Ladies and gentlemen, it's that time again: time to grab Julie Chen, oil her joints, charge her batteries, and update her AI. That's right. Starting this Tuesday, our favorite cyborg hostess will make her annual return to primetime for another eventful season of Big Brother. CBS, with the help of TVgasm friend Erika of Big Brother 4, finally revealed the new houseguests this morning on the Early Show.

Here they are:

	Adria: the Southern wife who thinks being fit is twice the fun. Look for her "Hang In There" kitty posters to adorn the house.
	Diane: I like that her dogs' names are Skeeter and Snoop Dogg. I like even more that she watches Pimp My Ride. Not so crazy about her love of Titanic. She says she wants to be on Big Brother to be on TV, so this might be candidate #1 for house drama queen. She also says she hopes there are no snotty women in the house, which means she probably is one.
	Drew: Hails from Ohio State, listens to Maroon 5 (and Coldplay too, of course), and loves Rolos. Hey everyone, the nice guy's here!
	Holly: a model in her "20s" who aspires to live life like a cat and have nine lives. Will that mean we'll want to kill her nine times? Judging by the fact that she mentions her cats about twelve times in her questionaire, I'm going to say the answer to that is probably yes.
	Jase: Meet this season's class clown. He likens his strategy to falling on the ground but missing a dog turd and has a non-sexual crush on Brad Pitt. Most worrisome is his regret over not being able to see himself on TV. Groan...
	Jennifer: Faintly purple hair, chest tattoo, love of the Flaming Lips. Watch out Wisconsin, there's an artsy hipster on TV! But maybe it's only skin-deep. After all, people who consider Bowling For Columbine one of the best movies ever tend to be of the poseur variety.
	Karen: Here comes the sassy one! She'll tell it like it is, she says, which has always been a tactic that worked in the past. Or not. Her favorite motto is "Don't piss in my ear and tell me its raining", which is like Judge Judy's book "Don't piss on my leg and tell me its raining", except with a more disturbing urination image.
	Lori: She describes herself as happy and her personal motto is "Just Smile", but her favorite movie is Donnie Darko and she loves Oasis. Hmmm... Could that sunny smile be just a facade? Methinks there will be many a teary-eyed confessional for this Bostonian.
	Marvin: Greetings token minority. You better pray to your hero, God, that outgroup bias doesn't bite you in the ass. Question: who will awkwardly try to earn bonus points with Marvin by babbling about civil rights or street cred first?
	Michael: Oh my. We have a live one here. Favorite TV show? Two and a Half Men. Favorite Movie: Luke Perry rodeo epic, 8 Seconds. Favorite activities: Roping, hunting. My cityfolk snobbery doesn't know where to start. I'll just say one thing: unironic cowboy hat.
	Mike: Uh oh. It's a single dad. Time for macho crying. Please let this not be a retread of Season 4's Robert and his treacly letters from home. I can't stand the bawling of yet another single parent who abandons his child to be on a reality show.
	Scott: Fresh from a Reagan vigil, Scott will have to spend the summer away from his favorite talk show, The O'Reilly Factor, and his favorite team, Team USA of course! He does love the Steelers (Hines Ward is highly regarded on this site), and people from Pennsylvannia have a knack for going far on these sort of shows. Look out for this guy...
	Will: Worships Oprah, Dolly Parton and women's gymnastics. Sounds fabulous!

Overall, this should be a fun, eclectic group. Many of the guests have aligned themselves politically on their questionaires - sort of uncommon - which leads me to believe this may be the venue for many uninformed and spastic political debates. Can't wait for Jennifer to spar off against Scott, or Karen to take on Mike. We might have to recruit Julie Chen to mediate what could be a full-scale war between fast-talking conservatives and emotionally inarticulate liberals.

I'm a little concerned for other reasons, though. The CBS website has all sorts of dainty fonts, and a new eavesdropping feature for the Head of Household suggests that lying may not be the key to success. Is Big Brother trying to clean up its act after last season's vitriol-fest? I sure hope not.

Check out the full profiles here.

Posted by at 3:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It took about seven months, but The Real World San Diego finally ran its course, coming to an uneventful conclusion tonight. With a lump in our throats and a tear in the eye, we bid adieu to Brad, Randy, Cameran, Robin, Jamie, Jacquese, and Charlie. Okay, so maybe we weren't crying, but at least we were yawning, and some display of emotional affectation is better than none. Truth is that the final episode is always exciting in theory, but incredibly lame in execution. How many times do we have to see cast members hug and bawl before being whisked away on some exotic form of transportation? In this case, Randy won the award for Least Efficient Way Back to Boston when he zipped off in a water taxi. But before the big au revoir, there were a few matters to deal with like, you know, the legal system.

That's right. Amidst the sentimental goo, there was a mild legal battle being waged in the courts of San Diego that threatened to shake the very foundation of the United States Judicial System. In the People Vs. Robin, our breasty hero had to face down her wild past as a flagrant fist bumper who tragically connected with a shoulder instead of another set of knuckles. Yes, even the sturdiest of Marines cannot withstand Robin's forceful pugilism: her fist strikes so intensely that it causes scratch marks to unbelievably appear on one's nape.

For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, about forty gazillion episodes ago, Robin punched a guy's shoulder jokingly, but apparently Basic Training did not prepare this young soldier for such hardship, so he called the police and had our Coyote Ugly hero arrested on counts of assault and battery. The Marine also contended that Robin scratched his neck, which leads me to believe this guy has to be the biggest pussy ever to grace reality television, especially when clear, unmistakable video footage shows nothing even close to claws coming out.

Nevertheless, while this case may be easily dismissed by sofa jurors like me, the United States legal system requires more formalities. So poor Robin did what any disenfranchised woman would do: she wrangled her sprawling bosom into a shiny blue shirt and hit the streets. Granted, Robin looked like she'd been wrapped up in a big roll of mylar, but that's neither here nor there.

The first stop on this Real World odyssey was a strip mall where Robin sought the legal aid of a Lionel Hutz-esque lawyer. I forgot his name, which is really hard since his office was brashly adorned with flashing pink neon lights. If you listened really carefully, you could hear his police scanner honing in on speeding ambulances.

The council may not have been Perry Mason, or even Star Jones (who is a lawyah), but he was functional enough to reduce Robin's transgression to a minor crime. How he didn't manage to get it thrown out completely is beyond me. Meanwhile, the roomies almost faced a whole new set of legal problems when Brad, in line at a club, tried to save Cameran from getting her underage ass thrown in the slammer. The bouncers wrestled our simian friend to the ground while Robin quickly yanked Cameran out of the fray.

Not knowing what was happening to Brad, the roomies gabbed about the incident back at the house. Cameran, desperate for a bit more drama and attention, yelled over and over again about how she just could not understand why Brad would do such a thing. Charlie - in one of his first and last scenes this season - explained that Brad was trying to protect Cameran, but what everyone was too polite to say was "Shut the fuck up, bitch. Be happy it's him not you heading off to the Big House."

Actually, Big House is a bit of an overstatement. You see, before the commercial break, Bunim/Murray tried to have us believe that the apprehension of Brad was a San Diego version of The Midnight Express. One more shot of him doubled over with his hands behind his back and I would have thought for sure this episode would end with a Bono song about civil rights. But even the most urgent of morose beats couldn't disguise the fact that Brad was only given a little slap on the wrist and sent on his way. Oh the Bunim/Murray fakeout. Will we ever learn?

With any traces of conflict quietly vanquished, the roomies settled down and packed up. Former roommate Frankie called up to say what's up in a surprisingly nice, friendly phone conversation with Jacquese. Amazingly, the Frankie cameo lasted for only twenty seconds at most. Sorry Frankie, but not even you can stop the Bunim/Murray machine once they activate the packing up/goodbye sequence.

The final ten minutes consisted of hugs and quivering lips as each cast member gradually went their own way. We learned interesting things about our buddies after the show: Randy went on a five month tour of Europe; Charlie broke up with his girlfriend and reunited with his band (he had a band?); and Cameran doesn't know what she wants to do next in life. Um, how about getting that edumacation that you so sorely lack? Eh, she'll probably just take her act to the Real World/Road Rules Challenge.

Next week we have what promises to be another heavily edited reunion special hosted by Lala, or maybe what's-her-face Pak, or that Gideon jerk. Until then, we'll just quietly chuckle to ourselves as we remember Cameran's thoughtful insights about African Americans: "I've lived with a black person, and they're as cool as hell." Like OMG! Every group should have one!

It's great to see The Real World still lives up to its name.

Posted by at 11:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This just in. Rich people are spoiled and loathe the presence of people below them, unless they are playing games with them and breaking their hearts. If you haven't caught onto this theme of the North Shore yet, go find your local World Workers Party representative for some re-education. All kidding aside, the North Shore does rely heavily on the differences between the working stiffs and fat cats for most of their drama and almost all of their story lines. This week we watch as Nicole's friends jet set their way into the Grand Waiameia Hotel for the sole purpose of rescuing the hotel heiress from the peons who were planning nothing more than a quaint bonfire on the beach for her birthday. With all the coke they need to last the weekend, there is no question that everything is going to go smoothly during their stay.

Or not.

Now our dear Nicole has been going through great pains to ingratiate herself to the staff of the hotel. Unfortunately for her, they can't get past her designer suits and bikinis to see the fledgling populist that is about to flow from inside of her. Still, being the unassuming working class that they are, they all take Jason's efforts to make her seem more friendly in stride.

Just as we are about to believe that wealthy people have feelings, in sweeps Nicole's old crew, led by the formidable Eva Latisse, whose silver spoon is not quite large enough to fit all of the booze she likes to consume during her party time. Nicole's association with Eva does nothing to help her relationship with the staff, as the latter turns out to be one of the most obnoxious, ungrateful guests in existence. And who bears the brunt of Eva's transgressions? Our plucky waitress MJ, of course. While MJ is waiting tables by the pool or in the lobby, Eva is around with a condescending comment. When MJ is trying to get to work, Eva is nearly drunk driving her head into the pavement. Even after hours MJ is not safe. The socialites find the local dive bar and make all of the regulars inside annoyed and looking for other places to drink (not unlike what happens when word gets to the valley about a nice Hollywood bar).

If that is not enough for you to loathe the socialites, two of Eva's partners in crime decide to play a little game with poor Gabriel's heart. You see, Gabriel is obviously too fit to be straight, yet at the same time too naive to be gay. So Carter and his fag hag Christy decide that they are going to be the ones to find out. Gabriel offers to teach Christy surfing, and Carter, hoping to get Gabriel out of the closet, joins them. Gabriel is smitten, and eagerly falls for this non-jailbait suitor. Christy even talks about renting a house for a few months so they can be closer together. How sweet, looks like one of the rich girls is coming around.

Elsewhere, even Eva seems to have learned a few things. After seducing Jason against the wishes of Nicole, and nearly running over MJ with her Jeep, she tearfully tells Nicole that she has checked herself into a rehab program in Connecticut and this is going to be a last bash for her. Nicole believes her story and decides to enjoy her birthday party.

Some of you may be asking what is going on with some of the other characters. Well, not much to be honest. Frankie is still stoned and goofy. Vincent remains the most uninteresting person on the island. To inject some interest in his story, we get some story about a messy divorce, and a joke about how he owns the golf course. Tessa does nothing in this episode as well, but we get some hints that she is going to be after Vincent, and we all know Vincent wouldn't mind getting behind her.

The part finally arrives and things are going fine. Eva and Nicole are dancing, giving Frankie something to visualize betweent bong rips, ice cream and bartending shifs. Then everything hits the fan. Poor Gabriel discovers that Christy is only interested in winning some plane tickets from Carter and not with starting a family. In the greatest scene of the night, MJ stumbles upon Eva doing some coke and when Eva won't let her leave in peace, MJ throws a nice roundhouse and it's TKO for Eva.

Nicole witnesses the whole thing and although Eva is demanding MJ be fired, she backs up MJ. Vincent, who hasn't caught on that his hotel employees are not ratting each other out, looks perplexed but goes on his way. Nicole finds out that Eva was never interested with getting back into rehab and Nicole verbally acknowledges that she isn't the person she was before, and is better for it. In a banner moment for her, she joins Jason, MJ, Gabriel, and Frankie for a late night bonfire. Maybe she'll fit in better than we were led to believe?

Although this was a fairly good episode, North Shore took a small step back this week. Nobody is interested in Vincent, and we want more Tessa, even if it means that we get nothing more than a Tessa/Vincent sammich. I also believe that the audience understands the differences between the backgrounds of Nicole and Jason. And did I mention we really don't care about what happens to Vincent? I thought that the episodes were going to be more like the one where we got Tessa, but it looks like the writers are going to put us through some more expository paces before we get to the real story. Look for portions of the next several episodes to demonstrate some more of the intricacies of all the characters. Let's hope they make it quick though, before the audience revolts at the thought of yet another love rhombus taking over their TV.

Posted by at 2:32 PM | Permalink

The boot is back. After last week's quiet respite from dry heaves and buckets, the Road Rules vomitorium returned in full gloppy force in the latest edition of Road Rules X-Treme. Unlike previous episodes which featured drunken Danny and Derrick spewing forth like mighty geysers of alcohol and shame, tonight's installment featured a group effort of communal splatter. I guess it was to be expected. During the past few years, Bunim/Murray has become the it production team for capturing all sorts of dramatic barfing, and tonight was an exceptional presentation of their well-honed skills. It was like porn for gastroenterologists, with money shots coming one after another. And leave it up to Bunim/Murray to tack on some lame romantic angle to this mess: boy meets girl; boy and girl throw up; boy and girl sort of like each other more. It's a classic story!

I'm getting a little too far ahead of myself though. The episode began with the roadies receiving a message about their next mission. Unlike last week's tricky "What do you call a guy who has no arms, no legs, and hangs on a wall" riddle, the producers lofted a softball clue with some phrase like "Prepare to bust a moo-ve". Kina was the smarty pants who figured out the challenge would be bovine themed. The Jersey Girl bounced around the trailer with excitement, a strange phenomenon that afflicts these kids, even though they know they invariably are going to face some horrendous, tear-inducing challenge.

Meanwhile, a shot of the moon alerted us that we would be shifting gears from Holsteins to romance. Last week, we dropped in on the budding love affair between Jodi and Patrick. This week, we learned of a growing showmance between Kina and Derrick. Apparently he really likes her, but Kina doesn't want to hook up with anyone, as evidenced by her subtle mocking of his attempts to kiss her. If only they had some sort of personal challenge to serve as a catalyst to their relationship...

Conveniently, we segued to the next mission titled "Don't Have A Cow". Kina's high hopes for some sort of dude ranch or udder-milking activity were dashed when the team learned they would have to... EAT parts of the cow! Ewwww! Who does that? What strange people would ever make cow a part of their daily diet? Oh, I guess that would be us and our Westernized culture. But don't tell the kids that. Apparently, they think steak grows on steak trees.

The plucky mission mayors explained that there were thirteen dishes of cow parts that needed to be eaten. Our diners would be given five minutes to chow down (they would be fed by a partner) and whatever was left over would be compiled on a tray to be consumed at the end of the mission. Pretty convoluted for a mission whose sole purpose is to just make these kids throw up. But I guess it worked. Even though beef may be what's for dinner, the Road Rulers approached the challenge with an unreasonable level of dread, especially Danny who was already yakking his brains out before the first dish even surfaced. He did his business in the bathroom, not realizing that Bunim/Murray had furnished him with, yes, an official Road Rules barf bucket, complete with decal. I guess if there's any one prop that would exemplify this show, that would be it.

Did these guys really think they'd make it through the season without a tasting menu of nauseating delights? Like high altitude jumps or public nudity, the gross-out food challenge is a cliché, er, staple of this series. These guys should have been practicing on butcher scraps long before they flew down to the Southern Hemisphere.

But they didn't, which is why it was so fun to watch them quiver and sweat in the presence of cow brains and whatnot. Danny was completely useless, and watching Jodi feed him brought back memories of me forcing a pill down my late cat's throat. I thought for sure he would break out into a series of hisses and scratch everyone in sight, but instead he just blew chunks. For some reason, puking was way more amusing in Fargo when Margie noted "I think I'm gonna barf!" I guess that's because the Cohen Brothers believe in that thing... uh, what's it called again? Oh yeah. Artistry.

Meanwhile, as a trail of snot bungee jumped out of Kina's nose, Derrick made his most romantic move yet: he fed cow rectum to his beloved Jersey Girl. It's not quite chocolate covered strawberries, but it did the trick. Kina swooned about how the two of them worked so well as a unit and how Derrick really was there for her in her time of need. Bunim/Murray's clunky juxtaposition of this love story with Danny's casual - and very sludgy, by the way - booting in the corner was forced and unintentionally comical. That the producers tried to create any sort of romantic significance to this freakshow meal was a joke unto itself. I'm surprised they didn't try to contrive any metaphors when heart was served.

Nevertheless, everyone continued to choke and gag their way through the challenge. I wonder if they knew that cow tongue is readily available at their local deli (I recommend Canter's sandwich in LA), or that the intestines they found so abhorrent are the things that keep hot dogs together? And maybe they forgot that they've probably ingested all these random cow parts in the last burger they gobbled up. I'd like to see them gag and cry over a nasty plate of cow loin - aka filet mignon. Funny how that sounds so appetizing when it's given a French touch.

Amazingly, this gluttonous challenge provided the first ounces of drama this series has seen this season. Ultimately, Danny's digestive system was booked to capacity, and he left too much meat on the leftover platter for Patrick to gulp down in five minutes. The team lost, and they melodramatically congealed in a group hug that reminded me of the final episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show, or at least the opening credits of the Golden Girls. Betty White loves the group hug.

Moments later, Danny bawled at a picnic table. He's really come a long way to disprove the gay stereotypes of being weak in competition and quick to cry in hardship. Oh wait...

Since this wasn't the most triumphant of episodes for our troopers, Bunim/Murray dropped the Yellowcard-esque inspirational punk for the final segment and inserted some generic emo instead. Derrick lauded the virtues of Kina again, this time noting poetically that once you see a girl naked and drool on her, it's hard not to fall in love. And yet, for some reason, I can't help thinking that when you've been seen naked and drooled on, it's hard to reciprocate that romantic vibe.

As the episode came to a melancholy close, the group found a cute puppy wandering around. Even though they have no food, vaccinations, or discernible living space for the pup, the cast members still decided to adopt it as their own and make it the team mascot. Meanwhile, a kid is wandering around Santiago looking for his lost puppy. Way to go, guys. I'm sure the dog will be quickly thrown to the curb when everyone realizes that puppies aren't housebroken, and RVs smell up real quickly.

The real test is for Bunim/Murray. We know they'll show puke, but are they above dog poop?

Posted by at 12:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I think we can all agree that the economy has been in a slump, and that it has taken awhile for the great Capitalist Pigs to get things running properly again. There are certain groups of people, however, that never seem to be out of work, even when everybody else seems to be losing their jobs - plastic surgeons, trial lawyers, politicians, and people who blog about television, movies, or celebrity goings on. One would believe that you could assuredly add Oscar-winning Actor to that list. Things, however, are not always what they seem.

Take Adrian Brody. I'll admit, I wasn't exactly jumping out of my seat when he won the Academy Award for Best Actor for The Pianist last year, but you don't always get to pick your up and coming actor/actress to make it big. Why, oh why must we be subjected to the image of Adrian and his patchy beard hawking Diet Coke? Does Adrian need the money because of some gambling problem or something? Mike Tyson, who is a cool $30 million in the hole, skipped right over doing commercials and went straight to taking handouts from drug dealers. Instead, Mr. Brody tries to convince that we too can be happy if we walked around all day fist bumping our neighbors. At least Iron Mike chose the honorable path. Perhaps Adrian will streak the Oscars with a GoldenPalace.com tattoo? That would at least have some modicum of originality.

Adrian, please take a cue from Mira Sorvino and concentrate on making bad movies until you return yourself to the level of legitimacy we thought you had attained when you won the award in the first place.

Posted by at 10:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Ashlee Simpson: We don't know where you came from, and we don't know why you have descended upon pop culture, but we humbly ask you to go away and never come back. Yes, you may be Jessica Simpson's younger sister, and yes, you may feel this entitles you to some sort of cultural sidekick role, but you and your manager father are sadly mistaken. We don't want you. Your music is stale and pedestrian, and your dreams of stardom are simply lame excuses for woolgathering at our expense. Yes, we know you're an "actress" too, but your showcase of talent on 7th Heaven leads me to believe you should be packed in a box and sent to Malta.

Additionally, your reality show is prosaic and vapid, and your general presence in our collective conscience is uninvited and already overlong, even though you just got here. So if you don't mind, we'd like you to quietly recede from the spotlight, and feel free to bring other less talented younger siblings with you. That includes Aaron Carter and Haylie Duff. Come to think of it, you can take all the Carters and Duffs. And don't let the door hit you on the way out...

Posted by at 2:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Tonight's episode of The Simple Life 2: Road Trip reacquainted Paris Hilton with her least favorite pasttime: gettin' naked in public. Okay, cheap shot. Sorry, Paris! The sex tape comments are old now; so I'll try to keep the puns to a minimum. Nevertheless, Paris and Nicole continued to out Florida as a bizarro cultural wasteland by dropping in for a day at Caliente Resort & Spa, a peppy nudist colony whose chipper clientelle seemed significantly less tragic than the eyesores Dave Atell usually introduces us to on Insomniac. Paris and Nicole seemed genuinely shocked to see so many, uh, physically unfit people waltzing around nekked, and to answer your question, no, they did not participate in the fun.

The girls showed up for their day of "work" nearly two hours late, raising the ire of their semi-naked supervisor. I don't know what was more distracting: the boss's exposed nip or her uncanny resemblance to Doris Roberts. Paris and Nicole should have been grateful that this woman even offered them a job (or, I should say, that Bunim/Murray paid her to offer them a job). The girls, it appears, have been making their way across FLA like a pair of pretty street urchins, begging for money, food, and showers all the way. A silly scene in Burger King had the girls unsuccessfully conning the restaurant for a free meal (and note to people who think this show isn't staged: these girls would NEVER order this much food from a fast food joint). It sort of felt like an inverted Midnight Cowboy, where Ratzo Rizzo and Joe Buck scheme to get out of Florida and make their way back to the land of drugs and sex. And I suppose Paris and Nicole could be the Jon Voigt and Dustin Hoffman for a new generation, you know, except without the talent.

Back at Caliente, our flute and guitar duo met with the resort's owner who introduced them to the world of housekeeping, a.k.a. that mythical force that always restored Paris's hotel rooms to perfect condition. She and Nicole seemed more shocked to don maid uniforms than anything else these past two seasons. They suitably acted like princesses at the sight of pee in a toilet and casually tried on guests' clothing. In one case, they stumbled upon a nude hillbilly who gloriously preened in front of the cameras with a goofy smile on his face. Left unattended, Paris and Nicole slyly changed into civilian garb, ordered room service (on someone else's dime), and then had a maid come and clean the room. Appreciative of her service, the girls showered the cleaning lady with their highest compliment: "That's hot." Later, the girls slipped into their uniforms again, and when their supervisor saw their spotless room, she praised them for defying expectations. I would love to think Paris and Nicole were crafty enough to execute this little con, but this is The Simple Life. Bunim/Murray's gotta stir the pot.

After housekeeping, the girls joined a body acceptance class where a group of nude people stood in a circle and extolled the virtues of going au naturelle. Everyone then ranked their favorite body parts, causing Paris to adopt her cutesy baby voice and faux-sweetly rattle off a list of her best features, which according to her is just about everything. Nicole was forthright and embraced her small chest - hey, she said it, not me - and actually displayed a very healthy attitude towards her body. Everyone wrote dull poems about their orifices and whatnot, and before we knew it, night had fallen and everyone was dancing the YMCA at the Caliente Disco.

And so another episode passed by with the girls learning nothing except the value of remaining true to your adolescent roots. I'm glad they love their bodies so much because the last thing this show needs is any inspiration from The Swan.

Posted by at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It looks like without an elimination ceremony, Mark Burnett's reality offerings don't burn up the Nielsens quite as much. Such would be the case with The Casino, which is churning out mediocre ratings on Fox's über-hyped Summer season lineup. Yeah, the show's stars, Tim Poster and Tom Breitling, don't have the charisma of Donald Trump, Jeff Probst, or even Rocco DiSpirito, but they're eager enough to whore out their casino for our entertainment, and why should we turn our noses up at that?

The underlying story of The Casino is that Tim and Tom have invested $50 million of their own money (they were internet tycoons, natch) to rejuvenate downtown Vegas staple The Golden Nugget. Hoping to lure in Swingers-wannabes, the duo have made it their mission to make their little casino the retro-Vegas destination that poseurs around the world dream of. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, Ashton Kutcher proved that we all love it when twentysomethings try to emulate the Rat Pack. Oh wait, did I write "love"? I meant "despise". But I'm willing to ignore the annoying hipster hoots of "Vegas Baby!!!" if it means we get some good television, and at first pass, I was a little suspect of The Casino. With an eye towards fly on the wall voyeurism as opposed to Tribal Councils, the show faces the same uphill battles as The Restaurant: no climactic eliminations, a cast that hasn't been rigorously screen-tested, and hectic, free-for-all storylines that sometimes revolve around minutia.

If there's anything I've learned from shows like The Restaurant (or even Sorority Life or Big Brother), it's that sometimes we need to slowly immerse ourselves into the fray before we can truly come to embrace it. With The Casino's first episode, I found myself wanting to really care about the "characters", but I couldn't. They were too new, too uneasy on camera, and too bland. Recognizing this, Mark Burnett threw in some razzle-dazzle guests whose presence may have been all too scripted, but then again, who the hell cares?

The first episode introduced us to an enjoyably daffy group of frat brothers who were living out the Vegas cliché: to get their overripe virgin friend laid. Led by an enthusiastic and charismatic ringleader, the guys scoured the malls and streets of Las Vegas, inviting any attractive girls to a party that would hopefully make a man out of their shy friend. At the end of the day, there were a lot of girls, shots, and whipcream to go around, but our unlucky-in-love hero remained firmly ensconced in the virgin megastore.

We also met tempestuous lounge singer - I mean budding artist, nay, genius, Matt Dusk, who Tim and Tom hired to class up the Golden Nugget's bar, Zax. Matt takes his music very seriously and was extremely angry to have his artistic vision trampled by the Nevada Lieutenant Governor and her husband, who requested to sing with the band. No one interrupts Matt Dusk! He had it out with Zax's entertainment director, complaining that his act was turning into a karaoke disaster. One of these days Matty's going to remember his humble beginnings: crooning the afternoon shift at Ferraro's on Flamingo Drive, just off I-15, can't miss it!

Mark Burnett also threw in tennis star and evident sell-out Andre Agassi, who popped in to say hi, invest in the casino, and get some easy face time. But by far the most interesting person to walk through the Golden Nugget doors was Big Chuck Gorson, a professional gambler and full-time sleaze. Going for the blazer/t-shirt/earring look that screams midlife crisis (thank you Miami Vice for creating the template), Big Chuck took on the Golden Nugget with an annoying little laugh and a caricature-esque approach to hitting on women. This is the sort of guy who would ask a girl if she used windex on her fly (because he can really see himself in her pants, dumbass). Granted, he may have been playing up his act for the cameras, but I don't think his television persona was that divergent from his real character. Nevertheless, he was fed a nice cup of cosmic justice when the ladies man hit on a lady who was a man. With a deep voice and facial structure that cried out "I'm a tranny!", the "lady" in pink at the blackjack table was able to con Big Chuck into a nice old makeout session in the suite. Unfortunately, FCC stodginess kept us from seeing how far these two really went, but I was pleased with Mark Burnett for the expert placement of the cross-dresser.

The second episode was a little tamer: Tim and Tom hired a gawky new assistant who I look forward to making fun of in future posts. The Golden Nugget also hosted some high rollers from the San Fernando Valley. We know their geographic origins because Tim dialed them at an 818 number, but we could have figured it out from the trashy hairstyles (guys should never frost their hair), the trashy facial hair (goatees-a-go-go), the trashy jewelry (nice earrings, guys), the trashy attire (faux-zebra print blazers?), and the trashy girlfriend (implant scars should be covered up). Three words: Van Nuys Surprise.

In one night, these dumbasses lost nearly two hundred thousand dollars to the plucky croupiers, and the girlfriend managed to lose her $1000 purse, which contained about $25,000 she had stolen from her boyfriend. When their frustration manifested in a card-tearing rampage, Tim scolded them, and they left for Mandalay Bay. The next day a humble manservant, or guest relations executive as he's formally called, spent hours wining and dining the Valley trash, finally getting them to embrace the Golden Nugget again. He just wants to be loved. Is that so wrong? This story was nicely accented by a subplot involving a group of swingers trying to lure in a young couple. Again - FCC ruined this one.

All these stories about the guests are good, Loveboat-esque fun, but what's going to keep us coming back will be our regulars: Tim, Tom, the assistant, the security guys, the guest relations folk, the croupiers, Matt Dusk, etc. At this point, the stable of characters has yet to show many signs of life. Yes, Tim has a spunky, porcine quality, but the rest are a bit tentative and restrained. I imagine that's because the majority of these people are not aspiring actors looking for their fifteen minutes of fame (check out a Bunim/Murray production for that). The employees of the casino are doing a job first, participating in a reality show second. No one is there to fill a role (angry black man, hot girly girl), so at first we feel lost without our typical cliches. But in time, distinct personalities emerge, and they tend to be a little more complex than by-the-numbers caricatures such as Frankie from Real World or Paris Hilton from the Simple Life (and various sex tapes).

So my only hope for The Casino is that Fox holds onto it long enough for us to reach that critical point where we suddenly realize we care about the pit boss and the valet and whoever else populates the Golden Nugget. Wow, I just made myself sound completely devoid of any sort of human interaction.

Posted by at 4:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

TVgasm would like to introduce you to a new section of TVgasm dedicated to our readers. It's called "Ask TVgasm" and it will feature questions that you ask and we answer. Since we haven't had time to solicit any questions, we have decided to take the easy route and answer the question that has been on the minds of many people this year "Are Lindsay Lohan's Boobs Real or Fake?"

Now, I know what you are saying. This case has been closed a long time ago. Lindsay was featured on Awful Plastic Surgery as definitive a source on the trials and tribulations of celebrity plastic surgery as there is on the net. And OMFG did you see the picture of her in that tanktop? We here at TVgasm are not convinced by some anecdotal evidence here or there. And even if you aren't interested in anything we have to say, at least we have collected a nice assortment of Lindsay pictures for you to enjoy. (Sorry, we don't have the nipple shots. Or at least we aren't sharing them with you.)

I will admit that I saw those now famous pictures of Ms. Lohan, and it was almost laughable to me for anybody to think she had not been augmented. After some time, and many, many more cleavage shots since those first pictures, I started to form some doubts. Now perhaps I don't have definitive evidence to completely rule out the possibility of a Lindsay Lohan boob job, but I think that I can come up with enough of a case to cast some serious doubt on those people who believe Lindsay has been stuffed chock full o' silicone.

The big hubub started this year, as people noted that Lindsay seemed to blow-up sometime between the end of Freaky Friday and the beginning of Mean Girls. She was innocent Disney skater punk in one minute and then when we turn our heads and we get this. Some laugh at how such a dramatic change could happen in less than a year. People forget, however, that movies are not released one week after they are finished filming. Freaky Friday began shooting in early October of 2002. The Mean Girls New York premiere was April 23, 2004. That is a span of nearly nineteen months, almost 80 weeks. Enough time to get pregnant and have a baby - twice!

There are still skeptics out there, of course. After all, 80 weeks is also plenty of time to get some new tits. Well, not exactly. From late May of 2003 until now, Lindsay's schedule has been full of public appearances and movie shoots. Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen was shot for two months during the summer of 2003. Mean Girls was filmed a few months later that same year. Considering even the best of breast surgeries requires healing time of 2-4 weeks, there really is a preciously small window of time that Lindsay could have had her work done.

All of this talk assumes that her boobs were not that big in the first place. This is hard to prove because there are very few pictures of her strutting around in wife beaters and tube tops when she was fifteen or sixteen. The pictures we do have show that Lindsay has been working with more than mosquito bites for a while now.

(27k) 371 x 514

(28k) 387 x 586

(27k) 269 x 400

(26k) 375 x 508

(28k) 345 x 572

The pictures above, from left to right, show Lindsay as she ages through the public eye. The Treasure Planet premiere is picture 1, and we can see Lindsay is on the tail end of the Avril Lavigne thing, with the jeans, white t-shirt and scarf. We can see that even in November 2002, she had at least a B cup, and probably already was in the Cs at Victoria's Secret. The Santa Clause 2 premiere is the second picture, and although she is still pretty much covered up, she does have a skirt and swaps the tee for a tank. The next picture is six months later at the MTV VMA awards. She is still none to risque for the most part, but we see that she is starting to show some cleavage(and since she was still young, we forgive her for the the hair). The next two are from the Freaky Friday premiere. She is showing off much more leg, and is letting a little cleavage peek out, but at only a little over 17 is still keeping the girls in check with plenty of support from that black bra.

Now, I don't know about you, but I don't see a huge change in her bust size over that period of time, which included the biggest gap of time where she could have had a boob job. On the contrary, it simply seems like she is a normal teenage girl who is getting more comfortable with her body as she gets older. More on that later.

Remember that during most of this time, Lindsay Lohan was not a household name. She was becoming famous thanks to rave reviews for Freaky Friday, and an on again, off again spat with Hillary Duff got her name spread around in some other circles. Still, by the time this picture was taken at the Cheaper by the Dozen premiere, she was still hiding most of her assets.

By the time 2004 rolls around there is quite a change in the way Lindsay is going out and about. As you can see below at the Golden Globes, Grammys and Oscars in January and February of 04, the skirts get shorter, the tops are more sheer(and less errr, restrictive). By the time we see her at the Glamour Don't Party in April of 2004, she is entrenched in the Hollywood scene. Still, nobody is really talking about her boobs.

(26k) 392 x 584

(28k) 395 x 515

(27k) 329 x 507

(28k) 411 x 581

Now we are at the Mean Girls premieres in Hollywood, and New York, and Lindsay is really out there. While some of us see these pictures below and say "They are real and they are spectacular!" others shout "Fake! Fake!" And as each day passes, Lindsay gives us more ways to test our theory. As the famous tank top picture shows, she is out there baby, and loving every minute of it. There might have been some time in there for her to sneak in a quick procedure, and at 17 she is probably a quick healer, but that is most likely not the case. Like the rest of young Hollywood, Lindsay frequents Joseph's, National, and the Avalon, among others, regularly, and if she had even a two week absence from the scene, somebody would have noticed.

(27k) 263 x 386

(30k) 266 x 400

While I can't say that Lindsay is without a shadow of a doubt free of some saline enhancement, I think it is hard to say she has had breast work done without asking yourself some serious questions. For our final comparison, I take two shots from Mean Girls to show you what kind of dramatic effect clothing choice can have when you want to show the world what you got. Now, I know she didn't get a boob job in the middle of the movie, so there has to be some other forces at work.

(28k) 360 x 253

(32k) 360 x 310

Without the presence of a doctor's bill or some definitive scar(not some blurry may be a smudge, may be a chafe, may be a fake), or a mammogram, the world is just going to have to take Lindsay's word for it. If you have any better evidence(yeah or nay), post a comment. If it's good, maybe we'll even throw a gmail invite your way.

Posted by at 12:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

"It's not far back to sanity
At least it's not for me
And when the wind is right you can sail away
And find serenity"

Yes, those are the lyrics bleated out by Christopher Cross in his seminal easy-listening hit, "Sailing." The song may be an ode to a dinghy (or even a sunfish), but for us masochist viewers of The Real World: San Diego, we like to think of it as a promise: a promise that after the roommates bitch and moan their way through their final day of sailing, they'll finally shut up and give us a moment of peace and serenity. But in tonight's penultimate episode, we remembered Real World drama knows no bounds. Whether it be on land, on water, in the air, and I'll surmise to say in space, these seven strangers will always find a way to stop being polite and start getting real annoying.

The episode began on the dreaded sailboat whose workspace of sunshine, the open sea, and casual dress code adds up to the JOB FROM HELL! The only thing worse for these guys would be if they had some strange phobia of nautical vessels that prevented them from working effectively. Oh wait, Frankie conjured up that one too. Ah yes. The Real World work ethic continues to amaze.

The roommates grumbled as they washed the boat, and Robin, the poster child for occupational judiciousness, tossed around the idea of skipping work the next day. Her plan was shot down, however, when Brad reminded her that they'd lose their bonus, and after a season of paying off various bail bonds, all the kids were too impoverished to turn down an extra $50. So the goal for this episode: earn money. I wonder what could possibly go wrong?

Cue lovelorn Charlie. He alerted supervisor Troy (aka the sailboat Hitler, if you ask Cameran) that he may or may not be able to work the following day because his maybe girlfriend Laura might sort of not be coming into town but that could possibly change or not, but who knows. Troy just kept nodding politely while internally counting the amount of money MTV was paying him to put up with this bullshit.

Later, on the ride back to the house, Cameran grilled Charlie about his incoming booty call. Do you love her? Are you boyfriend / girlfriend? Why're you flying her in? Honing a repressed housewife, Charlie said he didn't want to talk about it and insisted that they change the subject, a strategy he later employed with Troy and then his girlfriend. Hmmm, I wonder if he'll have any family demons in thirty years? Ultimately, Charlie fessed up that he just wanted to have some fun with Laura, a suitably naive response which Cameran and Brad instantly mocked. I make fun of them a lot, but I really do enjoy these two.

While Charlie went off to the airport, the roommies all celebrated Cameran's twentieth birthday. The presence of a little cake was enough to make the Southern Belle emit a series of orgasmic shrieks that sounded like a cross between a squeaking swing set and a hyena having sex. Of course, since this scene was prefaced with offscreen boozing, this simple celebration turned goofy as Cameran stuffed her cake in Brad's face. The big guy took it in style, ambling around the house with a stunned, frosting-covered expression on his smiling face. Cameran pranced around triumphantly, and for a moment we forgot that silly thing she was saying two minutes ago - something about how excited she was to be 20 and a grown up.

Later that night, Charlie and Laura got down to business in the notorious guest room. Apparently Jacquese was busy repairing his relationship with his dad or something because Brad was relegated to primary giggler/voyeur/prankster. While Charlie and Laura did the thing that infrared cameras were built for, Brad kicked open the door and... fled. Oh Brad. You're the envy of seventh graders everywhere.

The next day, everyone scurried off to work except Charlie, who opted to skip out and spend the day on a beanbag with Laura. Granted, he could have always taken her along to work, but I guess when it's November and you've just flown down from Portland, the last thing you want to do is bask in the sunshine of San Diego from the deck of a beautiful sailboat. No, the beanbag will be just fine.

Well, Charlie's shenanigans cost the group their bonus, and chipper Jamie was incensed enough to curse in the confessional. But her anger was nothing compared to snippy Cameran who had lost valuable Mint Julip money. Charlie actually felt pretty badly and tried to clear things up with Troy, but a stuttering phone call to the bossman had no effect on the financial state of the house. Oh well. Charlie and Laura zoomed out of the hostile abode to get some sushi while Cameran decided to do her impersonation of Riverdance - on Charlie's guitar. Turns out that wood breaks, and even Cameran's petite foot was too forceful for the brittle, beloved, and not-meant-to-be-stepped-on guitar.

At first Cameran was going to flee the scene of the crime. After all, there were no witnesses, except the cameras recording a permanent record. Once again, Cameran regressed from her newly minted twentysomething age by rationalizing that Charlie cost her fifty dollars, so the broken guitar was a suitable punishment. Yeah, musicians are usually pretty chill about those sort of things.

Truth is that Cameran was being very tongue and cheek. She really did feel badly, and as she confessed to Charlie later, she tried her best to put on her sweet, cute "Who me?" puppy eyes, but Jacquese, roaring out of nowhere, burst onto the scene and scolded first Cameran for being so immature and then Charlie for letting her off the hook. And then as quickly as it had started, Jacquese disappeared back into thin air. I imagine he had some nookie spying to do elsewhere.

The guitar issue never really resolved itself, but Charlie sent Laura home and then scraped some letters off a sailboat the next day to make up for his occupational absence. As the show wrapped up, the roommates attended their last day of work and for once decided to put in a good effort. At least that's what the producers wanted us to think as they deluged us with stock footage of the cast members hoisting sails and winding cables. These images were no different from those earlier this season, but this time around the music was happy and triumphant, so surely everyone learned something. Well, at least Jacquese did. While everyone chirped about how the boat was actually really fun, Jacquese at least took the opportunity to be introspective and examine how the experience affected his outlook on life and himself. Ja, why the hell are you on this show?

The episode closed with the roommates hugging goodbye to Troy and then staring at a picture perfect sunset over the Pacific. As far as Real World images go, this one was actually pretty nice. Why, just thinking about it takes me to a quiet, serene place. If only Christopher Cross could sing about it...

Posted by at 10:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Grab your surfboard. A high tide has hit the North Shore, bringing brand new facial expressions and cleavage bearing dresses to Brooke Burns. Our latest guilty pleasure emerged from the awkward confines of its pilot episode and adopted a more banter-centric format to decent effect. Borrowing heavily from The OC in terms of tone, dialogue, music, and Amanda Righetti, the North Shore firmed up its badinage a little as it took baby steps away from the melodrama graveyard. The show assaulted us with about half a dozen storylines ranging from the intriguing (welcome to the North Shore, Tessa) to the inconsequential (Gabriel, stop hanging out with the Jew-fro kid). At the end of the day, I'm thinking this show might be a keeper, and here are four reasons why:

The Love Triangle/Rhombus/Polygon

The Love Rhombus House

The Brooke Burns Masterclass

The Impending Deaths on Gabriel's Watch

Also deserving to be brought into the love tetrahedron is next week's guest star and TVgasm favorite Jenny Alden. Playing a crazy rich girl guest (are there any other types?), Jenny will hopefully follow in Amanda Righetti's footsteps and inject this budding soap with a nice dose of energy. Until then, we can only hope the writers pare down the subplots, increase the silly banter, and throw dramatic curveballs at Brooke Burns.

Posted by at 1:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

After last week's pilot episode, I think a lot of people were down on North Shore. To be honest, the show had a lot to work on whether it be the plastic expressions of Brooke Burns or the confused ways they liked to fade their shots before commercials. I had a good amount of faith that things could get better. People are still comparing North Shore to The OC, and to expect the former to be the equal of the latter overnight was a little too much. With that being said, it seems that the after filming the pilot, Fox sent writers from the North Shore to sit on the set of The OC, and it looks like they picked up a few pointers.

The first pointer North Shore picked up from The OC was not so much a pointer as a cast member, namely Amanda Righetti who blows in like a gale force wind as "Hurricane" Tessa. Tessa makes her presence felt quite early, getting bombed on tequila and singing karaoke with plenty of zeal, but little talent to show for it. And if it wasn't bad enough that she pissed off the Frankie, MJ, and Jason triumvirate that night, she is left with nothing the next morning except a trashed hotel room and a missing tall, dark, and handsome.

Speaking of Frankie, MJ, and Jason, we learned that they not only work together, but they are also roommates. This is not all that strange because, as we know, The OC made its money thanks to some dysfunctional houseguest action throughout the entire season. One thing is strange, however, and that is bartender Frankie, who never knew of the relationship of Jason and Nicole despite apparently having to deal with a lot of her stuff in their house. We get this little piece of knowledge thanks to the pre-credits breakfast banter, also made popular by that show from Newport Beach. Anybody find a trend yet?

Now we all know that Jason is a nice guy who is a strong believer that the wealth you are born with is not an indicator of the quality of your character. So, while he is making one of his trips along the beautiful seaside highway and spots Tessa with only a couple of dollars and some Parliaments to her name, he offer her a job at the hoterl, as a maid no less. Her first assignment? Clean up her own trashed room. Of the irony!

Nicole, as you can imagine, is not exactly gung-ho with the new hire, but she has enough problems dealing with her insomnia and all of those other little things that are just everyday life in the hostpitality biz. The rest of the employees also have things to worry about. Gabriel, who is absent from most of the episode, and Frankie are trying to help a hopeless young romantic from Minnesota snag his Coloradan dream girl, dispensing plenty of generic love advice. What they neglected to mention is that the poor kid is on a one way trip to Carrot Top impersonation school unless he finds somebody with some scissors, or a razor, or anything to rid his head of one of the worst attempts at a haircut that I have seen in a long time.

MJ, our plucky yet angry waitress, is all a flutter with her own love situation. Her first date with Chris goes well and despite having yell "Don't look at my ass!" after realizing his breakfast/rappelling adventure may have been a cheap attempt to cop a feel, she finds some time for him later the day for a little bit of a nooner on the hotel grounds. MJ comes to her senses and separates herself from Chris in just enough time to bump into Tessa. Seeing Tessa wearing a maid's uniform, MJ quickly warms to her new coworker and offers to buy her lunch. In appreciation, Tessa removes some Ziggy's Sex Wax from MJ's hair.

During lunch, Tessa explains the perils of guys who seem to perfect, and then runs into her former tall, dark, and handsome. We learn that they are a con team, although she seems an unwilling participant and wants to change her ways. MJ, meanwhile, is now completely paranoid and cancels her next nookie appointment with Chris. Afterwards, Chris laid on some fairly lame and unoriginal compliments saying how MJ was the girl for him and he would wait until she was ready to take the relationship further. This whole exchange has me believing Chris is more interested in playing sticky finger than actually sticking together.

Back at the hotel, there is another hurricane. This one is a bunch of teenagers who are making quite a ruckus and are disturbing the rest of a Japanese travel magazine editor, whose recommendation could mean millions for the hotel, and who has already tested the staff with his misogyny. While Jason and Nicole stop the party and save a kid from food poisoning, Tessa(who apparently is trying to make the money for her plane ticket home in one long übershift) takes care of the Japanese writer with her otherworldly knowledge of cigars. Ahhh, subtle.

Thanks to her work with the writer, Tessa scores a job as assistant Concierge. And even though Jason discovers she used a fake SSN on her application and has a record, he agrees to let her stay on. And just in case you viewers were worried her ex-boyfriend would leave her alone to her newfound life, he shows up in the parking lot to threaten Tessa again. We like Tessa, so we hope Amanda Righetti makes it to the opening credits and sticks around awhile.

So while the North Shore took some tips from The OC on how to keep things moving and work with multiple story lines, there are things that I hope the writers forget. For instance, is anybody else getting sick of "Hey!" as a greeting? I'm not going to front - Mischa Barton with her multifaceted "Hey!" inflections has created a new art form. Still a "Hi", "What Up", or even a little daps now and then would be a welcome change. And while, upon second inspection, I am not sure if I can still say that North Shore has the potential to be an OC-sized phenomenon, it looks like we do have a bona-fide Summer hit on our hands.

Posted by at 12:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I wonder if Alaskans realize how lucky they are. Today was the longest day of the year, and for Anchorage residents, this means almost twenty four hours of daylight. I'm sure people spent the whole day drinking outside at festivals or fly-fishing at midnight. Surely, they were not at home watching TV. Otherwise, they may have stumbled upon the tired Bunim/Murray machine creaking through the motions with another edition of Road Rules X-Treme. With only two episodes under the belt, we've already covered well-worn Bunim/Murray territory such as a bungee jump, a rappelling challenge, and a homophobia dilemma. Tonight's installment tackled two more MTV cliches: public nudity and the hometown honey. Doubling up again on the formula? Wow, this is X-Treme! Yeah!!!

The show opened romantically with a very koombaya campfire ablaze, and Jodi and Patrick staring at the stars. Patrick pieced together words in an ordered sequence, that if spoken at a normal rate, would have resembled phrases, sentences, and other syntactical goodies. He rambled about his girlfriend and how he loves her but he cheated on her and now he's on poontang probation. One false move, and that shop is closing up for good. Cut to Jodi, apparently wearing some sort of Janeane Garafalo costume, chiming in about having to respect the hometown honey's feelings and blah blah blah. While she yammered on, Patrick noted in an interview how cool Jodi was, but then added the perfunctory disclaimer that he was going to remain faithful...

And yes, that "aooogah" sound you heard was the Bunim/Murray jalopy pulling up on America's driveway.

Meanwhile, resident tough-guy Derrick signed, sealed, and delivered his sidekick application by challenging Patrick to about five wrestling matches and losing each one. Danny did not participate in the Greco-Roman antics, but I'm sure he snickered the obvious comments about Derrick's homophobia and his eagerness to wrestle. Nevertheless, with the dominant male pecking order now firmly in place, Derrick tried to maneuver some sort of suplex on Kina, but instead he crumpled to the ground in an embarrassing display of slapstick. In the process, he also re-injured his bad knee, possibly jeopardizing the next day's mission.

Speaking of missions, the cast members proved to be cognitively absent when MTV text messaged a clue about the next day's activities: "What do you call a man who has no arms, no legs, and hangs on a wall?" Most people would say "Art" since the joke's been around since, you know, forever. But our plucky travelers thought it was some sort of velcro skydiving mission. Sadly, they're still trying to figure out what's black and white and red all over too.

Tricky riddles aside, the RV made it's way up to Santiago, Chile, where the kids trudged their way into a Puma store to learn their new mission. Today's challenge: to stand nude but painted in a store window for an hour. Yes, nothing says art like the exploitive commercialism of a Puma/MTV collaboration. News of this mission rippled through the teammates like an atomic bomb - as much as that ripples - leading Ibis to go bug-eyed and slack-jawed. Adding insult to non-injury, the kids learned they needed to shave all the hair off their bodies from the neck down. Yes, we mean ALL. This endeavor would require a little teamwork, therefore prompting Patrick to salaciously ask "Who wants my ass?" Judging by this episode so far, that would be Jodi and Derrick.

In the midst of all this fretting, someone had the gall to say that this mission was X-Treme. Actually, if I remember correctly, Campus Crawl did the exact same thing two years ago, except those chumps didn't have the luxury of nudity-obscuring body paint, and instead of standing in a window display, they sat in a gallery with people mere inches from their exposed flesh. But that's okay. These X-Treme kids are so wired up from complimentary Capri Sun, they don't know what's hardcore anymore.

The actual mission passed by without incident. I applaud the producers for trying to create scandal by having Patrick pressed up behind Jodi, and Danny face to face with Derrick. Any sort of arousal would have been fantastically awkward television. But alas, the only movement came when Patrick shifted his foot, effectively docking his team fifteen minutes. Derrick, with his bum knee, leaned against Kina, who acted as if a twelve ton structure were bearing down on her. When the curtain finally closed on the exhibit, she and Ibis inexplicably burst into tears. Yes, performance art can do that to you. I heard they had to be airlifted out of a Blue Man Group performance.

After the group toweled off and won their X-Treme key, they put on their club gear and hit the town. Jodi explained that she can't dance; so Patrick gave her a little Footloose 101. You just have to be confident, he instructed. Later he demonstrated the signature white man's move of raised elbows gliding back and forth - sort of like a mummy on a NordicTrack. Before Patrick dazzled with his dirty dancing, Jodi detailed her growing attraction for him: "I definitely feel like Patrick and I connect on a bunch of different levels. He's tall, he's handsome, he has dark hair..." She also added that they both like peas and could talk or not talk about things for days, and still find things to not talk about.

Later in the club with a bottle full of bub, Patrick kissed Jodi, and darned if he knows how it happened. They both did damage control for their sure-to-be-watching suitors by firmly dismissing any emotional resonance to the smooch, but I'm sure these two will be locking lips again soon. In the meantime, Patrick vented to sidekick Derrick, who gave some sort of inarticulate advise about other fish in the sea. Thankfully, Patrick's inevitable break up with his girl was quick and painless, unlike the drawn out affairs on The Real World. Because Bunim/Murray can't record both sides of cell phone conversations, we were treated to a succinct "Hi. Let's not see each other. Bye." sequence that merrily tied the bow on that recurring scenario.

Next week it looks like Bunim/Murray serves up another popular motif: the noxious food challenge. And with Danny's green, sludgy puke pouring forth into his bucket, it looks like he'll be taking an early lead on this season's vomit tally. Just goes to prove that we don't have to take our clothes off to have a good time...

Posted by at 8:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The Wimbledon Championships got underway today, and looking to win her 10th singles title was none other than Martina Navratilova. Ms. Navratilova was thoroughly pounded on the clay at the French Open, but truly proved herself more of a bull on the grass with an opening round victory at Wimbledon. At 47 she is not one of our favorites to model the Juicy Couture line of tennis gear, but with one win under her belt, who knows how far she can go? Another win or two, and she'll be tickled pink.

Posted by at 2:20 PM | Permalink

Things are looking embarrassing for Survivor's Jennas these days. While Jenna Lewis enjoys her very own internet sex tape scandal, fellow contestant Jenna Morasca proves there are other ways to make people lose respect for you: pose nude in a pool of water and... hold a frog? Yes, this is the bizarre image forced upon us by Dissection Alternatives, a random nonprofit that lobbies against the dissection of animals in classrooms. Ms. Morasca, in a clunky bit of Photoshop rendering, appears to be lustfully rising from a lagoon - or maybe a swamp - where she has discovered a Clip Art frog and is cradling it in her hands as a gesture of ranine good will. The ad seems to be saying that you too can have an erotic journey if you dive naked into a body of water and emerge with an amphibious creature.

"We both survived," reads the quote over this libidinous scene. So did the frog survive being randomly plucked from his riverbed home? Or maybe Jenna is returning it to its native habitat. If so, does this mean that she rescued it from a classroom, and furthermore, did she do it naked? And then why was she compelled to jump in the water with the frog? It hardly seems logical. Nevertheless, the organization encourages use of software such as Digital Frog, which simulates the inner-workings of Jenna's little buddy. I personally endorse Frogger, a program that will most likely foreshadow the fate of all those undissected frogs.

Posted by at 12:27 AM | Permalink

[NOTE: Some links not safe for work.] Filed in the "Is This Getting Old Yet?" department, the internet is buzzing with yet another celebrity sex tape. Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee started the trend, Paris Hilton made it famous once again, and Gena Lee Nolin showed us that former Baywatch stars are still the ones to beat. Now, we have a sex video that stars a former Survivor.

There have been several survivors to get nude in public before, the latest being Jenna Morasca and Heidi Strobel from Survivor: Amazon in a pictorial from Playboy in August 2003. Original Survivor and Survivor: All Stars cast member Jenna Lewis has unwittingly upped the ante, after her 42 minutes of newlywed bliss have been posted for sale on the internet. There is even a trailer for you to watch.

Those of you can't wait for copies of the file to show up elsewhere on the internet can get all the Jenna Lewis you can stand (and probably much more than you imagined), for only $49.95.

Posted by at 10:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

By now, everyone and their mothers know there was an alleged rape in the Real World: San Diego house. What not everyone knows is that some people in this world are so lazy, they complained to us about having to do their own independent research to find the Smoking Gun article about the incident. Well, lazy bastards, fear no more. Here's the abbreviated version: one of Jamie's friends came to the house when one of Randy's friends was there. Apparently, a roofie was exchanged, and Randy's friend allegedly raped Jamie's friend in the bathroom. Classy. With an official investigation underway, the production was airlifted down to Mexico for the duration of the shoot (Tijuana is supposed to get the roomies' minds off of date rape how?), thus truncating the last month or so of the show into just one or two episodes. Sorry Charlie!

For a more in depth and probably more accurate detailing of the events, check out the full article here.

Posted by at 6:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

In just over two weeks, TVgasm Hotties has grown to 212 Hotties and over 21,000 votes. Yes, many of those votes are from yours truly clicking away in order to make sure all of my favorite Buffy starlets get their due, but I digress. Hotties is now one of the most popular parts of the site and we hope you continue voting for the best(and worst) of television. Recently added hotties including cast members from North Shore and Reno 911!.

Is your favorite hottie missing? Does the picture we have not do your hottie justice? E-mail us or leave a comment and let us know.

Posted by at 7:22 PM | Permalink

Alohhhhhhhhhhaaaaa! The tide is high, waves crashing in, and I think we all might just get lei-d this summer, or at least we are up for some good Hawaiigasms thanks to the new Fox drama we have all been waiting for: NORTH SHORE.

Welcome to the Grand Waimea hotel everyone -- where the beaches are white, the waters crystal blue, and the drama as strong and luscious as the poolside Pina Coladas. Its bound to suck you in like a viscious undercurrent. The faculty, staff and guest clientelle look like they all just strutted off the pages of BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE WEEKLY. From Hottie McHotterson, Jason Matthews, the diplomatic Hawaiian native and hotel guest relations VP, of sorts, to the down-home surf diva bartender MJ, the aesthetic composition of this bunch is hotter than an active volcano.

The lava of lusciousness just kept on flowing as we met Nic Booth, whose character as Jason's partner will not only please our eyes but keep our TV tastebuds nicely intrigued -- and anxiously awaiting her next unpredictable action. I am struggling to figure out if this one's naughty or nice. She is clearly a brilliant and talented businesswoman, but when it comes to matters of a personal nature this East Coast hottie is a bit of a cold hearted grinchlike godess. However, Vincent, hotel owner and former Sex and the City bachelor, is sure to keep the deep rooted passion of Jason and Nic nicely in check in order to preserve the quality and respectabilty of his fabulous island resort. Needless to say as far as I am concerned I hope he fails because there is no place fo' respectability or niceness in a FOX drama - or any drama for that matter. Need I remind anyone of MELROSE PLACE?

All this talk of hottness leaves me craving a nice little drip in the pool which brings me to the introduction of the struggling surfer stud and teen lifeguard Gabriel Miller, whose run in with a date rape accuser with a pedaphilia allure left us on the edge of our seats. Well I was on the edge of my seat way before that...for instance, when he was all wet in those cute little board shorts working his blue crush magic. Any youngin who can work the ocean waves and keep the plot line a little choppy is just fine by me.

From poolside paradise to sumptuous sipping alongside Bob Marley-esque bartender Frankie Sean and his partner in crime MJ (who moonlights as a cutie wannabe fashion designer), the character composition is growing ever more potent and is definetly a tall drink of potential scandal to be served on the rocks. Shaken...not stirred.

Overall I have obviously been lured in...sucked in, rather, and quite frankly Monday nights in Hawaii, AKA the Tvgasm offices, tuning into North Shore is what I will be doing with my fine feathered friends. Granted, it needs a little tweaking- those recurrent fade outs from lone shots of peeps standing aimlessly on the beach to sudden black left me wondering if a tsunami came in and blew the island away. And sometimes the funky shots and cuts left me a little sea sick and wanting to wash down a little dramamine, which is never a nice addition to a TVland vacation. Other than that, I am grabbing my surfboard, tanning oil and itsy bitsy tiny weiny yellow polka dot bikini on Monday nights this summer whereby I will bask in the sunlight of sensual and saucy stories of the North Shore. Its a New day....and I have Paddled Out!

Posted by at 11:02 AM | Permalink

After six months with nary a sex scandal in the news, Paris Hilton made her way back to Fox with portly sidekick Nicole Ritchie cackling by her side in The Simple Life 2: Road Trip. Unlike the first season which saw the two girls tramping it up at a little farm in Arkansas for a month, this installment takes its act on the road with a pink pickup and a behemoth trailer set to terrorize every bucolic community along the Gulf coast. Normally I would feel bad for all these random hicks who are routinely mocked by our carrot and squash duo, but I kind of get the feeling that this time around, the joke's on the gals. After all, we've now witnessed the glorious sights of Nicole having to don a spectacularly dumbass turtle costume and Paris being trampled - literally - by a horse, leaving her with a new brand of lipstick - manure.

By the end of last season, I was ready to sign off on this whole abominable franchise. I had watched - as I imagine many had - due to the curiousity factor. Coming at the tail-end of the celebrity-reality craze, this show promised to be an amusing fish out of water roasting of the Hilton-Ritchie axis, but instead, it felt mean and stagey. These girls didn't want to truly learn about the simple life, nor did they want to challenge their comfort zones. They just wanted to have fun at everyone's expense. Paris and Nicole managed to embarrass everyone in the process, including themselves. The rich looked dumb for producing such obnoxious spawn. The poor looked dumb for putting up with it. And the viewers looked dumb for actually watching this.

Aside from the harridan stars of the show, one of the major undermining factors of the entire season was that every interaction, situation, and conflict felt pre-fabricated. We thought we'd be in for a fly-on-the-wall experience, but instead we got a big Potemkin village of a fakeout. At least this time around, the show's pretensions have lowered from Osbournes to Road Rules standards. With the girls going from job to job, The Simple Life makes no qualms about being a structured and pre-planned adventure-type show anymore, which makes it, dare I say, slightly more palatable. And when I say "more palatable", I mean I only want to gouge my eyes out with a fork, not a shotgun.

But I'm being way to academic for this show. Let's get down to what we really care about, sort of, not really: Paris and Nicole. Continuing to bring shame to their families, the rich girls provided us with a few semi-entertaining moments in the premiere. We first reconnected with banana and pear in South Beach, Miami with the two prancing around on a shopping spree. They babbled about being ready for the road trip, but I wasn't really listening because I was too distracted by Paris's oversized George Burns sunglasses. I'd like to think that she was trying to assimilate with Miami's blue-haired cataract surgery crowd, but sadly, these sunglasses are actually becoming the rage in Los Angeles.

Rodeo Dive

Fox "suprised" our gal pals with the old "here's your limo, oh wait, we mean RV!" trick and then sent them packing to a rodeo in southern Florida. I did have a certain schadenfreude in watching Paris navigate the cumbersome trailer down the interstate, and I tipped my hat to the producers for sending the girls to a toll booth with no money. Nicole Ritchie was fairly entrepreneurial in raising a dollar for the latter situation by flaunting her ottoman-esque figure around the toll plaza.

The girls eventually made their way to a little rodeo where they learned the definition of "britches", and then a horse finally fulfilled the dreams of so many Americans by tossing Paris Hilton to the ground, trampling her, and forcing her face into a pile of shit. After an airlifted trip to the hospital resulted in nothing but a pouty exchange with the media, Paris and Nicole visited some chimps at an ice cream shack (listen, this is Florida. I don't get it either) and went off to their next endeavor.

The second episode of the premiere featured Paris and Nicole training to be in a rinky-dink water show. While Paris donned a flattering mermaid getup, Nicole was stuck in a silly turtle outfit that seemed to say "Yes, Nicole, you are uglier than your friend". In the middle of this, some terrible parent asked the girls to babysit her daughter. This of course resulted in the six year old getting a glam-rock makeover which proved you can never be too young to start whoring it up like Paris and Nicole. And as Paris naively heated up some soup in a metal pot - IN THE MICROWAVE - I began to wonder who really needed the babysitter.

By the end of the episode, Paris and Nicole had been cut from the water show spectacular, but they joined their new mermaid friends for a raucous night out at Coyote Ugly of Tampa (former employer of fellow Bunim/Murray star Robin of Real World San Diego). Paris and Nicole demonstrated a considerable skill for dancing on the bartop and letting guys peep up their skirts. Ah yes. Sometimes the Simple Life has its simple pleasures.

Posted by at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

They stayed Alive in Five and clenched what originally seemed an utterly impossible victory against the infamous(perhaps soon to be not so spectacular) LA Lakers. Last night in the Palace of Auburn Hills the fantabulous NBA finals came to a close as the Bad Boys brought home a title they haven't witnessed in 14 years, returning a sense of Pistons passion and pride to D-town in their 100-87 conquest of the court. Hats (or in honor of Hamilton, masks) off to Larry Brown and the little team that could and did take on the Fab Four with a team effort that is seemingly unprecedented in the NBA.

Sitting anxiously in our standard bar positions, intently hunched and anxiously watching the clock trickle down we couldn't help but continually knocking on wooden wall beside us each time we would pronounce the possibility of Piston victory. Despite the fact we were hardcore D-town fans(hometown proud in fact) we knew that if any team could turn things around, need I remind anyone of Game 2, it would be the Lakers, and the last thing we wanted to do was jinx our boys. Needless to say they were consistent, amazing and totally unstoppable...no match for their heartless , demoralized and defeated competition. When it comes down to it this series proved that the team that works and plays together wins and stays together. The Pistons cherished that old fashioned high school saying, "There is No I in team", whereas the Lakers, like the majority of LA peeps, followed the mission of me , myself and I. In the end of the day, regardless of the individual talent that exists within a group it can by no means stack up against the power and strength that is beheld by the amount of fraternity,love and good old fashion teamwork that resonated from the Pistons.
While the Pistons scored the big WIN on Tuesday night the two teams came together throughout this series to regale us with each and every shot, block, assist and foul word they tossed about and for that a million thank yous. I truly have a new appreciation, love and obsession with the NBA and I am bidding a bittersweet fairwell to the series. Congratulations to Chauncy Billups, Rashede Wallace, Ben Wallace(fluffy head), Rip Hamilton, Larry Brown, Joe Dumars, Bill Davidson and the entire Bad Boys Bench , now kings of the court. Not only did they play some phenomenal B-ball they did it with old school grace, loyalty, modest and a die hard love of the game and for that we HOLLA at D-town!

Posted by at 9:34 AM | Permalink

What a difference a week makes. For the first time since the season began, The Real World offered up an episode that was completely devoid of drama queen Frankie, who voted herself off the island two weeks ago. Now, with even her beach blanket bingo persona excised from the opening credits, Frankie's shrill complaints and desperate ploys for attention feel like a distant memory. That's not to say there's any dearth of petty drama and silliness, but for once we got a little break from the squabble virus that's plagued the household since the roomies chomped on spanikopita in Greece. Instead of hellfire and brimstone (and Jack Daniels), we were treated to the awkwardly juxtaposed sagas of both Jacquese confronting very serious emotional issues with his estranged father, and Robin and Cameran confronting the not very serious occupational issues of an estranged buoy. Amazingly, guess which story got more screen time?

The episode began with Jacquese chirping about the impending arrival of his mother in San Diego. Every now and then we've been lucky enough to hear Mama Jacquese impart some sage wisdom onto her son; so I was a little excited to have a voice of reason mingle amongst our lunkhead roommates. We knew this wasn't going to be just any visit from home though. Mama was going to be bringing some baggage, and not of the TravelPro variety. Sadly, Jacquese has a strained relationship with his father, and the arrival of his mother only served to resurrect painful emotions that have been heretofore hidden under a mask of chuckles and nookie voyeurism.

We knew Ja was in for a little emotional breakdown when he opted to have dinner alone with Jamie - aka Bunim/Murray's version of Barbara Walters. No one escapes a personal conversation with her without shedding a tear (she even made herself cry a few weeks ago). Tonight, Ja opened the floodgates in a restaurant as he poured his heart out to sweet Jamie. In a genuinely touching moment, Jacquese detailed the heartache of never having the chance to share his personal triumphs with a dad. This was actually very touching, so I'm glad the show shifted gears instantly to less weighty issues such as Robin and Cameran's labor strife.

Turns out the kids were late to work - again - and they lost out on their $50 bonuses. Does anyone else get a bonus for showing up on time? Gotta love "The Real World". With all prospects of pecuniary surplus dashed, Cameran and Robin devised a scheme so they could scam their way into going home early: plopping into the Pacific Ocean. Apparently if you get wet on the sailing job, you get to go home. Sort of a strange stipulation for a maritime venture.

In an attempt to cover up their blatant lapse in work ethic, Cameran and Robin devised a lame little scheme to topple into the water while wrangling in a wayward buoy. The first time around, dilligent Jamie rained on the parade when she used her long squeegee to corale the buoy's wanderlust. Not ones to be kept down, the gals found another floaty thing to set adrift in the sea. Knowing that the spectre of Jamie and her squeegee could strike at any time, the two girls quickly plunged into the Pacific in an acting tour-de-force.

Poor Jamie came rushing dockside - all aflutter - shouting "Oh my God!" as she extended her squeegee to her waterlogged friends. It was a nice gesture, but Cameran only had to latch onto Robin and her two flotation devices in order to avoid any sort of Baywatch crisis. While everyone else worked, the two scuba impresarios made their way back to the mansion where they gloated in the confessional.

Later, with his mother in town, Jacquese went out to lunch and talked more about his wounded feelings about his father. Once again, his mom shone in a way that made me wish osmosis had an effect on these roommates. She delivered solid, logical, and sound advice to her child without speaking down to him or discounting his feelings. We always knew Ja was a standup guy, and now we know why.

But enough of this namby pamby stuff called "emotional substance". We have Robin and Cameran to deal with still. That night, detective Jamie donned her pipe and magnifying glass at dinner when she suddenly had the epiphany that the Robin/Cameran splash-out of 2004 was... STAGED! MTV highlighted this moment with the sound of a small bell, but I think next time they should add a lightbulb graphic as well.

Well, not one to be Punk'd by non-Ashton Kutchers, Jamie held a very Detective Poirot meets the Karate Kid meeting out on the porch where she enumerated all the strange activity at the scene of the crime. This was punctuated with occasional karate chops and exaggerated finger pointing. I couldn't help wondering if we were finally seeing Jamie drunk. The resident logicians - Randy and Brad - absorbed this information in a half bemused, half lethargic way, with the former musing "You never know what Robin and Cameran will do next."

The next morning, Brad and Randy gave the girls a nice dose of shit. Randy noted that usually, when he's involved in an accident, he can't remember the details of what happened (like when he made out with Robin), but the girls seem to remember everything just fine. Happy to have made a light, mildly passive aggressive zinger, Randy's face broke out into the proudest grin of all time. In the end, the girls stood by their story and regretted nothing.

The End.

Oh, wait, no. Jacquese talked to his dad about wanting to open up a dialogue after the show, and his dad was like "Cool" and Ja was like "Wow" and Bunim-Murray was like "Resolution!" and I was like "Awww..." Way to wrap that up, MTV!

With two episodes left to go, it looks like newbie Charlie will get the full treatment next week with Cameran being oh so kind to destroy his guitar. But you know, musicians never have any sort of bond with their instruments, so it shouldn't be a big deal. Right? Here's to one last squabble!

Posted by at 12:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The folks at TVgasm would like to give a shout out to Charlize Theron, winner of the 2004 Academy Award for Best Actress for her portrayal of a serial killer Aileen Wuornos in Monster. Now her win wasn't exactly an upset, and we all saw it coming even before the Golden Globes. That doesn't mean that we weren't happy for her, and most of us enjoyed her run through the Hollywood awards season. There was one thing that baffled us, however, and that was the way Ms. Theron was fine strutting around from red carpet to after party with a copper glow that screamed "Mystic tan".

The only thing potentially more baffling is that the people who are usually responsible for alerting the public to such phenomena had nary a peep to say about it. All of the usual fashion reviews gave the usual "glowing" coverage to Miss Theron that is afforded to most winners in the acting categories. And while we always save our best barbs for the runway walkers who are crazy, neglecting to mention Charlize's tan in coverage is like neglecting to mention Marcia Gay Harden was pregnant. How could you not notice?!

With the advent of Defamer, there is a good chance that such errors in coverage will be no more. Unfortunately, the damage has already been done, and in attempts to make up for their errors, it seems that anybody showing a picture or video clip of Charlize from the Oscars is doing some hue and saturation voodoo in order to make her a little less Tantastic, and to make their journalistic oversight a little less glowing. Some could say there is a conspiracy going on, and we are out to put an end to it.

Exhibit 1: Tantastic Charlize.

Our first examples of the conspiracy are the non doctored photos. Notice that Charlize, while still stunningly gorgeous, is so obviously orange. Also notice the color of her dress. We included a picture of Charlize with Renee Zelwigger to show you the opposite end of the spectrum as well as a picture from the screen actors guild awards to demonstrate this wasn't a one day anomaly.

(28K) 315 x 337

(28K) 317 x 394

(28K) 281 x 400

(27K) 475 x 582

Exhibit 2: Altered Charlize.

Our second examples show Charlize in her altered state. Notice how her tan takes on a much more natural hue. Also notice that her Oscar award is now more golden than she is. These are the pictures that you find these days in magazines. Notice how her dress color has changed as well. Photoshop doesn't lie, and when you take some color out of the diva, you take some color out of her dress.

(29K) 381 x 425

(37K) 386 x 449

(27K) 349 x 512

Conclusions

Until next time, this is your friendly TVgasm conspiracy theorist, signing off.

Posted by at 11:30 AM | Permalink

In tonight's Very Special episode of Road Rules, we learned - again - that in the Bunim/Murray world, the homophobe and the gay guy can live together, nay, sleep in the same bed together, nay, rappel down a waterfall together, and still build an amazingly superficial friendship. Yay precarious truces! Yes, tonight was the official We're Here, We're Queer, and We're In Your RV episode of Road Rules: X-Treme, and just in time for Pride Week in West Hollywood. It's all well and good, but maybe we should stop by Alcoholics Anonymous en route to the parade on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Yes, tonight's episode commenced with Derrick squirming at the thought of Danny being all gay and naked in a lake. Resident Dr. Phil of the group, Kina, sat her Polish friend down to talk, and Derrick continued to fret about Danny's homosexual cooties. In the future, I think Derrick should spend more time worrying about how to unravel the dumbass bandana around his head, unless he meant to go for that retro Village People look.

Later that night, the buddies found out that they had to be at their next mission at 9:30 AM. They all moaned about how early that was (hey, X-Treme Road Rules calls for X-Treme wakeup calls). So I guess it would be a no-brainer that they'd all go off and get wasted until the wee-hours of the morning. This episode, Derrick passed the drunken buffoonery baton to Danny who spiffied up the bar floor with his Fabulous puke.

Afterwards, in the RV, Danny projectile vomited into a ruby-colored bucket while the girls assumed their now standard late-night tragic faces. Oh my god, will he die? Does he need to have his stomach pumped? Nah! said a slurry Patrick. Just let him sleep.

Meanwhile, Derrick took this moment to laugh at Danny and even float a few gay jokes by the crowd. Yeah, that didn't go over so well. Kina turned on her Jersey Girl charm and rightfully cursed out Derrick, making sure to remind him that the night before he was the putz puking all over the RV. Kina - your application of logic is welcomed, but remember, you're on a Bunim/Murray show. There's no room for that.

The next morning, with Danny still wretching in his bucket o' shame, the crew finally drove out to their first mission: rappelling down a waterfall — yes, the second most popular Road Rules obstacle (after the bunjee, of course). There was some talk about needing to complete each checkpoint within six seconds of your partner, but really this was about as meaningful as adding a volcano into the mix. Actually, if lava were pouring down the waterfall, that would have been awesome. Instead, this was just a silly rush job of watching kids lower themselves down ropes while getting splashed in the face. The only moment that approached something resembling drama was when clumsy Jodi wound up upside-down and spread-eagle. MTV inserted a commercial break right in the middle of her plight - as if we thought she was going to plummet to her death. Wait, did I say something like that last week? Wow, I'm as repetitive as the Road Rules editors.

While Jodi untangled herself from her supremely embarrassing position, teammates Danny and Derrick (who would have thunk it?) took the time to bond at the top of the waterfall. After they completed the silly challenge and we saw footage of the mission mayors checking their stopwatches for the umpteenth time, the Danny and Derrick love tour continued outside of some burger shop. Optimistic guitar strumming signaled the arrival of the "Look! we're growing as people" portion of the episode, which was followed by Derrick cuddling up to the girls and apologizing to them for being such a douchebag the night before. Yes, one big happy family, until the next gay slur.

You know, it's always good to see people's horizons broadened, but do we need to tread on this subject every season? Haven't the lessons of previous installments of Road Rules and Real World taught homophobes like Derrick anything? Just as sure as any Road Ruler will face a bunjee cord or rappelling rope, it's also a given that if you're homophobic and trying out for this show, they're going to jam a gay guy down your throat. Well, not literally - yet. So grow up and get over your issues before the show begins so we don't have to sit through this treacly learning experience yet again.

Until then, we've got Danny and Derrick, who by episode's end have called each other buddies, but I'm still not sure they've dealt with the "g" word yet. You know what I'm talking about. The Gap. Danny would never be seen there with Derrick. It's clearly all about Banana Republic.

Posted by at 1:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Fox kicked off its new summer season in earnest tonight with the much ballyhooed premiere of sudser North Shore, which was hyped to be Las Vegas meets The OC but was closer to, uh, I don't know. Crap? Okay, it wasn't that bad. Unlike failed Fox superbomb, Skin, what this show lacked in writing or acting it made up for in campiness and a general lack of pretension. Yeah, the philosophical surfing metaphors from Twin Peaks alum Michael Ontkean were a bit much (and predictable), but the breezy, if not clunky, plotting kept us moving to each awkwardly placed commercial break.

Speaking of clunky, robot-in-training Brooke Burns made the unnecessary transition from hostess of Dog Eat Dog to night time soap luminary in a fitfully painful way. Brooke, starring as the sexy new guest relations exec at James Remar's Hawaiian resort, embraces every scene with an enthusiastically blank expression which seems unfazed by any actorly obligations such as reactions or emotion. I'd like to think that she's engaging in her own study of the Kuleshov Effect, but I think it has more to do with Botox and a debilitating lack of talent.

And yet, whenever Brooke - aka Nicole - was on screen, I was riveted by her vapid execution of even the simplest lines like the one-word doozy "Jason?" Once in a while, the script called for her to be smart or tough as nails, a task to which Ms. Burns sunk to the occasion. If only Linda Fiorentino were about ten years younger...

Or if only radiant guest star Brittany Daniels were offered the role instead. North Shore was very kind to the Sweet Valley High twin, who had her fair share of stunning closeups and flattering lighting. Her subplot even had a nifty twist. Turns out Brittany's tennis star character likes her doubles unmixed. We should have seen it a mile away, especially with Martina trying to stage a comeback tour these days, but we'll take the ounce of originality where we can get it.

The rest of the show was enjoyably predictable with our hero, Jason (played by some guy from Roswell or something like that) trying to hold the resort together. He ambled from subplot to subplot - often bringing a smile, his good nature, and a little moral high ground to any given situation. His lifeguard buddy, Gabriel (sort of a younger, more jacked Ben McKenzie), got into trouble with a jailbait hotel guest who insisted that 15 was the new 21 (nice try North Shore, but we'll get our witty banter from The OC, thank you very much). When Gabriel turned down the baby vixen's topless advances, she predictably told James Remar that she'd been attacked by the flaxen lifeguard. The unfortunate result of this was a bizarre heart-to-heart between the teen girl and Nicole. Proving the writers to be one group of sadistic motherfuckers, Brooke Burns was assigned the task of relating some childhood trauma of never having her daddy attend her ballet recitals. I don't know if the girl truly felt badly for Nicole or just wanted her to shut the hell up because next thing we know, she's suddenly telling her shrew mom that she lied. No comped room for you, biatch!

Elsewhere in the North Shore universe, we met plucky waitress-next-door MJ who wants to someday launch a line of t-shirts and beachware. As the sisterly/buddy type, she's clearly in love with Jason, and God help us when this Jason-MJ-Nicole love triangle rears its cliched head. In the meantime, barkeep Frankie - whose dreads and detached attitude are supposed to mean he's tough and distant - winds up in a silly excursion which results in Nicole playing craps at an auto-detailing shop. For a mysterious guy, Frankie sure does chuckle a lot.

I guess the revolving door of guest characters - which also featured Seinfeld's Baboo this episode - will keep things amusing. I also look forward to OC regular Amanda Raghetti making her big splash as a North Shore cast member. As long as every episode doesn't end with a silly scene of Jason riding the surf and regaining some sort of lost, Blue Crushy perspective on life, I'll be happy.

Posted by at 12:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Like many people this summer, I am starting to go through a little bit of withdrawal knowing that it will be many months before my guilty Wednesday Night pleasure comes out with new episodes. Now before I get all of those e-mails from people who are pining over "The West Wing", you should know that I am talking about "The OC". And although I wasn't completely glowing in my previous comments about The OC, but it has grown on me. FOX, somehow sensing that there may be others that share this affliction, have brought us North Shore, which promises to show us viewers the good life in Hawaii quicker than you can say "Magnum P.I.".

Judging by the first episode, North Shore should be the cure that ails us. It's refreshing in that it doesn't take itself too seriously, but is written well enough that there should be no problem sucking you in for the shortened summer season.

North Shore takes place at an upscale hotel in Hawaii. In case you can't tell that the people there are rich, our feisty waitress MJ lets us know that the guests "spend more [to stay] one week than she makes in a year". Flanking MJ are the bartender Frankie and the lifeguard Gabriel. The real story is Jason, the Guest Services manager, and all of the crazy guests that are sure to wheel in through the episodes.

To complicate things for the pilot, Jason's ex-girlfriend Nicole, who happens to be an heiress to a hotel fortune and also used to work with Jason, also manages to get herself hired at the same hotel. And surprise of surprises, they are going to have to learn to work together and resist the urge to fight, have sex, or both. Jason is the local boy, so he is naturally a favorite with the staff. You can tell he is humble and easy going because he drives a vintage pickup to work.

The first major problem to deal with is with Gabriel, the lifeguard. As with most hotels, the staff are discouraged from mingling with the guests. Complicating matters is Veronica, the 15 year-old jailbait who tempts Gabriel with such lines as "Let's meet up after my bikini wax". While Gabriel must refuse such charming advances, Jason pretty much has his lay of the land, so to speak. When the tennis star "fresh from her win at Wimbledon" arrives at the hotel, she becomes Jason's top priority, which of course involves a late night dinner and some crazy pool sex.

Along the way, we start to get a feeling for a few of the other characters. We learn that MJ grew up with Jason and she wants to make a living designing a clothing line. The bartender has a brother who runs a body shop, and Nicole must warm up to him to cater to a particularly annoying customer who needs a Lamborghini, not to mention somebody to pick out his shirts. We learn Nicole broke Jason's heart and MJ hates her for it. And despite the high prices, we learn that the hotel is understaffed, as the bartender must also schlep supplies around. What, they never heard of a barback in Hawaii?

The most important development is that we meet Jason's father. Unfortunately, the show takes a turn for the generic as we learn that Jason's father not only runs a surf shop, but makes his own surfboards. To top it off, he is all zen and philosophy, and painfully slow. Although Jason obviously confides in his father, I would probably not go back to this guy for advice very often; seeing as the solution to all of the problems in the world start out with paddling into the ocean on your surf board, which is only slightly less impractical than floating to Tahiti to forget your girlfriend.

Poor Gabriel. After his time at work, he does some surfing, where Veronica makes another pass at him. He refuses again, but Veronica manages to find his place later that night and break into his house. In a desperate attempt to knock some sense into him, she takes off her top and tries to kiss Gabriel. When he refuses again, she says that Gabriel forced himself upon her and got her drunk. To make matters worse, Gabe's biggest aly, Jason, is taken off the case since the general manager Vincent Colville(played by James Remar, last seen with his unit flopping around Sex and the City) thinks Jason's friendship with Gabriel will cloud his judgment. Jason and Nicole trade some barbs over class differences (a general undercurrent to the show if you haven't picked up on it yet).

After some thought, Nicole talks to Veronica, relates her own sad adolescence, and suggests that perhaps there are better ways to get her mom's attention than showing the lifeguard some skull. My suggestion to Gabriel? He could have nipped this whole problem when it began if he had found a hotter, preferably older hotel guest to have sex with so Veronica wouldn't get any ideas.

To finish the show, North Shore gave us a few twists. It turns out that Cari, our tennis start, was photographed in the pool with Jason. When Jason heads to her bungalow to apologize, we find out that Jason was acting the beard, and Cari is more interested in getting filthy with her (female) publicist than she is with doing the dirty with Jason, and the photo of her kissing a man won't hurt her career. Before Jason has time to get upset, he has to track down an actual paparazzi and destroy some incriminating film, all in the name of the hotel.

The second twist was towards the end, when we discover Nicole is engaged, and has one hell of a ring to show for it. All of that time Jason spent deciding if he should pursue his feelings for his old flame go to waste, and Jason has nothing to do but paddle out to the ocean and hit some waves, just like daddy said.

So, maybe you think that North Shore might not be worth it. If you were looking for a version of The OC in Hawaii, you have come to the wrong place. Sure it may use the "normal folk in a rich neighborhood" formula as its premise, but it really a unique and different show, which is a good thing. You are certain to get your filling of boobs and butts in bikinis, but we are set up for some interesting, if slightly predictable story lines. I am waiting for Amanda Raghetti to show up, which is sure to add some more flavor to a cast that shows just as much breakout potential as the one we grew to love so much last year.

Posted by at 12:35 AM | Permalink

This is how Mischa Barton washes her face in The OC, bitch! Trading in her trademark awkward sullenness for a more comical awkward perkiness, Mischa entertains us to no end with her patented Neutrogena face. Oh, Coop, we still love you. Three cheers for clean pores and bad acting!

Posted by at 11:24 PM | Permalink

Turns out I'm not an insensitive prick. See, I wouldn't go around stealing foul balls from four year-old kids. But turns out that someone else would. A balding jerk at a Rangers/Cardinals baseball game this weekend nabbed a wayward ball from the feet of a little kid. The crowd booed, the fan gave them the "fuck you" face, and the sportscaster called him "the biggest jerk in the stadium". But at the end of the day, the kid left with a signed Nolan Ryan ball and a bat, among other things, so all was well in the world of baseball.

To find out more, check out the article at St. Louis Today.

Posted by at 5:13 PM | Permalink

Game 3 saw the supposedly fearless Fab Four growing ever more frustrated and flustered with each and every shot , block and assist the Pistons acquired. The Bad Boys were lighting up in Auburn Hills on Thrusday, the crowd cheering, and a lone famous face of MR. Sergi Federov(Red Wing Legend) nearly cracked a smile with the 20 pt victory his homies were able to acheive. I'dpersonally like to give a major holla to Hamy(aka: Richard Hamilton) who regined the courtin Game 3 with an amazing 31 points and 3 assists....this masked man is one brilliant balller. I would love to be democratic and give a few props to the Lakers but sometimes the truth hurts and to be honest they just utterly SUCKED and if they don't up their charisma and drop their attitudes then the finals may be wrapping up in D-town sooner than we think.

The Lakers are 100 percent BAD NEWS BEARS , from the current demonstration of their skills on the court to their disgusting pride and lacking appreciation for the Pistons' talent and ability they are just POO POO POO and I hope they all crash into a ditch.

"I think the Lakers had a mind-set that was disrespectful to the Pistons. They thought it was going to be easy. That is not the case," stated Magic Johnson(VP and part-owner of the Lakers)"....My anger is that we haven't competed in this series. I don't know what's going on. I don't know what the mind-set is. But this is just unacceptable."

2 points for Mr. Johnson, we as b-ball addicts both past and present, fariweather fans or die hard devotees of either team have no clue what is going on with the Lakers but whatever it is it isn't working and Ithey really need to restructure and regroup..definetly time to overhaul the play book or in the least give some credit where credit is do(ie: to the PISTONS and their passion).

Granted the Lakers have earned the honorary title of Fab Four for a reason, they have an amazing history, an amazing bench and unltimately an extremely dynamic reputation to support but that gives them no right to assume that any and all other teams/players are underdogs playing at a mere JV nature compared to their supposed Varsity whit and wonder. It is high time they open their Smog glazed eyes, snap out of LA LA land and take note pf the Pistons before their pride and prejudice and extremely shamefully tattered.

And with that I bid farewell. Obviouslty, the Pistons rocked the Palace and will continue to embrace their home court advantage for games 4 and 5 but thanks to Larry Brown their egos remain in check and there are only 2 words they need to speak to the Lakers::::SCORE BOARD!!!!

Posted by at 8:51 PM | Permalink

I don't know what I was thinking, trying to watch the MTV Movie Awards. Maybe all those celebrities in one place led me to believe there might be some amusing, commentary-inducing action to be found. But alas, after an hour of awkward and rambling bits, scatterbrained speeches, and blatant self-promotion, I realized that I could not possibly endure any more of this silliness. So here are my thoughts on at least the first hour of this craptastic show.

9:00 PM
The show starts with an interminable Vince Vaughn/Ben Stiller/Peter Jackson bit. Oh look, Vince Vaughn is smooth talking! Ben Stiller is playing the uptight suit! Hey, they should do a movie together. And then die.

9:05 PM
Dominic Monaghan from Lord of the Rings tries to prove he's not gay but trendy by wearing a bright orange shirt, styled hair, and a wristband. Someone please tell this hobbit his fifteen minutes are up.

9:11 PM
Lindsay Lohan proves that white girls can't dance by robotically plodding through her choreography. The combination of concentration, dread and fear on her face was a nice complement to her ever growing bosom.

9:15 PM
Jamie Foxx and Tom Cruise present the award for Best Female Performance. Tom Cruise milks the moment by shedding his coat and sunglasses and throwing them into the crowd. Nice work Tom, but we still know you watch Bravo...

9:17 PM
Uma Thurman wins for Best Female Performance. She towers over diminutive presenter Tom Cruise, but the Top Gun star quietly - and awkwardly - manages to find a perch on the staircase behind Uma so that he in fact looks sort of taller than her. Just go away and be short in private already.

9:25 PM
Jim Caveziel, flexing his non-existent comic muscles in a Will Ferrell bit, distracts us with a shockingly bad frosted 'do. I guess Jesus listens to Ricky Martin.

9:28 PM
Audiences nationwide are treated to the comic stylings of Vin Diesel and Thandie Newton, who try to get mileage from the erroneous execution of "Th" sounds instead of "T sounds. Linguistic humor + Vin Diesel = Please Let This Auditorium Collapse and Kill Everyone Inside It.

9:41 PM
Presenter Kate Beckinsdale unveils her latest look: hairy.

9:44 PM
Ashton Kutcher reminds us that the human race has not come far since Hitler.

9:55 PM
The Rock engages in clumsy reparté with Jessica Biel, whose mature, Faye-Dunaway face still creeps me out enormously.

9:56 PM
Kirsten Dunst laughs in the audience. It looks like her short, funky-lesbian hairstyle is "in" these days. After all, we've now seen it on audience members Sharon Stone, Brittany Murphy and Dominic Monaghan.

9:57 PM
The Return of the King wins for Best Action Sequence. Peter Jackson's not available to accept the award, so we'll just move on. Oh wait, here's desperate-to-be-accepted-by-Hollywood Dominic Monaghan rushing to the stage to get one more ounce of face time. Putting the Out in Urban Outfitters, Dominic stumbles through a small acceptance speech before The Rock defers to... Michael Moore. Great.

At this point, I turn off my television.

Posted by at 4:04 PM | Permalink

In our ever growing quest to entertain our legions of visitors, TVgasm has unveiled yet another feature to our website: the Snark-O-Tron 8300. Now you don't have to wait for us for your dose of snarkiness. Let the Snark-O-Tron randomly generate a comment for you. It comes pre-programmed with a database of your favorite television stars, and even allows you to submit your own names to the machine.

Maybe you'll get a gem like: "The funniest thing about Omarosa is that her favorite thing in the world is to shiv a baby seal." or "I would love to see an episode of some show where Mischa Barton pulls the hair out of Julie Chen."

So if you're not reading our site or voting on the hotties, take some time to visit the Snark-O-Tron 8300.

Posted by at 3:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Pistons 88 - Lakers 68

Posted by at 1:54 AM | Permalink

In another example of truth being stranger than fiction, MTV is currently producing a reality series sure to make life behind the velvet rope a little bit more exciting for folks in NYC. NBC had MBAs fighting for a job in "The Apprentice", later this summer FOX will show a bunch of lawyers outwitting each other to make it as "The Partner", and MTV will entertain us with a bunch of women eager to, uh...get a job with Lizzie Grubman?

Yes, you heard me correctly. According to the New York Post, MTV is currently in production with "Power Girls" (dubbed as "The Apprentice" meets "Sex and the City"). It looks like several young women will duke it out for a position in Lizzie's PR firm. MTV has not made a final decision about picking up the show, and there is no indication as to whether challenges will include dodging Mercedes SUVs or any of a number of BOTOX injection stunts.

Posted by at 12:46 PM | Permalink

Hoops is definitely getting it started this year, and by that I mean the sheer drama that perhaps the Lakers weren't so prepared for, it seems. Game one @ Staples saw the infamous and oh-so cocky California boys go down, crumble and lose clutch of the BIG W to my D-town homies. Game 2 witnessed a near repeat until Kobe clinched OT with his phenomenal 3 pointer in the last 2 seconds of the game. The next 3 games will be hashed out at the Palace where the Pistons and former Bad Boys will have reign of the court and this soap operaesque series will rage on. Time to be seated, please buckle your seatbelts ladies and gents...it is going to be a bumpy ride.

Never have I been so excited for a sporting event in my entire life as I am these days. Each and every quarter is a titillating and couch-clutching moment. There is truly no telling what might happen here. It is disappointing to me that the Lakers can be so amazing at B-ball and yet have such lack of character that they cannot step back from their pride to admit the Pistons are an amazing basketball team. News for you Lakers: time to step up to bat - or hoop I should say - and realize that this fight will be a battle to the death. I hope that you are somewhat shaking in your boots as you prepare to face the Pistons in the Palace.

The Pistons are playing some phenomenal basketball, their consistency and strength on the court is shining thru and despite the fact that they were somewhat frazzled in OT on Tuesday, I am sure there will be a resurgence of their cool, calm collectedness in games 4, 5 and 6. After all, there is just no place like home. Granted, we won't be seeing Jack Nicholson hooting and hollering, tossing profanities all about, nor will there be any star power for that matter, short of maybe Kid Rock or Eminem to root them on, but they have something stronger....passion, dedication and that midwestern humbleness that can't be disputed.

As we ease our way ever closer to game 3, we will be looking forward to this intense match growing ever more interesting with the change of venue and hoping that the underdogs can bash down the sand castles of the overly narcissistic Lakers. Good luck to D-town , stay true to your Bad Boy History you basketball studs you!(oh...and holla @ Hamilton in the sexy mask---way to accessorize)

Posted by at 9:31 AM | Permalink

The rumors for the most part are true. I am pretty much a heartless bastard. During the "Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring", I shushed a couple of 9 year old girls who were crying because Gandalf had just "died". After the movie, as I noticed the two girls still sobbing, I growled "Read the book! He comes back!" Even with my heart of stone, there are a few things that will even bring me to tears (or at least get me choked up). As the Olympics are once again about to fall upon us, I thought I would share one memory that brought back memories of what the Olympics mean to me.

Call me old-fashioned, but I am still one of those people that believes in the power of sportsmanship. The games we all love to watch on TV and in stadiums are not just about the amazing athletes we see perform, it is also about the amazing feelings we all get when you see athletes compete. The drive to compete is in a lot of us and it pushes us to do amazing things, but competition is not only stimulating for the athlete or the coach. For the spectators, it is an amazing feeling to be able to witness your favorite team come from behind or demolish their rivals.

While browsing espn.com, I came across their list of top 100 moments of the last 25 years in this, "The Year of the Fan". Now, espn comes out with a new Top 10 list of something or other every day or two and a Top 25 or Top 100 at least a couple of times a year, so I generally pay no attention when they are listing their choice du jour. This past weekend, however, I did stop and check out Moment 94, the story of Derek Redmond.

I don't want to rehash the entire article, but Redmond was a promising sprinter from the UK who had battled injuries, but was feeling healthy and ready to challenge for a medal during the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona. He was on his way to winning his first heat in the 400M competition, but tore his hamstring on the last curve and began reeling in pain.

Now for most athletes, their dream shattered, they lie on the side of the field, tears flowing, and let the stretcher carry them off. Redmond, however, had come to far, and he was determined to finish the race even if his dream of a medal would never be realized. Now, if you have never had a hamstring tear, imagine that somebody stuck stabbed you in the back of the leg with a 6-inch knife. The leg might as well not be attached. Redmond, on one leg, began to hobble along finishing the race.

Redmond's father, who was in the stadium, raced down to aid his son. As the crowd began to notice what Redmond was doing, people began to rise and cheer for the wounded runner, understanding his dream was gone, but realizing what it would mean for him to finish. Redmond's father reached his son and with his help, Derek was at least able to complete one part of his Olympic dream.

Of course this story is a sappy one, but I think it means a lot. If you are like me, you wonder what you would have done in the same situation. After working so hard to get up to that point, do you let them carry you off, or do you beat the odds and finish the race?

Unfortunately, at this time the Olympics is filled with scandal. Doping among athletes and bribery among officials are the big headlines. With tensions high all over the world, safety is a big concern. As we prepare for the opening ceremonies in a couple of months, I for one will be waiting to watch greatness of competition in action once again.

Posted by at 3:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

This is how we name airports in the OC, bitch! Some lame Orange County Supervisor wants to rename the John Wayne airport to "The OC Airport, John Wayne Field." It's great when paper pushers decide to be creative. After all, where would we be without "Freedom Fries" and "Yes, Dear". I personally think there's a greater need for an OC Seaport, what with all the resident teens sailing off to Tahiti...

Check out the full article at E! Online.

In other news, Universal has not renewed syndicated slutfest The Fifth Wheel. Enjoy it while you can, you horny bastards.

Posted by at 12:28 PM | Permalink

And watch something funny for once. Okay, so if you think "The King of Queens" is the height of comic brilliance on TV right now, you might not enjoy this. Sidenote: you should be shot. But for everyone else, Reno 911! is one of the funniest sitcoms on television. End of story. New episodes air tonight at 10:30 PM on Comedy Central (that's 7:30 PM if you've got Directv on the West Coast).

Posted by at 10:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

"Oh My!" exclaimed Doc Rivers when the cameras focused on Sharon Stone at last night's NBA Finals game. With hair vertically inspired, Sharon's 'do clearly distracted the Pistons, causing them to lose in a critical overtime situation. "Looks like she got her hair cut by Ben Wallace" mocked Al Michaels. Hey, this guy ain't so bad after all...

"Are the blue ones the Lakers?"

Posted by at 1:05 AM | Permalink

It's been a full seven days of bliss for television viewers since punk grrl Frankie stepped on a plane to Kansas, leaving the bouncy roommates of The Real World: San Diego one person short in the household. With six weeks left of taping and a seemingly utopian environment setting in, Bunim/Murray realized they had to stir the pot. And so began The Real World's version of American Idol. Three lucky contestants were chosen to run the gauntlet of difficult questions that only a group of great thinkers like Brad, Randy, Cameran, and Robin could conceive. "So, uh, how you doing?"

Before we got to the fun part, we made an annoying pitstop in the latest quagmire of bland drama between Brad and his hometown honey, Andrea. Apparently their relationship is still strained and still built on nagging. Memo to Bunim/Murray: we've seen this before so many times, and it's never ever been interesting. It wasn't interesting with Dan in Miami. It wasn't interesting with Nathan in Seattle. It wasn't interesting with Danny in New Orleans. It wasn't interesting with Kyle and Tanya in Chicago. It wasn't interesting with Irulan and Arissa in Las Vegas. It wasn't interesting with Ace in Paris. And finally, it's certainly not interesting in San Diego with Brad (and previously Frankie too). This storyline does not improve with age or location. It is universally sucky. No one cares about this disembodied person complaining on the phone. Go away!

The next morning a random courier delivered news that the house was getting a new roommate. The girls could not contain their excitement as they burst into squeals whenever Ja tried to read the news. I've never seen someone so excited to hear a definite article. The cast tried to guess if it would be a boy or a girl to waltz in. Brad postulated that it might be an ape that would run around and tear shit up. I sort of don't think he was joking. "We already have one, Brad. Look in the mirror," zinged Cameran. Give it up for the Southern Belle! Sadly, while everyone laughed, Brad actually looked in the mirror and reported that he saw no simian creatures.

Without a moment to spare, our first bachelor arrived at the mansion. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Bobby. Dressed in a blue sleeveless T and sporting a styled fro, Bobby looked like he was about to reshoot Lenny Kravitz's video for "Again." Too bad that song is about four years old and Lenny's straightened his locks since then. Bobby burst into the Real World house full of energy and lame jokes. He suavely broke the ice with a nifty "It smells like fish in here" line, that was followed up with a meek and pathetic "You know, because we're so close to the ocean..." I kinda was hoping for a little "Is this thing on? Tough crowd..."

This guy had actor written all over him. In fact, "Real World" is most likely on his headshot now. As Bobby settled in with his potential new castmates, Brad noted that he had a "unique style", which was probably a euphemism for gay. No disrespect, but the TVgasm offices are in the heart of West Hollywood, and as far as we can tell, the love affair between WeHo and sleeveless T's is as strong as ever. Anyway, Bobby commented that he's originally from Riverside, CA, aka the birthplace of Julie Cooper on The OC. Yes, I know I just referred to a fictional person as if she were real, but the point is that Riverside should not have been Bobby's selling point.

Next up was Brad, the chilled out guy from Wisconsin who sort of reminded us all of Kyle from Chicago. He seemed cool enough, and all the roommates liked him, but San Diego Brad had a major beef. You see, if he's Brad and the new guy is Brad then... well, that's confusing! Two Brads! I mean, this is crazy talk!

The problem for bushy eyebrow Brad was clearly very personal. His brain works hard enough already when people call his name. Imagine how taxed it will be if someone refers to a different Brad, and he has to parse the context and direction of the comment? No way, dude. Robin was unswayed by Brad's semantic issues, and she and her breasts proceeded to give new Brad a guided tour of the house and her bedroom. This guy seemed like a lock for sure.

Then Charlie showed up. He sort of looked like a male Scarlett Johansson wearing Randy's hairstyle and suffering from an unfortunate boil incident. The Yugoslavian native divulged that he was a musician (hopefully better than Lorie from RW: Back to New York) who loved country music. Jamie was intrigued, and for a moment I thought she'd ask her patented question: "If you could be short shorts, what sort of short shorts would you be?"

Later, the three chumps returned to the house to hang out. Bobby sufficiently freaked everyone out and confirmed all suspicions that he was using the Real World house as his audition for Broadway. Brad, who seemed to be doing so well, tried a little too hard to be liked, especially when he incurred a mild black dialect when talking to Jacquese. That left only Charlie who strummed his guitar while Bobby sang along (thank you MTV for playing a generic rock song over this). At nearly four in the morning, the applicants finally went back to their lodging, which in this case was a glamorous motel most likely featuring a dead prostitute in room 6.

The next morning, Cameran axed Bobby and Brad, the latter of which probably had an Abercrombie shoot to go to anyway. Charlie, who at 18 looks a hell of a lot older than the kids on Road Rules, packed his bags and joined the Real World house. Jamie squealed a hello that shattered the wine glasses in my apartment, er, the TVgasm offices, and Robin led Charlie into what may become his new personal hell: the haunted bed of Frankie.

Interspersed with all this were occasional Brad/Andrea phone calls which eagerly took the role of suckfest in Frankie's absence. But like I said before, no one cares, so I'm not going to comment on it.

Charlie looks like he'll fit in fairly well. He and Randy can do their hair together, and maybe he'll strum the guitar for Jacquese who looks like he's got a bad case of the blues next week. Only three episodes left, according to the MTV promos. That's not a lot of time to learn about our boy Charlie, but I'm sure we'll have plenty of time in the future since he's probably already signed up for the next Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I can already see Coral and Mike salivating in the wings, ready to sink their teeth into this fresh specimen. One of us... One of us... One of us...

Posted by at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Los Angeles is shell shocked, and as of this posting, in about ten minutes, the city will collectively unite behind the jaundiced jerseys of Shaq, Kobe, and the crew for game 2 of the NBA Finals. After Sunday's "surprise" upset, Angelenos don't know what to do with themselves. They're walking in stupors. They're running into walls. They're crying in bathroom stalls. And they're driving erratically (oh, sorry, that's normal). "Oh, how on Earth can this happen?" they ask. "After my twelve days of dedication to this team, how can they disappoint me now??" Well, fairweather fans, it's time to snap out of it. Your boys aren't as great as Jack Nicholson would have you believe. Would you be shocked if I told you Kobe was felled by a kitchen knife this season? Yes, it's true. The Lakers are fallible, and by the way, the Pistons are actually pretty good.

Now I'm not going to act like I'm a lifelong Pistons fan. Truth is I only started watching them recently. It's hard not to like the law firm of Wallace & Wallace, not to mention the wily Rip Hamilton zipping around in his little mask. And I do respect that Shaq and Kobe and many of the other Lakers are amazing players. But come on people. It's time to stop jizzing over every sighting of a yellow and purple pattern. People act as if this title has been preselected for the Lakers and are shocked... SHOCKED... that any team would dare strip it away. Headlines read "Lakers better wake up" as if the prize is at the whim of this team, but Dyan Cannon be damned, the Pistons deserve it just as much.

And let's all admit it. The Pistons are much more interesting team to look at. Rasheed has those cool tattoos (Nike even gives us a guided tour of them in one of its commercials), Rip as the aforementioned facemask, and of course Ben has his fluctuating hair. Sometimes it's cornrows. Sometimes it's a dandelion fluff! Shaq is just big and falls down with a thud.

I guess tonight we'll see if I have to eat my words or get to gloat more. I'm not really looking forward to more football-grafted-to-the-hardcourt commentary from Al Michaels. And let's talk about ABC here for a moment. Yes, it's a given that ABC sucks. And yes, the whole cross-promotion of The Bachelor with The Chronicles of Riddick with The Finals is a bit nauseating, especially when Vin Diesel's voice intermittently growls up on screen to announce he's watching the game. And yes, I too miss that great John Tesh NBA ditty that NBC heralded for so many years. But what rankles me the most is ABC's completely hands-off approach to the playoffs. Until this week, weekend games have been on cable and so have the conference finals. NBC would never allow such mishandling of the franchise. By keeping so many of the games on cable - even ESPN - ABC effectively downplays the importance of the league, as well as fumbling an exciting chance to lure viewers. Oy. I shouldn't get all worked up though. This is the same network that infects us with "According to Jim" and "Dinotopia".

Okay, at this point, I'm not even talking about actual basketball. But this is TVgasm. If you want in depth analysis, go to ESPN. And feel free to bash me with a comment, Lakers fans.

Posted by at 5:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

While The Restaurant's Jeffrey Chodorow and Rocco DiSpirito sue the bejesus out of each other, now might be a pleasant moment to stroll down memory lane, which, in Jeffrey's case, leads to jail.

Posted by at 1:11 PM | Permalink

Road Rules X-Treme is so awesome. These folks are like unbelievable, and their stunts were SOOOO scary. This is like nothing we have never seen before, and will be the best real world ever.

Now that you picked yourself up off the floor from laughing so hard at the first paragraph, I will give you a little time to compose yourself before reading the rest of my impressions of the 13th installment in Bunim-Murray's Road Rules franchise.

Donnell from the South Pacific season ruined all of the chances for anybody with a waist size bigger than 34 from ever getting picked for another Bunim-Murray special. This season, we go back to basics with a cast that, while not cut from an Abercrombie Catalog, could easily have been pulled from an American Eagle circular. This year we get Danny, Derrick, Ibis, Joni, Kani, and Patrick, and although it is only the first show, it looks like it is going to be a pretty bland cast overall. The only bit of tension comes in the form of Derrick, who's 100% Polish manhood is threatened by Danny, who is gay. Apparently he left his progressive European ways back in the homeland.

The cast is not only bland, but kind of stupid. The first mission is a bungee jump, and a couple of the cast members are afraid of heights. Incredibly, these folks have never watched a Road Rules, and therefore missed all of the times people had to skyjump, bungee, etc. and are unprepared for an event involving heights?! Next thing you know, they are going to complain about having to get naked during an episode.

I know what you are saying right now, maybe they would have been fine with a regular bungee jump, but they had to bungee over a LIVE VOLCANO! FROM A HELICOPTER! J-Unit, why are you such a heartless bastard. Now, I would love it if the folks at MTV or Bunim-Murray would give us some information on which volcano they used so I could post about its historic activity, but they haven't. I can probably assure you that the scientific definition of an active volcano is probably a much looser criteria than one would imagine. Most scientists judge an active volcano as one that has erupted in the last 2,000-10,000 years. Our dear travelers were decidedly not in danger, and each cast member was able to dodge the flying magma and survive until the next round, even after the bungee crew warned that they would be jettisoned should anything bad happen to the helicopter.

If you haven't picked up on it yet, I am already a sceptic when it comes to the current season. A drunk Derrick almost made up for this lifeless first episode by prancing around a bonfire and failing to hook up with a female cast mate or two. Derrick is going to be a huge suckfest, and unfortunately his fellow Road Rules find it somehow necessary to make up reason that he has to stay. Again, it seems that this cast has forgotten to watch Road Rules and haven't figured out that there is a pretty good when streak going on when it comes to winning the final prize.

If you think I am bitter now, wait until I take some time to write about the X-Treme Machine.

Posted by at 11:23 PM | Permalink

Just when you thought it was safe to tune into MTV on Mondays at 10 PM, Bunim/Murray has thrown another pile of steaming, uh, hormones onto our laps. No, it's not the latest Coral/Veronica/Trishelle/Miz circus, but another shiny new installment of Road Rules, this time called "Xtreme". At first I thought this might be some cross promotional tool with a razor or deodorant or Mountain Dew product. But then I remembered that this was Road Rules, which in its old age, has resorted to desperately grandiose titles to still sound relevant. It's sort of like when you meet a guy over fifty who has a pierced ear. You know, like Harrison Ford.

We first meet our latest batch of Road Rulers in South America. We're introduced to Patrick who doubles as not only this season's All American Boy but the resident Ben Affleck doppleganger. He's plopped in the middle of nowhere with Jodi. The two of them are just so damn happy because they hate complaining and are up for anything. We'll see how long that lasts. It's become a strange, self-referential ritual of late where new cast members of The Real World and Road Rules all consult each other to find out which roles they'll be playing. First, there's the usual check to see who will complain and be psycho. No one ever admits to that, but true colors tend to emerge with self-deprecating remarks like "Oh, I'm the neat one. I'm so anal. That's the only thing." Everyone shares a good laugh, and then stores away the mental note "Bitch".

The self-classification pauses for a moment as an oxen-drawn buggy comes to whisk Patrick and Jodi off. Then we meet Danny and Ibis. She's Latina. He's gay. And in another stellar display of self-perception distortion, both claim to be very down to earth. We'll see how long that charade lasts.

Stop three on the oxen express takes us to Kina and Derrick. She's a Jersey Girl, and he's a Chicago native. Derrick also mentions that he's a hundred percent Polish and proud of it. He also sports an outdated turn of the millennium hairstyle, and I bet he's proud of that too. As Derrick strolls onto camera, I start to wonder if he might just be one part Polish, ten parts douchebag.

With the whole group assembled, they all congratulate themselves on being cool and awesome. Derrick adds how it's especially great that there are no faggots on board. Woops! Closeup on Danny looking uncomfortable. Another classic Bunim/Murray tradition. Nothing like the casual gay slur in front of the gay cast member. As they say in South America: idiosa!

The super six finally arrive at their huge RV which features one big bed in the back and an odd little puzzle thing on the dashboard. The cast also receives T-Mobile phones, but Catherine Zeta-Jones is curiously absent for this promotional opportunity. As Patrick takes the driver's seat and steers the RV towards the first mission, the cast yet again starts assigning roles. This time the subject is sexual orientation. Ibis notes that usually there's a gay or lesbian person in the RV. Someone then comments how no one appears gay. Finally, after this open environment fails to lure anyone out of the closet, the group does a mini "I'm not gay" roll call which comes to a screeching halt when Danny announces that he in fact has a boyfriend. The gals squeal with delight. Ibis bubbles that she now has a shopping partner, not to be stereotypical or anything. Everyone says they're cool with it, except for Lech Walesa in the corner. Gulp. Derrick expresses his squeamishness with homosexuals by assuming a bent over position in front of Danny's midsection. Hey, whatever's clever.

The six bestest friends ever finally reach their mission mayors who are two perky individuals who may very well have been plucked from MTV South America. Everyone hands over their personal items and learns that with every successful mission, the team will earn an Xtreme Key to the Xtreme Machine, which houses the handsome reward. Xtreme Machine? Come on MTV. What sort of retarded scheme is this? It's clearly an Xtreme Safe, not a machine.

Soon after the Xtreme cast members Xtreme learn about the Xtreme Keys and Xtreme Machine, they discover that for their first mission, they must... bunjee jump! Thank goodness. I was worried that they'd have to do something crazy like, uh, not bunjee jump. The twist this time around is that they'll be jumping over an active volcano. Jodi, I believe, makes the salient point that if she drops into the volcano, she'll burn up and die in a second. Yeah, because if you drop to the Earth instead, you'll just need a little Yoga to loosen up the joints.

A mustachioed safety instructor tells the kids that this is the first time ever a stunt like this has been performed. Furthermore, if there's a problem with the helicopter, you'll be jettisoned into the lava as a sacrifice. Cue the thumping music and the gloomy faces. Do these kids really think MTV will let them die? We can only hope for such excitement.

The first duo goes up in the helicopter, and without much ado they jump out amidst a flurry of screams and shrieks. Of course we soon see that these chumps are nowhere near the lip of the volcano, but we'll let them have their fun. The next duo ascends to the heavens and expresses some minor fears about plunging out of a helicopter. MTV tries desperately to create some sort of commercial cliffhanger by having Derrick yelp "They're not jumping!", but come on, Road Rules. You're thirteen years old. Everyone does the bunjee jump. It's practically in the application these days. Of course, all three duos clear the mission perfectly, and as the last group returns to Earth, we bizarrely see that we're not in the middle of some isolated wilderness but in full view of a random beach community. Awkward...

That night, the happy campers buy some cervasa and share a few celebratory libations by the campfire. Derrick attempts to be the life of the party, but he winds up less like Stiffler and more like Ruthie from Real World Hawaii. Once again, Americans everywhere can feel embarrassed for exporting more of our finest culture overseas.

Later, as Derrick becomes belligerent, Danny and the girls adopt serious faces and gab at the RV table. "I don't feel safe" says Kina or Jodi. This is followed by minor proclamations of "That is not cool" and bug-eyed requests for agreement. Outside, Patrick towers over the randy Pole, keeping him firmly trapped in a head lock. Kina and Ibis emerge from the RV and talk Derrick down to a semi-sloppy state so that he can finally go to bed. Patrick rambles on about how Derrick's love of life is misdirected into... oh I don't remember. It was too schlocky to retain. To Derrick's credit, at least he didn't boot all over the camper. Still, as the episode comes to an end, the girls express doubts that they'll be able to open the Xtreme Machine if Derrick doesn't improve his attitude.

Not that they're complaining. They hate that. They so don't do that. They're just saying...

Posted by at 11:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So I don't have too much witty sports knowledge here but seeing as how I was spoonfeed on the Red Wings until I finally moved out to NYC at age 21(so yeah that was the peaking era of Hockeytown) well I've got enough emotion and input to dish out a little bitterness, smartassness and banter(the hat trick if you will).

Octopuses on ice, virtually spending entire seasons @ JLA in the deep ghetto of D-town where us Bloomfield Hills and Grosse Pointeers would trek to watch our magical men conquer the ice or tear each other to shreds, blood splashing across the glass, we'd hoot and holler...it was utter madness and probably some of the most amazing moments in my sports childhood. And yes, a girl just said this. I remember treking to Rite Aid in search of brooms with my neighbor, we were going to hang them out the window tosymbolize the sweep that the Wings were about to acheive. he victories and the sweeps and the blood and the trips to the arena all blended together for me b/c the team was truly unstoppable and let's face it, no one will ever compete with the immense trumph and talent that came from Hockeytown in the late 90s but needless to say iwill extend mild congratualtions to the TB Lightning, despite the fact I don't think they really put out the passion that lives in the Flames they will carry the Cup home with pride.
Overall a soutthern team took a Canadian team. Tampa Bay Lightning beating the Calgary Flames with a 2-1 defeat in game 7. Personally in my humble opinion Canadians live and breathe for ice sports ok...ice is there life , I mean they deal with it nearly every month of the year and so for them to lose this champuionship is more than just a team defeat but a lose for Canadian culture. And to top it off, they have lost to a team that originates from , what is to them a land of imagination, palm treees, sunshine and endless beaches, so that to me is just a bit disheartening. Needless to say I suppose there is always next year but for now the great Stanley will be chillin' down south, catching a few rays and kickin' back with a Corona...not a bad way to hang if I do say so myself.

Posted by at 10:10 PM | Permalink

New Jersey can finally sleep soundly. The brewing mob war that promised to escalate into full-fledged chaos came to a swift end in last night's season finale of The Sopranos. Tony finally grew some cajones and shot his cousin, Tony B., in the head, effectively ending a growing feud between him and Johnny Sack. Well, the Feds helped too when they swooped out of nowhere and took down the New York crime boss and the rest of his family. Meanwhile, Carmella and company settled back into suburban bliss with Papa Bear back at home. And yes, I'm tipping my hat to David Chase's omnipresent ursine symbolism this season.

The finale was yet another strong entry in an already solid season. For a moment, we almost forgot last season's meandering storylines and tangental characters. Yeah, this season sometimes delved into random territory (dream sequence, anyone? or how about we follow Finn to the construction site), but overall, the episodes have been streamlined and taut. Last night brought some healthy resolution to the Tony Blundetta fiasco, and we even got to see a little Meadow cameo for good measure. By the way, why is she always doing laundry in New Jersey? It's time to hit the NYC laundromats, Med. Maybe you'll find a less clammy, less Adrian Brodyish boyfriend.

While Meadow putzed around in the Soprano Fluff n Fold, AJ found a new passion in event planning, which in this case means selling $5 cups at a party. Hey, a kid's gotta start somewhere. Even though Tony questioned the value in this ("Isn't that sort of gay?" he asked), maybe this entrepreneurial spirit was the first sign of a baby Mafia don in the making.

Carmella busied herself with housewife drama, such as getting involved in a Fortunoff's wedding registry meltdown. She naively pestered Christopher about Adriana's whereabouts, nearly forcing the poor guy to hit the needle again. Life's not good for Tony's heir apparent. He was forced into hiding in hotels and wearing a silly fisherman's hat that made him look like he was auditioning for "Spy Vs. Spy". Christopher shared a touching moment with Tony as the two realized they had sacrificed someone dear and close to both of them for the greater good of the family. Whatever, jerks. Stop killing your loved ones and you won't be bawling in each other's arms.

Silvio got in touch with his emotions this episode too. Usually he hangs around in the background, sometimes taking care of a little dirty work - like Adriana - and usually calming down insurgent parties with a brusque "Hey!" (No, not like the way they say it on The OC). But last night he actually talked about his feelings, sort of. It may have been Steven Van Zandt's biggest scene of the series. Dr. Melfi also clocked in some memorable face time as she abandoned her usual psychologist prodding for a more sarcastic, annoyed therapy session. PMS must have hit the good doctor because she was in no mood for bullshit.

Janice was surprisingly absent in the finale, but maybe she was busy with anger management. Looks like she won't be the only one with lowered stress levels next season. If all goes well, it should be smooth sailing to the series finale. Oh who am I kidding? Feel free to start the whacking predictions now.

Posted by at 7:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The San Fernando Valley is just a little bit safer today after police nabbed drunken driver David Hasselhoff this weekend in Encino. Apparently, KITT was sleeping at the wheel as Michael Knight guided his vehicle towards imminent destruction. The beloved actor (in Germany) has been charged with a DUI and hopefully illegal use of leather pants. TVgasm conspiracy theorists like to think this brush with the law was intentional. After all, the Baywatch honcho needs a little street cred now that he's putting out a rap album with producer Ice-T. Word up, Hasselhoff. Just don't get slapped with a DWB.

For more details, check out the Reuters article here, courtesy of Yahoo! News.

Posted by at 3:54 PM | Permalink

"It's not coming to New York without going to Rocco's" says the annoying diner at the beginning of every episode of The Restaurant. I guess that's true if your trip to New York is a study in poor service, mediocre food, and dining with other tourists from Nebraska and Staten Island. Either way, in its somber-voiced recaps, The Restaurant always shows a little love to the nasal endorser at table 3, which is good because now that this show has wrapped, Rocco's 22nd is going to need a lot of TLC from the star-struck tourists that keep it afloat. As for the actual television show, well, it's not doing so well either. Saturday night's season finale might just as well have been the series finale. The only thing that could possibly keep it alive at this point is NBC wanting to stay on Mark Burnett's good side, lest he pull the plug on that other little show, The Apprentice.

It's too bad that The Restaurant's season has come to such an unceremonious end. I was just starting to care about the characters. Of course there are the three stars: Rocco, Jeffrey Chodorow, and Mama. But it's the little guys that are keeping the show semi-interesting. There's Carrie, the yenta waitress who spreads gossip like a bad strain of strep throat; Carol, Chodorow's Hadassah pitbull whose bowler hat hardly contains her frizzy hair; Sarah, Chodorow's sweet taskmaster with the British accent; Uzay, Carrie's co-conspirator and "celebrity waiter"; and finally, Gavin, the new resident asshole who just bought a first class ticket on a power trip from hell.

When we last saw Rocco a week ago, he was babbling about how he was going to take control of his restaurant by cancelling all his plans and devoting all his energy to the kitchen - for three days. To prove this point, we found him sleeping with his beautiful girlfriend in a booth in the dining room. Yes, it isn't coming to New York without possibly sitting in a dried puddle of Rocco's man juice.

As snow descended on the little bistro that couldn't, Rocco attended to personelle matters by firing emotional line chef Gabe. With tears in his eyes and dreams of culinary fame dashed on live television, Gabe did the oh-so-awkward move of going to pat Rocco on the shoulder and then holding back when he remembered that he had just been fired. I could sense a collective cringe from the twelve people across the nation who were actually watching.

Meanwhile, Jeffrey, fresh from an outing to the Men's Warehouse casual sweater department, hopped on a plane to Miami to sample the food of potential Rocco replacement, Marc Randazzo. While Chodorow and crew launched an assault of uninspired jokes ("You know how in boxing there's a KO and a TKO? Well, you just earned an SKO - standing kitchen ovation."), his wife had a foodgasm with some cheesecake that resulted in her confessing that she's both a lady on the street and a freak in the bed. Actually, she just said that she was a dessert freak.

Things weren't quite as sunny in NYC as Rocco made his latest cameo appearance in the kitchen. He put some wood into the gas stove, which is kind of, I don't know, illegal. Suddenly, Rocco's browbeaten assistant rushed into the kitchen to alert him that Yvonne, his fiance, had fallen off a scooter in the snow and was in ambulatory care at the hospital. Happy to have an excuse to not cook, Rocco bolted from The Restaurant, leaving newbee Gavin at the reigns.

Like a butterfly emerging from the coccoon, Gavin metamorphisized into a beautiful asshole, spreading joy throughout Roccoland. First he reamed out a line chef, and then when Uzay came down to the kitchen with some tourists, Gavin announced that he's the fuckin chef and Uzay's just a celebrity waiter. Recognize!

Well, no one assumes a position of power without tangling with Carol first. As Gavin cooked with the woodfire that Rocco had started, Sarah entered the restaurant with bitter Carol on her heals. Clearly Carol hadn't terrorized her Upper West Side neighbors enough that day because she still had some frenetic energy to let loose. The duo stopped the wood burning as Carol snapped "End of story" and as she- "End of Story!" Oops, she wasn't done. Carol likes to say things twice for effect. Gavin sort of smirked them off and went back down to the kitchen where he unleashed a torrent of dickish questions on a bored security guard who was sent in to guard the wood. Everyone watching must have secretly been hoping for a showdown between Rocco's silverware guard and Jeffrey's wood guard.

At the hospital, Rocco attended to ailing Yvonne who was revealed to have incurred a large scrape on her knee and not much else. High maintenance, anyone? What was she doing on a scooter anyway in the snow? Maybe she was having problems walking after that uncomfortable night sleeping in the booth. Afterwards, Rocco went to seek the solace of an older, wiser chef who happily told him he looks homeless. Rocco laughed it off, but I don't think the guy was joking.

The next day, Gavin told Rocco that his job sucks and he doesn't want to replace Tony. Rocco laid on his usual passive aggressive charm "I've enjoyed all your work here... until right now", and Gavin responded with a sweet "I don't blame you. I blame who you chose to go into business with." Isn't that still blaming him? This was not a meeting of great minds, however. Speaking of idiots on parade, the bickering at the bar continued to swell as Carol poked her head into the fray with some cleaning tips. I really enjoy watching the bartenders act as if they have any sort of bar scene. If anyone ever goes to Rocco's to hang out at the bar, they should be thrown in the oven with the illegal wood.

Jeffrey announced to the staff that the restaurant had finally made a profit, but Rocco seemed nonplussed. Channeling the logic of a 17 year old girl, Jeffrey said didn't like the way Rocco reacted and that was the problem with the restaurant. The next day, while the staff ice skated in Central Park, Jeffrey basically offered Rocco a few hundred thousand dollars to go away. And if Rocco wouldn't go away, he'd have to buy out Jeffrey's share of the restaurant.

So after six episodes of complaining and bickering and fighting, it came down to this. Aaaaand scene. The show ended. Wait, a cliffhanger? We don't even know if this show is coming back. That's not cool. Some title cards informed us that Jeffrey and Rocco are currently suing each other and they both want to control the restaurant and yada yada yada. Well, all's well that ends ambiguously. Here's to hoping The Casino will pick up Mark Burnett's dropped reality baton...

Posted by at 12:03 PM | Permalink

So who out there really thought Smarty Jones would win the elusive Triple Crown? Okay, that would be almost all of you. Some of us were skeptics, and rightfully so. Every few years, when a horse wins the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, NBC goes into publicity overload to convince us that this plucky steed will be the best damn horsey since Secretariat and dammit, you're not an American unless you tune in for an hour and a half of filler about the jockey and the stables and turds that make this animal a champion. And wouldn't you know it? Smarty Jones didn't have the love jones to go all the way.

I fell for this silliness two years ago when everyone got swept up in War Emblem-mania. Remember that horse? Didn't think so. Well, in 2002 he was the favorite to beat going into the Belmont Stakes. Yes, I sat through two hours of soft-filtered interviews set to music seemingly lifted from The Natural. I learned about the horse and the owners and how this race was a moment of fate and destiny. I was convinced that War Emblem would not only win the Triple Crown, I thought he might run for president too. Then suddenly, after hours of anticipation and hype, the race zipped by in about two minutes' time. War Emblem had lost (5th place, jerk) and a hollow sensation overcame my life. Did I really just get emotionally invested in this anticlimactic race? The answer was an emphatic yes.

I don't actually begrudge the races or the Triple Crown. I actually think it's pretty fun and sort of cool to get excited about this old-fashioned pasttime. What I think is ridiculous is the week prior to the Belmont Stakes when everyone suddenly becomes an expert on equine racing. "Oh, yes, I think Smarty Jones has what it takes. War Emblem was nothing. But Smarty Jones, that's a horse." Just because you watched Seabiscuit doesn't mean that you can start opining about this stuff. Meanwhile, no one realizes that they've turned into an armchair jockey because of NBC's relentless promos. Granted, this is all great for the network which has since lost its baseball, football, and basketball coverage to places like CBS and ABC. NBC Sports is happy to have at least something to bring the viewers in (sorry Arena Football fans, but your sport sort of sucks).

After 2002's letdown, I avoided the Belmont Stakes coverage this year. I did see however that when Smarty Jones did in fact lose, everyone booed the winner. Now come on people. Let the guy enjoy his moment. Winning the triple crown isn't a right. I bet Smarty's cocky jockey went out the night before and boozed it on up with some hookers and tequila. So it really was his own fault. Okay, that probably didn't happen, but regardless, Birdstone won fair and square, and the poor jockey had to spend his acceptance speech apologizing to the fans.

In the end, all is well because I get to be that annoying asshole who goes around saying "I told you so." Hopefully that will apply to the Pistons/Lakers series. But more on that later...

Posted by at 9:47 AM | Permalink

Ah yes, early June. Time for the gayest night on national television—not the Queer as Folk season finale, not the Cher guest spot on Will & Grace, but the 58th annual Tony Awards—the night when CBS tries to make middle America warm to a bunch of old, dried-out Manhattan theater queens.

HIGHLIGHTS:

8:00pm

Our host, Hugh Jackman, emerges onstage, flanked by some beauties from the casts of the musicals Hairspray, Little Shop of Horrors, and Caroline, or Change. They all shake it while singing 'One Night Only' from Dreamgirls. Hugh pretends to be interested in women.

8:03pm

Dear Hugh high-kicks higher than any of the Radio City Rockettes, putting the last nail in any chances he ever had to be the next James Bond. Hey Hugh, how'd your hamstrings get so limber?

8:07pm

Billy Joel limps onstage with Jane Krakowski to present the first award of the evening. T-minus how many days til he crashes his car into another house? Let's take bets.

8:08pm

Ms. Krakowski, in standard charming-quirky fashion, saves the on-another-planet Mr. Joel from blatant flubs with his cue cards. Despite the help, Mr. Joel goes on to mispronounce several exotic nominee names, such as "Caroline" and "Jennifer."

8:12pm

Phylicia Rashad (aka Clair Huxtable) and Sean Combs (aka P.Diddy, aka Puff Daddy, aka Maria Teresa Thierstein Simoes-Ferreira Heinz Kerry) present Best Featured Actor in a Musical. Winner Michael Cerveris, the whitest man in the world, jokes, with attempted flava, about being onstage with "Puff." Mrs. Huxtable barely tolerates this shit.

8:19pm

Kristin Chenoweth, who plays the witch Glinda in Wicked, floats out over the stage in a big bubble, amid supplementary bubbles. Somebody shoot that bitch down.

8:24pm

Alfred Molina sheds his scary metal prosthetic octo-arms to lead the company of Fiddler on the Roof in a rousing rendition of 'Tradition'. They ignite the audience with their chutzpah and win the Tony for Butt-Ugliest Broadway Cast.

8:37pm

New Jheri-Curl spokesman Brian Stokes Mitchell, with excruciatingly perfect diction, introduces the nominees for Best Play. Nice shirt, crazy man.

8:39pm

8,000-year-old Chita Rivera sashays out to present Best Choreography and makes a nice mention of the dearly-departed Broadway great Gregory Hines. Kathleen Marshall, sister of Chicago film director Rob Marshall, wins for the wonderful dancing in the wonderful revival Wonderful Town. Fucking wonderful.

8:42pm

Edie Falco, sporting not-so-wonderful bulldyke-Caesar hair, introduces a musical number from Caroline, or Change. The usually amazing Tonya Pinkins sings a horrific, bellowing rendition of her big number from the show. Try clearing your throat and singing on key.

8:57pm

Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel (real-life wife of actor Taye Diggs) play who-can-shriek-the-loudest in a number from the bloated mega-musical nightmare Wicked. Ms. Menzel's green wicked-witch makeup makes her and Mr. Diggs a doozy of an interracial couple.

9:06pm

Hugh Jackman pretends not to be interested in Rod, the closeted gay puppet from the magnificently demented little puppet musical Avenue Q. Mr. Jackman unnecessarily involves his "wife" in the oh-so-racy banter. OH REALLY.

9:10pm

8,000,000-year-old Carol Channing, accompanied by LL Cool J—a match made in someone's heaven—presents the award for Best Music. Ms. Channing not only sounds exactly like Barbara Billingsley as the Jive Lady in Airplane!, she also, we learn, LOVES hugging LL. The award goes to Avenue Q in a nice upset—Puppets 1, Witches 0.

9:27pm

Brían F. O'Byrne, an Actor, presents an Actorly speech about Acting in Professional Theatre. "Ooh look at me, I'm so Irish I need an í in Brían." OH I BET YOU DO MARY.

9:28pm

Anne Heche, fresh from the mothership, presents Best Featured Actress in a Play to the lovely Audra McDonald from A Raisin in the Sun. Ms. McDonald accepts her fourth Tony in ten years with brief, heartfelt comments. Listen up, non-brief, non-heartfelt retards.

9:31pm

It's Victor Garber. Who's next, Treat Williams?

9:40pm

Martin Short got out of his straitjacket somehow.

9:46pm

Jimmy Fallon is introduced as "popular comic actor Jimmy Fallon." Thanks, cheerful announcer!

9:57pm

For the first and likely last time in his life, Ethan Hawke has better hair than someone else. It seems Scarlett Johansson still hasn't brushed, or even washed, her hair since she and Benicio Del Toro did their post-Oscars "making out or having sex or something" in the Chateau Marmont elevator.

9:58pm

Phylicia Rashad, most deservedly, wins Best Actress in a Play for A Raisin in the Sun. Her way-over-the-top delivery, however, nearly ruins what would otherwise be a lovely acceptance speech. Pipe down, Phylicia.

10:04pm

Washed-up songwriter Carole Bayer Sager, looking like Joan Collins meets Elvira with her fingers in an electric socket, introduces Hugh Jackman's musical number from The Boy from Oz. Mr. Jackman emerges in gold pants, riding a camel. Bet that's not the first thing he rode today.

10:07pm

Crazy old Hugh coaxes a tentative, mortified Sarah Jessica Parker onstage, but she refuses to lambada with him cause she's "worried about her top." Hey SJP, quit the prim-and-proper shit and just flash a little tit already.

10:15pm

Drowning in mascara, Laura Linney robotically presents the four nominees for Best Play - Revival, with a forced little smile for each one. Awwww.

10:19pm

Speaking of awww, cute little Bernadette Peters comes out to inform us that she's not dead. Awww, let's pet her.

10:25pm

Hair mussed from a backstage tryst with Doogie Howser, Hugh Jackman makes perfunctory mention of Tony Randall's passing.

10:27pm

Patrick Stewart is still bald. Engage.

10:28pm

Best Actor in a Play winner Jefferson Mays uses the phrase "piquant ingenue." Please run this guy over with a bus.

10:32pm

Bafflingly, Mary J. Blige comes out to sing 'What I Did for Love' from A Chorus Line. In keeping with the evening, she sings horribly flat. Tone-deafness aside, whoever matched her with that song must have been the same ad wizard who cast Random Hearts.

10:41pm

Renée Zellweger, eyes wide shut, twirls onstage with Rob Marshall to present Best Actress in a Musical. Turns out that winner Idina Menzel of Wicked looks better with the green makeup than without. She gets very verklempt. BITCH STOP GASPING.

10:45pm

Pale, tragic Nicole Kidman, ponytail ratcheted down so tight you can see her cranial nerves, puts on glasses to indicate that she's Serious about Presenting her Award. In the process of announcing nominees for Best Actor in a Musical, she wins Most Painfully Awkward Teleprompter Utilization.

10:46pm

Hmmm, Aussie Ms. Kidman presenting Best Actor in a Musical? Coincidence? You think Aussie Mr. Jackman might win for playing Aussie Peter Allen in The Boy from AUSSIE-FUCKING-OZ??? Wait do you get it?? OH MY GOD I GET IT!

10:56pm

In the final award of the evening, Avenue Q wins a huge, gratifying upset over the odious Wicked. Yay upsets! Yay genuine emotion! Yay puppet sex!

LESSONS FROM THE EVENING:

1. Hugh Jackman = not the boy next door, not the next James Bond.

2. Audra McDonald = classy (and can probably beat up Hugh Jackman).

3. Live singing = flat singing.

4. Puppet raunch = Tony success.

In all seriousness, a nice evening of surprises and upsets, with Tony voters seemingly voting with their hearts rather than checkbooks. For the academics, a list of major winners:

Best Musical

Avenue Q

Best Musical - Revival

Assassins

Best Actor in a Musical

Hugh Jackman - The Boy from Oz

Best Actress in a Musical

Idina Menzel - Wicked

Best Featured Actor in a Musical

Michael Cerveris - Assassins

Best Featured Actress in a Musical

Anika Noni Rose - Caroline, or Change

Best Direction of a Musical

Joe Mantello - Assassins

Best Book of a Musical

Jeff Whitty - Avenue Q

Best Music

Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx - Avenue Q

Best Play

I Am My Own Wife

Best Play - Revival

Henry IV

Best Actor in a Play

Jefferson Mays - I Am My Own Wife

Best Actress in a Play

Phylicia Rashad - A Raisin in the Sun

Best Featured Actor in a Play

Brían F. O'Byrne - Frozen

Best Featured Actress in a Play

Audra McDonald - A Raisin in the Sun

Best Direction of a Play

Jack O'Brien - Henry IV

Posted by at 8:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (52)

Another year, another Sopranos finale. This year has been difficult to sum up. The show has taken us on some fairly odd tangents this year, but has provided us with our share of moments. Before tonight's show, we were left contemplating the death of Adriana LaCerva and the impending war between the Brooklyn and New Jersey families, brought on by the postal actions of one Tony Blundetto. While the episode started off slow, we were treated with a beating, a whacking, and even a Meadow sighting. About the only people left out were Janice and Artie.

Enough with the small talk, however, the big deal for a couple of weeks has been Tony Blundetto, played by Steve Buscemi, and the problems he has had with controlling his temper all season. At first, we thought he was a stand-up guy. Locked away all those years, he applied himself to the fine art of massage therapy. Forgetting Paulie's advice to "Remember Pearl Harbor!", he went into business with a Korean, then promptly beat said Korean's face in when he asked Tony how some renovations were going. His legitimate prospects gone, Tony B. comes back to the family business and rapidly moves his way up the ladder. With the money raking in, he goes against common sense and avenges a personal matter with the New York family, escalating a full out war.

Deeeaaaaayyyuum.

In the Soprano household, meanwhile, things seem to be going well. I don't know about you, dear reader, but seeing Tony plopped in front of the TV munching on his half gallon of ice cream, ignoring even the most basic emotional needs of his wife, nearly brought a tear to my eye. Although I couldn't help but thinking that if Carmela really wanted to have better communication with Tony, she would buy him a Tivo. We all know how convenient it is to be able to pause the TV when our boyfriend/girlfriend/boss/parents call at the worst possible time. Not that I am encouraging this, but Tony could have paused the History Channel, nodded a couple of times in response to Carmela's apprehensions about her new house, kissed her on the head, then press play like nothing happened. Now that is marriage counseling.

Another problem Tony seems to be having is his son. Although he and Carmela want him to put his nose to the grindstone so he can get to East Stroudsberg State, AJ seems to be getting his entrepeneur on, and making inquiries into the feasibility of event planning. And although this really bothered his parents, I for one can understand what AJ is getting excited about. Besides Tony and Carmela wouldn't have anything to worry about if they visited LA.

The person I really empathize with this year is Christopher Maltisanti. Poor Chrissy has gotten no love this year. His hard work seems to be doing him no good, and his girlfriend was just killed for blabbing to the feds. On top of all of this, he is the number one person in line to get tapped if the people from New York decide to take a little revenge. We know he would take a bullet for Tony, but taking a bullet for Tony B. is something that he didn't count on among his soldier's duties.

To me, the big moment in this finale is the scene where Silvio confronts Tony about the problems the rest of the family has with Tony's actions. Silvio, the consiglieri, is not often called upon to do much work, but his contributions this season have been some of the best stuff all year. Not only did he do the dirty work with Adriana, he called Tony out about the hardship Tony B. brought upon his own family. After Phil Leotardo nearly beats young Benny Fazio to death trying to find out where Tony Blundetto is hiding, Tony realizes he has to take care of his problem.

In another classic whacking, Tony introduces his cousing to the business end of a 12 gauge. Tony sits there for a moment, realizing what he has done (and leaving us to watch the blood and brain matter seeping from Blundetto's head), knowing that Phil is not going to be happy having lost the pleasure of killing Tony B. himself. This death is also a huge moment in the relationship of Tony and Chrissy. Tony not only ended the controversy about his standing with Christopher, but he did the job himself. He also left the job of burying the body to Christopher, a job not handed out without implicit trust. And while we like to believe that Tony has come to his senses and sees that Christopher is worthy of his place in the family, we must never forget that Christopher holds the ultimate trump card with Tony - the knowledge of the true ending of Ralph Cifaretto.

After the mess with Tony B., the last thing left for Tony to do is to make up with Johnny Sack. Swallowing his pride, Tony makes some concessions to the New York family. Before we get the cherry on top, the FBI raids Johnny Sack's house and Tony must make a run for it. It turns out that there was another informant in the family besides Adriana, and he holds the keys to a long list of indictments for the folks in New York. I was quite happy seeing the asshat get what's coming to him. All year he has been consumed with consolidating his power, but neglected to take care of the important things and left himself exposed to prosecution. Those federal prison's can be cushy, but I doubt Johnny Sack is going to be able to take a conjugal visit with his Maserati.

Perhaps the worst thing about the end of the Sopranos is it means the reappearance of Six Feet Under (catchy blues commercials not withstanding). Until then, you can catch a whole lotta Edie Falco if you are in New York.

Posted by at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It's almost summertime and as the weather gets warmer, you can count on a number of things happening. The days are longer, the reality shows come in full force, and MTV throws awards shows that generate about as much interest as Air America. Always ones to take advantage of the latest hype in the United States, Lindsay Lohan hosts this year's awards, which were taped yesterday and will air on Thursday, June 10th. For those of you want to view all the gala and the glory of Culver City as if it were live, TVgasm will avoid spoilers of the winners, losers, bare asses, and lesbian kissers of this year's show. The one thing you can count on along with all the antics and celebrities faking their excitement at receiving a golden popcorn bucket is the frequency with which the MTV will repeat the show over the summer, so be like the TVgasm staff and tune into Game 3 of the NBA finals.

Posted by at 7:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Commence snarky comments now!

Posted by at 2:51 AM | Permalink

As witnessed by our flurry of recent posts, you can tell the employees at TVgasm are burning the midnight oil helping you find more and more ways to make creative use of your time during the day. TVgasm Hotties is a great success, and today we introduce a couple of new parts of our website.

TVgasm Awards will be a place to read updates and recaps on all of your favorite awards shows including the Oscars, Emmys, and Golden Globes. We will also feature guest columnists to comment on other awards shows including the Tonys, Grammys, and MTV VMAs. During the Oscars, Emmys and Golden Globes, TVgasm will bring you live updates from the red carpets to the afterparties.

TVgasm Sports will feature thoughts on different sporting events including the Superbowl and the Olympics. Most importantly, it will be a place to read impressions on Superbowl Commercials.

You can't stop us, you can only hope to contain us...

Posted by at 1:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Well, it's summertime. The days are longer, the weather is warmer (or the same in LA), and the television season has ended with a welcome purging of "Friends". And while there are many things to enjoy this time of year such as barbecues and pool parties, we must not forget to show the Tivo some love. After all, summer is the time when some of our favorite television franchises emerge from a yearlong hibernation. Plus, Fox has tickled us pink with a highly publicized new slate of shows that includes a nice potpourri of sitcoms, drama, and reality shows. So in convenient list form, here is the TVgasm Summer Mini-Preview:

What We're Excited to See

1. CBS Tuesdays: CBS sent a love letter to reality fans in the form of the one-two punch of Big Brother 5 and The Amazing Race 5. Both shows have reputations for being inaccessible, and to a newcomer, this can be true. But if you stick out a week of Big Brother or two episodes of Amazing Race, you'll be hooked. More than hooked. You'll be obsessed. Amazing Race won an Emmy for good reason: it's one of the most exciting shows on television. Big Brother is less tense but more fascinating as alliances build and crumble from show to show.

2. Reno 911! One of the funniest shows on television is back. Finally. If you missed the exploits of Dangle, Wiegel, and the rest of these keystone cops, do yourself a favor and catch one of the marathons this weekend on Comedy Central. New episodes begin this Wednesday at 10:30 pm.

3. North Shore: The OC void promises to be filled with this nighttime soap. We can only hope for more silliness and less pretentiousness. This could be the type of escapist fare that works perfectly in the summer, as long as it doesn't take itself too seriously. Former Dog-Eat-Dog hostesss Brooke Burns also looks like she may be the next Mischa Barton acting-wise. That's not a good thing, Brooke.

4. The Casino: Mark Burnett and Fox? Finally. Hopefully this new reality show will be the guilty pleasure The Restaurant never grew to be.

5. Fox Comedies: Fox has a grand tradition of launching unique, interesting comedies that last all of five episodes before cancellation (Andy Richter Controls the Universe, Cracking Up, Undeclared, The Tick, etc.). So based solely on that, I try to watch Fox sitcoms while I can. This summer's entries: Method & Red and Quintuplets. Hopefully they'll be good, in which case they'll probably get cancelled. Thanks, Middle America.

And The Rest...

What are you excited for this summer?

Posted by at 7:19 PM | Permalink

1 part Rocco's 22nd financial status lingering in the red, 2 parts DiSpirito's ever expanding waistline, a dash of generic New York Broll and overly dramatic killer track abuse, and top it all off with a little seemingly sublimenal Mitsibishi product placement that has become utterly oblivious and I think we have the perfect recipe for disaster.
>

Of course the recipe has a lot of optional items that will merely enhance the flavor which will tickle your tv tastebuds. Just imagine the possibilites...they are endless. You could throw in the extreme braggadiccio Jeffrey. And then there was the overzealous and cocky little intern, Drew. We love you for all the pric and humor you brought to the show but cmon...you are a raging testesterone
ball who probably wacked it to all the hottie waitresses, we can't take that seriously---thats why you were fired and to think you weren't even on the APPRENTICE but you added a nice spice to this dish and you are greatly missed. And we could always sprinkle in a little Carol if we had a craving for a bitchylicious style flare who seemingly has tons of experience in the business of efficiency and organization yet she can't really control the training session to save her life...hmmmm, interesting. How about we toss in a little bit o' the brit, Sarah who is seemingly the Martha Stewart of Rocco's. She made attempts to implement those glorious stripped buttondowns and was threatened by Rocco when she mentioned changing tthe flatware----security guards are doomed to be all over this little crumpet at any moment(stay tuned). And to top it off we could throw in the mixology masters, Matt and April who argued over how to run the bar in order to up the sceneness of Rocco's ....please note, if Rocco's ever becomes a scene we are all doomed to a life of shitty food, shitty drinks, shitty service and just plain chaos. Oh Mama Mia!

And the possiilities don't stop here folks. Why not try this recipe a little blackened, I don't know , we could start it on fire perhaps. It didn't necessarily work the first time but when in doubt try try again. And if it doesn't hit right on the mark may as well just bash it to pieces....Tony style. Or hell, why not toss in a little bit of the over emotional and dramatic employees who freely gab, rant, rave, cry, pout and whine about Rocco this and Rocco that...if I didn't know better I would think this bunch was a feuding PMSing immature highschool clique---wait, are they? And when all else fails add a cup or 2 of my personal favorite ingridient....a little MOLE named Laurent. Can we say creepy. This guy is so omnipotent its ridiculous, he's like the little French God overseeing Rocco's. But what does he really do other than spy and tattle tale you ask? Well who the hell knows...he's saucier than penne alla vodka and yet more luscious than the richest tiramisu....I love this daper little scruffy man.

The Trojans and the Spartans...I mean the Roccos and the Jeffreys continue to whip up a storyline as nasty as Rocco's new fangled pasta sauce and I think even Mama, the one saving grace of this horrid conncotion would agree with me in that fact ...its terrible. Needless to say our stomachs are grumbling as we await our next and final serving from the Restaurant. Come to think of it writing this has made me kinda hungry for some mama's meatballs....they are seemingly the best thing to come rolling outta Rocco's. Well, that and the fact that he broke off his engagement. Do you think he'll still go for a sweetie like me after this nasty little post???? Hmmmmm....a girl can dream.

CIAO BELLA!

Posted by at 3:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Just in time for the Tony Awards, we will have coverage on TVgasm.

Posted by at 2:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So the name of this seemingly amazing show was INFERNO but sadly there was no fire, no flames not even a little BIC flicker lighting up the screen during the reunion.

And what was up with the hoochie mama host...LALA. I mean really, whose name is LALA. Lil Kim wannabe tthat she was. I'd like to see her do a challenge or two. Now that would be exciting.

I hafta agree with the boys on this one the recap was crap...wortheless waste of 30 minutes.

And just to reiterate here is yet another word to sum it all up...sorry guys, sometimes the truth hurts.

FECKLESS:
Function: adjective

Text: 1 having no real worth or purpose

Synonyms fustian, good-for-nothing, meaningless, purposeless, unpurposed, useless, worthless

Related Word bootless, fruitless, futile, unavailing, vain; ineffective, ineffectual, inefficacious

No matter which word you describe this BS with. Bottom line is, it sucked!

Posted by at 2:26 PM | Permalink

So you may be thinking right now that all we do around here is watch trashy TV and then retreat to our computers to make some sniveling remarks. Not so. We do productive things like socialize in bars at night (or afternoon), read books, and even watch sports. And we're not the only sports fans who watch reality TV. Jon Warech, who writes for ESPN.com, has a funny piece about the reality stars we love, the ones we love to hate and the feuds that go down between them. And there's a little sports context to boot. Check it out here.

We're not just some reality TV outfit though. We care about scripted programming, and so does ESPN's Bill Simmons who took a break from the NBA playoffs to comment on The OC and The Friends finale. Check his article out here.

Posted by at 5:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The TVgasm team is proud to bring all of our great readers a new feature. TVgasm Hotties. Now you can waste time at the office by voting for your favorite hotties from various television outlets including 24, The OC, Real World, Road Rules, Survivor, Big Brother, and wherever else we can find them. Tell your friends! Vote multiple times!

The staff will be adding names periodically and if you feel there is somebody we have forgotten send us a suggestion. We will plan to add some features in the future (depending on how quickly we learn PHP).

Posted by at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Princess Peach she was not, but Frankie was still a princess of sorts. Clamoring for attention, relishing in sadness, boasting her flaws, and parading fishnets like she were the first gal ever to introduce them to national television, Frankie has been the sourpuss of Real World: San Diego this season. And thankfully for the roommates, let alone the viewers, she finally took her show on the road, heading back to that Mecca of punk rock culture: Kansas City, Missouri. Yes, apparently Frankie was just too hardcore for Southern California. I mean, what does Southern California think it is? The breeding ground for punk culture? Hello Kitty, goodbye SoCal.

Frankie's departure clearly sent shockwaves through the household. This was evidenced by the roommates draping themselves across beanbags and sofas, putting forth an enjoyable faux-sympathy act. Jamie seemed to register some emotion about Frankie's quandary, but that may have been her mentally ironing out her latest dilemma: "If You Wear Short Shorts In A Forest and No One Is There To See You, Are They Still Shorts?"

Meanwhile, the roommates never indicated that they would want Frankie to stay, and Robin's breasts decidedly pointed left and right, as if to indicate the nearest exits. MTV producer Kevin Lee also seemed more than happy to show Frankie the door. I don't remember much of what he said because I was trying so hard to nail down that odd accent. Turns out the only person who didn't want Frankie to leave was her own mother, who turned her nose up at having to drive her daughter directly from the airport to "The Catacombs" where boyfriend Dave would be playing. Apparently, Mama Frankie wants her kid to learn and grow from the Real World experience and not sacrifice it for some beanpole with a mohawk. Frankie insisted that no no no, she's doing it for herself and her own happiness. Then she checked Expedia if there were any direct flights from San Diego to the front row of Dave's concert.

To prove that she was making the right choice, Frankie quoted The Wizard of Oz by saying some mumbo jumbo about how if you never realize that happiness is in your own backyard, you'll never find it. Therefore, she's flying back to Kansas to find happiness literally in her backyard. Paging Harold Bloom. Can we get this girl a crash course in literary criticism? It's called a metaphor, Frankie. The whole point of the saying is that you have to find happiness in whatever situation you happen to be thrown into. Leaving San Diego to find happiness is actually the exact opposite of what she should be doing. And we'll see if casa de Frankie and Dave is still paradise after he sees the footage of her drunkenly trying to make out with any living thing in the house. Of course, Frankie will have a convenient excuse for her inevitable depression: "everything was fine until I went off to that stupid MTV house and now nothing is the same. I thought it would be happiness, but it wasn't." Always an excuse.

Luckily, Frankie has two self-professed talents: being sad and always running from things. Unfortunately, logic does not round out that skill set because it doesn't take much to realize that maybe Frankie's sadness might have to something to do with running from all her problems. But enough about the inner-workings of Frankie. She's a nutjob. End of story.

At the airport, Robin gave her that most sincere of send offs: the one armed limp hug. Frankie, who hopefully was flying Renaissance Air, was decked out in an awkward Juliette costume to greet Dave. He said his Halloween costume was Romeo, but let's hope he wasn't referring to Lil Romeo. That could be uncomfortable.

Chuckles McSmileypants - aka Jacquese - was the only cast member to display any sign of sincere grief about Frankie's departure. Apparently, they had many heart-to-hearts, but I'll take his word for it because the cameras were clearly off filming Randy's latest drunken hookup instead. Ja stuffed his face with sunflower seeds and grumbled about something. I guess the poor guy's allowed to have a bad day here and there.

Without Frankie around, the roommates got back to the important things: dressing up for Halloween and getting drunk. Brad and Randy pulled off a nifty Mario & Luigi costume (I don't think the plumbers wore trucker hats cocked to the side though), Robin donned a Marilyn Monroe frock, Cameran dressed as a gangsta girl (although she looked more like a Melissa Etheridge fan, if you catch my drift), Ja went as himself (Frankie took his Juliette costume, I think), and Jamie proved that there is a land beyond short shorts: the leafy Eve costume. With a few strategically placed pasties and a verdant thong, Jamie did what few Bunim/Murray women can do: wear a completely scandalous outfit and still look cute and innocent the whole time. God bless her.

The group came to realize that life was actually better without Frankie, and sensing that the shackles of her negativity had been broken, the ex-roomie called up to relay how happy she now is. Cameran, who looked positively bored on the phone, nodded politely as Frankie condescendingly noted that she was just too punk rock to fit in at the house. Yes, too punk rock with that edgy midwestern accent that makes me think the next thing she'll say is "Hey Dottie, couldya pass the TV Guide? I think Vanna White is gonna be on 'Yes, Dear' tonight." I mean, if she's going to be a punk poseur, she might as well go all the way and adopt a fake British accent. But chances are she's never heard of minor punk influences such as the Sex Pistols and The Clash.

After she finally wrapped up her conversation with Frankie, Cameran quickly retreated to the porch for an old fashioned gabfest with Robin and Brad. Cammy may be the youngest in the house, but she proved to be wise beyond her years when she predicted that Frankie was acting chipper so that everyone would think she had made the right decision. Cameran accused Frankie (behind her back, natch) of manipulating the situation completely. And just before the closing credits rolled, Cameran delivered one of the more salient assessments of a Real World drama ever when she inferred that coming into the Real World household, Frankie expected resistance to her punk lifestyle but instead found acceptance; so she had to manufacture the drama herself. Here here Cameran. Somebody give this girl a drink!

Things should be fun next week when the Real World takes a page from the 5th Wheel and dangles a new roommate in front of us to hopefully screw everything up. Here's to hoping he or she is cooler than those midseason Road Rulers of late. I'm looking at you, Tina.

Posted by at 9:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We here at the TVgasm offices have but one goal - to convince everybody that they should watch good TV. However, if we have a second goal, it is we always aim to please our readers. Looking at the server logs, it seems that a bunch of you have found your way here to TVgasm by way of various search engines. And a lot of you people with search engines are looking to find pictures of Coral Smith from MTV Real World: Back to New York and subsequent Real World/Road Rules Challenges. A good portion of your Coral searches are looking for a better glimpse at a certain part of Coral's anatomy that is particularly well endowed. We here at the TVgasm offices are always thankful of our readers and hope everybody that came here looking for "coral, breasts, boobs, uncensored, real, tits, and all things similar take a little time to check out the rest of our site.

For those of you who aren't lazy, you can find these promo photos on MTV's RW/RR Gauntlet and MTV's RW/RR Inferno pages and a Los Angeles PR Firm. Enjoy.

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We recently were given a nice 60% boost in bandwidth and webspace by Dreamhost, the official TVgasm hosting service. Since we have this extra bandwidth, we aren't even asking for bandwidth donations, although if you love us that much and want to see more special features in the future, you are welcome to do so.

Posted by at 8:48 PM | Permalink