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June 09, 2003
I. Came. To. Write.
This cat I know Jasmine, also a fan of Botan Rice Candy, said I should use the Real World section of my site to talk about other reality TV shows. Good idea. Now, keep in mind, this is just my opinion. And yes, I’m cognizant of the fact that I just may see the very people I’m talking about somewhere some time at some event and who knows? I saw this boy who someone said is a boy from The Real Cancun movie at a party, and after a few drinks I sang part of that Nelly Hot in Herre song all up in his face, "I can't leave Cancun..." and I'm sure it was obnoxious and terrible, but it wasn't really me talking.
Is this how it’s going to be? I’m trying to understand why Ruben Studdard is nowhere to be found? When Kelly Clarkson won, I couldn’t open my medicine cabinet without seeing her head bobbing around talking about “oh I can’t believe it’s happening to me…” Yeah, me neither, I’m just looking for an aspirin, lady. So, I ask again, where is Ruben?
I still see Kelly Clarkson more than I see Ruben. I have to be honest. I will go see that movie From Justin to Kelly. I hope they play it at the mall. I get in free to the movies at the mall. Are we supposed to believe that Justin and Kelly just met though? And are they going to French kiss because I need to mentally prepare for all of that. Justin nearly snapped his neck off in one of those choreographed dances. His hair billowed way high in the air after he popped his little torso back and forth. I need to see that movie today. I want it right now. Gross. What if they had a From Clay to Ruben?
Now, let’s talk about this Junior Idols. I don’t think I will be watching that one. Not because I don’t think it will be entertaining, but because you can’t make fun of children without going to hell. I don’t even think I can say what I just said even! You can’t say anything, unless you’re Bernie Mac. You can’t really even think anything remotely negative. They are children, after all. I like children. I do. I just don’t know how many times I can watch an itchy old Easter dress that’s attached to size 12 feet prance across my screen talking about “I can’t liiiiivvvvvvvve, yeah, if living is without you!” Seriously, a child singing grown-up songs makes me a little uncomfortable. What do they know about adultery and heartbreak? You’re 7. Shouldn’t you be collecting stickers, pretending to brush your teeth before bed or something? I can’t front though. I used to sing Keith Washington songs, jazzy little songs about making love all night. “Do it for me, and I’ll do it for you honey…” Man, being 9 was such a terribly awkward time. My feet felt so big, and my teeth were just knocking and pushing and pulling this way and that. And you want me to sing now? I have to be honest though. Every day after school, in the third grade, I came home and sang Whitney Houston’s Greatest Love of All while standing on the coffee table that I was supposed to be polishing – those wretched after-school chores. When I told my dad I wanted to be on Star Search and have a pink fluffy dress with skinny straps, he told me to sit down and read a book. I would suck my teeth, and mumble, “You just wait…” and then I wrote all about my skills in my Cabbage Patch Kid journal that didn’t really lock, but I took the time to “lock” it every night anyway. Years and years later, I would go to school for journalism (but sing my head off on the commute).
For the children, you have to applaud and the judges will give everybody 5 stars and say that they “should keep reaching for the stars…” and all that PC mess even though on some level, especially for the kids who look totally robotic and terrified, you’re freaked out by the parents and wonder if the child even wants to be there. America would hit rock bottom if a judge made fun of a child. I don’t think they’d allow that on TV. Then again, we don’t think it’s crass to have bikini waxes on television. And we make those Fame people sing “I Came to Work” like it’s okay, so whatever. My name is Melissa coming to you from Tampa and I drink Fanta and I. Came. To. Work. Insert fancy footwork.
Oh Fame. Did that guy wear UPS pants and a sheep herder Balki Bartokomous shirt as his outfit last week? Oh, I miss Cousin Larry. Also, um, is this or is this not Fame? I need some outfit changes. You can’t wear the same outfit you wore on your solo on the group effort. And you’re not fooling me. I know that you just only changed your pants or only changed your ponytail. Is this a dancing show or what? I think I’ve even seen outfit changes on Soul Train. Ooh, I love Soul Train. I especially love that Asian lady whose hair is entirely too long. When she whips it around and they pan down to her stripper shoes and she lip syncs a Snoop Dogg song, I just want to spread joy and feed some hungry children that aren’t prancing about on stage singing Luther Vandross songs. Is he out of that coma yet? Bless his heart.
Posted by melissah at June 9, 2003 12:10 AM