For those of you haters who said, from the beginning, that it wouldn't last, well all I can say is it lasted longer than you thought it would. But, after years of frenemies, hair weaves, paternity tests, cat fights, trash-talking, Christian Louboutin knock-offs (c'mon, ladies, you think that can of red spray paint does the trick!!), bling, and more bling, it's time to show you the door. That's right, reality TV and I are breaking up!!
It's been a long time coming, and the first question you might ask is why now, after more than a decade spent watching the splendid tackiness of surgically-enhanced people as they traverse the hardships of fake friendships and made-for-TV personal crises for viewers like me. But, just like I outgrew my Barbies before I hit puberty, I've outgrown these real-life Barbies. Now, this isn't to say that I'm a TV snob or something, but I prefer my soap operas scripted and starring SAG-card carrying actors playing fictional characters who do some really messed up stuff!
But, I haven't answered the question of why now? Well, it was a clustering of several things, not the least of which was watching Theresa and Joe Giudice of Bravo's "Real Housewives" franchise getting hauled into court stemming from alleged fraud that was a direct result of their lavish spending in support of their reality TV lifestyle. And this wasn't the first time one of the Real Housewives cast members had been popped for overspending in the name of keeping up appearances. I mean, how many mobile hair and makeup teams do you reckon there are in Atlanta, GA?? And seriously, do you ALL need a personal assistant to help you run your empires??
Of course, not all of these concierge-style services are paid for by the Housewives, in fact they receive so much promotional product that it's a wonder how they seem always to be in hot financial water!
Now, I know it sounds like I'm picking just on the Housewives, which is only fair since they are the best role models for this bad behavior. But the Housewives DNA has established itself far beyond the confines of Bravo, so that now, there is no safe space, not even the History Channel!!
Look, this is hard for me. We've had some good times, some great times, but there is no rose for you tonight, reality TV:( So pack your knives and go home. Are you still not getting what I'm saying? OK, let me speak to in your language, OK?
Reality TV, I'm not disrespecting you, but you are no longer "Gone With the Wind" fabulous! No, I'm not straight up tripping, but at the end of the day, I have to be Team Me. I know we'd all like some closure, if you think that I'm going to come crawling back to you with remote control in hand, well hell to the no!
That sounded harsh, didn't it? I'm sorry. There are so many things that I'll miss about you. The way you make me wait until after the commercial break to find out if NeNe/Theresa/Jill/The Countess hit Kim/Caroline/Alexis/Vicki. The way you play that intense music that builds until I find out whether or not the client liked Chef Roble's craw fish. I"ll miss your Tim Gunn Saves, your Heidi Klum "Auf wiedersehen", your trips to Mood, and your last-minute trip to the Piperlime/Lord & Taylor's/Macy's accessories wall. I'll miss your augmented breasts, your plastic-surgery reveal parties, and your love of clear heels. I'll miss your constant use of rented limos and car services for everything from winery trips to 30-minute drives to dinner parties hosted by other cast members. I'll miss that you call people who are your alleged friends on a show that's supposed to be based in reality "castmates". I'll miss that every cast engagement and pregnancy guarantees a limited-run spin-off where we get to meet more tacky people! But, what I'll especially miss is the 60-minute vacation that my brain got to enjoy each time I tuned in to see the mundane goings-on of people desperate for the attention. If you need me, I'll be reading:)
Showing posts with label society. Show all posts
Showing posts with label society. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
"You're Not as Cute as You Think You Are"
On a recent episode of HBO's series, "The Newsroom," Will McAvoy (played by Jeff Daniels), tells his executive producer/former love interest MacKenzie McHale (played by the squishy-faced actress Emily Mortimer), "You're not as cute as you think you are." It was a simple and yet powerful statement that resonated far beyond the action of that episode. I think we can all relate to people in our everyday lives whose behaviors veer from totally adorbs to really annoying, and so herewith, my list of winners in the first annual "You're Not as Cute as You Think You Are" Awards, and the envelope please:
- Adorbs, totes, champs - Cutesy-speak, defined as that so clever shortening of words and phrases, where "totally adorable" becomes "totes adorbs" and "crazy" becomes "cray cray" is all the rage, but how did this virus spread? Some blame those texting 13-year-olds of yore who, with their ancient Sidekicks, were looking for keyboard shortcuts. And then came Twitter with its 140-characters and soon the virus had a new host. It then made the leap to prime time television, aided by the now-defunct ABC sitcom "Happy Endings", and the character Penny Hartz. Once established on one of the Big Three networks, it then blazed through the reality TV backwoods, spawning new additions like "glamping" (glamorous camping), in which one hikes in heels and drinks plenty of bubbly (or "champs", you know, as in champagne).
- Zooey Deschanel, Katherine Heigl, Mindy Kaling, Chloe Sevigny, That Guy from Season 12 of "Project Runway" who's obsessed with unicorns, Rae Dawn Chong (how dare you go after Oprah...OPRAH??!!), Leslie Mann, The Entire Cast of "Girls", Jane Levy from "Suburgatory", Andy Sandberg, Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally" (you were quite insufferable!), Ann Hathaway
- Anyone over the age of 21 wearing a t-shirt that depicts a cartoon character, television show or commercial brand from the 1960s, 1970s, or 1980s, including, but not limited to, the Kool-Aid Man, School House Rock, Fat Albert, Captain Crunch, Strawberry Shortcake, Thunder Cats.
- Anyone over the age of 18 wearing their hair in 2 braids (see Cindy Brady)
- Overuse of the word "ironic" as a means of establishing intellectual superiority when partaking of the popular. For example, "I'm ironically watching every episode of Duck Dynasty/Here Comes Honey Boo Boo/Double Divas/The Golden Girls" or "I'm ironically having my 30th birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese."
- Oral hashtagging - "He's soooo cute #MyFutureExBoyfriend"
- Knit caps when temperatures are above 40-degrees Fahrenheit
- Ghostwriting blogs for your dog, cat, hamster
- Theme parties which require guests to dress as characters from TV shows ("Mad Men", "Golden Girls"), movies ("Mildred Pierce", "The Wiz"), or referencing cartoon action figures (latex, anyone??)
- Declaring (proudly) your multiple food allergies at the coffee shop/grocery store/restaurant/food festival/farmers market
- Making every statement sound like a question - "I have a skinny decaf latte?"
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Birth and Death of Chocolate City: A New Perspective on Washington, DC
Last weekend, my husband and I took my mom and dad on a field trip down memory lane. Our destination was Ben's Chili Bowl, the eatery made famous in recent years by a visit from a certain White House resident who goes by the name of POTUS. But Ben's Chili Bowl already had established a warm spot in the hearts of the citizens of the Nation's Capitol, and not just because of its chili and cheese Philly half-smokes! Ben Ali and his wife, Virginia, opened Ben's Chili Bowl in 1958 on U Street. The street was dotted with clubs where legendary black entertainers performed, earning the area the nickname of the "Black Broadway". U Street was a part of the Shaw neighborhood, and it was into this neighborhood that my dad and his mom settled upon their arrival from rural southeast Virginia.
To my dad and others like him, DC was the land of opportunity, where a black man could own his own home, start a business, and eat a hot dog seated next to stars like Ella Fitzgerald or Bill Cosby. He was a frequent visitor to Ben's Chili Bowl, in good times and in bad, and the bad times came with the riots of 1968. The riots tore through the city, leaving city blocks in tatters. In the first few days after the riots, while the streets of DC were still smoldering, Ben's Chili Bowl was one of the few restaurants open to feed the exhausted firefighters and volunteers who were working to restore order. The aftermath of the riots would bring about some of the most profound changes in DC. The city's white population fled to the safety of the suburbs in large numbers, and in the years to follow, Washington, DC became Chocolate City.
My dad considered himself one of the lucky ones, having forsaken his adopted city shortly before the riots to take up his role as husband, and later as father in the suburbs outside of DC. However, he made frequent return trips to the old neighborhood to visit his mom. By the 1970's, seven out of ten of every Washingtonian was black, but those numbers don't really portray the state of their existence in those sections of the city that had been leveled by the '68 riots. The city block on which his mother lived had been the epicenter of the riots, and was several bus rides away from all of the necessities one needed for life. It was also turning exceedingly dangerous as open air drug markets and violent crime took over the landscape. There was a growing divide between the blacks who "made it" and were living the suburban dream of manicured lawns and thriving children, and the blacks who were "stuck" in the city.
While last week's release of the latest Census data - showing an 11% decrease in Washington, DC's African-American population - made for blaring headlines, there is a much more intimate narrative at work here. Sitting at a table at Ben's Chili Bowl, and listening as my mom and dad and Virginia Ali spoke of old times, I was suddenly struck by how profound a loss is the loss of a community of shared experience. But I was also struck by how these new residents will erect their own communities of meaning.
I'm just saying.
To my dad and others like him, DC was the land of opportunity, where a black man could own his own home, start a business, and eat a hot dog seated next to stars like Ella Fitzgerald or Bill Cosby. He was a frequent visitor to Ben's Chili Bowl, in good times and in bad, and the bad times came with the riots of 1968. The riots tore through the city, leaving city blocks in tatters. In the first few days after the riots, while the streets of DC were still smoldering, Ben's Chili Bowl was one of the few restaurants open to feed the exhausted firefighters and volunteers who were working to restore order. The aftermath of the riots would bring about some of the most profound changes in DC. The city's white population fled to the safety of the suburbs in large numbers, and in the years to follow, Washington, DC became Chocolate City.
My dad considered himself one of the lucky ones, having forsaken his adopted city shortly before the riots to take up his role as husband, and later as father in the suburbs outside of DC. However, he made frequent return trips to the old neighborhood to visit his mom. By the 1970's, seven out of ten of every Washingtonian was black, but those numbers don't really portray the state of their existence in those sections of the city that had been leveled by the '68 riots. The city block on which his mother lived had been the epicenter of the riots, and was several bus rides away from all of the necessities one needed for life. It was also turning exceedingly dangerous as open air drug markets and violent crime took over the landscape. There was a growing divide between the blacks who "made it" and were living the suburban dream of manicured lawns and thriving children, and the blacks who were "stuck" in the city.
While last week's release of the latest Census data - showing an 11% decrease in Washington, DC's African-American population - made for blaring headlines, there is a much more intimate narrative at work here. Sitting at a table at Ben's Chili Bowl, and listening as my mom and dad and Virginia Ali spoke of old times, I was suddenly struck by how profound a loss is the loss of a community of shared experience. But I was also struck by how these new residents will erect their own communities of meaning.
I'm just saying.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Baby Mama Drama during Movie Night!
Silly me, thinking that a late movie on date night would be a child-free zone! I found out 15 minutes into the film how wrong I was when the first "wa-wa-wa's" erupted from the nosebleed seats. The outburst lasted for 3 minutes, that's 180 seconds - an eternity in movie years! A secondary eruption followed 20 minutes later, this one accompanied by the hurried steps of Baby Mama darting towards the exit carrying the irritated infant. I could see the outline of Baby Mama and child, as she attempted to rock the baby into better humor. It seemed to work, and so Baby Mama and child began their assent back up to their seats.
All was quiet, save for the rustling of hands into tubs of buttery popcorn and the onscreen happenings of Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston, when the little one had another meltdown, exploding into a torrent of tears and ear-splitting shrieks and that's when the Mothership LOST. HER. MIND!! Only, it wasn't directed towards her baby, rather it was aimed at someone else in the nosebleed section who must have made a comment about the baby because Baby Mama responded with a very loud, "Well, just MIND your damn business, then!!"
Now this isn't the first time a stranger has sought to intervene when a baby has gone nuclear. We've all been there when a pint-size terror throws a toddler tantrum while mommy and daddy stand stricken and humiliated. Some of us coo at little Kiddie Kaboom in a vain attempt to quell their madness with kindness, but there are times when, frankly, no one wants to hear your child.
There are different schools of thought on how best to deal with a child-gone-wild. Some opt for immediate removal and containment, taking the little one out of the situation at the first whimper. You'll notice these people, as they'll insist on sitting nearest the exit with their coats on, in a perpetual state of high alert. These, I must admit, are some of my favorite people!
There are others, though, who take a more wait and see approach, preferring to let a few whimpers and unhappy gurgles go unchecked, and using a mixture of techniques, including rapid leg bouncing of the tiny tot and shifting the little one between parents. They'll stay until the frequency of nasty looks and the chorus of throat-clearing from observers drives them into sudden awareness that their child's behavior might be a bit annoying.
But the worst are those who dig in, and, even while their child is in the midst of an epic foot-stomping rage, they are steadfast and immovable. They seem dulled to the hysterics of their child, or maybe they've become so accustomed to it that they're like the Borg from Star Trek: "resistance is futile!"
One of my friends who's a mother of two falls into the immediate removal and containment category. Her philosophy is that there are certain situations where it's not a good idea to have baby on board. During the toddler years, she and her hubby had a no fancy restaurant policy - unless they had a baby sitter at home with the little one. Kids were left at home with one parent while the other made the weekly grocery store trip - in fact, the same policy was in place for mommy's hair dresser appointments and trips to the mall and the movies. I'd tell you her name, but she doesn't exist:( But maybe, just maybe, she will one day. In the meantime, when you find yourself staring down a one year old on a mission to ruin your trip to see the latest R-rated thriller, just make a note of the nearest exit - you're going to need it! I'm just saying:)
All was quiet, save for the rustling of hands into tubs of buttery popcorn and the onscreen happenings of Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston, when the little one had another meltdown, exploding into a torrent of tears and ear-splitting shrieks and that's when the Mothership LOST. HER. MIND!! Only, it wasn't directed towards her baby, rather it was aimed at someone else in the nosebleed section who must have made a comment about the baby because Baby Mama responded with a very loud, "Well, just MIND your damn business, then!!"
Now this isn't the first time a stranger has sought to intervene when a baby has gone nuclear. We've all been there when a pint-size terror throws a toddler tantrum while mommy and daddy stand stricken and humiliated. Some of us coo at little Kiddie Kaboom in a vain attempt to quell their madness with kindness, but there are times when, frankly, no one wants to hear your child.
There are different schools of thought on how best to deal with a child-gone-wild. Some opt for immediate removal and containment, taking the little one out of the situation at the first whimper. You'll notice these people, as they'll insist on sitting nearest the exit with their coats on, in a perpetual state of high alert. These, I must admit, are some of my favorite people!
There are others, though, who take a more wait and see approach, preferring to let a few whimpers and unhappy gurgles go unchecked, and using a mixture of techniques, including rapid leg bouncing of the tiny tot and shifting the little one between parents. They'll stay until the frequency of nasty looks and the chorus of throat-clearing from observers drives them into sudden awareness that their child's behavior might be a bit annoying.
But the worst are those who dig in, and, even while their child is in the midst of an epic foot-stomping rage, they are steadfast and immovable. They seem dulled to the hysterics of their child, or maybe they've become so accustomed to it that they're like the Borg from Star Trek: "resistance is futile!"
One of my friends who's a mother of two falls into the immediate removal and containment category. Her philosophy is that there are certain situations where it's not a good idea to have baby on board. During the toddler years, she and her hubby had a no fancy restaurant policy - unless they had a baby sitter at home with the little one. Kids were left at home with one parent while the other made the weekly grocery store trip - in fact, the same policy was in place for mommy's hair dresser appointments and trips to the mall and the movies. I'd tell you her name, but she doesn't exist:( But maybe, just maybe, she will one day. In the meantime, when you find yourself staring down a one year old on a mission to ruin your trip to see the latest R-rated thriller, just make a note of the nearest exit - you're going to need it! I'm just saying:)
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