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 B-Side 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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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 B-Side 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 B-Side 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

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(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.

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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.

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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

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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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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

It looks like Frankie might like MJ, but MJ sort of likes Jason, but since he loves Nicole (who loves her fiance), MJ has set her eyes on Chris, or at least she did until Detroit Tessa showed up and told her not to. But it turns out that Tessa might like Jason too, which could piss off Nicole and MJ. Oh, and a psycho guy loves Tessa, but she keeps him at bay by shoving broken bottles in his face. So that leaves us with some sort of love buckyball. The only people left out of this mess are Vincent and Gabriel. Eh, whatever. As long as everyone keeps walking in on each other and there's a lot of "Wait, it's not what it looks like", I'll be happy.

The Love Rhombus House

As improbable as it may seem, turns out that MJ, Frankie, and Jason all live together. Normally, I'd think this inverted Three's Company scenario would result in romantic chaos, especially if Tessa or Chris visit, but I'm willing to bet this is a mellow, High Times household. Don't think these guys are the ganja type? Well maybe you should pay more attention to Frankie who laughs at any stupid joke, wears dreads, and spends all his free time eating ice cream. Plus the fact that prior to last week he never knew about Nicole despite her artifacts cluttering up the entire house suggests this stoner's been toking up way too much.

The Brooke Burns Masterclass

Last week, Brooke Burns introduced America to her uniquely wooden acting style, which featured a droopy lip as the cornerstone of her emotional display. Tonight's episode featured more range from Brooke with grins and smiles popping up with occasional ease, and I'm sure she'll loosen up in future installments. But I sort of like our Pinnochio girl and her vacant stares. She adds the element of awkwardness that trailblazer Mischa Barton proved was essential to any nighttime soap's success.

The Impending Deaths on Gabriel's Watch

It hasn't happened yet, but someone is going to drown at the resort one of these days, and I can't wait. Gabriel has proven to be one of the more inattentive lifeguards since B.J. Cummings graced the sands of Son Of The Beach. When he's not embroiled with the dramas of various 15 year olds, he's chilling at the bar with Frankie. Yeah, I know we see him from time to time in the lifeguard chair (usually he lurks there in the background of MJ's closeups), but I still have yet to believe he has any life-saving abilities. I gleefully look forward to the day when he has to save some girl from a riptide, or better yet, a shark. Maybe it will be Nicole, and maybe she'll fall in love with her savior, bringing Gabriel into the love polygon at long last.

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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 B-Side 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 J-Unit 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 ol