Pilot Season (week 2)

This is ostensibly the week when the networks pull out the "big guns." Prepare to be underwhelmed.


Journeyman









The premise for this show seems a bit confusing, so let's see if we can sum up what's going on. As far as I can tell the main character is the victim of some sort of bizarre cosmic prank, wherein he is sporadically flung back and forth through time and forced to listen to otherwise forgettable pop music of the era while trying to piece together a mystery that will allow him to do some sort of good deed (sort of like Quantum Leap without the sexual ambiguity). At one point his family and friends try to give him an intervention because they believe his sporadic absences and disheveled appearance is the result of a substance abuse problem (as any sane person would), and I half-expect Jesus to show up with a camera crew and inform him that he just got punk'd. Sadly, this does not happen.


Big Bang Theory










It's important for television executives to understand that geeks and nerds are not inherently likable or sympathetic characters. In the hands of a Josh Schwartz or Judd Apatow, they might be made to seem endearing or even kind of cool. Unfortunately, in the hands of Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady (who were previously responsible for two of the greatest atrocities perpetrated on primetime network TV) we're left with two characters that make even the nerdiest among us want to give them pink belly while hanging them from the flagpole by their underwear and stealing their lunch money.


Chuck











Hey, speaking of Josh Schwartz, he's got a second show out this season (which thankfully is nothing like the first). Much like Journeyman, the actual story here is just shy of coherent. Following in the vein of Hitchcock's Man Who Knew Too Much (though probably closer to Bill Murray's Man Who Knew Too Little) Chuck is a geeky slacker that works in the tech support department at a faux-Best Buy, and his old roommate from college (working as a spy) managed to steal all the data from some computer that has all of the nation's secrets just before getting killed and e-mailing all of this to Chuck. Through some kind of file encoding system that uses glitchy Tony Scott-style montages to transmit data directly to the user's brain, Chuck manages to get all of this in his head. When the government figures figures this out, the NSA and CIA, who are feuding/working together (?), send their most capable/emotionally vulnerable (?) female secret agent to capture/kill/enlist (?) him. If you can get past the ridiculous premise (which is something akin trying to convince yourself that Maggie Gyllenhaal is hot) it's actually kind of entertaining. Oh, and it has the guy from Candyman in it, which is a plus.


Bionic Woman










With a combination of hack writing, b-movie special effects, and a premise that seemed hokey in 1976, this is pretty much like a perfect storm of awful television. Not to mention the fact that all the actors sound like they're rehearsing for a second-rate community theater (with the exception of Miguel Ferrer, who should know better). I was considering writing a joke about Shazam! until I realized that the movie remake is already in the works, and God hates me.


DirtySexyMoney










While this show is actually halfway watchable, I've decided to boycott it for it's unspeakably awkward title, a fact that I will illustrate with the following hypothetical exchange:

"Hey, did you watch DirtySexyMoney last night."
"Yeah, I really liked Peter Krause is Six Feet Under, but he's way better in DirtySexyMoney."
"Totally. I mean, I never knew Billy Baldwin could act, but he's so awesome in DirtySexyMoney."
"Dude, can I borrow your TLC CD?"


Big Shots










Chalk up another show about rich people on the East Coast, and hand over some more licensing royalties to Peter, Bjorn, and John. The title of this show is apparently supposed to have some double-meaning involving golf swings, but aside from the obligatory montages of the lead actors playing the game I'm at a loss for what. As far as I can tell, it's pretty much just Entourage with corporate CEOs, which would be an interesting premise were it not for the fact that corporate CEOs are actually some of the least interesting people on the planet. Also, it's probably a bad sign that Christopher Titus plays the only character that's even halfway plausible as the head of a company.


Cane













In much the same way The Sopranos shows that guido Italians from North Jersey can be intelligent and emotionally complex, Cane shows that hard-assed Cuban immigrants can be boring and lame.


Reaper










I don't know why TV execs need to give shows titles that don't match their premise in the slightest (FYI, the show Moonlight is actually about Vampires, not Werewolves), because I had a joke all prepared about how Family Guy as well as the nascent Showtime series Dead Like Me had already used the premise of a schlub that has to take on the grim reaper's job and face the existential quandaries of life and death, and then I watch the show and it's pretty much just an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer directed by Kevin Smith. But aside from it's horribly misleading title, this is actually kind of an entertaining show. I am a little depressed by the fact that working retail at some nameless big-box store is the closest thing to a unifying American experience for people of my generation, but I guess TV writers can only write so many shows about dysfunctional rich people.

Pilot Season (Week 1)

Thanks to the miracle of DVR and some sort of masochistic need for pop cultural inclusion I've taken it upon myself to watch as many network pilots as I can before they all get canceled to make way for this seasons new crop of talent search programs. These are the unfortunate results. . .


Kid Nation









I'm not sure how, but CBS has somehow managed to take elements of Children of the Corn, Lord of the Flies, and the Zimbardo Prison Experiment and turn it into one of the lamest shows on TV. I could not be more disappointed in this show. And more than anything, I just feel embarrassed for these children. I mean, the ability for consenting adults to make complete asses of themselves on national television is well within our rights as American citizens, but the girl dancing for nickels to buy a bicycle has to qualify as a human rights violation under some UN treaty. I did, however, appreciate that the show proves, once and for all, that children are every bit as dumb and gullible as they're given credit for (oh, take that, J.K. Rowling).


K*Ville










Remember episode of the Simpsons where they have the mock spinoff where Chief Wiggum becomes a P.I. in an absurdly characaturized version of New Orleans. This is pretty much the same show, only with a slightly less plausible story and more shaky, hand-held camera-work. As far as I can tell from this show, the only affect that the hurricane had on the people of New Orleans (oh, sorry - N'awlins) is that they now have to drink bourbon, eat gumbo, listen to jazz, and practice voodoo in slightly more run-down buildings. Seriously, it's as though a TV writer from LA walked into a Popeye's after watching something about Katrina on CNN and decided to make a show based on his experiences (and yes, that is the guy from Kangaroo Jack).


Gossip Girl











Snobby rich kids that attend elite prep schools and get straight-A's while doing nothing but shopping and going to parties. Check. Twentysomething actors playing high school-aged characters that drink, smoke, and have sex like people in their twenties. Check. And of course, it wouldn't be a Josh Schwartz show without the hottest indie music of eight months ago providing the soundtrack. But lest you think this is just the OC set in the Upper East Side, they've decided to give it a hip/edgy/cloying twist and use an anonymous gossip blogger (disappointingly voiced by Kristen Bell) as a narrator and plot crutch. I should probably appreciate that they're trying to make blogging hip, though the way they portray it is a little more like some oBnoXioUS TwELve-yEAr-olD-gIrL's mYSpAcE PagE than it is Wonkette, not to mention the less-than subtle "big brother" overtone to the whole show. The only halfway compelling character is the poor-man's-Joaquin-Phoenix date-rapist, who's brief speech on entitlement is both the most honest thing I've ever heard in a teen soap opera and the best reason I can think of to not watch this show.


Back To You













I'm not sure if I'm suffering from some form of premature dementia or if my standards have just been lowered by years of substandard CBS sitcoms, but I actually found this show funny. Don't get me wrong, everything about it is completely formulaic and predictable, but the jokes are generally pretty clever and sort of risque (even for an NBC show). It's no Newsradio, but it's about as good as we're gonna get without bringing Phil Hartman back from the grave. So, until science develops such technology, I guess I'll have to settle for it.

Karaoke a Go-Go

This past Saturday, while bar-crawling the nonstop frat party that that is the Upper East Side, I managed to stumble into what looked something like a biker dive bar, but for some reason was doing karaoke (which is bizarre for several reasons, not least of which is the fact that karaoke never seems to take place on nights that people would otherwise want to be at a bar). But after seeing too many people try and fail with a machine that's designed to make even the most inept singers into pop stars, I've decided to write this helpful guide to maximize your karaoke experience (grouped by appropriate stereotype).

The MC
Aspires to be. . . Carson Daly.
Your coolness level probably ranks somewhere between a second-rate club DJ and a bad Jethro Tull tribute band. You should probably at least pretend like you're excited to be there just so I won't feel like a complete loser for enjoying myself, but the less exposition you give, the better. And remember that just because you can sing better than anyone else in the bar doesn't mean anyone actually wants to hear you. You're allowed to sing something to kick off the night and maybe if there's nobody else in the bar who wants to sing, but remember that the only thing more pathetic than somebody who thinks that singing into a suped-up VCR at a sparsely populated sports bar on a Tuesday night makes them a rock star is someone who denies them that joy for the sake of petty one-upsmanship. In fact, pretty much your only job is to make sure that the douchebag who sings all Dave Matthews b-sides isn't allowed to go up more than once.
Suggested singing. . . nothing, if you can avoid it.
Avoid. . . anything downbeat.

The Noob
Aspires to be. . . Bill Murray/Scarlett Johanson in Lost In Translation.
After spending most of the night mocking nearly everyone else who's gone up, you've finally achieved the necessary blood-alcohol level to come to the conclusion that you can do better. However, once you actually get the mic in your hand, you realize that there are at least two verses of this song that you're pretty sure you've never heard before in your life. Remember, just because you've heard the song a million times doesn't mean you actually know the lyrics, and don't assume that the monitor is gonna help you out.
Suggested singing. . . Billy Joel.
Avoid. . . Foreigner (seriously, that shit is hard - look up the lyrics to "Hot Blooded" if you don't believe me).

The Venerated Barfly
Aspires to be. . . Dean Martin.
You're probably the only person in the bar that would still be there on a Monday night even if they weren't having karaoke, so somehow you feel like it's your duty as a regular to at least go up and sing one song, and that song might be the same one you sang last week, but nobody seems to care.
Suggested singing. . . Frank Sinatra.
Avoid. . . anything recorded in the last 30 years.

Fat Middle-Aged Man In Hawaiian Shirt
Aspires to be. . . Neil Diamond
Your encyclopedic knowledge of pop lyrics along with a blissful lack of self awareness make you pretty much the ideal karaoke singer, and your unwavering conviction gives you a Meatloaf-esque charm that will overcome any and all shortcomings of your actual singing. Just don't hold back.
Suggested Singing. . . Huey Lewis.
Avoid. . . understatement.

Single White Female
Aspires to be. . . Kelly Clarkson
Like all things in life, karaoke poses an unfair double-standard to women - but really, you girls bring it on yourself. Those that do have genuine vocal talent seem to think I should be impressed by your pitch-perfect rendition of some obscure country ballad that bores me to tears and only serves to remind me of just how sad and pathetic this whole scene really is, and those of you who can't sing seem intent on subjecting the rest of us to your butchering of the shrillest, most high-pitched pop hits of the 80s. Just remember that there are other people in the bar besides that obnoxious little hen party you call your friends.
Suggested singing. . . something by a gay white man.
Avoid. . . anything I haven't heard of.

Black Guy
Aspires to be. . . R. Kelly minus the sexual indiscretion.
Unfortunately I've spent my life watching talented white pop singers getting shamefully upstaged by even more talented black pop singers, so my expectations are perhaps a bit unreasonable, but anything short greatness will be scoffed at. Lest you think this is unfair, just remember that you have the advantage of being able to show off your vocal abilities without anybody assuming you're gay, so why not take advantage of it.
Suggested singing. . . Lionel Richie.
Avoid. . . Marvin Gaye (some of us have girlfriends we'd like to keep)

Black Girl
Aspires to be. . . Lauren Hill
Since the expectations for your performance are pretty much impossibly high, you should probably sit down unless you can sing on par with Patti Labelle (or, at the very least, Chaka Khan). Though, if you can pull it off, there's nothing more I'd rather see than all the annoying white girls in the bar get owned.
Suggested Singing. . . Whitney Houston.
Avoid. . . being too smug about it.