Posts tagged Private Practice
Posts tagged Private Practice
Because I can’t have any love affairs in my parent-infested house, pop culture fills my lustful voids. The pop culture love triangle that consists of me, the TiVo and my computer is a complicated one in which my loyalties are often fickle. Just when the pop-c world does me so right, buttering me up with lineups like “Breaking Bad,” “Mad Men,” “Modern Family” and my guiltiest of pleasures, “New Girl,” it turns around and Chris Browns me in the face with all its brainless smut….So when I say pop culture and I have a love affair, let’s leave it at friends-with-benefits, the ‘benefits’ being the quality TV, film and music products that, remarkably, are still out there amidst the skewers of Kardashian butt meat.
From what you’ve gathered about me thus far, it’s probably clear that I’m not the type who died over the “Grey’s Anatomy” musical episode or watches every season of “The Real Housewives.” I enjoy good things, with the very rare shitty thing thrown in there. I watch “The Bachelor” only to cruelly make fun of people whose lives are significantly more depressing than mine and to see Chris Harrison flex his pecs as he pops out of nowhere to gesture to the final rose. Unlike the rest of the world, I’m not exactly disturbed by Snooki’s pregnancy, because while I hope her offspring isn’t born with five limbs or BAIDS (Baby-AIDS), I do hope its birth leads to the cancellation of “Jersey Shore.” I said it.
I can’t, however, understand my mother’s taste in television, and the fact that I’m somehow forced to endure a week-long lineup of shitty shows (Perhaps there are minute traces of crushed Rohypnol in my dinner). Her taste is truly inexplicable, in that she’ll swoop in and change “It’s Always Sunny” and “The Colbert Report” to the local news if I don’t have my head on a swivel. Allow me to walk you through the pop-torture.
Because this show just premiered, my mom hasn’t successfully conned me into watching it yet. I’ve been down this road before when I was 15 with Desperate Housewives—I will not do it again with a show about an Elf-woman with a southern twang that deals out a deluge of religious innuendos mixed with boob jokes. I’d rather let Rooney Mara give me bangs.
Monday: The Voice, Smash, The Bachelor
This night is a train wreck. So many crying and singing girls in one sitting, and way too much of Christina’s bloated face and ten-inch cleavage on the screen threatening to swallow Adam Levine’s tiny, douchey pea-head. “The Bachelor” provides moments of abundantly necessary comic relief, but it doesn’t outweigh the discomfort of trying to detach Carson Daly from “TRL” while watching a singing show judged by Jabba-the-Hut in sunglasses.
Tuesday: Glee, Dancing With The Stars (Starts soon, joyous)
As a music lover, there’s nothing I love to do more than watch Lea Michele’s horse mouth (Maybe this is why she’s so sensitive about horse-drawn carriages in NYC) cover great songs in hyperbolic musical theater style, or hear them performed by a wedding band as knock-kneed, washed-up celebrities stumble around trying to revive their careers and trick their partners to fall in love with them.
It appears that this is a real commercial. But I digress.
Wednesday: American Idol
More competitive amateur singing and teeth-grindingly unbearable celebrity judges! A night when there is actually some quality TV on, and I’m stuck listening to Jennifer Lopez quack about being from the block and other “singing” nonsense while Steven Tyler tries to maintain lucidity and keep from getting a juvenile-activated erection. Then suffer through eight Jennifer Lopez Kohl’s commercials. Definitely preferable to “Modern Family.” Absolutely.
Thursday: Grey’s Anatomy, Private Practice
Just when you think the week is almost over, you have to watch the same hour of nonsensical medi-drama twice in a row. Every time I visit a hospital, I try to lurk the doctors’ conversations and read their body language to pick up on any cues about intern squabbles, PTSD from ambulance explosions, or patient-doctor love affairs; no such findings thus far. I find the McDreamy-McSteamy-McPunchme shtick as clever as a Kathy Griffin stand-up routine, and can’t wait for the storyline that kills off Meredith once and for all. Whiny bitch.
Friday: Roomies sleeping on the couch.
Saturday: Roomies sleeping on the couch.
This lineup is painful, but it could obviously be worse, riddled with E!-fueled Kardashian Kock-slaps all week, or shows like “Whitney”; I’ve tried to obscure these really intellectually-offensive ones from my mom’s radar, because I truly think I’d rather have a slumber party with Tyra Banks than have her find out about them and add them to her weekly regimen. For now, I guess reality competition shows and lots of singing are the way to go.