The Add-End-um

Yep, like she said, it's over. It's the end of probably one of the best all-around TV seasons in recent memory, and I don't say that lightly. Well, maybe I do say it lightly, but it's true. With the exception of The OC -- wherein Seth Cohen and his real life alter-ego Josh Schwartz both struggled equally unsuccessfully with their newfound success -- the past several months have been couch nirvana. Allow me to relive, briefly, the many wonders that the idiot box has bestowed on us this year. Or don't allow me; it's up to you. Go look at some porn or something. Do I look like I care?

Awesome new shows:

Lost - Some weeks, it staple-gunned you to your seat. Other weeks, it was people talking about their feelings. But somehow it always worked, either way. The finale is tonight and I'm pretty excited to see what gi-normous "WTF???" moment J.J. Abrams pulls out for the ending.

Veronica Mars - The fact that a really good show about high school made it past the first season is cause enough for celebration. But on top of that, this show managed to use rape, incest, teacher-student affairs, and cults as plot points without sneaking in any kind of "message" even once. And it kept a season-long mystery going about as well as any show ever has. And it has one of the best leads (character-wise and actress-wise) in TV history. And it's freaking hysterical when it wants to be. Do I need to keep going? Because I could.

Awesome returning shows:

24 - Can a show this gimmicky last more than one year? The second and third seasons left me about halfway convinced that it could. But this year they finally just threw every paranoid schizophrenic's worst fear into a blender and hit the frappé button, and then just when you thought everything was over, HOLY CRAP THE GOVERNMENT IS AFTER KIEFER! And as Sutherland the Younger walked off into the L.A. sunrise with his Black Rain-era aviator sunglasses and the clock ticked down its final seconds, I had more faith in this ridiculous enterprise than ever before.

Gilmore Girls - The high school-college transition is usually poison on shows like this. Yet, somehow, in Rory's second year at Yale (often even more yawn-worthy than the first, since there's none of the wacky freshman hijinks to portray), things finally got interesting.

Alias - Killing Melissa George at the end of last season was a good start, but the first few episodes this year were just off. And then, about five or six episodes in, the show started down a beautifully fucked-up path and never looked back. Getting Lena Olin back for the final 2 hours makes everything ten times better.

Scrubs - Really funny every week, unlike last year.

Arrested Development - Really freaking hysterical every week, like last year.

And, so forth. It'll be a long summer; thank God for Rescue Me (battling it out for the title of FX's fucked-up-est show ever, which is a lofty goal indeed) and, hopefully, Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Woe is me. Woe is us. Just fucking woe.

I’m rather depressed and not sure why. I haven’t been able to eat in over a week, which is fine, because anxiety and depression make for a very effective diet. If I can manage to lose 30 pounds, grow four inches and shave about 6 years off my age over the next couple of weeks, I’m totally applying for the next cycle of America’s Next Top Model. But I digress.

I guess it could be the occasional subconscious life depression thing that happens from time to time for no apparent reason. Or maybe, more plausibly, it’s because the end of May sweeps is such a fucking downer.

Whatever it is, it totally sucks.

May sweeps has always felt like the last few days of school. You’re finally where you wanted to be all year. Time to reap the big pay off for all your hard work and dedication. It’s the warm carefree week in spring you’ve been waiting for since day one. You’re glad it’s over, but it sort of really fucking hurts. What the hell are you going to do with yourself all summer?

Browsing TiVo’s "To Do List" last week made my stomach turn. It reminded me of fipping through the yearbook on the last day of junior year and getting prematurely nostalgically depressed. If Enya’s Caribbean Blue was playing and I had some razors, I imagine it would’ve all been over.

Here’s the TiVo equivalent of my high school yearbook:

The OC, Scrubs, Lost, The Apprentice, etc.

The amusing friends who will be around next year, the year after that and probably long after you’ve graduated.

Chaotic

The slutty girl you thought would be fun to try to hang out with, if only to have amusing stories to tell your friends, but after like 10 minutes, realized you’d made a really BIG mistake.

Veronica Mars

The really hot kid you’re totally crushing on and are SO glad you’ll be seeing in a few months. You think about them all summer and they're the reason for your new haircut and back to school clothes shopping.

America’s Next Top Model

The show in general is kind of like observing cheerleading practice as you’re walking towards the softball field. You're simultaneously disgusted and mesmerized.

Except for Kahlen, who was like that really fun senior you used to hang out with when you were a junior, but then she graduated and went off to some out of state college. Sure, there'll be new people, but it won't be the same.

Dead Like Me

The really awesome friend who totally understood your sense of humor and sarcasm. But then, their parents decided to move and yanked them out of school. You didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye until it was too late. How fitting.

I think it's time to start reading more. I wonder if my high school yearbook is suitable book club material?

And another thing, UPN...

No, it wasn't enough for you to destroy Eti's best girl-crush of all time. Now you're trying to make inroads into the lucrative barefoot-in-public-bathrooms community by airing Hand-Held Slut Video Theater, or "Chaotic" for short.

I Tivo'd the show this week, I'm not proud to admit, hoping that it would at least provide some C-level entertainment. Turns out, no matter how low I set the bar, the Bride of Fed was never going to clear it. I got about halfway through the show -- and even that involved a great amount of fast-forwarding and 30-second-skipping -- before realizing that I could not, in fact, handle her truth. The top she was wearing in the interview segments couldn't handle her [pregnancy-enhanced] truth either, but that's nothing America hasn't seen before.

Asking people bizarre questions while videotaping them might work if you're James Spader in sex, lies, and videotape, but at least he knew not to randomly point the camera at himself and make giggly faces while Andie McDowell was describing her autoerotic experiences. Speaking of sex, I'd better mention Britney's quest to get the plain girl she hangs out with to boost her own self-esteem -- or, in her own words, her "assistant" -- laid. Since I didn't finish watching the show, I don't actually know the outcome (if, in fact, there was one). However, I'm going to take a wild stab and hypothesize that Britney was not really that committed to this noble endeavor, because if she were, she'd take the girl's hand and invite some guy to a threesome, and the deal would be sealed faster than a speeding bullet. But that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, UPN, if I were you, I'd hang on to Veronica Mars from now until eternity. Because you're the broadcast network equivalent of the drunk trust-fund kid on spring break puking his guts out all over Senor Frog's, and that show is the black AmEx card in your pocket, the only thing keeping the jaded Mexican bartenders from throwing your ass out onto the mean streets of Cancun.

Sour Grapes

Oh, Kahlen. Cute, too fucking adorable, Kahlen. You were robbed.

After reading the recaps of America’s Next Top Model on Television Without Pity all last season, but never actually watching a single episode, my brain child this year was to start watching Cycle 4 because of the vast in-joke potential. But what started out as a joke, ended last night with me in front of the television, pacing back and forth, knees buckling and eventually throwing a grape so hard on my coffee table, that it splattered and I had to clean it up...in tears, no less.

I’m not one to watch reality shows, much less get emotional over them. But there I was, in a weepy haze, dumbfounded, not only by the fact that Naima won, but over the fact that pretty much the last shot they showed of Kahlen was her crying in the corner like something reminiscent of the Blair Witch Project. Booooooooooo. Kahlen was probably the most endearing reality show contestant yet. With her Hungry, Hungry Hippos references and those big eyes, she even made grape seed spitting cute...and kind of hot.

You know what, UPN? If it weren’t for the awesome awesomeness of Veronica Mars, you’d be dead in my eyes. I’d rip my shirt of you. STOP IT!!! BE QUIET!!! I HAVE NEVER YELLED AT A REALITY SHOW LIKE THIS!!! I WAS ROOTING FOR KAHLEN!!! WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR KAHLEN!!! HOW DARE YOU?!!

I remember when you were KCOP back in the eighties. And you used to show crappy movies all weekend long. And I'd watch them! Shitty commercials and all. But this is just unconscionably inexcusable.

All I have to say, is that if anyone other than Logan is standing at Veronica’s door next season, it’s war! Thanks to you, I now owe someone on Team Naima a drink and a mix CD.

But, fear not, Kahlen. You’re great and you’re going to surpass everyone, but not in that creepy Clay Aiken sort of way. And the best part? You’re not tied into a crappy soul-sucking contract with Tyra and it’s only a matter of time before you’re fiercely stomping on this stupid show as well. You’re the real winner anyway.

You can eat grapes out of my mouth any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Oh yeah, and I’m naming my first born after you. Seriously.

5/10/05: The Metacast

Pop Whore Episode 1: The Metacast is up!

Download it here!

I do not recommend trying a drinking game wherein you take a shot whenever I say "like." It will result in death within 3 minutes. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The Evil Eye

There are many reasons why the Jewish religion and culture intrigues me so, but I have no idea what the genesis (no pun intended) of this little obsession was. Was it the Sunday School teacher who told us that one day, our parents might have a talk with us about hanging out with Jews? The dozens of kids in elementary school bringing matzah and peanut butter for lunch right around Easter? The token "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel" song at the yearly Holiday Concert, followed by the severely misguided jealousy over the Jewish kids' getting presents for eight nights a year?

While all those things may have built up the interest over the years, none of them compares to the current source of my predilection toward the Classic Rock of religions.

The Evil Eye.

Seriously, this has got to be the number one selling point for anyone out there trying to convert people to Judaism (which I realize they don't really try to do, which is another reason why it's a cool religion in my book). I mean, the Evil freaking Eye, for God's sake. It's not just an expression. It's an actual thing. There are rules about it, methods of doing it, and the best part, a whole selection of devices to thwart it. Some of them are even fashionable! You can decorate your house with Evil Eye deflectors, wear them as jewelry, hang them on your rear-view mirror. The crucifix just cannot approach this kind of cachet. Plus, unless you believe in the Bram Stoker/Joss Whedon vampire mythos, it doesn't serve much of a practical purpose. But those Evil Eye thingies -- they're working 24 hours a day to keep you safe from potentially fatal sideways glances! That cashier at the Gelson's bakery who you could have sworn gave you a wicked smile after wishing your family good health? Fuck her! Your Evil Eye ring sucked up all her bad energy and then some. Hell, she can bust out a whole army of malevolent yentas to fire their wrath at you, but it'll be a big ol' waste of time.

Bar mitzvah money and 5,000 years of proud heritage are cool and all. But getting to wear a ring or a necklace that can fend off those who would seek to kill you with their thoughts? In the words of Homer Simpson, now that's religion.