I cannot wait.

All the quick-witted old people are dying.  Goodbye Estelle Getty.  You were my favorite Golden Girl. 

Imagine, if you will, that your television line-up was the meats section at your local grocery store - A huge smorgasbord of high, medium and low-end animal flesh.  Please note, I decided to use the meat analogy for television because like meat, TV rules.  I am going to reserve the vegetarian analogy for something that doesn’t rule: work, bills, other people’s opinions.

So, as you stroll through the fine assortment of meats, you will notice the Grade-A Prime Angus Beef of television - shows like Dexter, Californication, and The Sopranos.  These are the high-end shows.  You need to pay a little extra to see them, but that few extra dollars, if you can spare them, is totally worth it.  Then there are boneless chicken breasts.  Excellent food that almost everyone will enjoy, shows like Lost and Grey’s Anatomy fall into this category.  Some people don’t really care for chicken, but generally your typical audience will gobble these shows right up.  As you peruse the meat, you find ground turkey meat.  It’s cheap, it’s easy, and generally speaking, it will almost always taste good.  Shows like Friends, Frasier and Scrubs fall into this category.  Then you have the assorted deli meats.  This is reality TV.  With an assortment of different deli meats for every taste, reality TV is usually over-processed, packed with fillers and made of sub-standard meat.  It’s what you watch when you need something quick and don’t have time to cook steak, chicken or even ground turkey.  While you may think you have sophisticated tastes, chances are you have eaten your fair share of deli meat when you are in a pinch.  Last night I watched a new reality show that can’t even be considered cheap bologna…

I Love Moneyis VH1’s newest reality TV/game show, and if it were featured in our meat metaphor, it would be scrapple.  If you are not familiar with scrapple, it is the left-over meat products that aren’t even good enough to be packed into pet food.  Hot dogs and bologna are made out of organs and bones and meat trimmings and are already a cut above scrapple.  Chew on that. 

America could not get enough simian-like imbeciles and attention-seeking whores from The Flavor of Love, I Love New York and Rock of Love with Brett Michaels, so VH1 took the most memorable oafs from these shows and decided to pit them all against each other.  Why?  The idiot who can actually sync up all 10 of his or her brain cells and surpass the others’ “skills” will win a whopping $250,000.  Some of the “stars” of I Love Money include “Midget Mac,” a drunk, black midget with kung-fu skills, horrible speech and a whole lot of attitude.  Then there’s “Rodeo,” a forty-something, bleach blonde country girl with a BBQ sauce company and a heart of gold.  And let’s not forget about “The Entertainer” of I Love New York fame.  An obvious native of Jersey, The Entertainer is an early-thirties nut job who lives in his parents’ basement and has a predilection for sucking on black ladies’ toes. 

And they are the “smarter ones.”  Well, I actually do think a genuinely intelligent guy with a really perverse sense of humor was able to get onto the show: “Mr. Boston.”

“Mr. Boston” appeared on I Love New York, and was this dweeby, pasty white guy who seemed to really piss off every other dude on the show who was vying for the love of the STD-ridden show’s namesake.  I honestly think the reason he pissed every other nimrod off on the show was because their primitive instincts could pick up that he was smarter than them.  It’s like when a primatologist goes and lives with the gorillas and is immediately made the subject of aggression by the stronger apes because they can tell something superior about the primatolgist poses a threat.  On the pre-I Love Moneyshow, all the contestants were introduced and followed around as they did their day-do-day things.  Mr. Boston’s antics were so over the top and ridiculous, but I could sense an air of intelligence to the man.  I honestly think Mr. Boston is somehow putting up a complete façade.  While some of the other contestants on I Love Money may be exaggerating their personas, they are ultimately still morons.  I don’t think this is the case with Mr. Boston.

Either way, I Love Moneyis a guilty pleasure.  I guess I like scrapple.  Watching I Love Money is like being a spectator at the Special Olympics of Reality TV.  As much as you want to find some sort of redeeming quality in these people, it’s almost impossible to overlook the fact that they are really just a bunch of barely-functioning retards doing tricks.   Just like there is no hiding the word “crap” in scrapple, I Love Money is an apt title truly relaying what these imbeciles really love.

 I cannot wait to see how this show pans out.  The only thing I am worried about is these idiots reproducing.  Sex is one of the most basic human drives, and I have a feeling these contestants may end up giving into their natural instincts to make more dumbasses while in between ridiculous challenges.

I have a love/hate relationship with reality TV.  There are some shows that I think are fine examples of what reality TV should be.  Pretty much any reality TV show that appears on The Food Network is worth my time.  On the other hand, TV has managed to kill parts of my soul with abortions like The Hills, The Real Housewives, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila and The Real World.  Somewhere between rare quality reality TV and the cancerous drive-me-to-kill-from-a-bell-tower reality TV is something I like to call ”guilty pleasure reality TV”.  This includes shows like Rock of Love with Brett Michaels, Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels and Celebrity Circus.  Often I hate myself for watching these shows, but something about them is appealing enough for me to sacrifice some brain cells to.

My new favorite junk food reality TV may be A&E’s The Two Coreys.  

Starring has-been 1980s teen idols Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, it’s reality TV’s answer to The Odd Couple.  I remember really liking the first season, and when it ended, I didn’t think there would be a season two.  After Feldman and Haim came to blows over jealousy, insecurities and lies, I figured it was all over.  Then again, a show about washed-up Tiger Beat icons with a long history of drug abuse is a comedy goldmine.

Season Two started last night, re-introducing the two Corey’s to each other.  After a six month hiatus from each other resulting from their little slap-fest in season one, there was a lot of tension.  All kinds of B-list smack talking went down, and Feldman expressed his reluctance to work with Haim on Lost Boys 2.  I know, bananas right?  After having a sit down and re-opening up 20 years worth of wounds, the Corey’s decided that maybe a relationship counselor would be best.  In fact, they elected to go to a marriage counselor.  It was delicious.  It was one of those defining TV moments that reflect just how insane and twisted our culture’s tastes are.

The interesting part about the counseling session is that they touched on Haim’s sexual molestation.  During the conversation, Haim indicated that when he was 14 years old, he had been molested by one of Corey Feldman’s close friends and that only Haim and Feldman know all of the sticky details of the case.  Guess who Corey Feldman was friends with when he was a teenager.  Guess who one of his idols was.

BOOYA!

Feldman has publicly denounced Michael Jackson and testified against him.  I wonder if Jacko is person who sodomized Haim.  I’m going to keep watching The Two Coreys.  You should too.

A fundamental element of my personality, love it or hate it, is that I have a tendency towards obsession.  If I get into something, all my attention will be focused on it until I have gotten my fill or it dies.  This applies to nearly every facet of my life.  Ask anyone who knows me personally. 

I rarely watch TV series when they air because I don’t like to wait for things.  I want it all and I want it now.  I normally wait for a season in its entirety to be released so that I can gobble it up in one sitting.

I got into HBO’s OZ earlier this year.  I finished the first two seasons in one weekend.  I loved it, and I wanted more.  I ordered seasons 3 and 4 from Amazon, and when they arrived, my eyes devoured them as well.  Seeing as there are six seasons in the series, I promptly ordered the last two seasons and anticipated their arrival immediately.

Unfortunately, season 6 arrived first which left me in limbo.  I expected that with the arrival of 6, season 5 would be at my doorstep the next day (maybe the next hour).  This did not happen.

For the past two-and-a-half weeks, I waited for season 5 to arrive.  After the first week, I was fidgety and grumpy.  I was withdrawing.  I e-mailed the Amazon seller, asking where my DVDs were.  No reply.  A few days later, I sent another e-mail, politely inquiring into the status of my order.  No reply.  Fidgety and grumpy went away and were replaced by sheer mental instability.  On Sunday, I sent an e-mail to the seller, demanding to know where my series was under the threat of reporting the seller to Amazon.  Again, no reply. 

Temperature rising. Vision blurring. Rage…taking…over…BECOMING FURIOUS!

I had Meggie chain me to the table that night, fearful of what I would do.

When I woke up, I had reserved myself to a boring, OZless life.  I was done with humanity.

Sometimes I really do think there is a God.  Either that or my frustrations are so intense that they actually spout from my cranium into the ethos and somehow manage to alter the day-to-day happenings of the world.  Today when I arrived at work, a package containing OZ season 5 was perched on my chair.  I was so exited.  A coworker passed by my office and saw me licking the packaging.  I told said coworker this was private, slammed the door to my office and cried tears of joy.

Tonight me and OZ season 5 have a date.  All is right in the world.  It’s time for some passionate prison rape, detention center race riots and shiving/shanking!

So, watching Oz is really paying off.  I consider work to be very much like prison, and as such, I have been treating my coworkers like they are my fellow jailbirds.  I’m really learning how to get respect.

I just went up to one of my coworkers who had ordered Chinese food and said, “Give me your egg roll.”  He did.  True story.

- David C. Garcia

Last week, I offered Grey’s Anatomy one more chance.

You know how when you are on a long road trip, and you need to pee REAL BAD?*  It just gets worse and worse, and more and more uncomfortable.  Eventually, you get to the point where you just want it all to end.  It’s just that unbearable.   Then you finally get to a gas station bathroom and you empty your swollen bladder.  Suddenly, it’s like those horrible feelings you had are now ready to be flushed.  It’s like everything is right again in the world, and you want to shout it from the mountaintops.  Well, the Grey’s Anatomy season finale was that gas station bathroom, and I am prepared to shout from Mount Blogmore, “Grey’s Anatomy, you have redeemed yourself.”

Indeed, I watched my DVR’d Grey’s Anatomy finale this evening with Meggie, and I was happy to see that everyone somehow got everything together.  Christina Yang truly did “get [her] groove back,” and even though I wanted to smack her for actually saying that, I let it slide.  Even Meredith seemed to grow up and act her age.  It was refreshing.

Just a few things:

The “romantic” make-out scene in the end with Callie and Hahn seemed forced and was ultimately — what’s that word I’m looking for — stupid.

While I do forgive Meredith for behaving like a little whiny brat for the past two seasons, I cannot forgive her for constructing a life-sized floor plan with candles.  There were like 2000 candles, and they looked like they were each in little glass cups.  That must have cost a fortune.  Whatever.  Lame.

*If any of you comment on the size of my bladder, my inability to stay on the road without any restroom break/frequency of my urination, I will smite thee.

- David C. Garcia

I am about 10 years behind on some of my television.  About two months ago, I bought seasons One and Two of HBO’s OZ.  I’m not sure if it’s the existential ramblings of the show’s narrator or the steamy prison romances, but I love this show.  

Today seasons Three and Four were delivered.  My eyeballs are excited.

- David C. Garcia

I really hope that next week’s season finale of Grey’s Anatomy rules.  By that, I mean I hope next weeks Grey’s Anatomy is a little more grown up than a high school drama.

What is this right now, season four, right?  After four seasons, you’d hope that the show’s namesake and heroine would stop whining, right?  No.  Meredith Grey gets on my nerves, and I am not sure how much more of her I can actually take.  There is the other Grey sister, Lexi Grey.  Can’t we finally just kill Meredith Grey and let the show be named after Lexi?  At least Lexi has a bit of personality (and is, in my humble opinion much hotter than Meredith).

Oh yeah, then there is Cristina Yang.  I think if anyone in that show can give Meredith Grey a run for her money in annoyingness, it’s Yang.  Along with being a whiny little bitch, Yang is one ugly Korean.  Seriously, it looks like someone hit her with the “ugly frying pan” and flattened her face.

Whatever.  I’m just a bit frustrated with that show.  When I want to watch retarded teen dramas, I watch Degrassi: The Next Generation.  I suppose I need to watch Scrubs to get some good old fashioned grown-up hospital drama.  Seriously, JD is more of a grown up than half those pussies at Seattle Grace.  Maybe Seattle Grace can bring Dr. Perry Cox over for a consult, and he can give all those babies the enemas they need.  Dr. Cox rulz.

- David C. Garcia

Last night, after some hardcore solo tailgating with Morningstar spinach-artichoke nuggets and copious amounts of Crystal Light Green Tea, I sat down for the most anticipated Sunday night sporting event of the century: The finale of The Next Iron Chef.

Promotional consideration was brought to you by awesome, the arena was Kitchen Stadium, and the “secret ingredient” was swordfish. 

I have never been able to get pumped up for anything like the Super Bowl or World series, but watching the final challenge, “Achieve Greatness,” gave me a taste of what it must be like for most red-blooded Americans who paint their faces and watch their two favorite teams go  head to head in a final sports competition.

The Iron Chef competitions, both the Japanese and the American versions, are in my opinion perfect examples of good TV, and the Next Iron Chef series is what a good reality show should be.  The Next Iron chef lacks all the whining, whoring and idiocy of most of your standard reality TV and in place of these most tiresome of ingredients has incorporated something very novel: substance.

So, last night, our two culinary heroes, Michael Symon and John Besh, went mano-a-mano, trying to prepare five swordfish-inspired dishes in a one hour period for the three main judges, Michael Ruhlman, Bon Appétit restaurant editor Andrew Knowlton, and restaurateur Donatella Arpaia along with the resident Iron Chefs, Cat Kora, Bobby Flay and Masaharu Morimoto (Mario Batali was not present, and I think his possible departure may have been the reason for the Next Iron Chef series).

    John Besh                   Michael Symon

While I would have been happy with either of the two finalists winning, I had been rooting for Symon.  There was something about Mike Symon which really captivated me through the entire series.  I think it was Mike’s down-to-Earth personality, charm and sense of humor which won me over from the beginning.   Besh certainly had a great personality, but there was an air of “regular American dudeness” that nobody except Mike had.

I cannot honestly comment on either of the two finalists from a serious culinary standpoint because in my world, putting Munster cheese on my sandwich or adding meat sauce to my spaghetti are culinary feats in themselves.  Certainly, all the contestants were excellent chefs, but Besh and Symon just seemed to consistently have it down pat when cooking.  They never seemed to buckle under pressure. 

Indeed, I was a hardcore Michael Symon fan because he seemed to truly play to his strengths.  He kept his cool under pressure and maintained an awesome sense of humor through thick and thin.  He also had a craving for competition which was unrivaled by any of the other contestants.  I think this is what ultimately gave him the winning edge.

While I may be totally gay for Symon, I must be honest - Besh was probably a better chef.  Michael Symon enjoyed the thrill of a challenge, but Besh seemed to place more challenges in front of himself when cooking.  He continually strived to go above and beyond.  Unfortunately, I think this was his downfall.  In challenges five and six, Besh seemed to spite himself by “going that extra mile” while totally time-limited.  I think if he had focused more on the primary objective, he would be joining the ranks of Cat Cora, Bobby Flay and Morimoto.

In closing, I leave you all with the the immortal words of Michael Symon, “I almost went down on a tomato.”

- David C. Garcia