Viva Tivo Nuevo?

Fellow Connoisseurs Vapid Culture:

I realize it’s been quite some time since my last post. Allow me to explain.

There has been a fracture in the fabric of my world; a crack in the cornerstone of my cosmos.

‘Twas once filled with the sunny days and fake tans seen on The Real Housewives of Orange County.

But today, my universe is gray.

No, I wasn’t forced to move from Huntington Beach, California to Flyover Statesville, USA.

Of course that would suck and everything, but one can always recover from a move by moving back, no?

Sadly, the predicament in which I find myself comes with no such easy answers.

It is, in a word, dire.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my tivo has fallen ill.

[Cue Ave Maria]

And his chances for recovery don’t look so good.

If memory lapses are any indicator, his hard drive’s days are surely numbered.

In fact– and forgive me if I sound contrite– I’ve taken to calling him Teddy Tivo.

He’s not warm and fuzzy, just named for another key societal figurehead who also recently learned he has a dire illness of the hard drive.

Still not sure who I’m referring to?

OK, so Teddy Tivo is named for an Edward. Or Ted.

Last initial K.

Sometimes followed by the letters “D-Mass.”

And despite the problems with his memory, let me assure you that this illness was not in any way caused by alcohol!

How dare you even think such a thing!!

And I know he’s only going to get worse, but I’m having a hard time pulling the plug on him, no pun intended.

Seriously. I loathe puns. Tasteless analogies regarding beloved senators with terminal illnesses are one thing, but puns? Well I never…!

If nothing else, you’d think that wanting to keep an old relic alive would give me some of that righteous indignation that the fundamentalist Kool-aid drinkers walk around with, right? Wrong. It feels bad.

On many levels.

For one thing, I feel like a greedy bitch who wants to keep her not-at-all-warm-and-fuzzy-Teddy alive for selfish reasons.

Think of all of those younger tivos out there that need vital organ transplants- as a donor, Teddy could give them new life! Picture the young tivos that surely would be spared the indignity of a premature burial in a landfill grave!

Ack-now I feel like a bad eco-citizen to boot!

And speaking of dignity, it does seem wrong of me to keep Teddy alive for my own selfish reasons when he can’t function at a decent level.

I suppose I was hoping for a kind of spontaneous recovery-miracle, but then the tivo doctor rained on that parade… all the way from India, mind you. I grilled him like a lamb kabob, and the upshot is this: Teddy’s problem is intractible and severe. And and no, he has never seen this type of problem spontaneously resolve itself.

Maybe that’s because there’s no Hindi tivo god? Food for thought.

You must be wondering why I’m so attached to the un-cuddly old bloated lug with the bad memory from the non-drinking problem then, huh?

Well, let me tell you, I’ve got reasons ’o’ plenty. And not just the usual crap about the good times we’ve shared, the stuff he introduced me to and the dreams we built together. Nosiree.

See, like most men who are post-prime, Tivo Ted is ill-equipped to function in today’s world, but full of amazing, one-of-a-kind stories from back in the day.

Indeed, he has lived to see some of the best stuff imaginable, much of which he has yet to share with the world. He can tell stories nobody else can! Like the entire marathon of Make Me A Supermodel (UK Edition)!

Have you ever tried to find that show on youtube? The only stuff that shows up are vanity clips from the one [uncloseted] gay contestant!

And these old shows, having been recorded at a time when Ted was young and spritely, playback perfectly. And it seems wrong to take him from this world before he has had a chance to tell those stories, as it were, you know?

The problem, however, is with Ted’s ability to remember new stuff.

Things will seem fine– we’ll get through minute 48 of 60 in the finale of America’s Next Top Model– and then Teddy will freeze. And start skipping.

Forcing me to reboot. And delete the poisoned recording.

**On the plus side: I have discovered a whole host of television offerings available online!

Besides the usual suspects (youtube.com, dailymotion.com) there is hulu.com, which has two distinct advantages over the others: (1) full-length shows/no more clip-hunting! (2) in decent quality.

And of course, good ol’ itunes is a lifesaver: my iphone has rescued me from boredom with an HBO offering more times than I care to recall.

Another thing I hate to recall? How many times I’ve missed out on hearing the high-and-mighty, I’m-so-smart Tyra Banks utter the grammatically incorrect phrase “Congratulations, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.”

As if there is this monster named “Becoming America’s Next Top Model”, and [you] are running towards it?

But seriously, fellow vapid culturists, putting Tyra Banks aside, ’tis one thing I know.

At the end of the day, as attached as I may be to Tivo Ted, nothing can make up for the loss I felt upon missing another ending of Viva Hollywood: Vh1’s search for America’s Numero Uno Telenovela Star.

Especially because it meant missing another installment of the show-in-show cheesefest El Masacre de la Mascara.

Behold:

I missed the finale because of you, Ted!!

I dunno, kids. Methinks Ted’s days are numero’ed.

¡Viva Tivo Nuevo!

Last year Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, Britney Spears & Co. introduced the world to the Five-Star-Hotel/Drug-Detox-Unit. Sadly, some of us knew all about such places already… Now, you can too!

Finally, Vh1 brings the dark voyeur’s wet dream to the airwaves with Celebrity Rehab.

Like the prescription drugs it aims to wean patients from, the show has a legitimate purpose (giving credibility to the rehabilitation process, at least according to Dr. Drew), but ends up being popular for unintended side-effects that are a whole lot more fun. Like watching porn stars attempt to bring in strap-ons, dildos and silicone “virtual vaginas”… as gifts for the other patients.

Some of the Contraband

Living in the spoiled rich kids’ mecca that is Orange County has allowed me to witness the otherwise unfathomable antics that occur regularly in the beach-side “recovery” (read: over-privileged druggie day-care) scene. To give you an idea of just how bad things get, a NIMBY grassroots organization called Concerned Citizens of Newport Beach has evolved. They are suing the city at this very moment, trying to take back their formerly pristine peninsula.

Yeah, good luck with that.

Suffice it to say that the only thing scarier than the garden variety junkie is the junkie with status and money– Lindsay Lohan, anyone?

Okay, maybe that was a bad example on the status part, but you get where I’m going, right?

Individuals who are raised with a grandiose sense of entitlement are far removed enough from reality as it is. They do not need drug problems.

Thus, it follows that when you put twenty of these types under one roof and add in a little drug withdrawal-induced bitchiness, you’re left with quite the pyrotechnic show!

Finally, the spoiled trust fund brats are contributing to society–maybe even the GNP?– by offering up a unique brand of entertainment!

Not that I’m getting all reverse high-and-mighty in a Justin Bobby-“I drive a ghetto El Camino so you won’t think my Daddy’s worth a gazillion dollars”- sort of way. In fact, I’ll admit to having been a limited beneficiary to a trust fund (but mine required me to go to law school, and then vanished once I graduated!). And I’m not going to pull a Bill Clinton and pretend to be a stranger to illegal substances. So I guess it’s fitting that I have what you may call friendships with some of the more benign aforementioned Trust-funder/Addict types. Though I like to think it’s only for voyeuristic purposes.*

*if you think I’m talking about you personally… present company excluded! (As always, of course.)

Two years ago in the summer season, one such friend of mine (a substance enthusiast I’ll call Didi, after a character from a Jay McInerney novel), checked into one such 5-star rehab here in the beach area (which is made up of Huntington, Newport and Laguna Beaches, for those keeping score). I looked forward to visiting her there because it offered up the chance to view what seemed like a bizarre art-house movie, where people acted in ways that were entirely opposite of what you’d expect based on their looks .

There were soccer moms with perfect hair, skin, teeth and such trying to figure out how to smuggle in their eating-disorder aids (i.e. laxatives); trophy-wife types getting busted for drinking from hairspray bottles, and even one crazy spoiled Newport Beach princess who had to show the nurses how to draw blood from the only good vein she had left… in her neck.

The setup’s inherent commercial possibilities did not go unnoticed; in fact, every time we spoke during her stay, DiDi said something like this:

Okay, so you know how everyone comes in here royally trashed? Because it’s like their last hurrah and everything? Obviously they know we’re going to be wasted when we sign our admission papers, so I just keep wondering if they snuck something into those papers granting them rights to use footage of us for a reality show? I know they have cameras in here– supposedly for security or whatever–and yeah, I was jacked up at the time but I know I saw the word ‘release’ in there more than once! Two of the other patients are working actors, you know. They keep saying how this would make great TV. And for once it’s not the meth talking– they’re clean!

It took quite the protracted effort on my part to talk Didi down from this seemingly ridiculous notion, which I did by citing confidentiality/HIPAA issues, and explaining all of the legitimate ways the word release could have been used. I hereby grant the institution the right to hospitalize me in the event that I try to kill myself was one that made total sense to her, BTW.

So you can imagine how I reacted to the promo for VH1’s Celebrity Rehab. Viewing it made me think I was the one on drugs–hallucinogens, to be precise. So much for the second ‘A’ in A.A./N.A., et. al.

But damn, did it look interesting! A trainwreck-o-phile’s dream come true! Complete with washed-up celebs from Vh1’s own d-list roster! Only this time, there would be a reason for the inclusion of has-been “celebrities” besides ‘this is Vh1 and we can’t afford big names’. If you need rehab, you probably have hit bottom (let’s hope– if not, it probably won’t work– you may not be desperate enough to change.)

Dr. Drew… Yes, Please!

The most surprising thing about this show, other than it’s existence in the first place, is the presence of Dr. Drew Pinsky.

Despite the fact that he’s appeared on Loveline, a radio call-in show with Adam Corolla for years now, Drew’s fairly well regarded in his chosen field of addiction. And Dr. Drew is certainly no Dr. Phil- he’s licensed in addiction medicine, for one thing. He is also a Professor at USC School of Medicine. Drew may be serious guy in a tie, but you can tell he’s got a fun, snarky side lurking beneath the surface. He’s that hot professor you had in college; the one you sooo wanted to seduce, but knew would turn you down until graduation day, because he’s a stand-up guy like that.

I’m not the only one who thinks he’s hot, BTW. As fellow vapid culturist-cum- blogger StinkyLuLu says:

..I’ve come to think of Dr. Drew as the illegitimate love child of Dr. Ruth and Dr. Joyce Brothers. Then, again, truth be told, sometimes I just like to think of Dr. Drew…that voice, that hair, that reasonable affect. Sanjay Gupta might be a bit hunkier, but Dr. Drew is the dreamiest. And, from the looks of things, the man has the patience of a saint…

Sadly, Dr. Drew may be the most recognizable face on the show. Some usual suspects from the Vh1 ‘celeb’-reality roster are there, of course. They include (clockwise, left to right:

• Brigitte Nielsen (who qualified by being drunk on Surreal Life)
• Jeff Conaway (who qualified by getting booted from Celebrity Fit Club for being too drugged up to work out)
• Daniel Baldwin (who qualified by demonstrating drug-induced rage/asshole-ism on Celebrity Fit Club– or was ity another marginally famous Baldwin?)
• Joanie Laurer aka Chyna the former pro wrestler (for qualifications, see Brigitte, above).

Oddly enough, Vern ‘Mini-Me’ Troyer and Janice ‘World’s First Self-Proclaimed Supermodel’ Dickenson were conspicuously absent from the lineup. Which can only mean one thing.

For some, denial is a force more powerful than fame-whoring.

Other cast-members you won’t recognize include:

Jessica Sierra, the former American Idol finalist (or so they say). Her mom was a hooker and druggie who died in some random dude’s backyard. Dead or no, Jessica loathes her mom for choosing the path she did. Alas, Jessica herself has become a druggie. And now, in the apparent interest of striking while the publicity iron is hot, Jessica Sierra has opted to follow in the great footsteps of our fearless vapid leaders Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian by releasing a sex tape.

FYI: This is Jessica Sierra, not her mom.

I say, way to live down the family legacy there, Jess.

Rehab: Step in the right direction, away from becoming your drug addicted hooker mom.

Sex tape: step in the wrong direction, brings you closer to the hooker part.

One step forward, two steps back…

In addition to the aforementioned motley crüe, there’s Jaimee Foxworth, the child-star from ‘Family Matters’ (starring Urkel, character whose voice rivaled Fran Drescher’s in the contest for ‘most annoying’.)

Here’s Jaimee on Tyra…. and probably on pot, too.

The most recent dose of mainstream fame Jaimee has seen involved an appearance on Oprah, wherein she cried about having fallen into porn, or, more accurately, cried about getting recognized/busted for doing it. As if she thought she was getting paid to appear in a porno that wasn’t going to see the light of day? Sorry Jaimee, but that excuse only flies when explaining sex tapes (read: where your co-star is typically a boyfriend with whom you’ve had sex before, and is probably not a porn actor), the amateurish-quality of your porn films notwithstanding.

Oh, and Jaimee claims to be addicted to pot. Personally, I think she’s addicted to getting paid for appearing on camera, but I’m not an M.D. *

*Update: My BF, who is an M.D., agrees with me on this. And as a Pain Management Physician, he knows a thing or two about narcotic addiction, thank-you-very-much.

Mary Carey, Porn Star, Gubernatorial Candidate and Celebrity Rehabber

Speaking of porn, another one of the patients is none other than Porn Star and former Gubernatorial Candidate Mary Carey. Can you believe Arnold Schwarzenegger beat her? From loud farts to attempted strap-on smuggling, Mary has been a constant source of entertainment.

In addition to every skeevy dude with a mustache in the San Fernando Valley, Mary has slept with another patient, Seth AKA “Shifty” from the band Crazy Town. If you can overlook his crack addiction, mohawk, head-to-toe tatoos and questionable taste in sex partners, this guy seems to be the most decent man of the bunch. Not that there’s much competition.

The only other guy is some Ultimate Fighting Champion named Ricco Rodriguez. Think Rico Suave, but on steroids and without the slimy charm (ok, maybe keep the slime).

Ricco “Suave” Rodriguez shows off the muscles he uses when beating his girlfriend

This meathead actually believes his kid–the same kid who is currently in Child Protective Services’ custody– has gone unaffected by his drug use (and, by extension, his girlfriend-beating tendencies…not that he sees these things as problems. Which is, itself, the problem.) Apparently, the fact that the underlings at CPS won’t give him his kid is a problem though, because that’s why he claims to be in rehab. If he can solve the problem of the CPS staffers’ short-sightedness by going on TV and showing what a real stand-up guy he is, there will be no problem. Capiche?

It will be interesting to see what direction this show takes. If it is anything like real-life 5-star rehab, people will give up and/or get booted off of the proverbial island. Dr. Drew, the apparent voice of reason, gave a lecture in episode 1 where he said as much.

Still, with ratings, fledging careers and screen-time to worry about, expect no shortage of antics.

Not that this will be a problem– at the end of the day, it is rehab, after all.

Next time: Given the degree to which Reality shows rely on casting/character/story formulas, it’s hard to imagine that Vh1 departed from the usual methodology when casting, filming and editing Celebrity Rehab. Then again, it’s even harder to believe they’d stoop to the level of scripting things when people’s very lives are at stake. And it’s not like the set-up was bound to be lacking in drama. So what did they end up doing?