August 18, 2003
The Restaurant's Blogs
For Natalie... because she likes this sort of thing.
I watched The Restaurant again last night and it was good, but then I poked around online and found something even better. The absolute best part of reality televsion is the growing crop of post-episode explanatory blog posts from participants eager to tell us just how much damage to reality an editor can do. The more asinine the participant looks on televsion, the more lengthy their explanations of their own actions tend to be.
Take, for example, Gideon Horowitz. By his own frequent admission, Gideon trolls the Web assimilating viewer reactions to each episode of The Restaurant. After he has determined the post-episode Gideon-zeitgeist, he then posts a public retort in his blog. If there's any non-Restaurant banter going on in his posts, it's impossible to hear above the plaintive cries of, "I really did break my elbow!" that pervade the site. What Gideon seems to miss is that most intelligent viewers didn't doubt that he broke his elbow -- we just thought he acted like a great big weenie about it. That's the trouble with hiring actors and comedians as waitstaff -- every minor event takes on the production value of a Rogers & Hammerstein extravaganza. Waifs in pink tulle sob by Gideon's side as he lies mangled in a pool of Coors Light.
And I have to admit, I was a little irked by this particular gem on Gideon's site:
I could be married and have kids and live a peaceful life, but I choose NYC.
This sentence makes me want to cry for all of its narcisisstic ignorance. I don't know a single married person with kids who would venture to describe their daily existence as a "peaceful life" while not under the influence of strong hallucinogenic drugs.
In SAT terms:
Acting in NYC is to being married with kids as visiting a bee farm is to being attacked by a swarm of killer bees.
(It's on the test, remember it.)
You might get stung either way, but at the bee farm you can walk away. You have a choice. Those kids-- er, killer bees don't back off willingly.
I'm not heading down the path of this mommy-whine: "How dare you dismiss my hard work as a mother as easy" but instead I'm saying, "how naive of you to suppose that you've forsaken some kind of wedded Nirvana in order to travel the hard road". In case you hadn't noticed, it's exceedingly easy to be selfish. It's easy to pursue your dream unencumbered by a vow to one person and parental responsibility to others. Does Gideon have to skip open mic night when there's no babysitter available? Or give up a paying gig because clashes with a spouses work schedule? I give Gideon no cred. I give cred to people who manage to pursue their talents in the face of obstacles. Gideon's only obstacle is his blinding self-importance.
And on we move to Miss Lola Belle, the bartender. Miss Lola is one of the Net Bitches and you know the type I mean. The online chicks who spend inordinate amounts of time and text letting you know exactly how horribly awful they are. They wear cruelty like an entry badge to the Convention of Meaness and Miss Lola's badge apparently only comes in several unreadable neon colors (I plan to teach a class this fall called, "Web Design 101 for Reality Televsionistas").
Lola "smootches and shimmies" her way through a handful of insubstantive posts that flit through your fingers like sand. The site is supposedly a spot to "defend or clarify" her on-screen actions, but exactly what is Lola defending? Why the boss gave her a Vespa? Shouldn't the boss field that one? Between Restaurant-focused blather that merely reiterates what we saw on television, Lola touts her "formidible[sic] five knuckle shuffle" and ability to "punch dumb boys in the face." Charming -- have a convention badge, dear.
But to fully experience the woman that is Lola, you must read and appreicate her Punk Rock Haikus. No, I'm not going to print them here. I don't want my site popping to the top of the Google results when someone searches for "heinously craptastic poetry." Or at least, I want it to float to the top because of my own heinously craptastic poetry, not Lola's.
And before I forget, last night's episode had a high cringe factor due to those stiff-as-a-board unnatural voice-overs, one of which was another (stop-beating-me-over-the-head-and-shoot-me-please) reference to how a line of credit from American Express' Open: The Small Business Network would save the day. Congratulations, AMEX, you've managed to alienate the entire demographic of intelligent and media savvy small business owners. But you will get all of the dense morons who aren't compltely revolted by your blatant product pimping. Here's to capturing the successful 10%!
An afterthought (because Pete doesn't have an actual blog we can poke fun at):
Who would have thought that a joke that begins, "You know one good thing about terrorist bombings..." in New York City would have been booed? Maybe next time Pete can wow the crowd with some SARS humor or a dead baby in a jar. At least poor Pete learned that even mock outrage can be a pretty potent thing.