TV Review - RHONY Season 5

For me, admitting to watching any of the `Real Housewives` franchises is like suffering thorough a bout of colitis: painful, tiresome and embarrassing to talk about. But here we are, another season, another gaggle of horrible shrews behaving badly.

This season of the `Real Housewives of New York` has been going on for a couple of months now and so far, YAWN. The folks at Bravo jettisoned some of the dead weight from the cast (Cindy Barshop, we hardly knew ye) and added some new, equally shameless broads:


Aviva: mother of four, native New Yorker, cousin (by marriage) to Fran "Bobbi Flekman" Dresher and actual real housewife! She's also missing a leg, which they mention in EVERY SINGLE EPISODE. What she lacks in limbs, she makes up for in phobias. Girlfriend is afraid of everything: elevators, flying, heights, farm equipment (understandable, since that's what ripped off her leg). Or maybe she just uses them as an excuse to avoid doing humiliating things (e.g. hang out with the other Housewives).


Heather: zaftig owner/driving force behind something called "Yummie Tummie", which is not a fat free frozen yogurt stand, nor an upper body strengthening device for infants, but is instead a Spanx knockoff. Prone to randomly using "urban" words like, "holla." Winner of "Phoniest Smile" award in high school.


The Kennedy Chick - I think her name is Carole. She is like, Jackie O's grandniece, or something. Friends with lots of bigwigs and at one time had an actual real job as a news producer for ABC. Also, is a princess of some sort, thanks to her dead husband. Why is she on this show? Her pedigree seems legit. Apparently, she's got a book and an upcoming TV pilot to hawk. Despite messed up plastic surgery and horseteeth, seemingly too normal and self-aware to be at all entertaining. Snooze.


Rounding out the cast are the standbys from seasons past: crazy Ramona, stuck-up Luann and slutty Sonja.


Like a microcosm of America, things seem to be shaping up along class lines, with the old money going to battle against the downtrodden nouveau riche. Aviva and Carole, with their "credentials" and "connections" seem to have been recruited in an effort to make the already crass and classless Ramona look even trashier and Sonja even skankier.


So far, there has been nothing going on. Ramona hates Heather for some reason and vice versa, and there is some low-level annoyance brewing between the Countess (Luann) and the Princess (Carole). Most of them went to London together where Sonja stuck her face in the hotel bidet (seems about right). Ramona continued to cash in on her drinking problem by cutting a deal with Target to have her pinot grigio sold there. Did I mention that it comes in a box? Of course it does. Aviva fell down the steps, because SHE HAS ONE LEG. Luann, at 47, is "pulling a Ramona" and trying to get pregnant. HAHAHAHA. The show is still embarrassing, but it's boring, too. Like going to your old college roommate's one-woman show about Sojourner Truth.


If the previews for episodes to come are to be believed, however, it's all going to change next week! Finally, stuff starts happening. When they ran the ad, I was in a stupor after watching a particularly boring episode, but here's what I remember:


- Viva Aviva! Suddenly, she gets something to do and starts laying into people, namely Ramona. Something must go horribly wrong on their current jaunt to Miami where they are hanging out, being friends (?), because in the preview, Aviva busts out the "WHITE TRASH" sash and pins it on Ramona!


- She's also had it with Sonja, apparently. Evidently, the plan to hook Sonja up with Aviva's "sex addict" FATHER did not go according to plan. I don't know - it seemed foolproof. Anyway, in the preview, Aviva calls Sonja out on her sorority girl behavior (i.e. being a sad, drunken mess with her skirt over her head).


- At one point in some future episode, Aviva comes out with this notable quotable: "This isn't about you or me! This isn't about my charity! This is about the kids... WHO DON'T HAVE LEGS!" Awesome. I'll be watching for that exchange alone.

TV Review: 24 Hour Catwalk

Did you ever watch this show "24 Hour Catwalk" on Lifetime? It's the worst. I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who has seen it besides the moms of the "designers" on it.

The "concept" is that four fashion designers of dubious talent are thrown into a warehouse with the most ridiculous materials on the planet (a terry cloth bathrobe! a diaper! a snake!) and told to create ugly and stupid clothes out of them that are usually at odds with the fabric (make a sexy bathing suit out of a down comforter!).

After like 3 minutes, a gaggle of judges takes a look at their hideous creations and boots off two of the designers who "do not meet our standards." I'm not sure what kind of standards they have - they're judges on "24 Hour Catwalk." The only one I've ever heard of is Cynthia Rowley, who hasn't eaten solids since 1992. She usually likes the fugliest stuff. There is also Alexa, some other weeenie with a neck beard and a nerdy guy who told me he's trying for a "Simon Cowell meets Alton Brown" thing: being a jerk, minus the manboobs, plus a bowtie.

After the initial beat downs/cutting of the fat, the remaining 2 designers are tasked with creating "an entire collection" (3 pieces) in 24 HOURS!! Don't worry, though, they have a team of sassy sewers to help them, including the incredibly named JustRaymona, who is a drag queen. Right? I'm sorry if she's not. If she is, then congratulations to her on being relatively demure and understated. The sewing teams give lip to the designers, who get super frazzled before shoving their polyester wares on some cut rate models and having a "real, live fashion show". The winner gets 10,000 smackers.

The real sadness here is when "24 Hour Catwalk" is the only viable option of what to watch on Comcast's Video on Demand. Why isn't "Locked Up Abroad" on there?!?! I would watch the hell out of that. This is just sad, unphotogenic "Project Runway" rejects forced to work under even more ridiculous circumstances with cheaper fabrics.

Blowin' Up

What is it about turning over the last page in the calendar that makes people want to detonate explosive devices in close proximity to their homes? I'm talking about those who, instead of watching professionals on TV deliver a quality fireworks display choreographed to Auld Lang Syne, would rather set off some jank illegal ground mines to the sweet, sweet sounds of Uncle Kracker.

As a person averse to loudness in general, lying in bed waiting for the random explosions to be over and wondering if any of them are aimed at my car isn't fun. It gives me fodder for future PTSD therapy sessions. And what's the excitement in a loud noise? I mean, come on. And it just goes on and on, since there's not usually a time limit set when drunks get a hold of stuff they can blow up. You just have to hope someone blasts their finger off so everyone heads to the ER and you can get some sleep.


At least with a professional display, you get the benefit of some colors and sparkles and maybe one of those newfangled fireworks that looks like a peace sign when it explodes in the air. Now that's progress. If the ancient Chinese come back, we can totally show them the smiley face firework as evidence of our evolution as a species.

Haute Kid-ture

A Facebook friend who likes to keep me angry recently sent me this article about upper crusty fashion houses releasing clothing lines for small children. So the good news is, if you have like 600 bucks to drop on some stupid t-shirt with a Swarovski crystal skull on it for your three year old, you're in luck. Basically, if you're into forcing your kid to look like one of of Gwen Stefani's offspring, you're good to go. (On a related note, WHO DOES THIS TO THEIR 5 YEAR OLD? I hate you, Gwen Stefani.)

If you've got money to burn and time to kill shopping, then knock yourself out, I guess.

More disturbing than the immediate financial aspect is what kind of values dumbass parents are instilling in their progeny with this kind of thing. It reminded me of this post on STFU, Parents, a site that I visit when I want a laugh. In short, some mom's got her kids all outfitted up in "Jordans", Coach sunglasses (??!!), Dooney and Bourke bags, etc. so much so that they actually DEMAND these items by name and reject lesser impostors. Her kids are 7 and 2. Ugh. Way to perpetuate the mindless consumerist culture that's running us all into the ground. Also, newsflash: labeling them "divas" just because they like "the finer things" doesn't make this cute - it just makes it grosser.

Visiting STFU, Parents always starts out good (the Mommyjacking threads are pretty awesome), but it ends up depressing. You start thinking, "Why are morons having children? STOP IT."

I say, let's put something in the water that makes everyone sterile, and then if you want to have a kid, we'll give you a basic skills test and if you pass, BAM - antidote coming your way. I mean, you need a license to go fishing but not to have kids? Mind boggling. Of course, it opens up questions of who is writing this test and by what standards are people being judged, to which I say, "Me" and "Mine."

Bad Romance

If something doesn't happen on Facebook, did it really happen?

Like, for instance, if you catch your boyfriend cheating, you should probably paste a blow-by-blow (in some cases, literally) of all of his indiscretions on Facebook so everyone can recognize what a wad he is. And if you're sad about it, you should probably post that on your wall so EVERYONE knows. Because what is the point of having the sads if no one knows about your suffering? And when you find a new dude, you should probably unfavorably compare the old guy to the new guy, stat.

I thought there would be umpteen sites about FB breakups, and there are. And dude, some are REALLY funny. Especially when grammar and spelling are concerned, because not only do you get to feel superior to someone dumb enough to air their dirty laundry (in some cases, literally) on Facebook, you get to laugh at their inability to punctuate.

Breaking up with someone you actually like: painful. Sometimes rage-inducing. But if you take to the internet to register your dissatisfaction about your mate or relationship, IT'S OUT THERE. It's not like telling your friend how much your boyfriend stinks (in some cases, literally) and you can hope she'll be too drunk to remember. You're posting this for 237 of your close "friends" to see. So if you do work it out with Loverboy, you're gonna look like an even bigger idiot when you post pics of you guys snuggling at someone's wedding. "Didn't she make disparaging remarks about his manhood and then change her status to "Single" a week ago?"

Let it marinate. Think about what you're doing. Here's an idea: KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. For real! It can be done! People used to do it all the time! There were things called "privacy" and "shame" and they worked out OK for a long time. Then reality TV happened and people started wearing pajamas in public and all hell broke loose (in some cases, literally).

Idiot Box

Is it too much to ask to go and pump some stupid gas and not have a TV blaring nonsense at me while I'm doing it? Can I just go, fuel up, inhale noxious fumes and stare at the pump, contemplating what else I could have done with that $30? Seriously, it takes like 3 minutes to fill up. I'd like to spend it in a moment of Zen-like peace, or at least be able to squeegee my windows without some tool screaming at me from a TV screen mounted above the gas pump. We already have idiots pumping gas while sucking on a cigarette or talking on their stupid cellphones: do we need a bunch of yahoos spraying gas all over the place because they were watching a segment about Star Jones' weave.

The worst is when every pump at the gas station has one of these things on top of it and they are all blaring at full volume, but are all like, an eighth of a second from being completely in synch with one another. It's an endless echo of insanity that I could do without. I don't need to be marketed to every time I step out on public, thanks, and I'm actually fine with not being entertained every second of my waking life.

Speaking of entertainment, I also don't appreciate paying $89 for a movie ticket and then being forced to watch commercials before the movie starts. Let's try paying Reese Witherspoon a little less, instead.

Speaking of irritating: now those things in the drugstore that they mount to the shelves to dole out coupons come with tiny monitors that talk to you while you're trying to buy some damn shampoo. Like, SHUT. UP. First of all, no. Secondly, sometimes I like to listen to the sweet sounds of Mr. Michael MacDonald or Ambrosia as I wander the aisles, OK? So I don't need some tiny woman squawking at me from a tiny monitor and telling me to buy lotion. I'll decide when I need lotion, thanks. I don't need you inflaming my touch of Aspberger's in the meantime. Maybe that's what the lotion is for.

Toilet Paper Revolt

Can someone tell me what is up with this spate of disgusting toilet paper commercials? Listen: this is America. Toilet paper is, thankfully, pretty plentiful, even if it's the nasty one-ply kind found in public restrooms or the guest bathrooms of cheap people. WE GET WHAT IT'S FOR. What is up with all these commercials hell-bent on elucidating exactly what it does? Enough, already! Unless they're marketing to the recently toilet trained or members of some ecoterrorist group ideologically opposed to toilet paper, I don't get it.

Cases in point:

1) Those Charmin bears who are plagued by their TP "leaving pieces behind". Um, just because they're animated bears and one's a baby doesn't make this any less gross. And it's not bad enough that they just talk about this burning issue - then they go a step further and show the particles. I don't care that it's just a cartoon - it's disgusting.



2) Speaking of disgusting, let's talk about this new Quilted Northern commercial where a bunch of non-animated dames stand around and talk about what they need their toilet paper to do. "It gets you clean while helping to keep your hands clean." HELLO. It's toilet paper. THAT'S WHAT IT DOES. This whole "we need it to protect our hands, too" stuff... Isn't that part of the deal?! Who is watching this and thinking, "Oh, I never thought of that!"? Since this commercial is clearly not teaching us anything new, I can only conclude that it exists to enrage people with its stupidity. And totally skeeve them out.

And also, don't dudes buy toilet paper? How come all these commercials feature women (or adorable bear children)?

Look, all you need to do to successfully market toilet paper is to ensure people that it's not going to scrape off their flesh when they use it (I'm talking to you, Scott Tissue) or render you infertile. Let's leave this all behind (no pun intended), bring back that Mr. Whipple guy and tell him to start squeezin'.