior designers.  Todd Oldham is the host and while he is immensely likable, he has a stilted, book report-y delivery that makes his discomfort evident.  It makes you appreciate how good and poised Heidi Klum actually is.  The cast is rounded out by head judge Jonathan Adler, a woman named Kelly Wearstler and the woman from Elle Decor.  I'm sure you'd know all about them if you were into interior design, but for our purposes they are just Thing 1 and Thing 2. 

One of my favorite parts of the judging portion of the show is that after they inspect the rooms, Jonathan Adler smiles that fakey kind of smile that you recognize from parties.  It's like you're talking to someone and you know that the moment you walk away they're going to start talking about your flaws.

My favorite designer and, in my estimation, the show's frontrunner is Goil ("like gargoyle").  As far as his design goes, he's very Verne Yip-y in that he tends toward the minimal, but personally he seems to be the most humble and easygoing of the bunch. 

Other memorable contestants include:

John, who Bravo hyped as a boundary-breaker for being only the second HIV-positive person ever to go on a reality show — but, unfortunately, he forgot to give one of his rooms a floor and was promptly eliminated in the second episode.

Michael, John's arch nemesis (yes, he got an arch nemesis within two episodes), who appears to be an egg-y Harry Potter.  He is currently trying to deny he is not afraid of paint and manual labor.

Ryan, the bad boy who literally skateboarded into the house with artsy bravado. Last week we said a rather unjust goodbye to Felicia who made the mistake of putting a depressing Roseanne Connor-style afghan on her client's bed.  It was either her or Ryan, but they chose to keep Ryan because he's loud and a magnet for conflict (read: better TV than the wallflowery Felicia).

One of the eliminated contestants, Lisa Turner, really reminds me of a cartoon character but I can't remember who.  I want to say it's a Flintsone, Jetson or someone of the Hanna Barbera oeuvre. Then again, my friend John pointed out that perhaps I'd been thinking about X-Men's Storm all along. 

And, speaking of chicks with crazy hairdos, what the hell was up with judge Kelly Wearstler's (right) hair on last week's episode?  She's normally a hottie, but this particular fashion choice was — how should I put it — truly outrageous.

Finally, someone needs to say something about it (and I'm sure people have — at length), Top Design has the single worst catchphrase on television.  I swear to God.  When someone is auffed, Jonathan Adler says "See you later, decorator."  I'm not bullshitting you.  It's sure as hell no "You're out."  It's not even a "Please pack your knives and go" — which, really, should be re-examined as well.

American Idol men perform tonight for two freaking hours. My college acquaintance Tom Lowe will not be among them, however, because apparently he was the perfect storm of American Idol controversy. Also this means there will be no House. Tear.

So you have your fun, AI. I'll be watching Gilmore Girls hopefully keep up the momentum after last week's very sad but incredibly satisfying Christopher and Lorelai breakup. Now that it's over, I see why they decided to go there with that relationship, but it doesn't make any of this season's episodes any more enjoyable.

"Is that my shirt?"

Then there's the latest mystery on Veronica Mars, a continuation of last week's murder plot. My suspicion is that the person who killed the coach also killed Dean Ed and that he/she's a serial killer of some sort, based on Landry's lecture topic. Perhaps someone obsessed with the horrible time they had at Hearst. Like the girl who walked off the roof — Patrice! There's my guess. What's yours?

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming: It's a re-airing of latest Disney Channel original movie — Jump In. My understanding is that it's a High School Musical with less music, which to me is straying way too far from the formula. Corbin Bleu, Troy's basketball friend in High School Musical, plays a boxer who joins a double dutch jump-rope team. No, I am not making this up. 

Not a very promising weekend for television. This whole post is pretty much we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming. But I'm including Monday because of the holiday, so that helps.

On Friday night, there's a Lifetime original movie from 1996, For My Daughter's Honor, which sounds delightfully cheesy if you enjoy that sort of thing. Alyson Hannigan's in it, and the girl who was Maggie in The Nanny stars. Please, please click on that link and read the user comments. I promise it's worth it.

On Saturday, they're repeating Justin Timberlake's latest SNL appearance, which, as everyone knows because we all saw it the first time, was awesome. The Disney Channel's playing the Lindsay Lohan Parent Trap. It's adorable. Shut up. TBS has Cheaper By the Dozen for the thousandth time, which I only mention so I know to avoid it like the plague to keep from falling into another Tom Welling coma. Best of all, WE is playing Girl, Interrupted and IFC has thirteen. Which troubled teen girl movie will you be watching?

Sunday's episode of Battlestar Galactica better be better than last week's, or there's going to be hell to pay from the internets. It's all about the Chief and Cally, so… okay. I love the Chief. But I love Helo, too, and that didn't really help last week. It's not a fatal blow to the series, but it is a little disheartening. So let's get back on track, Show!

Then Monday — lovely Monday. Ted's got to throw away some crap and Lily's in a play in HIMYM, and though it sounds a tad Joey to me, I dig it. Chris wants to go to Ghostbusters on Everybody Hates Chris — got to love those period details. Heroes introduces a new Hero (eventually they'll stop doing this, right? or do we even want them to?) and we're back with Ultimate Superhero Peter for a while. Jack gets really, really mad at Marilyn on 24, and for good reason. Why is everyone so stupid about their lives and the lives of their loved ones on that show? Don't they know the fate of the world depends on them being selfless?

And then there's Studio 60, the show that might have been, that continues to self-destruct in a fiery blaze. To paraphrase Lorelai Gilmore, "You're the show I want to want." Sorkin is a very good writer, but these are not lived-in characters with flaws and quirks; they're half an idea of a character. No one's thought these people through; no one's sat in a room and hashed out why and how these people are who they are: everything they do is forced on them without any thought or grace. Anyway, catch the infuriating madness before it's gone forever.

I’m becoming a little bit obsessed with Sandra Lee.

For those of you who don’t know her, she’s the blondest, WASPiest thing to ever hit the Food Network with her show Semi-Homemade. It’s a cute concept — take half pre-packaged goods and half fresh ingredients to save yourself time and make yourself seem more talented than you really are.

The things she makes usually look pretty good, but I’m kind of fascinated with her whole persona. I mean, she’s the second-hottest chef on the Food Network, and she has that exacting brand of Stepford perfection that you can’t believe is for real. Every time I see Sandra her blonde hair is more and more feathered — like she’s just about to go head-to-head with a seventies-era Farrah Fawcett.

I know nothing about Sandra Lee’s actual story. For all I know, she grew up in South Central LA (have to admit, though, I’m strongly doubting it). But I like to think that she has a husband who was a high school football hero and now is the back-slapping kind of barrel-chested middle-aged guy who you would recruit to help you move a piece of furniture into your house. He’d gladly oblige and maybe he’d call you “sport.”

Sandra Lee likely has two children, a boy named Hunter and a girl named Taylor. Hunter is the star forward for his little league team and Taylor takes piano lessons. They are both heterosexual.

The best parts of every show come at the end, though. The first comes is her daily tablescape — a craft-laden table, with a flawlessly executed theme meant to enhance the dining experience. It has such psychotic attention to detail that you just know she spent multiple hours whittling decorations on sticks of butter and arranging faux foliage on table just so. More than any reasonable person would do.

The second part that I love, love, love is the fact that she always makes a cocktail with every meal. It’s usually something fruity, garnished with fresh blueberries, and she’ll sample it right there for you. I really want to know what goes on behind the scenes at Semi-Homemade. Does she have to go through multiple takes sampling the drinks? Does she demand that they do extra takes? You just know there have been a few drunken episodes where she starts chugging strawberry schnappes from the bottle and yelling insults at Molto Mario.

The OC is canceled.

NOW who's gonna tell me what hipster bands are cool? Sigh.

My college roommate Allison introduced me to the concept of No Shame during our senior year. Living in our sorority house surrounded by a dozen girls who were each in various stages of denial about their alcoholism, there was very little that Allison and I found true shame in. Had to leave your medieval lit class to throw up because you drank too much the night before? No shame. Allowed a boy whose name you didn't know to see your underwear? No shame. Took your beer into the shower so you could pregame while gettin prettied up? Ain't no shame in that, Allison would tell us. She was wise beyond her years. Even though we are separated by hundreds of miles and the mason-dixon line, I try to keep Allison's Ain't No Shame spirit alive in everything I do. And that's why I have no problem telling you that I watch TBS's original series My Boys, and I love it.

One of my more obnoxious philosophies in life is to automatically hate anything that is being directly marketed at me. This, for example, is why I don't shop at Urban Outfitters. And it's also why I should despise a show about a sassy 20something who's a sports writer on a show "About how women think… when they think like a guy." At any given moment, 20% of my brain power is devoted to basic human functions (walking without falling, not insulting strangers on the street for their "fashion" taste), 30% is devoted to counting down to when MTV premieres the new season of The Hills, and Jack Bauer's return, 10% is thinking about what I'm going to eat next, and 40% is consumed with thoughts of David Wright. My Boys was made for me, which means the chances of my hating it were significantly higher than the chances of my hating, say, New Yankee Workshop, the carpentry show that my boyfriend watches with a passion generally reserved for college basketball. A plucky sportswriter on the Chicago Cubs beat using sports metaphors for her dating life and interacting platonically with a group of similarly-minded dudes? Recipe for disaster, right? WRONG!

It's enormously clever, both in the writing and scene editing– as PJ (that's the chick– they even gave her a boys' name, how adorable and unexpected!) is breaking up with her boyfriend, they give you cutaways to her guy friends playing an epic game of Rock Em Sock Em Robots in their favorite bar. And while they fall into the Grey's Anatomy trap of having cheesy voiceovers bookend each episode, they're always sports analogies and are in no way worse than Carrie Bradshaw swooning "I couldn't help but wonder… what if our past is like an ANCHOR… holding us down?"

Final thought: Think Scrubs for baseball fans. Well played, TBS. Well played.

A while ago, Maggie advised me of the upcoming A&E made-for-TV movie Wedding Wars, starring John Stamos.  It promises to be the gayest event of the holiday season.

The film stars John Stamos and Eric "McSteamy" Dane as brothers, gay and straight respectively.  Stamos' character Shel (no relation, presumably) is a fabulous party planner who is set to plan the wedding of his campaign manager brother Ben.  When Shel finds out that Ben is behind the governor's speech against gay marriage (Ben is betrothed to the governor's daughter, Maggie), he decides to go on strike for equal rights.  Somehow, one lonely gay's plight becomes a national cause.

Gay mayhem ensues — presumably leaving high school theater productions unrehearsed, hair salons unmanned and the cast of Disney on Ice reduced to Goofy and two dwarfs.

I'm curious to see how Stamos plays gay — if he'll throw in some swishy mannerisms just to sell it a little bit or if he'll just maintain his current level of butch.  Not that he's some sort of lumberjack now — he has a Ryan Seacrest level of well-coiffed masculinity — but we'll see how it goes. 

Also, I'd like Shel to have some sort of actual love interest and have a real screen kiss.  That wish is both political and self-serving.

As I watch it, I expect the following: 

1.  Stamos in snugly-fitting t-shirts.

2.  The nagging feeling that Dane and Stamos should be holding hands the whole time.

3.  At some point there will be a "shocking" outing of a character — thereby showing that we're all the same after all.  Or something. 

So let's all watch and then report back tomorrow.  It's probably going to be awful, but it'll probably be a well intentioned liberal love-fest and that's good enough for me. 

Heroes isn't on again until next year, so you won't be missing anything.  Showtime's at 9 on A&E.