An Open Dear John Letter to Glee

Dear Glee,

I won't beat around the bush: we're breaking up.

I was so excited for you in the beginning.  I first met you in spring of 2008, I read a script of the pilot courtesy of my friend Bob.  Believe it or not, Sue Sylvester wasn't even a character in it!  Even when Bob didn't get the role, we were still awaiting you with bated breath.  "This show is going to be huge," I said.

And you were.  Despite some decidedly silly plotlines which shall remain nameless (*cough* fakepregnancy *cough*), to paraphrase Damn Yankees, you had heart.  Miles and miles and miles o' heart.  And some things you were hitting on the mark.  A nerdy, insecure girl who wasn't nerdy and insecure because she had glasses and liked math (like every other nerd cliche), but an obsession with musical theatre and a whole lot of other issues.  Two friends of the same sex who admitted they experimented sexually with one another, as many real teens do.  A gay kid struggling with coming out, but not with his rough-around-the-edges father, who loved and accepted him all along.  I'm STILL getting tears in  my eyes thinking about it!

Also, the talent!  Lea Michele and Matthew Morrison, two performers I'd enjoyed for years thanks to OBC's (Original Broadway Cast recordings for the cooler-than-I) and YouTube, finally getting their due in exposure and paychecks way better than the stage could provide.  Dianna Agron, able to handle a difficult pregnancy storyline while always looking gorgeous.  Heather Morris, funny with one-liners and fierce with choreography.  And Mike O'Malley, who'd been languishing in dumb sitcoms, in a dramatic and emotional turn that always, always felt real.

And then season 2 happened.

True to my prediction, you DID become huge, Glee.  Huger than I ever expected, blowing up iTunes, selling DVD's like hotcakes, and going on a tour that was attended by people of every age.  And I think it went to your head.

Granted, there have been some fun episodes this season.  I loved "Duets," and "Sectionals" had a season 1 feel about it, in that it actually cared about the consistency of the characters--plus it showcased players who don't get to sing quite as much.  I also appreciated the additions of Sam and Blaine, in more ways than one.  Dayum.

But the inconsistency!  Oh, the inconsistency!

Just as I had to eventually let go of my ex because I couldn't take the emotional ups-and-downs, I can't invest my time and energy with a show so incredibly frustrating.  To wit: why does Terri only pop up once every seven episodes?  Why is Mr. Schu now just a douche on the sidelines 93% of the time?  Am I really supposed to believe Kurt will go back to McKinley, when I've never known a bullied kid to return to the scene of the bullying once he/she has escaped?  And just when did Rachel change from a relatable chick who, while sometimes annoying, just wanted to be understood to a shrill harpy who sent her rival to a crackhouse?

(Because I still care for you, Glee, we will not begin to discuss the abominable Britney Spears butt-licking, the Rocky Horror that was only rocky-horrifying in that a GIRL played Frank N. Furter, and the terrible, terrible, one-dimensional-even-for-you, looks-like-a-40-year-old-porn-star Santana.  I hate Santana.  Please kill her.  Not the actress, who I'm sure is very nice, but the character.  Ditto Emma Pillsbury and her rage-inducing baby voice.  Though I do like her wardrobe.)

I can't do it, Glee.  Just like I can no longer wait for my ex's infrequent texts, I can't wait by the TV in hopes that you'll go back to the show you used to be.

In the halcyon days of your first season, I wrote a blog post doubling as a love letter to a show encapsulating what I wish high school would have been like for me--not the pregnancy stuff, but the breaking into perfectly choreographed numbers--while also capturing what it WAS like for me, as the ambitious wannabe star who sometimes went too far but got far more crap from her peers than she deserved.

Glee, I can't promise we can be what we once were, but in the interest of your own self-improvement, you might want to reread that postletter.

I wish you well.  But right now, I have to Slushie you.

Love,
Unpro

List-a-mania: Top 5 Things I'm Obsessed With This Week

Well Unpro-ites, if you're in certain parts of the country, it's been a hell of a week.  Personally, I'm so over this snowpocalypse and all the other corny names it's been given by Weather Channel reporters who have nothing better to do than sensationalize natural occurrences.

The one good thing about all this freezy precipitation?  It's given me an excuse to hunker down with some awesome TV, books and music.  Behold, the top 5 bits of pop culture goodness that have captivated my brain, heart, and some other parts of my anatomy of late:


1.  Community: "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons"
Each episode of this keeps-getting-better comedy bears the name of a fictional class that ties to the themes of the wacky study group's current adventure.  With that in mind, last Thursday's ep could easily have been called "How to Save a Life."  The basic plot is this: when Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) becomes afraid for his depressed pal "Fat" Neil (played with downtrodden dignity by Charley Koontz), Jeff organizes the study group in Neil's favorite role-playing fantasy game.  But what happens when wily old man Pierce (Chevy Chase) threatens to take over?

Initially I was suspicious of this episode: I've never played D&D in my life, and I was afraid this would be another "Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas" and sacrifice genuine laughs for the sake of being clever.  But that scamp Dan Harmon, once again, made me a believer.  From the Cate Blanchett in Lord of the Rings narration, to the too-good-for-TV musical score, to a hilarious mute imaginary sex scene, to the insightful look at complex group dynamics and insecurity between friends, "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons" was a winner.  It's vintage Community: where you're laughing so hard and smirking so much, then at the very last minute, realize your heart is smiling and hurting at the same time.



2.  Poser: My Life in Twenty-three Yoga Poses (Claire Dederer)

I adore yoga and have practiced for almost three years now, but I still don't go a bundle on yoga books.  I'm not talking about the instructional stuff, which was very helpful when I was starting out.  I'm talking about the Eat, Pray, Love type crap where everyone's all hippy-dippy and faux-spiritual and say things like "journey" and "energy."  It's that type of talk that scared me away from yoga for so long.

But Poser is different.  I was intrigued by the title and blurb at Barnes & Noble, and in a rare moment for me, bought the hardcover at full price.  (In my defense, one does funny things when a blizzard is a-comin'.)  Claire Dederer, a Seattle freelance writer who began practicing yoga after the birth of her first child, isn't a long-haired tight-bodied 20-year-old telling you how to live your life.  She's imperfect.  She's funny.  She loves some poses and is skeptical of others.  And almost unintentionally, over ten years of practicing yoga she DOES indeed learn to live better.

I loved Dederer's sharp, witty voice and her descriptions of various teachers and studios in Seattle and in Boulder, CO.  More importantly, her journey (yup, I use that word now) reflected my own.  After years of skepticism, I started yoga as a way of regaining flexibility I'd lost, and in the wake of a huge tragedy just outside my city, to understand why the world was the way it was.  And it worked: not only did I feel healthier, I started to realize a recovering Catholic could find spirituality in movement.  Whether it's through dance, yoga, or just walking around Chicago, I discovered that being put squarely in one's own body is a religious experience in itself.

3.  Nicki Minaj
About a month ago, Bob persuaded me to download Kanye West's "Monster" because Bob had become obsessed with it.  I did as I was told and got hooked, in particular on the verse rapped by a sassy Sri Lankan chick named Nicki Minaj.  Normally I'm not so into hip hop, but sometimes when I'm angry at the world or I just want to get my groove on, there's nothing like sharp words and strong beats.  Also, because it's not my favorite genre, I rarely find a female rapper I can get into.

Minaj rocks my socks: very tough and very feminine at the same time.  Plus, she loves pink and y'all know I'm all over that shit.  I'm loving her single "Blazin'" (featuring Kanye), and am also getting into her new album Pink Friday.  But I keep going back to "Monster."  Because, really, when you're pissed there's nothing like mouthing the words, "First things first, I'll eat your brains/then I'mma start rockin' gold teeth and fangs."  Aw yeah.



4.  Smut, Vol. 1 (Edited by Nerve.com)

In the past year, thanks to my author friend Bryn Donovan, I've discovered romance novels are just damn good.  As is erotica, romance's kinkier cousin.   I'm way more turned on by well-chosen dirty words than dirty pictures (no matter how gorgeous the latter are, the Catholic schoolgirl in me still wants to giggle and go "ewwww").

I picked up Smut, Vol. 1 off the clearance rack at Borders, and damn if it wasn't the best $1.99 I've ever spent.  Written by authors such as Steve Almond, Jay McInerney and Alice Sebold, these stories of all kinds of love and sex are both intelligent reads and totally, completely hot.  Let me put it to you this way: I have no desire to procreate.  Ever.  And yet Paula Bomer's "Fucking His Wife, Four Months Pregnant With Their Third Child" made me want to get married and knocked up.  It's that fantastic.  (Really glad my mom doesn't read this blog.  Watch this be the week she does.)

5.  RuPaul's Drag Race

You guys, words cannot express how much I adore RuPaul's Drag Race.  It is, quite simply, the best reality show EVER.  Ever.  Forever and ever, amen.  Nothing is more hilarious, touching and glittery than watching a handful of drag queens compete for a cash prize, free makeup for life, and a chance to headline a tour.  And in the midst of it all is Miss Thang herself, RuPaul, alternately jumping around like a bald pogo stick in men's suits, and fabulously decked out in glam gowns enhanced by magical boob cutlets.  In between silly challenges like dragging up Barbie dolls and turning thrift-store finds into tinsel-rific holiday outfits, there are the queens themselves: men who love dresses, makeup and performing, who often didn't feel they fit into the world until they put on some heels and threw a hearty "fuck you" at anyone who didn't accept them for who they were.  No manufactured drama here: the guys/girls bring their own and then some.  As RuPaul says: "Gentlemen, start your engines, and may the best WOMAN win!"


RuPaul's Drag Race runs Monday nights on the Logo network, and for free on Logo's website.  Also, if you like recaps, you should read mine every week at TVgasm.com (hey, I'm all about the shameless self promotion).



What are YOU obsessed with right now?  Any recommendations?  Leave a comment!

TV Twin: Community's Britta Perry

Remember in the heyday of Sex and the City (or, hell, seven months ago when that abomination of a fanfic-gone-bad second movie came out) when ladies and gay guys were all, "I'm a Carrie/Charlotte/Samantha/Miranda?"  (My friend Bob swears that calling oneself or someone else a "Carrie" is the very opposite of a good thing.)  I will admit that I more or less participated, as my sister swears I'm Miranda 2.0.  Thank God my ex didn't knock me up after getting one of his balls removed.

So, okay, I'm somewhat of a Miranda.  But even more these days, I'm a Britta.

Last May, I posted a tribute to one of my favorite shows now or ever, Community.  This season, the show's  gone in some new directions (not to be confused with New Directions on Glee, which I have a love/hate relationship with, but that's a whole 'nother post): more episodes that are stand-alone, more objectification of Joel McHale (not that I'm complaining), and most of all, more of an ensemble feel.  What began in the pilot as a morality tale of a lying asshole being put in his place has evolved into a story of a group of friends, at once archetypal and multi-layered, stumbling and grappling as they search for the next stage in life.

It's been fun to watch everyone grow--even old-man Pierce has his moments, falling into the "wrong crowd" with a clique of sassy old people known and feared as the Hipsters.  However, one of my favorite character evolutions has been Gillian Jacobs' Britta, who's gone from bland everyalternagirl love interest to full-fledged human being, equally misguided and wise as she frequently knocks heads and boots with McHale's Jeff Winger.

By "favorite," I sometimes mean "painful."  Britta's blundering antics can be wincingly hard to watch.  Because at times, they are so much like my own.  Here they are, the top 5 reasons I relate to Britta more than any TV character ever:

1.  Terminally unique, for better and for worse.
When I was an obnoxious pseudo-goth-depressed law student, one of my favorite professors warned me against alienating my preppy classmates by being "terminally unique."  My dark and despairing but stubborn mind had no idea what she meant then, but now I look back and wince at what a poseur I was. Throughout my late teens and twenties, I fell right into the hipster trap of disdaining things I deemed mainstream and embracing the alternative.  There's nothing wrong with doing this, if that's genuinely what you believe.  Not me--I loved indie bands but also secretly cranked the pop music I publicly denigrated.

Even though we don't see flashbacks, Britta stands out as the girl who never quite fit in.  She's a high school dropout, she wears leather jackets, she's lived in New York and is a vegetarian.  And she's very, very vocal about all of this.  I like to think I've evolved past terminal uniqueness (and yes, I know this is an NA/AA term), and I just own it.  However, sometimes my friends tell me otherwise.  We're growing into who we are, Britta and I, and hopefully we'll get to the point where we don't need to advertise, we'll just be.

2.  "I don't think straight with nothing to prove."
Oh, how I identify with this Fun. quote.   And if she knew about it, maybe Britta would too.

It was revealed in Season One that Britta is a high school dropout, and part of the reason she's at community college is to get back at everyone who thought she was a failure.  It's unspoken that many of these people have forgotten about her, or give even less of a crap than they did ten years ago.

I did graduate high school; however, I was almost held back in kindergarten.  Not because I was behind academically, but because I was shy and physically a little behind.  Upon getting confirmation that my smarts were more than up to speed, my mom and dad (the latter of whom studied to be a teacher), basically told my teacher she was full of crap.

I found this out in seventh grade, when I ALREADY felt like a freak amidst my loud, athletic, pink around the collar classmates.  It made me even more determined not to be like them.

I graduated valedictorian (and a kickass dancer to boot).

Even now, at age 30, I often feel like I'm two steps behind everyone else.  And I need to catch up at all costs.  No matter what I accomplish, it isn't quite enough for me to prove that I'm no longer the shy little farm-town girl who walked slower and talked quieter than the rest of the class.  Ridiculous?  Yeah.  But like Britta, I constantly feel the need to "show" everyone.  Even though--surprise!--nobody cares.

3.  Likes all the wrong guys.
Even though she's a smart, tough chick, Britta's romantic judgment often leaves a lot to be desired.  In season one, she had two main hookups: professional Hacky Sack-er and hippie musician Vaughn, who eventually wrote a song declaring Britta a "gee dee bee" (figure it out), and cocky lawyer/fellow Spanish 101 survivor Jeff.  When Jeff's former girlfriend Professor Slater decided she wanted him back, Britta used her status as candidate for Transfer Queen to make a declaration of love she wasn't sure she felt.

Been there.  Oh God, have I been there.

I tend to go for the guys who are confident to the point of arrogance, smart-ass to the point of borderline disrespectful.  I like the ones who flaunt their brain cells in the face of those less astute.  And sometimes, these guys turn out to be jerks, but oh no, I keep coming back.

Vaughn is long gone, but Britta and Jeff's relationship remains interesting in its stickiness.  Do they have a genuine love connection?  Probably not.  Jeff's a preppy douche, Britta's a wannabe hipster.  But they're both cynical, darkly humorous, and enjoy a good argument.  I don't know if either is looking for romance, yet they're perfectly suited as friends with benefits.  I joked the other day to Bob that I may as well wear a T-shirt saying, "Looking for Jeff Winger."  'Cause snarky friend with hot benefits sounds pretty amazing right now.

4.  Opinionated, yet goofy.
Britta goes to protests, eschews meat and takes women's studies courses.  Yet she also does the robot, spews awkward comebacks, and once dressed as a flower for a dance recital.  Sure, the quirky not-quite-together gal has been around since Mary Richards and Diane Chambers, but rarely have I connected more with one.

I hate it when TV shows and movies manifest female quirkiness in the form of manic pixie dream girls (see also: Natalie Portman in Garden State.  I have never wanted to murder a fictional character more).  Everyone has their little weirdnesses, but it doesn't mean they're a) dumb, or b) a plot device for a sad sack whiny male to realize that life is awesome.  Britta and I both try too hard to be different sometimes, without realizing that we're strange already--just not in the ways we pretend to be.

5.  "I try to act compassionate, because I'm afraid I'm not."
This line, uttered after Britta and Jeff's paintball game tryst in the seminal "Modern Warfare" episode, hit me in the gut like a ton of bricks.  For a rare moment, these two stop posturing and sexual-tension squabbling and have an honest conversation which results in Britta's confession.  And it makes so much sense for her character, a vulnerability that feels real rather than put upon.  Britta's proud of the white liberal shell she's built around her, but deep down she's worried she's just not nice at heart.  (Jeff has similar struggles as he realizes more and more that he's not as clever as he thinks he is.)

Yeah, this hit home.  I mean, I donate to charities whose work I believe in.  I work for a nonprofit about whose mission I am passionate.  I try to be a good friend to those with whom I am close.

Yet I struggle with the fact that I'm probably not a nice person.  I'm snarky.  I'm judgmental.  I like to think I'm better than I used to be, but maybe I'm not.  And it wears on me a lot more than I'd like to admit.

That one line, so succinct and earnest, is the one that made me sit up on my couch and say, "Damn."  It put into words what I'd never been able to verbalize.

So yeah, I love Britta.  It may be weird to identify with a fictional person so deeply, but I do.  Might as well own it, right?

I think I should add Gillian Jacobs to the list of Celebrities I Never Want to Meet.  Because I'm sure I'd blather, "Omigod, I am SO Britta," and I'm sure she gets enough of that noise.

Two of my favorite Britta moments:

Best Kept Secrets: Friday Night Lights

Here's what you need to know: I grew up hating football.

Hey, nothing wrong with organized sports.  They're good for kids, breed team spirit, help people bond, blah blah blah.  And the entertainment industry spawns just as many assholes.  However, you couldn't convince teenage Unpro.  See, I came of age in a teeny tiny farm town where sportliness was next to Godliness.  And I was a reader/dancer/aspiring actress.  When I chose to attend college in Chicago, going the furthest away of anyone in my graduating class (of 34), exactly no one was surprised.

Though I do have a weakness for certain sports movies--A League of Their Own is what made me a feminist, and The Mighty Ducks had cuuuute hockey boys, plus Gordon Bombay is just really, really fun to say--I'm more a fan of uplifting montages with music cues so I can understand who's hitting what into where.  I guess I like the idea of sports, but not sports themselves.  So when NBC premiered a TV series based on the film Friday Night Lights (a good 'un, but not in my top five fave sports flicks), I was less than interested.

Fast forward almost one year: end of summer 2007.  Bob was on the verge of moving to L.A., but in between packing (him) and preparing to relocate seven blocks (me), he made a trip to Best Buy and blind purchased season 1 of Friday Night Lights.  Over cheeseburgers and coffee that night, we plopped down on the living room floor, fired up the DVD player, and waited to be entertained.

Four episodes and several Kleenex later, we were hooked.

See, Friday Night Lights is all about football, and it isn't.  In the fictional town of Dillon, Texas (based on the real-life town of Odessa, as chronicled in the book Friday Night Lights, written by H.G. Bissenger, cousin of Peter Berg, who directed the film and adapted the book for TV), high school football is essentially the cherry on top of a shit sundae.  The Dillon Panthers are the town's great hope--and for some players, it's the peak of their lives.  Many will escape the tiny town--often with the help of football scholarships, making the stakes even higher--but most will not, proudly sporting their championship rings into gray and paunchy adulthood as they work at car dealerships and/or live vicariously through their athletic offspring and younger siblings.  At the helm of the program is new coach Eric Taylor, who gets For Sale signs on his lawn when the Panthers lose and plays surrogate father to several kids who've had less-than-ideal upbringings.  And when a star player suffers a life-changing injury during the season opener, well, it's a whole new ball game.

Yeah, I know.  Pretty standard sports-movie stuff: coach as father figure, second stringer turned reluctant rising star, fans who at first glance just need to get a life and stop obsessively following teenagers.

So how the hell did Friday Night Lights wrestle laughter, tears, and "touchdown, goddammit!"s from two urban theatrephiles who successfully escaped their athlete-centered farm towns?

Again, it's about football.  But it isn't.

It's about families: balancing a career that both fulfills and pays the bills, with spending time with those you're supporting in the first place.  It's about relationships: falling for someone whose values are the exact opposite of yours, and maintaining love and respect for the ones who've stood by you for years.  It's about a community: zeroing in on the stifling aspects that have some yearning to leave, as well as the comfort that keeps many around.  It's about playing a sport because everyone else does; finding yourself challenged, revered and suspected all at once; caring for a grandparent afflicted with Alzheimer's; having a parent in Iraq and hoping he's safe but knowing life is easier when he's not around; wanting nothing more than to please Coach while also finding his daughter really cute.

And that last sentence?  Is just ONE CHARACTER.

Thanks to the stellar writing and acting of Friday Night Lights, even the most minor characters are everything and nothing they appear to be.  Just as you the viewer root for someone or write them off, one word or gesture changes your whole opinion.  The biggest stereotype evolves into the most complex.  And it's not all gloom and doom.  Every episode is a jewel: funny, intense, nuanced.  Kind of like life.

Seriously.  Even if Remember the Titans and Major League make you want to retch your cornflakes, give Friday Night Lights a whirl.  Netflix, iTunes, Hulu, whatever you need to do, track this show down.  Dive in, watch it, love it.

And for now, enjoy the exquisite opening credits music (four seasons in, and I still don't fast forward past it).

Don't Worry, Be Happy: Top 5 Video Pick-Me-Ups

So I've been a little sad of late.

This is hard for me to admit.  I mean, most aspects of my life are fabulous, and a vast improvement over several years ago, when I was in law school and battling depression and anxiety.  And with the vast amount of suffering going on in the world, I always feel guilty whining about myself.

Still, some personal things in the last few weeks have me feeling down.  And I don't like it at all.

Besides the usual coping mechanisms--exercise, healthy food, reading, talking to friends--I've found some sanctuary in silly TV and videos.  Whatever works, right?  Below are five visual stimulants that can make me laugh, even when I feel like crying.

1.  Hellcats
Even if the words "CW" and "Bring It On goes to college" didn't sell me, the involvement of Ashley Tisdale (whose Sharpay in the High School Musical films reminded me a bit too much of teenage Unpro) and Aly Michalka (who was excellent in the cute-teen-movie-that-nobody-saw Bandslam) would get me to watch in a heartbeat.  And true, it's not a completely flawless show: at times the heroine, a prelaw student who reluctantly joins her school's competitive cheer squad to replace her lost scholarship, comes off a little TOO snarky.  Also, the "adult" plots are completely boring: more locker room and pom pom shenanigans, please.  That said, there's a lot of things I like: I like how the show's set in Memphis and not L.A.  I like the diverse cast, and how the potential love interest for the blonde white girl is African American.  (Yes, you see that more than you used to.  Still not a lot.)  And I'm a sucker for a good dance number.  Hellcats is mind candy at its sweetest.  I can't complain when Sharpay is gracing my TV.



2.  Joel McHale and a surprise guest on Countdown With Keith Olbermann
You thought my pick-me-up list wouldn't include my #1 celeb crush?  Think again.  When I commented on a Jezebel post regarding celeb fidelity a while back, a fellow Jez alerted me to what is possibly the most adorable video ever.  Anyone who's heard Joel's stand-up comedy knows all about his older son Eddie, but second child Isaac doesn't get as much spotlight (then again, Isaac's only two).  Not the case in this clip from Keith Olbermann's Countdown, filmed shortly after President Obama's election in 2008.  In what was probably a last-minute decision, Joel rattles off political commentary and banters with Keith, while simultaneously wrangling his giraffe sleeper-clad younger son.  Yeah, I don't even want kids and this clip had my ovaries in overdrive.  Four letters: D.I.L.F.



3.  "Two Worlds Collide" (Saturday Night Live)
From the category of Comedy Shorts That Shouldn't Work But Inexplicably Do comes this little gem, in which the adorable Andy Samberg raps about his love for "America's Sweetheart" Reba McEntire (Kenan Thompson).  Yes, Kenan Thompson plays Reba McEntire.  I remember when the short first aired, as part of the Saturday Night Live hosted by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (celeb crush #3).  I spent the first half shaking my head in confusion, and the second half cracking up.  And it holds up on near-daily repeat viewings.  Just trust me and click Play. I'm Reba!



4.  "New Senator" (Saturday Night Live)
As you've probably guessed, I'm not one of those SNL purists who constantly goes on about how the show's sucked since Joe Piscopo left to concentrate on his burgeoning movie career.  Yes, some sketches are better than others.  But if you've got a genuinely funny host who really commits to the material, there are belly laughs to be had.  Case in point: Jon Hamm (celeb crush #2), whose two hosting gigs in as many years have yielded some new classics.  In this sketch, Hamm dons a pretty impressive Massachusetts accent to play Senator Scott Brown, who goes from party enemy to object of lust for the Democratic contingent.  Oh, and he's in skimpy outfits.  YES.



5.  Burlesque trailer
Recently, my best friend Bob announced his decision to move back to Chicago.  I can't lie: the fact that I won't have to travel 2,000 miles to hang out with him come November is part of what's getting me through the day.  Upon seeing the trailer for Burlesque, I immediately informed Bob that he will be my date to what is sure to be a glittery train wreck.  Cher advising Christina Aguilera on make-up application!  Kristen Bell goes from Veronica Mars to dance club diva!  Stanley Tucci with his hot bald head and requisite one-liners!  Vocal riffs!  Costumes!  Did I mention CHER?  Oh yes.  There will be cocktails.  And then there will be Burlesque.



Hope you enjoyed my rundown of tele-giggles.  What are your favorite pick-me-ups?  Leave a comment!

Trash TV: Pretty Little Liars

What's up, supercool readers?

Is anyone else's summer cuckoo bananas crazy busy, or am I just weird?  It seems like I'm booked up every weekend through August, doing one random thing or class or work commitment after another.  I mean, it's fun stuff (mostly), but where is all the time going?  Anyhoozle, I'm trying to keep up with work, the blog, various other writing assignments, yet another edit on my latest manuscript AND my NaNoWriMo game plan (yes, I'm one of those nerds who has to map out a first draft months in advance--baaaad things happen when I write fiction off the cuff).  Like a marathon, yo.

What's nice about summer, though, is the abundance of trashy deep thought-free TV.  The shows you watch in the comfort of your A/C when you've had a loooong day at work and it's approximately 337 degrees outside.  You know, those series ABCFamily is too chicken to air during the fall, those wannabe Gossip Girls brought to you by Alloy Entertainment.  The ones that should make this 30-year-old feel, well, old, but they don't because at least two of the actresses playing high schoolers look more aged than I.  The ones that wallow in their own sudsiness without trying to be all moralistic (Secret Life of the American Teenager, I'm looking at you.  My ears are STILL bleeding from hearing The Actress Formerly Known as Ruthie Camden ask a ferret-faced dude if he's ever done it in a butcher shop).

The show I am referring to (and the awesomely soapy set of books it is based on) is Pretty Little Liars.

So here's the basic plot: four ugly (just kidding, they're PRETTY, see?) high school students are having a sleepover when their alpha female queen bee Alison walks out the door and never comes back.  A year later, the clique has gone their separate ways when Alison's body is discovered under her family's former home.  Even more sinister are the threatening messages from a mysterious source known only as A, threatening to reveal each girl's deepest darkest skeleton: clean-cut swimmer Emily likes girls; ugly-duckling-turned-popular-swan Hanna has a teeny shoplifting problem; alternative Aria unknowingly made out with her AP English teacher and wants a repeat performance; and brainy Spencer (who never bothers to ask her parents why she's 36 years old and still in high school) is lusting big time after her older sister's boyfriend.

Let's just say that if you played a Pretty Little Liars drinking game, you'd be wasted two minutes in.  But let's pretend for a second that we love vodka a little too much!  If you want to die of alcohol poisoning while lying on your couch in front of ABCFamily, take a drink when:

• Someone overacts (two drinks if they Put. Em. Pha. Sis. On. Ev. E. Ry. Sy. Lla. Ble.  Im. POR. tant!)
• Someone underacts (mumblemumblemumble because inaudible=INTENSE!)
• Spencer drinks alcohol and everyone is all shocked because she's underage when of course she's actually 36
• A horrible, horrible song comes on the soundtrack (really, ABCFamily's music supervisor could take a cue from Josh Schwartz's people.  From Gossip Girl, I discovered Miike Snow, Passion Pit and Anya Marina.  ABCFamily music is fucking heinous, especially the Pretty Little Liars theme song, which rivals The L Word's in terms of toneless awfulness).  Just to give you an idea, last week's Homecoming episode featured a "live" performance of a hipster white guy rapping.  NO.
• Unnecessary dance or party (it's like Sweet Valley High without the Todd punch!)
• A sends a text that is supposed to be witty and suspenseful when really it's just laughably punny

But just like Grease 2 and Mac and Me, it's the show's very essence of awful that makes it so incredibly awesome.

Okay, and I really like Aria's wardrobe.

And of course I've played right into ABCFamily and Alloy's evil corporate marketing hands by buying the books (sometimes two or three at a time, sometimes going to more than one bookstore if they've run out because everyone else is a sucker too).  Let me tell you, if you're looking for reading so light the short words practically fly off the page, look no further.  This is pulp fiction at its pulpiest, like a romance novel without the naughty sex scenes (because these are teenagers, see).  

Why am I loving this shiz so very much, squealing whenever I see another PLL book with a Barbie-esque doll on the cover and a real girl with the same clothes on the other side?  (SYMBOLISM.)  I could do the whole it's-summer-and-my-brain-is-supposed-to-be-shut-off rigmarole, which is very true in its own way.  But by reading and watching Pretty Little Liars, I'm also learning about something I never thought I'd get out of summertime guilty pleasures: a lesson in story structure.

Yes, you heard that last part right.

One of the faults my writing suffers from is sometimes the stakes aren't high enough.  Or a reader doesn't want to root for my characters--they fall in the realm of too boring or too bitchy.  (Lesson: if you're still kind of bitter about your high school experience, do NOT base your seventeen-year-old small-town girl protagonist on yourself at that age.)  Pretty Little Liars has been helping me on both counts.  As flawed as the girls are, I can remember feeling like I don't fit in with my peers (Emily), parental pressure to succeed (Spencer), boyfriend frustration (Hanna) and weird family dynamics (Aria).  Even Alison I can't totally hate because she brought the girls together, and they still miss her even though they are seeing the cracks in their friendships' facade.  

Also, when it comes to setting high stakes, I once had a writing teacher tell me never to let my characters get too comfortable.  With this in mind, my NaNoWriMo idea involves my protagonists literally going way out of their comfort zones and venturing into the unknown.  And in both the books and the TV show, the Pretty Little Liars ladies aren't comfortable for more than half a page or scene.  Then another twist or text or secret gets thrown into the mix.  Drama for the ADHD generation?  Sure, but the fact that it's so extreme is helpful to me.  It's like my voice teacher used to tell me--better to overdo at an audition than underdo.  A director is much more comfortable asking you to scale back than to try to squeeze blood from a turnip.

Granted, this could all be a big justification in my head for enjoying a silly show and book series when I could be relearning French, rewatching The Godfather, or reinventing the wheel.  However, I do like to think that I can glean some nugget of knowledge from everything I put in my noggin.  And who knows?  Maybe I'll someday publish a bestseller (hell, I'll settle for landing a literary agent), and I'll have my summer 2010 pop culture obsession to thank.

Now, where's my vodka?

Guilty Pleasures: I Totally Watch(ed) Laguna Beach

Also from the category of Things I Watched During Law School When I Hated My Life:

Before Speidi's Reign of Terror, before any of these way-too-young girlies had ever even HEARD of Botox, before living in Los Angeles was even a twinkle in Ms. Lauren Conrad's eye, there was a docu-soap (emphasis on the soap) depicting the "real life Orange County" that possessed all the trashy fun of The Hills, minus the plastic faces and scary overtones of domestic violence.

There was . . . Laguna Beach.

It started off innocently enough: executive producer Liz Gateley, a former lawer, wanted to make a reality show that was filmed more like one of those crazy-rich-kid dramas on what's now the CW.  You know, pretty people with problems!  Originally the show was to be set in Beverly Hills, but the MTV powers-that-be eventually settled on Laguna Beach, an Orange County suburb by the sea that started off as an artists' community.  Laguna forbade shooting within the high school, but no matter, because who the hell cares about watching kids in class anyway?  If you remember high school like I do, it's all about what happens when you run into your crush in public, when you don't get asked to the dance, and where you stay in Cabo on spring break!  (Okay, maybe not that last one.  For me, spring break was called Easter break because I went to a Catholic high school, and for me "staying in Cabo" translated to "watching TV in my basement, fighting with my little sister and making out with my boyfriend.")

Anyhoozle, season 1 followed a nice girl named Lauren (or LC), as she pined after her childhood buddy Stephen, currenly in the manicured-talon clutches of the "evil" Kristin (famous for her "Stepheeeeen" whine).  Lauren was sweet if a little dim and had a fun group of friends, including shopaholic daddy's girl Lo, master of white guilt Trey, and puffy-faced Dieter.  Also Christina, a televangelist-type minister's daughter with a singing voice like a crow with laryngitis and Mormon Morgan who resembled a tanned chipmunk.  Most of the gang were seniors, though Kristin was a year younger, so season 1 ended with them departing for college.  Season 2 was set to follow Kristin and her clique during their own senior year.

BUT WAIT!

Lauren was nooooot happy in college.  After one semester, she came home to Laguna and commuted to a nearby school.  Stephen stayed in San Francisco, but came home so much I wouldn't be surprised if dude flunked out.  Apparently he wasn't over Kristin, or Lauren for that matter.

Here's the thing about the return of these two: I'm sure Lauren's homecoming had something to do with the fact that she could be on TV if she stayed in Laguna.  However . . . I dunno.  I think if she HAD been truly happy, she would have stayed in San Fran.  I mean, she's not the first to go away to college and find out it's not for her.  Stephen, however, UGH.  I never thought he was a bad guy (especially when compared to one Spencer Pratt), but wannabe famewhore just radiated through this guy's pores like oil on average-looking teens.  In short, Lauren never struck me as particularly calculating (even during all her years on The Hills), but Stephen was gunning for more camera time.

But enough about season 1.  Granted, it was cute, but fairly boring.

Season 2, however, was fucking EPIC.  You had Kristin as your main narrator, and while Lauren was sweet and relatable, Kristin was . . . kind of a bitch.  But in a fun way!  Girl had a stronger sense of self than most high schoolers, and preferred being the player to being the one who got played.  And Kristin's circle of friends were TV gold: her loyal sidekick Alex H., drama queen Alex M., and . . . Jessica.

Here's the thing: Jessica was in love with mumbly "heartthrob" (though I never saw the appeal, he always seemed stoned to me) Jason.  For a while he reciprocated, then fell for the charms of Alex M.  And no one could really blame him, seeing as Jessica was Fatal Attraction-level obsessive psycho.  I'm not talking insecure high school girl who gets screwed over by the bad boy (because that's fairly typical at that age).  I'm talking constant henpecker, no life to speak of, super-duper uber annoying, wouldn't ever shut up about JasonJasonJason.  We've all known this girl.  TV GOLD.

Then, OMG!  Lauren fell for Jason.  And in something so grainily filmed that I'm 99% sure it wasn't set up by producers, HE KISSED JESSICA IN FRONT OF LAUREN.  Another part of the reason I'm sure this wasn't staged is that the event in question took place at a benefit fashion show involving all of the cast, meaning the camera crew was going to be there anyway.  In fact, they'd done a similar benefit in season 1, minus any real drama.  Jason was drunk, Jessica was stupid, and Lauren was quite rightly heartbroken.  The Hills only wishes it were this real.

After season 2, Laguna Beach died a slow death.  Season 3 had an all-new cast of characters, but good-girl Tessa was not the compelling narrator Lauren or Kristin had been.  No charisma whatsoever.  Also, "nemesis" character was clearly just angling for her 15 minutes and was never particularly likable or interesting.  And that's the thing about Kristin: she wasn't always likable, but she was always interesting. (Think Don Draper with highlights and a bikini.)  The next year, Gateley and co-creator Adam Divello moved the party to Newport Harbor, but it never really caught on.

Even in its heyday, Laguna Beach never had the ratings and subsequent paparazzi obsession of The Hills.  Its following was "cult" at best, mostly teenyboppers and the errant adults who just wanted some shallow escapism with a chaser of pretty scenery.  But as I'm now covering The Hills for TVGasm, I must say that I kind of miss the old days of LB.  No Spencer Pratt or dead-eyed Audrina: that goes without saying.  However, with Laguna Beach, I really did get a more "slice of life, only prettier" feel that's always been missing from The Hills, even in its pre-Pratt days.  Because even with its most producer-prompted conversations (and sometimes relationships), LB WAS like high school.  I mean, my own high school was as different from Laguna Beach High as wormy week-old apples are to pristine hormone-injected peaches.  Yet I do remember the drama.  The love triangles.  The feeling that every move you made or boy you loved was totally FOREVER and was going to affect the rest of your life.  I'll paraphrase the last episode of Dawson's Creek here: "I'm not saying this is exactly how it happened.  But this is how it felt."

And because of that, I bought season 2 secondhand at my funky neighborhood record store and didn't give a rip that the hipster clerk was obviously judging me.

Like totally.

Here's MAD TV's brilliant season 2 parody.  That show was highly underrated, yo.

Love the One(s) You're With: Community

At a certain point in your life, you realize that nothing's turned out like you thought it would.

You're not working in the field you studied in school.  You're single or married, when you always predicted you'd be the opposite.  The age you thought you'd have figured everything out?  You're still fumbling and confused as ever, maybe even more so. 

There's also the people you surround yourself with.  At a certain age it becomes a motley crew: those you grew up with, maybe even dated at some point; pals from high school, college and work; and then the ones who are way more random.  The person you agreed to give a ride to one time, from rehearsal of a show you almost dropped out of, that ten years later is like family.

It's meeting these random people, and letting them into your life, however reluctantly at first, that helps you to realize: not having the exact future you wanted or predicted can be a very liberating thing.

I started watching Community for two reasons.  One, a friend in the industry recounted a little exchange from the pilot script that cracked me up (similar to the way I was sold on 30 Rock because of one line: "If you're a gay guy looking for a beard, I don't do that anymore").  And two, well, Joel McHale.  In the days before my obsessive fandom kicked in, I read an interview where he said that he was offered several sitcoms and Community was far and away the best.  No matter what you think of The Soup, the guy has made some good career decisions (witness: The Informant!).  I was intrigued.  Besides, it was on after The Office.

Never have I seen a pilot that touched on moral relativism, Asperger's syndrome, and The Breakfast Club in twenty-two minutes.  With Trudy from Mad Men, the sex addict from Reno 911!, and Chevy MoFo-in Chase.  As in Fletch, Gerald Ford, Clark Griswold: any way you slice it, the guy's a comedy legend. 

McHale's character, Jeff Winger, is a cocky former lawyer disbarred when it's discovered his undergraduate degree is fake.  (Yes, I know it's a slim premise, but think of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 and sing along with me: "Just repeat to yourself, 'it's just a show.  I should really just relax.'")  He enrolls at Greendale Community College and immediately starts hitting on his cute Spanish 101 classmate Britta (Gillian Jacobs).  Britta, however, is not having it, and when Jeff invites her to form a one-on-one study group, she brings along a whole crew: sitcom aficionado Abed (Danny Pudi, Chicagoans represent!), fallen football player Troy (Donald Glover), rehabbed type A Annie (Alison Brie, almost completely unrecognizable from Mad Men and just as awesome), and Christian mom Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown).  Oh, and corporate magnate-turned-dirty old man Pierce (Chase) also wanders in.  Quite possibly the most diverse group on network TV, the gang experiences weekly dalliances and misadventures, with recurring characters such as the overenthusiastic Dean Pelton (Jim Rash) and surly Professor Chang (Ken Jeong) along for the ride.

A group of wildly different people finding out they have a lot in common, and learning a little bit about themselves along the way?  We've all heard that premise before, but Community makes it fresh while at the same time reminding us that it's the simple stuff that good shows are made of.  The cast is fiercely witty, the writing even more so.  Creator Dan Harmon based the series on his own experiences in a community college study group, and it shows: not only is there a real tenderness in even the silliest joke, but the characters both play into and play with the very stereotypes they're dealt.  Jeff isn't the show's moral center, nor are most of his actions particularly commendable--but he's learning, even as he stumbles along the way, that he's capable of poking fun at himself and doing nice things for others.  Though Britta is smart and confident, she can be awkward in dealing with sensitive social matters (she's sort of a walking Stuff White People Like).  Even Pierce, with his heinously backwards worldviews, is at heart a lonely dude: and though his younger counterparts don't always love what he says, they embrace him for the old fart he is.

I freaking heart the group dynamic of the core cast: they're the kind of characters that are so fun to watch even when they're not doing anything particularly interesting (which according to one of my favorite bloggers, is one of the marks of a kick-ass protagonist).  I love Mad Men, but I wouldn't really want to be friends with any of the characters (except maybe Peggy and Joan).  However, I'd hang with Community's Spanish 101 crew any day of the week.  And the characters form relationships, they stumble, they screw up, they learn from one another.  They may have been thrown together by random acts of course catalog, but now they're thick as thieves (and they protect each other to the end!).

Yes, there have been some eps that aren't so great: just like with Modern Family, Community can falter when it lets itself slide into wacky-antics territory.  At its strongest, however, Community (again, like Modern Family) works real magic combining absurd with emotional, satirical with genuine, and motormouthed with simple.  Think Avenue Q without the puppets.  And at its heart, it's a show about being okay with your place in life, no matter how imperfect that may be.

Did I mention that McHale is naked on one episode?  From a feminist perspective, it's interesting how the show objectifies the hell out of the guy.  Not that I'm complaining.  I just find it intriguing: men usually aren't blatantly objectified on a show that's NOT specifically geared toward women.  Not just the naked ep: he's in tight jeans and T-shirts quite a lot.  That's normally reserved for female characters.

Community airs Thursdays at 7 on NBC.  The most recent episode, along with a host of really funny clips, can be found on Hulu.  Also, there's a hilarious website for the fictional Greendale Community College.

Here's a video of the cast finding out that they were renewed for a second season.  They're so genuinely surprised and happy (and unaware they're being filmed), it's adorable.

The Way I Are: Parks and Recreation

So this week's post isn't going to be my usually wordy diatribe: I'm getting guest blogs in the can for here and here, and need to get my review on here. Also, to anyone in the Chicago area: on Saturday, March 13th at midnight, I'll be giving a lecture on the fantastic film Brick, followed by a screening and discussion. Only $5 and you get to meet me! I'm worth at least $2.50, I swear.

Also, I would like to officially announce that March will be Awesome Authors Month on The Unprofessional Critic! Several factors went into this decision: 1) This is a feminist blog, so I'd be stupid NOT to commemorate Women's History Month one way or another, 2) many of my readers are also writers, whether it's blogs, books, or something else literary beginning with a B, and 3) well, I just happened to get my hands on some friggin' awesome galleys (one of the VERY VERY BEST parts about blogging, FYI). So beginning next week, Awesome Authors Month will feature cool book reviews and author interviews--by and for women (though of course the menz are welcome too!). Should definitely be fun.

Anyway, this week's post. I wanted to stay away from literary stuff because that's going to be all of March, and the only movie I took in this week was (for the second time) Dear John. (YOU turn down a free chance to see Channing Tatum shirtless and Richard Jenkins chew scenery!) I've recently discovered Modern Family, but Nikki already covered that in a most splendiferous manner. Then it occurred to me: I'd talk up another recent TV discovery that hit me with a wallop of, "Why the hell have I not been watching this?"

Ladies and germs, I give you: Parks and Recreation.

I'll be honest with ya: I have yet to watch the first season. I remember hearing the consensus when the show premiered last year: it just really wasn't that good. I kept hearing comparisons of Amy Poehler's character to a female Michael Scott, and if I wanted uncomfortable workplace politics, I figured I could just watch The Office. Then, in a move almost unheard of these days, NBC gave the show another chance--in the form of a full season. And apparently things turned around. The writers and cast found their footing, characters became more developed and . . . wait a minute, the lead character was a feminist and it wasn't used as a JOKE?

After hearing that last tidbit, I knew I had to give it a try. It just so happened to fall on a week where Megan Mulally (whom I've always loved, despite my lukewarm reaction to Will and Grace) guest-starred as conniving librarian Tammy Swanson, ex-wife of martini-dry Ron Swanson (the mustachioed Nick Offerman, Mulally's real-life husband). The combination of slapstick and cerebral humor, not to mention the authentic Midwestern feel and giggle-inducing ensemble means I haven't looked back.

Yes, I'm now a full-on Must-See Thursday devotee. Y'all KNOW about my unabashed lovelust for Joel McHale, which I admit has just gotten worse. I'm talking serious celebrity crush--not since The Great Rainn Wilson Fixation of 2006 has a handsome, smart stranger captivated me so. And by the way, Community totally rocks--a smooth cocktail of McHale, Chevy Chase, and a lovably snarky band of miscreants gets me every week. 30 Rock can be cartoonish and broad, but Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin's dream team manages to salvage even the silliest of eps. And though I have to admit The Office can grate on me--why is Michael borderline mentally challenged this season? Anyone? And was Pam always such an entitled brat?--the heartwrenchingly touching wedding episode gives it a pass for at least the rest of this season.

Parks and Recreation is the latest addition to my NBC viewing party. Here's the scoop: Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler) is an earnest local government employee in Pawnee, Indiana whose long-term goal is to become the first female President, and whose short-term goal is to build Pawnee a new park. Leslie's best friend Ann (Rashida Jones, who's just too cute for words--can I please look like her in my next life?) is a nurse and concerned citizen, and an enthusiastic participant in various town meetings. Add into the mix Leslie's coworkers--including her unsmiling boss Ron (Nick Offerman), her douchetastic assistant Tom (Aziz Ansari), and surly college student April (Aubrey Plaza), not to mention her former fling Mark (Paul Schneider), who is now dating Ann, and Ann's doofy hipster ex-boyfriend Andy (Chris Pratt)--and you have a mishmash of personalities who may not always agree, but get into all sorts of fun scrapes and run-ins with the citizens of Pawnee.

Did I mention that everybody LIKES each other?

Okay, I'm not the first person to have this observation. I believe it was Entertainment Weekly. But here's the thing about shows like The Office: while I dig the cringe-inducing humor and can totally relate to cube-farm battles, sometimes the animosity wears on me. And I will never back down from my Tina Fey is a Friggin' Genius stance, but 30 Rock doesn't have the best character development. What I really love about Parks and Recreation (and Community and Modern Family as well) is that while the core characters don't always see eye to eye...they just as often band together and help each other out.

Case in point: on a recent episode of P and R, Leslie hosted a dinner party to impress her new love interest, the gentlemanly lawyer Justin (the DELECTABLE Justin Theroux--check out Mulholland Dr. and Six Feet Under for more of his smoldering sexiness). Leslie is so devoted to her job that other than Ann, she doesn't have a lot of friends outside of work. Therefore, the majority of people she invites are coworkers...and they show up, not because she's their superior (because in Ron's case, she isn't), but because they like her and Justin and want the relationship to work.

Leslie herself can be quite misguided and socially awkward, but where Michael Scott can get downright mean in his cluelessness, Leslie's heart is almost always in the right place. Though her reunion of Ron and his ex-wife Tammy doesn't turn out well, it's because Leslie genuinely had no idea that their relationship was so contentious and unhealthy (it also helped that Tammy was hugely manipulative and had her eyes on the lot Leslie wants to use for the park). Leslie just thought Ron would feel better if he made amends with his ex.

Also, it's nice to see a single woman on TV without Manolo Blahniks or fake boobs (sure, Poehler's beautiful, but it's a relatable beauty as opposed to unattainable model material) . . . well, get some. Leslie's former one-night stand, Mark, not only works with her but is now dating her best friend. And Leslie and Mark have a nice, friendly relationship. This season alone, Leslie has had not one but TWO boyfriends: a bumbling but sweet cop named Dave (Louis C.K. in a gentle turn free of his usual profanity) and the aforementioned Justin. And of course there's physical attraction involved, but both men are also OPENLY ADMIRING OF HER SMARTS. This shouldn't be revolutionary on TV in 2010. Except it kind of is.

Finally, the writing and acting is stellar. I will say that Ansari gets on my nerves at times, but maybe that's because I've known adult frat boys, like his character Tom. Rashida Jones' Ann often serves as the "straight man" in jokes, but she's getting some zingers and comic moments of her own lately. Pratt's Andy is hysterical in his attempts to win back Ann and his cluelessness at life, and Plaza's April never fails to crack me up with her unsmiling eye-rolling at the politics of Pawnee. But the real standout is Nick Offerman as Ron (Fucking) Swanson. Let's face it, thick mustaches are hilarious. But it's more than that: Offerman's impatience with local government and life lends itself to barbs that are both resigned and quietly simmering. The guy's delivery is im-fucking-peccable.

Oh, and Leslie Knope's feminism. She is uncomfortable in strip clubs (though she treats Tom in light of his divorce). She idolizes Hillary Clinton and keeps pictures of other powerful women in her office. She insists on being involved in a previously all-male hunting trip. She has outright claimed to be a feminist. And NONE of this is played for laughs. If this doesn't make your bleeding heart happy, you're no daughter of mine.

Parks and Recreation can be seen every Thursday on NBC, at 8:30/7:30 Central (after Community). Also, the last 5 episodes are on Hulu. So why aren't you watching right now?

Wait, I take back my apology: that WAS a wordy diatribe.

Happy Monday, y'all!

Do Me This Solid If You Would, Pretty Ladies (and Gentlemen)

So if you're a fan of mine on Facebook, you may remember that last week I talked about entering two writing contests.  The first, I didn't get anywhere, though I was VERY proud of the piece I came up with, so that's something.

The other?  I'm a finalist!

The contest is to be a recapper for TVGasm, quite possibly one of the most hilarious sites out there.  I discovered these guys back when I was a disgruntled, depressed law student.  They made me laugh.

I'm not disgruntled and depressed anymore, but I would LOVE to write for them.

So here's what you can do to help me out:

Go here, read my recap of "For the Love of Ray J" (sorry about the asterisks, it's a formatting issue on the site's part), and vote on it.  NOTE: if you're not registered on the TVGasm forums, you will need to register.  It should only take a few minutes and you will receive my undying gratitude in return.

Thank you so much!  (And don't worry, should I win the honor of making fun of crappy shows on a cool website, the blog will continue.  That's the Unpro Guarantee!)

Things TV Taught Us, by Unpro and Sister Unpro

My sister and I came of age in the late '80's and early '90's, when sitcoms were in their heyday.  On Friday nights (and later, Tuesdays), you could not pry us away from our heavy-ass basement television with the beige plastic cable box when Full House was on.  We would then tape it and re-watch it until our mom yelled at us to a) go outside or b) read a book.  (We did plenty of both of those things, don't worry.)  In short, we were obsessed with the misadventures of that crazy Tanner/Katsopolis/Gladstone clan. 

Oh hell, we still are.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Sister Unpro and I had way too much fun whiling away our day on Twitter.  Inspired by a writer friend of hers, we picked up the hashtag #thingsTVtaughtme and went to town.  Whether it's love and sex, school, family, home, or anything in between, we gleaned a wealth of knowledge from our sitcom-saturated childhoods.  Even today, with the onslaught of CW melodrama and reality programming, the lessons just keep on comin'!

So without further ado, Unpro and Sister Unpro present Things TV Taught Me.  TA-DAAAAA!

Love American Style

Hot young women LOVE fat manchildren who whine a lot.

The bad boy has a heart of gold. Unless he's a special guest star: in that case he'll a) die, or b) teach you a lesson. Or teach you a lesson while dying.

Sex with coworkers = more fun than dying patients.

Following amazing sex, all couples sleep in the spoon position.

There will ALWAYS be a hot, unattached sensitive coworker for you to chastely flirt with and eventually marry.

Weddings always begin with "Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Weddings: always big, always wacky. Someone WILL get arrested, shave their head, or have an inappropriate hookup.

That process of giving people roses and eliminating them one by one? IT'S TOTES GOING TO WORK THIS TIME.

School's Out

School is for dances, hookups, parties, and the occasional class with the teacher who breaks all the rules.

There is always a totally cool, non-alcoholic, all-ages hangout nearby.

You and your friends will land all of the lead roles in the school play.

Once you join your high school choir, you will magically gain the ability to burst into prerecorded pop songs.

You and your friends WILL go to the same college, located conveniently in your hometown. At least 1 teacher will come with.

A Family Affair

You are NOT the father.

Your little sister may go upstairs one day and never be heard from again. Don't worry about it.

Your family and friends may look like COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PEOPLE from year to year. Just go with it.

Your baby will emerge from your invisible uterus as a smiling three-month-old with no blood or goo in sight.

And your baby weight? Competely GONE in the span of a week!

Children between the ages of 1-4 do not exist. If you have a baby, it will be five years old within three months.

Be irresponsible with fertility drugs, give your family corporate sponsors, and all your problems will be solved!

In the House

Celebrities randomly show up at your door.

No need to say "goodbye" at the end of a phone conversation. Just hang up.

That annoying stalker-y neighbor? NEVER GOES AWAY. And will probably marry your daughter.

You will never go to the bathroom, unless it is completely disgusting, hilarious, or involves a little kid saying "potty."

The couch is never set up against a wall.

Your house has infinite space available to convert to bedrooms for adult losers who never leave.

No punishments, just a minute-long talking-to set to soft piano and a hug.

Looks Can Kill

When you are 16, you will look 24. No exceptions.

Also, when you are a 40-year-old parent of a 16-year-old, you will look 24. No exceptions.

Your hair always looks amazing, even if you don't have a mom to do your hair.

Everyone has an endless supply of the latest fashions.

Ladies: even midsleep, your hair and makeup will still be intact.

Glasses and a ponytail make you ugly.

Miscellaneous Schtick

The world used to be in black and white.

No one tears open a present. They come in a pre-wrapped box and you lift off the lid.

Just in a fiery car crash/plane crash/massive explosion? No biggie, just a scratch on your forehead.

Struggling writers, fear not: in less than a year, you'll have a bestselling book AND you'll get to direct the movie!

It is possible to have a yearlong dream.

Try pot once? YOU ARE ADDICTED TO DRUGS FOREVER.


What has TV taught YOU?  Leave a comment!

Oh, and happy Thanksgiving!  I'll be spending the morning watching the Macy's parade, applauding the Broadway performances, and ignoring the "you are insane for clapping at the television, and can I watch football now?" looks from my dad.

Geeklove: The State

I'm gonna go Sophia Petrillo on your asses for a second: Picture it, small Midwestern town that shall remain nameless, 1994. My cousin and ninth-grade classmate Erin asked me if I'd watched The State on MTV. The answer was a resounding no. I didn't like grunge music, and I was afraid it was one of those weird Alternative Nation type shows.


One night I was over at Erin's, and since she had her own TV I had no choice. After Beavis and Butt-head, she kept the channel on MTV. "You'll like it," she promised. And I was transfixed.



Suffice it to say I was not a cool kid. (Scrape your jaw off the floor.) At least not in my high school. I was number one in a class where it was so socially unacceptable to be smart that the alpha-jock deliberately got average grades. I loathed sports with a passion, preferring busting my ass at dance class with my best friend. Who was a BOY. I assistant directed children's plays and read library books instead of going to football games and trying to convince liberal parents to buy me beer. (Okay, I still went to football games, but I had no idea what the hell was going on.) The clean-cut dudes in blue oxford shirts who populated my tiny Catholic high school did absolutely nothing for me. Neither, for that matter, did my boy best friend. I was fourteen years old and had lived in the same 30-mile radius my entire life. I had the nagging feeling there was something wrong with me.


Then I saw The State, and I started to change my mind.


Sure, the eleven sketch-comedy rogues were technically adults, but they were in the twentysomething realm that was more accessible than parent-age. They possessed the unselfconsciousness of preadolescents, but were old enough to have creative freedom and control. They were almost all male, except for one girl, Kerri of the ever-changing hair and black leather jackets, who more than held her own with the boys. You could tell they didn't mess with her. I remember watching in the basement of my house, inches away from the TV just in case I had to change it quick lest my mom come down and deem it inappropriate. In at least half the sketches, someone had a cigarette dangling out of their mouth. In one sketch, Kerri was actually sitting there SMOKING like it was no big deal. My eyes widened at the sight--she was baaaaaad. And though I thought smoking was gross, I wanted to be that bad too. I wanted to spend my days with fun, cool guys who considered me an equal and didn't ogle my boobs.



Because The State gang was baaaaad--but not in a petty-crime, teenage-sex type way that terrified me (Catholic school will do that if you buy into the hype). They were bad in a fun way. Their sketches were dirty but quotable, irreverent but really freaking smart. I didn't know you could be both. I didn't know that intelligent could be regarded as hilarious too. I know, I know, Saturday Night Live--but you have to remember that at this point, SNL was pretty awful. Mike Myers and Dana Carvey had left, David Spade's schtick was getting so old, and I didn't yet know that Michael McKean was way more awesome than those hack writers were making him out to be. Plus, duh, SNL was my parents' thing. The State, on the other hand, was mine.



The group was tight, you could tell. Later, I found out that most of them had met at NYU's Tisch School for the Arts. (I would also find out that Tom Lennon hails from the suburbs of Chicago--one of my coworkers did community theatre with him.) During the bits where they talked to the camera, they'd be draped all over each other, totally comfortable. During the opening credit sequence, they clustered together in one quirky, very expressive united front. They bantered, collaborated and had fun together. At this point in my life, I had a few very close friends--even now, I'm a girl who takes quality over quantity when it comes to buddies. But at fourteen, I was lonely and craved a group dynamic (even in dance classes, it was often me and my BFF against a gaggle of public school cheerleaders). I longed for the familiarity and shared passion that these eleven had.



And oh, the guys.



Granted, I didn't understand this well enough at hormone-addled fourteen to articulate it. But looking back, there was something about the male cast members. None were conventionally "handsome" (in the way that I'd been brought up to believe was the only way), but several . . . intrigued me. Not just the obviously adorable Ken Marino and Michael Ian Black. But (Robert) Ben Garant's and Joe Lo Truglio's intense eyes. (By the way, Garant has not aged a DAY. Seriously. Watch Reno 911.) Thomas Lennon's sweet, round face and Michael Showalter's cool floppy hair. I thought Michael Patrick Jann's Jesus Christ Superstar Goes Homeless look was dirty, but I blushed whenever his shirt was off. (Which was a lot, if you recall.) What increased the cute factor was this: these guys made me laugh. I wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but I wanted to hang out with them--then make out with them.


And they liked musicals! The "Porcupine Racetrack" sketch was a thing of beauty: before it aired, Thomas Lennon explained onscreen that MTV had expressly asked them not to do the sketch. But they were going to do it anyway because it was just too funny. (They even rebelled against their own network. I was in AWE.) Then the sketch--homages to Guys and Dolls, My Fair Lady, and Les Miserables, with decent choreography and singable lyrics. Clearly no one (except MTV) was giving these clearly straight (well, except for Kevin Allison) guys crap for singing and dancing. Sure, "Porcupine Racetrack" was a parody, but you can't effectively make fun of a medium you don't know really, really well. These guys were theatre GEEKS. And they were proud of it. (I was totally turned on.)


Fourth quarter of ninth grade, Erin and I had a study hall. It was second period, and we were good girls who did our homework the night before, so we really had nothing to do. So while our compadres struggled through Business Math worksheets, Erin and I traded long scribbled notes quoting The State. "Um, I don't like you so much, ah, for one, you stinky and for two, you don't smell so nice!", "I'm gonna dip my BALLS in it!", and "I'm outta heeeeeere!" all made the rounds. We also speculated whether Kevin Allison was really gay--after all, in "The Jew, the Italian, and the Red Head Gay," David Wain was actually Jewish and Ken Marino was actually Italian. Yes, it seems weird to me now that there was a time when I wasn't surrounded by menfolk who prefer other menfolk. And yeah, I'd been doing theatre since I was nine, but at this time I still wasn't sure if I knew any gay men. I didn't think so. It would be totally obvious, right?


This note-passing was our nerdy rebellion. Our way of asserting ourselves in an environment where conformity was praised (and I'm not dissing my high school here; high school in general is this way). Later when we graduated, Erin's mom (my aunt) said that we'd had senioritis as freshmen. We weren't hugely precocious or mature, but we had the presence of mind to know that there was a world beyond our 150-person high school. A world where the smart kids not only ruled, but got their very own TV show where they joked about being on speed but still used big words knowing you would understand them. A world where handsome wasn't paint by number looks and came with a sense of humor and wit. A world where a guy could croon a ballad dressed in a gigantic porcupine costume--and misanthropic teens everywhere considered him a hero.


That same year, I started to branch out. I took part in my high school's very first musical. I made friends with very charismatic twin boys in the sophomore class, who not only had rockin' singing voices, but adored The State. (I still remember one of them going, "Michael Ian Black" and shaking his head in reverence.) A year later, I was cast in a show at a large outdoor theatre in the city twenty miles away, and met a darling boy with floppy hair like Michael Showalter. At a cast party, he and I were sitting on one side of the room, eating Doritos and talking about TV.



"You know what was the best?" I enthused, my mouth full of Doritos. "Did you ever watch The State on MTV?"


He looked at me, mouth dropping open. "Oh, my God." I waited--would he think I was weird? "That was my favorite!"


It was settled: he was the one I had been waiting for.


The State was canceled in 1995, mainly because MTV was stupid. (A trend that continues to this day.) But its members have continued to kick ass and take names in Hollywood. In fact, they work the studio system to their full advantage. Tom Lennon, Robert Ben Garant and Michael Patrick Jann have been responsible for writing and/or directing such high-concept big-budget fare as Herbie, Fully Loaded (the unfortunate Lohan remake) and the Night at the Museum franchise. They rake in the bucks and fund their own projects, such as the hilarious cop farce Reno 911! (most of The State gang is visible in the 2007 film), which also features Kerri Kenney-Silver and Joe Lo Truglio. Michael Ian Black's ubiquitous, showing up everywhere from VH1 to Sierra Mist ads to another brilliant-but-canceled show, Ed, and collaborating with David Wain and Michael Showalter on such brilliant fare as Stella (long-form acting exercises on crack). The 2001 camp comedy Wet Hot American Summer was a class reunion of sorts, if your class reunion was chock-full of awesome one-liners and montages set to eighties music. (I'd have totally gone to my class reunion if that had been the case.)


Has The State taken over the free world? No. But they're still a huge presence, seen and unseen, in the entertainment industry. Proving that smart really does sell, that one can be successful on his own terms, and that every dork, if patient, will have her day. Inspiring a generation of outcasts who sat inches away from their basement television to laugh loud, talk back, and never be ashamed of their idiosyncracies. Because being different was what got The State their own TV show, successful careers, and each other. There was no telling where being different could take you.

Be Nice to the Ghost in Your House, or Life Lessons from Unsolved Mysteries

Without fail, summer makes you think about being a kid. Ah, innocent youth. Not having to support yourself, eating junk without knowing what calories were, and getting the crap scared out of you on a regular basis by an old man wearing a trench coat.


I'll never forget my first experience with Unsolved Mysteries. I was nine years old, at my grandma's house after dance class. Still in my leotard, I plopped down in front of Grandma's TV while she talked with my dad in the kitchen. The cable box was on channel 10--NBC--and a very creepy voice was narrating the story of Crystal, a woman who had gone missing and later turned up dead. Nobody knew why, although neighbors had heard screaming from her apartment earlier that evening. The reenactment faded to a gentleman I recognized from the movie Airplane!--only this time he wasn't funny. He was imploring, nay, ordering me to call a 1-800 number if I had any information about what happened to poor Crystal.


Any normal kid probably would have turned it off. I was not a normal kid.


From ages nine to fourteen, I would regularly tune into Unsolved Mysteries. It wasn't exactly family viewing in the Unpro house, and I was a busy kid, so I didn't watch every single Wednesday (later Friday). But UM was as much a part of my childhood pop culture experience as Full House or The Baby-Sitters Club. If the show were to be believed, there was a whole intriguing world out there. Yes, terrible things befell innocent people, but miracles happened and long-lost siblings were reunited. (When my friend Joe and I were thirteen, we pretended that we were related and that Robert Stack would eventually reveal the truth on national TV.) And I loved the regular Updates on past cases, where some viewer really DID have information, and the guts to call it in. I appreciated how the show was good to the people who watched it: they knew that we remembered the bank robber who wore cheesy disguises, and were kind enough to keep us posted on his eventual capture and jail sentence.


Of course, all good things must come to an end: once I hit sophomore year of high school, Unsolved fell by the wayside. I only watched occasionally, like before my boyfriend picked me up to go to the movies. Then in college, I got into it again, watching on summer mornings when I wasn't working. No one was more excited than I when Lifetime started rebroadcasting updated episodes in 2001. And although the show's second and best-known host (fun fact: Karl Malden was the original guy behind the trench coat, not Robert Stack) has passed away, I'll still tune in the revamped version on Spike TV, hosted by actor and former cop Dennis Farina.


Why was I initially so compelled by UM? I thought about it, and came up with this: as a curious small-town kid in a pre-reality TV world, raised on a diet of sitcoms where everything turned out okay within twenty-two minutes, Unsolved Mysteries was as real as it got. And it stayed with me, to the point where I actually *gasp!* learned stuff. It ain't just for Sesame Street, yo--a little fearmongering can go far. Below are the top 5 life lessons I gleaned from Stack & Co.:


1. Use your noggin. Whether you live in New York City or the middle of nowhere, ask yourself this: is it really a good idea to get into your car without checking the backseat first? Or ask a homeless guy to move in with you? Or jog alone at 2 a.m. on a college campus? I'd love to live in a world where I feel completely safe 100% of the time. Unfortunately, that world doesn't exist as yet. And don't interpret this as victim-blaming, but some folks don't seem to realize that many horrible crimes occur in small towns where "nothing bad could ever happen." From the time I was a little kid, Unsolved Mysteries taught me to keep an eye out for trouble, and to make good decisions about where I went, who I talked to, and most importantly, who I trusted. Sure, at nine years old my whereabouts were largely controlled by my parents, but as I got older the lessons stayed with me. Of course, one shouldn't let caution descend into paranoia. Of course, terrible things can happen to the most sensible of individuals. However, this was the first real place where I learned to go with my gut when I didn't feel safe.


2. Don't mess with the Stack. This dude was not just an actor. HE COULD OBLITERATE YOU WITH HIS EYES. Don't tell me you were never paranoid that he was looking right at you, those pale orbs emanating through the television set when he said, "If you have any information..." Instead of getting less threatening as he grew weaker and more wrinkly, this Untouchables detective turned mystery program host got spookier. More insistent that time was indeed running out to catch the fugitives and identify the lost children. And the voice: that rattling, gravelly timbre responsible for haunting the crap out of nine-year-olds everywhere. After watching Unsolved Mysteries on your grandma's static electricity-inducing TV, a life of crime was just not an option. Robert Stack and his ever-present trench coat were comin' for ya. And they meant business.


3. Pay phones are bad. So are vans, pickup trucks with decals, and gas stations. Living in a major city, I walk a lot. And I STILL edge away from big ole vans, just like I did as a kid. Too many children featured on Unsolved Mysteries were snatched while riding their bikes or going out to buy a new romance novel, never to be heard from again. Women weren't immune to the van threat, either--and they were doubly vulnerable at gas stations with pay phones. Yikes. This life lesson kind of goes along with #1: I learned that anywhere dark, abandoned, or sparsely populated was maybe not the best place to be by myself. Granted, I don't have a car anymore, and pay phones have all but disappeared. Then again, bad stuff happens while waiting for public transportation too.


Funny story about #3: I have a good friend whom I'll call Bob. The summer between my junior and senior year in college, Bob and I would carpool to this outdoor theatre show we were doing, at a historical site in the middle of nowhere. Because our parents were overprotective and cell reception nonexistent, we would often give them a call from the pay phone at the town's only gas station when rehearsal concluded for the evening. One night, I had made the mistake of telling Bob about an Unsolved Mysteries rerun I had watched that day that involved a) a young woman, b) a kidnapper, c) a gas station, d) a pay phone, and e) a truck with an ugly decal. The young woman had been on the pay phone with her boyfriend, but the call was cut short when the boyfriend heard screaming. Witnesses say that a creepy guy in a pickup truck had been hovering near the pay phone (she had asked, "Do you need to use the phone?") and most likely took the young woman against her will. Scary stuff. It gets worse: the boyfriend stayed on the line, and a male voice eventually picked up the phone and said, "I didn't need to use the phone anyway."


Because Bob enjoyed scaring me (still does), after I concluded the "heading home now" call to my parents, he snuck up behind me and said in my ear, "I didn't need to use the phone anyway."

Bastard.


Don't worry, he got an earful of obscenities from me. Probably a slap or two.


4. Humanity can pleasantly surprise you. Two words: Lost Loves. After forty-five minutes of robberies, kidnappings and general nastiness, this segment gently reminded viewers that there were in fact nice people out there--and you could help find other nice people who'd made a positive difference in their lives. My personal favorite: the story of a single mom and her son camped out in a woodsy cabin in rural Germany during World War II. On Christmas Eve, they heard a knock on the door: three American soldiers had lost their way, one of whom was seriously injured and couldn't walk without assistance. But the unexpected visitors didn't stop there: soon after, a few members of the Nazi troops also came upon the cabin. The mother invited everyone to spend the evening out of the cold, on one condition: that all weapons were placed in the shed, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. The food was meager and the language barriers high, but quiet merriment eventually ensued. I can't remember how the mystery itself turned out--I think one of the American soldiers was looking for everyone else, or maybe it was the young son doing the investigating. Either way, the story was a heartening parable on the true meaning of Christmas: in the midst of a terrible war, a group of individuals with wildly different backgrounds and beliefs set their differences aside and came together for one special night. No, I am NOT tearing up right now just thinking about it! It's, um, allergies. Yeah.


5. Be nice to the ghost in your house. Especially if he or she is currently inhabiting the bunk beds you have thoughtfully purchased for your young children. We all have a ghost in our house--a prevalent and annoying presence that seems to exist solely to make your life hell. Even if you're not getting thrown against a wall, screamed at, or otherwise terrorized, chances are the "ghost" is infiltrating your life in an inconvenient manner. The best thing to do? Acknowledge the presence, that it possibly existed before your arrival and no doubt has a history that doesn't involve you. Calmly and politely ask it to leave--verbally or nonverbally, depending on the situation. And if all else fails, get the hell out. Destroy the bunk beds. Realize that some things are indeed out of your control. Know that freaking out is never the answer, and a clear, cool head will get you far. And impress the Stack, who's no doubt sporting a trench coat in that Big TV Set in the Sky.



Was I the only crazy kid who watched Unsolved? Say it ain't so (in the comments)!