Tag Entertainment

Decisions, Decisions – and not the easy political kind

Michael Leave a comment

We’re in a quandary.  A friend, a local entertainer, an incredible talent, a vocalist who accompanies himself on the acoustic guitar played his first gig and a nearby lounge a little while ago.  He typically has played in venues that although aren’t far away, are far away enough that you check your gas gauge before you leave home for the evening. So we were quite thrilled when he wrote and told us he’d be no more than 3 miles from He of We’s driveway.

And drive away we did.  We had been to the venue twice before.  Once for a Sunday brunch they no longer do (which was very good), and once for dinner (which was beyond their capabilities).  In neither case was the service anything even approaching average.  It had been at least a year since we had been there so we were anxious to see what changes they had made.

They hadn’t.  But the evening was not a loss.  The food was bad, the service worse, but the entertainment was as first rate as we had anticipated.  We even introduced He of We’s daughter to the acoustic troubadour expanding his influence into the next generation.  The crowd was into his performance and applauded each offering (yes, we’ll say it) wildly.  But the food was so bad.  And the service was so worse.

What we will do if the restaurant brings him back on a regular basis? We don’t want to hurt his feelings not showing up when it’s not even a 15 minute drive, including lights, when we’ve driven over an hour to hear him.  But we don’t want to risk gastro-intestinal distress, possibly irreparable damage, if we have to subject ourselves to their idea of cooking once a month.  We can’t even feign enjoyment and pick our way through the one or two items nobody can screw up because those were the ones they ran out of early in the evening.  Even if they didn’t, we still have to subject ourselves to the worst service we’d seen since the Sixth Grade Washington DC Field Trip Spaghetti Dinner Fundraiser.

We suppose we’re going to have to arrange to be out of town whenever he plays there (“Oh, we wish we knew you were there this week.  We had these airline vouchers we had to use before Monday and thought this would be a good time to see Guam.”), or car trouble (“What bad luck, we were on our way when of all things we couldn’t get the hood to go down.  We thought we could have backed all the way there but the nice police officer didn’t.”), or illness (“Hack hack cough cough sneeze wheeze sneeze.  We’ll make it.  We missed your last 7 sets there.  Well, if you really think you really don’t mind”). 

We don’t know.  Maybe gastrointestinal distress once a month might be good for us.  

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Hell’s Chopped Kitchen Star

Michael Leave a comment

“I learned how to cook at my grandmother’s house who took us in after Mom and Pop died in the car wreck when the telephone pole fell on the car that first smashed them, then electrocuted them.  Grandma went to the community college to learn English so she could raise me and my 14 sisters and one brother who wore dresses a lot but could make the fluffiest soufflé.  And if I win today’s competition I’m going to take the $300,000 prize and buy her the stove she’s always wanted assuming I can still find a 1965 Amana and let her teach my children all that she taught me.  Even the autistic ones.”

We’ve been watching a lot of cooking competition shows lately.  But not the cupcake people.  We hate the cupcake people.  What they do to cupcakes you shouldn’t be allowed to put on TV.  Anyway, we’ve been watching a lot of cooking competitions and swearing off as many as we watch.  Why?  Because the competitions are becoming less of a challenge among those who can cook as they are now a contest of who has the bigger sob story.

We’ve always liked the Food Network show Chopped.  The premise of real chefs being dealt real but unusual ingredients fascinates us.  Most of these people are real working chefs and know exactly what to do when given chicken feet, dragon fruit, clove candy, and 20 minutes to make a scrumptious appetizer.  But now it’s not good enough to see 4 chefs, then 3, then 2 turn the bizarre into the palatable.  Now we have to ask what will you do with the money if you win.  Who would have ever thought that cooks had so many physically challenged children?  Or how many have an elderly parent yearning to see the homeland one last time?  Or how many are supporting their nieces and nephews?  We know what we’d say if someone asked us how we would spend a prize.  It’s found money.  We’ll blow it all on us.

Gordon Ramsey has to be the king of shock cooking.  We’ve come to if not love, appreciate Hell’s Kitchen because he’s not going to hold anything back. If you’re not cooking, you’re not contributing.  Leave now.  The little snippet interviews with the contestants are the best part of that show.  It gives each contestant a little face time with the camera and by extension, the viewer.  We hear how this person is a dolt, that person can’t boil water.  Petty gripes and foul mouths.  But then after the service they go to their sleeping areas and talk to the pictures or their kids, and parents, and partners and how much they love them, and love (sniff) being here, and really (sniff, sniff) want this (boo hoo).

Another of our favorite cooking contests also has Gordon at the forefront.  Master Chef.  This competition among home cooks has us wondering if the professionals on Hell’s Kitchen shouldn’t stop by the studio next door and get some pointers on, well, on cooking.  These non-professionals are very good at their limited challenges and usually work without complaining.  But even here we have the boo-hoo crowd sneaking in and has us wondering how far a blind cook can go in a kitchen competition with real knives, hot stoves, and open flames.

Not long ago we were watching one of the previous winners of Food Network Star whose show came on right after another previous winner.  And at that we were stuck. Both of the former winners with real shows who have now been on for what seems like years and have books and CDs and probably hats and T-shirts were winners when food was the competition and they left making a good promo up to the PR department.  This year’s finalists seem (emphasis on seem) to know their difference between a whisk and a dutch oven.  Could it be that after all the tears a cooking competition might actually be decided on cooking?  It could happen.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Summer Sunny Day Fun Days

Michael Leave a comment

Summer is here in the northern half of the United States.  For some of the country summer isn’t a huge thing.  Is there really much difference between April 1 and July 1 (other than fireworks sales) in Houston or Miami or Anaheim?  But north of the Mason Dixon line, even with the mild spring we’ve had, you really can’t pull out the shorts and sandals until the summer solstice shows up in the weatherman’s graphics. 

This year the first of day of summer harkened in a summertime heat wave like we hadn’t seen for quite some time.  As we write this on the 18th day of summer the temperature in our town has exceeded 90 degrees on 12 of those 18 days.  You’d think that would have altered many’s attempts at fireworks, picnics, vacations, swimming, and so many other outdoor activities that are much more pleasant at 78.  Well they have altered some but not so much that many are complaining.  Even us.  Although we took in the Fourth of July fireworks from a downtown river dock we decided to forgo our annual outdoor jazz festival.  But we’ve still managed to have our fun and not risk our health.

Apparently, many others are also.  The local MLB team is packing them in with sold out weekend games and close to sell outs during the midweek evenings.  Pools are filled to capacity.  Restaurants with outdoor seating are serving some brave ones outdoors in the glorious shade of roll out canopies. 

We have made the weekends our time to hop into the little car, put the top down, turn on the air conditioner to high, slather sun screen on our necks and let our man made 35 mile per hour wind cool us as we drive through the canopies of the tall trees that line our underused back roads.  A couple hours of oohs and ahhs for nature’s companions trying to beat the heat (we got to sit in our car and chat with a young deer not more than 20 feet away while she was resting in the shade), and a couple of oohs and ahhs for some of the biggest, most expensive, and gorgeously landscaped estates we can’t believe are in the same county as our modest middle class just-plain-houses (but even a rich man should put a shirt on if he plans on reading the evening paper on his recliner that is just inside the front window – and backlit to boot).

Now the best part of it all we reminded ourselves of this morning.  As we head into what the weather predictors are saying is going to be our first week entirely under 90 degrees since mid-June, we’ve heard of only 2 unfortunate heat related accidents and neither fatal. 

Quite often our posts here poke fun at the way people have taken so cavalierly to reality.  The reality is that sometimes we can be quite responsible. 

Quite remarkable.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Careful Wishing

Michael Leave a comment

There is a place we’ve been going to for years and we still can’t describe it.  It’s actually a winery with a tasting room and bottles of their own stuff lining the wall to sale or build into gift baskets.  But it’s also a gift shop, maybe even approaching emporium with all the usual cute but questionable gifts that go with wine.  You know, the t-shirt with the picture of the corkscrew and the legend, “Screw this.”  It’s a picnic grove, a banquet hall, a wine bar.

But it’s also a restaurant.  One that has expanded a couple of times over the years that we’ve been going there.  It’s always had the exceptionally talented local performers grace its outdoor seating area or dining room.  The singers sing soft tunes perfectly matched to a light lunch on a patio in the European countryside.  Except for it not being in Europe, it’s always been a pretty good place to go.  They have good food, good wine, good entertainment.  What more could you want on a summer afternoon?

Yesterday we found out.  We hadn’t been there since last season and we knew they made more changes.  They added another indoor seating area expanding it to challenge a full scale restaurant.  And the outside patio had a new small stage for the singers.  Our favorite was there – in fact he was what brought us there the first time we visited this site – and we were looking forward to a fruit and cheese platter, a crisp Riesling, and a few hours of first rate solo entertainment.

We should have known things changed for other than the best as we approached the hostess stand and 4 young girls were huddled around it.  They seemed somewhat confused whether there were or not any outside tables available and we were advised to wander the gift shot while they found one.  No problem, we’d get a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and hang out in the grassy area flanking their pavilion.  But no sooner had we gotten the wine paid for that Hostess #1 was at our sides with a table ready.  We left the plastic cups meant for perimeter use and headed to our table.  After 10 minutes of staring at our open bottle of wine, which He of We seriously considered guzzling from, a waitress finally appeared with real glasses and a promise to bring us a wine chiller for our bottle and to take our order.

To make a long story short, we were left unattended then for not the first time that afternoon and for long periods.  We were served a delicious salad on a plate that never made it through the dishwasher after its previous use.  We sat with empty water glasses in 85 degree heat.  We were left with dirty plates on our table from two courses.  And we never got the bottle chiller until the second bottle. (Actually we rarely order a second bottle but we were on a quest to see if there really was ice inside the building our waitress kept disappearing to.)

We wondered if we had brought this on.  When we first started going there it was very small, just a handful of tables outside the tasting room and the talent perched under a large umbrella.  We said many times in those early years that we wished the owners good luck trying to create a destination out of their little winery so more people could enjoy it.  We should have taken that old advice, be careful what you wish for.

As always, the entertainment was top notch.  But we can always find our favorite singer at other venues.  The food was very good.  But not incomparable.  The atmosphere was charming, but not unmatched. 

New this time around, the service sucked.  And that’s why we’ll question ever going there again.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Interruption

Michael Leave a comment

Not too many days ago Both of We were running through the on-screen program guide on the television to see which of the 998 channels we’d grace with our viewing.  Unfortunately, none of the 7 or 8 commercial free channels had anything really worth while watching so we were pushed toward one of the commercially sponsored offerings.

After two or three times around the horn we found a movie we both like that had just started three or four minutes earlier.  We might miss the opening credits but we’ll certainly get to see the whole motion picture.  We should have known it wasn’t going to be one of the most meticulous showings of this particular movie.

We tuned in just as the screen faded on the opening scene and entered Commercial Land.  We’re ok with Commercial Land.  It serves a purpose.  It provides us with many movies, sporting events, shows, and news we’d not normally get to see if we had to rely on 100% Pay Per View.  Quite often you’re looking at a future headlining star mopping the floor or changing a tire.  And who of us hasn’t seen that special commercial that is better than the show it interrupts.

Twelve commercials later we were finally returned to our feature presentation.  Some of those commercials were of the 30 second variety, some 15 second spots.  Some of them were of the vanishing one minute genre.  Total time out was eight minutes.  At last we got to settle back and enjoy the film.  For about 12 minutes.  Then we were out for another 10 minutes of programmus interruptus.  For those of you keeping score, that’s now 34 minutes of programming comprised of the first 4 minutes that we missed followed by 8 minutes of selling followed by 12 minutes of movie followed by 10 minutes of more ads.  Our score: Movie 16, Sponsors 18.  In a game that shouldn’t be at all that close.

As we said, we’re ok with commercials.  But that was supposed to be between just us.  Somebody has to let the folks who sell ad time in on the secret that when you gather that many commercial minutes together in a single block we’re likely to go surfing for something with actors who have already become stars.  Maybe even on their way to hasbeen.  And nobody is all that crazy about the new blond with the big mop anyway.

At the rate these guys are selling time, pretty soon there will be more commercial than there is program.  We already have program length commercials.  Some of them actually might look informative but they are just selling vehicles.  We bet that when WNBT (now WNBC) broadcast the first commercial on July 1, 1941 (a 10 second spot for Bulova Watches) nobody envisioned an entire show made up of a commercial.  

If all things that go around really do come around we’ll soon be able to interrupt those infomercials with a program to keep people interested and watching.  We’re just not sure how it will appear in your program guide. 

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

Game On!

Michael Leave a comment

Many people who are just acquainted with us are often shocked to ultimately find out that He and She of We are not married, or at the very least for the 21st century, not even living together.  We spend a lot of time together but we each have our own houses and spend more time in our own houses than we do at either’s others’ houses.  Of course there are evenings we’ll be found on one or another’s sofas usually in the glow of a televised sporting event or a demanded, if not on-demanded movie. 

Last weekend we were on He of We’s furniture, about 4 feet apart, rapturously engaged in a game of words.  No, not the grand-daddy of all games of words Scrabble, not the second cousin of word games without words, Charades.  No, we were sitting next to each other, letting our fingers do the walking through Words with Friends on our cell phones.  In the same house.  In the same room.  On the same couch.

Although both of our children are either young enough, or old enough depending on your point of view, to have discovered and to have played with PlayStation, Nintendo, and Wii, none of them became one of the electronic game junkies who walk around with fingers flailing over tiny controllers of hand-held versions of the gaming consoles that hold so many in mental hostage situations.   And all of them are familiar with games that involve fold-out boards, dice, tiles, poppers, timers, and a pad and pencil to keep score.  We’re pretty proud parents that our children made it into adulthood with having hand-held electronic games listed as dependents on their income tax forms.

So where did we go wrong for ourselves?  How did we manage to find ourselves phoning in our own recreation?  Don’t tell the children this but it is darned convenient having a game at your fingertips.  No boards to pull off shelves, no tables to clear.  No looking for the pieces that fall under the chairs, no pencil sharpeners to wonder if we even still have to look for.  No shaking up bags of tiles to pick from randomly, no wondering if that really is a word and will I look foolish if I challenge it.

So yes, we’ve succumbed to the dark side.  This time.  We’re willing to let a microprocessor randomly select letters and accurately add up scores.  We still get to use the best game piece – our minds.  Yep, of all the things we’ve lost – tile holders, letters, box tops, score cards – we’ve not yet lost our minds.  We’re pretty sure of that.  Yeah, pretty sure.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

I went to a home show and all I bought were nacho chips

Michael 1 Comment

We don’t know exactly how big it is, but we know that the home and garden show business across the country is definitely big.  Our town has multiple varieties of the “everything for your home under one roof” extravaganza with more suburban varieties popping up every year in advance of the big one in town.

It’s a spectacle that we’ve been a part of for years.  Every year it seems to get busier with more people crowding the aisles between the wind chimes and the garage door installers.  We’ve gotten lots of stuff over the years from this show of shows. Everything from plants to hot tubs.  From art to hang on our walls to decks to hang on our houses.  We’ve never walked away from a home show empty handed.  Empty walleted, yes.  Empty handed, no.

This year it was almost hard to buy anything.  Although every installer, builder, and artisan has his or her “show special,” it seems that prices at these events are always higher than on the outside.   But there are things you’ll never see on the outside so you don’t really know.

This year we came across the $29 dog brush, a $22 garlic peeler, a $49 hose nozzle, and (our favorite) the essential $100 iron.  It was at the iron display that the pitchman steadfastly refused to reveal the price until the demonstration was over.  It looked like a good deal, and maybe worth a few extra dollars just for the long cord.  When he quoted the “low price of only ninety-nine, ninety-nine” someone (ok, it might have been us – in unison) exclaimed, “That’s a hundred dollars!  For an Iron!” and a couple other observations about it.  “But it’s the last iron you’ll ever buy,” came the seller’s justification.  We compared our iron history.  Between the two of us we’re on our third iron.  It could have been the second except He of We lost his first iron in an appliance custody settlement.  The most expensive of those was $17.

We don’t know why events like this have to inflate prices so much.  Twenty years ago you at least got some entertainment out of it with the classic pitchmen and the cleaners and tools you couldn’t get anywhere else.  On the main stage the local PBS affiliate would have cooking and home improvement demonstrations.  We remember when they would make enough at the cooking demos that everyone in the audience actually got to eat.  Now two hotdogs and a soft drink eat up three quarters of a twenty dollar bill. 

But we’ll still go every year.  Whether we need anything or not we’ll find something or other.  And it’s always an opportunity to re-visit with truly talented artists and craftsmen.  At our last stop we stayed for a while and chatted with an artist whose work graces walls in both of our houses.  He is a very pleasant man who actually makes a living from his paintings.  Someone who has turned his dream into his dream job.  Someone who makes you feel good that you stopped to say hello.

 And a good thing we did or else the only things we would have bought this year would have been three bags of tortilla chips and a newspaper subscription. 

Hey, when it comes to something of other, you can never have too much of it.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

If Only the ER Served Magaritas

Michael 1 Comment

We almost expected to hear Anthony Edwards, aka E. R. Dr. Mark Greene, shout “Clear!” and apply the defibrillator paddles to the piece of meat in front of him, grilling it to the perfect fajita filling.  The hustle and the bustle far exceeded that of most inner city emergency rooms on a Saturday night after the local team won its first (pick your favorite season) championship in over 50 years.

Ok, let’s catch you up so you can enjoy this tale also.  Last weekend we paid a visit to one of our favorite local eateries.  A very small authentic Mexican restaurant with no designs of growing larger.  On a lucky Saturday night we’ll be led to a quiet table for two tucked into a corner as far from the hostess stand as one can get in a room the size of a generous living room.  Here we’re treated to the basic three courses where we relish in the opportunity to be served by trained, professional waitpersons in our favorite quietly comfortable restaurant.  Good food.  Good service.  Good company.  Good time.

Last Saturday we headed to our dining quarry figuring to have a drink in the bar before dinner.  We’ve ventured into the bar, considerably smaller in scale to the rest of the operation just as another couple was called to their table.  We settled into their vacated seats at the far side of the square cornered horseshoe and decided that we were so comfortable, and since we never had there before, we would have dinner right there at the bar.

Eating at the bar is nothing unusual for us.  We do so quite often.  We’re low enough maintenance that the bartenders aren’t unduly burdened by having to play waitperson while already performing in the role of barperson.  Many of the places we’ve come to call home for dinner out have the bar in the middle of the room and thus in the middle of the action.  The ideal seat for people watching.  So with our history of bar dining and a new opportunity in front of us, we embarked on our first such supper at our favorite comfortably quiet restaurant.  Boy were we in for a shock!

“Clear!”  Well, how about “Smith!  Party of 4!  Jones!  Party of 2!”  Every 15 minutes or so the hostess, a little bitty thing, stood in the doorway of the smallish space and bellowed out a prospective diner like a conductor crying the stops of the local commuter train with a voice that would fill all outdoors.  “Behind you! Cold ice!” the bar back routinely called out with as much frequency as the people search.  And the people kept on coming.

They packed themselves in like they were filing into the afternoon rush hour subway.  Parties of 2, 4, 8.  Eyes slightly glazed after a long day of shopping? housework? painting?  We don’t know what the Saturday afternoon activities but whatever they were those activities led to a need for an adult beverage.  And soon.  Drinks were called for from the second row behind the stools. 

“Ford! Party of 6!”  “Margarita! No Salt!”  “Lincoln! Party of 4!”  “Dos Equis! Draft! Make it two!”  At one time we counted 38 people in the little room.  The fire marshal generously rated the space for occupancy by 50 people.  The designer squeezed 14 stools around the counter.  There wasn’t a time that the other 36 hadn’t conveyed their desperate need to soothe the fever that responded only to the medicine served in a chilled glass.   Ice when it wasn’t being poured into the holder 20 pounds at a time was transferred into quart sized mason jars then filled with tequila and the other makings for their specialty margarita and attached to the industrial blender that sounded like a second cousin to a turboprop airplane.  When at last their names were call, parties would leave for the dining room, clutching their chilled glasses like the secret remedy from the healer of the high desert. 

Standees took their vacated seats, new patients crowded in from the outer room.  “Nachos with queso!”  “Frozen or on the rocks!” “Heinz! Party of 6!” “More chips please!” “Rocks! No Salt!”  “More Ice!” “French! Party of 2!”

All around the conversations bubbled to the top, mixed with the televisions (two, about 20 feet apart, on different channels) and stirred into the bustling chatter of the staff, creating a confused sound track.  “Temperatures will be higher than…the upstairs really need to be…ordered last week and now they say…it’s the third meeting between them…when I said…do you want another…chilly night before…rebounding and that has to get better than… dark blue with gray trim.” 

One of our regular waiters spotted us from the service area waiting for his orders.  “Trying something new?” he shouted across the room.  “You know us, we have to try it all!” we answered.  Our attention divided between the bartenders going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars and the patrons going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars.  The bar persons whirling into high gear, resembling the blades spinning in the drink mixer.  The bar crowd shifting into lower gears as the cactus juice mellowed them in preparation for dinner.  Eventually.

And so they came, dazed, confused, smarting from spring cleaning, comatose from too much Saturday television, sore and achy, looking for healing in the emergency rooms of bars.  And a margarita.  Rocks.  No salt.  No glass.  Just a mason jar and one really big straw.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Six Weeks

Michael 2 Comments

Happy Groundhog Day!  For over 225 years Phil has been the reigning prognosticator of Punxsutawney Pennsylvania perusing his property for signs of his shadow to predict the waning winter’s weather.

What began as an adaptation of Candlemas for the local farmers not too distantly removed from their German homeland now brings an estimated 30,000 people to the Pennsylvania home of Punxsutawney Phil for 4 days of planned events highlighted by the shadow sighting on national news broadcast across our homeland. 

Now here we could tell you all the different things one can do in Phil’s little hamlet.  Who will be playing, singing, dancing, and crafting.  We could guess how many television cameras will be in use.  We could compare the last 2, 5, 10, 25, 100, 150, or 200 predictions and the actual results.  We could talk about the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club or The Inner Circle.  But really, you don’t need to hear from us if last year’s prediction was on the money or how much money the park vendors made. 

Nope, we’re just going to marvel at all that has become of our little rodent friend and all of his friends living in the sunny or shadowy mountains on the edge of the Allegheny National Forest.  Phil has his own official souvenir web-site.  The Inner Circle (those are the guys who pull him from the stump, we mean help him from his hollow) have an annual formal ball.  There are 60 chapters of the Groundhog Club from California to Florida and chapters in Canada, England, and Iraq.  There’s even an Internet chapter.  (The Bluegrass Chapter of Louisville, Kentucky was chartered on Feb. 2 2002, that’s 02-02-02.  There’s a lottery number waiting to be played!)  Other than the iconic “Groundhog Day” movie there isn’t much in the way of multimedia for our little friend but we did find 5 songs celebrating Groundhog Day including “Groundhog Blues” by John Lee Hooker. 

Unlike Candlemas in the 17th century we really don’t need Groundhog Day to tell us if we’re almost done with winter and can breathe a sigh of relief over our dwindling food and firewood supply or if the cold will stay with us for another 6 weeks and challenge our larder.  Groundhog Day in the 21st century is a time when grown men dress in formal attire and play with field animals, when people gather to figure out just how long Phil Conners (Bill Murray’s character in “Groundhog Day”) was stuck in Punxsutawney, when people get married in Phil’s Wedding Chapel  by the mayor of Punxsutawney (weddings on the half-hour, call ahead to get on the schedule), when it’s ok to be seen in public with a hat on your head that looks like a groundhog emerging from a tree stump.

It’s a time when it’s perfectly acceptable not to take yourself too seriously.  And we could probably use six more weeks of that.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Unreal

Michael 2 Comments

We’re at a dull time of the month.  We’ve past New Year’s, escaping once again without resolution.  (See “Be It Resolved” posted January 2 under LIFE for why we’ll be making our resolutions sometime in March.)  And we’re not yet up to Groundhog Day, the best holiday of the year throughout the world.  It is a good time to think about what we did last year and will be able to afford those luxuries again this year (insert sound effect of wild laughter).  

What we ended up deciding it that what we really need is for someone to discover us and turn us into a reality show.  Then it wouldn’t matter if we could afford the trip to the edge of the volcano in Hawaii, the edge of the glacier in Alaska, and/or the edge of fashion in Milan. The producers would pick up those tabs while they continued to insist that this is a quite ordinary vacation for a middle class family with 12 kids and one income.

Maybe we aren’t being fair.  Just because we started this blog on an urge to make certain the world knows reality, on average, doesn’t come with hot air balloons, recording contracts, and rehab doesn’t mean every courageous exploration of everyday life on TV is actually scripted fiction casted with diligence and care – or first come first served.  So we took a look at what passes for reality shows today and most recently to make sure we weren’t wrong.  So in no particular order, and not at all a complete review, here is what TV would want you to consider reality.

Gold Rush – Three gold mines in Alaska.  One manned by people who put their real lives with real jobs and real bills and real families on hold while they trek to the Yukon for a few months to play with thousands of dollars of equipment we aren’t sure how any got paid for so they could dig up 8 ounces of gold.  One manned by a guy who was supposed to help out group #1 but instead stole their claim.  One manned by a 17 year old when school is out and a 92 year old when it isn’t.  Just a normal day in the 49th state.

Tabatha Takes Over – A lady hairdresser revamps failing salons while she sports a blonde from a box boy cut, deathly pale complexion, eyelashes the length somewhere between long and you’ve-got-to-be-kidding, and a strong penchant for a black wardrobe.

Jersey Shore – Twenty-somethings try to make complete sentences out of swear words and body parts.

Say Yes to the Dress – Mostly (though not all) brides-to-be start looking at wedding dresses that cost more than Either of We’s current vehicles’ blue book values but talked into spending more because it’s their one special day, including those who are doing it for the third time.

Ice Road Truckers – Even more testosterone than the Deadliest Catch and not as well contained.

Extreme Couponing – People fill 4 shopping carts, hang out at the cash register while management spends several hours on the phone with company computer guru to unfreeze the restrictive software, and then pay with coupons and pocket change.  Except for one shopper who donated all his booty to the local food bank we are left to wonder what these people do with all that stuff.

Finding Bigfoot – Like “Moonshiners,” the title speaks for itself.

Hoarders – People never throw anything away, actually more accurately people who use their houses as garbage cans and throw everything away.

American Pickers – Two guys travel the country making money off the hoarders.

That’s just a small sampling.  There are so many more with equally impossible storylines.   Where did they all come from?  We think we might have figured that out.  It seems nothing is new, just re-worked.  Find something from years ago, clean it up, repackage it, sell it to the unsuspecting, and make a fortune.  Not unlike Pawn Stars.  With that in mind, here is our list of some of today’s more popular shows and their not quite obvious inspirations.

The Bachelor – the Dating Game with sex and hot-tubs over an eight week run.

Dancing with the Stars – American Bandstand with out of work actors and celebrity wannabes.

Celebrity Rehab – Candid Camera with out of work actors and celebrity wannabes.

Storage Wars – Let’s Make a Deal with somebody else’s money.

Man vs. Wild – the American Sportsman got lost on the way to the hunting cabin.

Real Housewives of [Wherever] – To Tell the Truth.  Please.

COPS – Dragnet, still with stories about to heard that are true but with faces blurred rather than names changed to protect the innocent.

American Idol – The Miss America Pageant without the swimsuit competition.

Somehow these and others like them stay on the air.  They are making money for their networks and bringing viewers to their sponsors.  There really are people tuning in every week to see what secret a housewife can dig up on her best friend forever, how often mom and daughter can go into labor together, how many times a 20-something can use the f-word in one sentence.  There really are people who care about them all. 

Or maybe everybody is watching just to see the volcano up close from the edge.  And privately hoping someone, anyone, falls in.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?