TV Tome

I watched the finale of ESPN's "Dream Job" last night. It was good, and it was not so good. First of all, I have to say that as reality TV goes, this is pretty heady stuff. I mean, to win the job as a SportsCenter anchor, you really have to prove your mettle. As should be. And at the same time, I was a little miffed about the whole thing. And yes, I'm sure that had to do with the fact that my favorite, the sarcastic and a-little-too-stuck-on-himself Zach, was not only not the winner, but not even in the final two.

But here's what bugged me. We started out with the final four contestants. Each went through a couple of exercises, and then three (not four as had been all season) judges chose the two who'd go for the final race of Dream Job Winner. Now, this was a departure from how things had gone up till that point, which was a combination of audience voting and the judges' decisions. And I kept wondering why they would change their rules all of a sudden.

And then it hit me. The thing was rigged.

Well, not rigged like Professional Wrestling or International Figure Skating. But rigged like, "Listen, we've humored you audience guys this long, but whatever YooHoo wins this contest is on our payroll. We're hedging our bets here." And on one hand who can blame them? Remember years ago when MTV had a similar contest where the winner got to be a VJ? And the audience voted, and the winner was Jesse, some brainless hippie guy of no fixed hairstyle who was the poster child for "This Is Your Brain on Drugs." You can't blame ESPN for wanting to play it safe.

And on the other hand, still it sucked. It sucked when they all sat there giving their decisions (and thankfully, they all voted off the annoying Maggie, who still managed to make it to the final four despite having a lisp and sounding like she perpetually needed to blow her nose), and all looked straight at Zach and told him how great he was. And yet two of those judges voted him off. "I love you, you're the best, goodbye." And that was it. They both basically told him he was too good to have the Dream Job. And so he was gone, leaving blandoid Aaron and whitebread Mike.

At least Mike had some personality. And he won. So good to him. And for those two judges who told Zach he was too good for SportsCenter, that he should have a show built around him, why don't you hire him and build a damn show around him? Then I might watch your dumb network for things other than this show and the occasional college football game. And with that said....

Now A Word From Our Sponsors

We all know I'm no fan of commercials, but as they are a fact of life, at least when you watch TV as much as I do, they're bound to creep into your synapses. There are a few out there now that, for different reasons, are on my mind.

Caesar Dog Food: This is the commercial where the woman is having a fancy dinner party and she oh-so-smartly opens her doggie's food where the chef is preparing the party goods. It's snapped up and taken where to a table where, to me, it looks like dog food on a plate, but apparently to a party guest looks so good he puts it on a cracker and is about to partake of some patè de woof, when in the nick of time our party hostess shows up to avert disaster. Anyway, the doggie in the commercial is a Westie and actually looks more like Bill did than The Petster did, but in any case, any time I see the thing I scream out in a high-pitched squeal, "oohhhh, it's my baybeeeeeeee!" which annoys the shit out of anyone who happens to be around me at the time.

VISA: This commercial shows the US Volleyball team in practice. Outside on the beach. Where there's snow on the ground instead of sand. And they play a particularly hard-earned point with the ball finally landing in the water. So two girls do an "odds/evens" thing with their hands and the loser has to go into the icy water to get the ball. There are two things about this commercial that I can't let go of. In the flashing of gets and spikes and body parts, I could swear they show a woman's torso with a big red and possibly bloodied wound on it. Like a stab wound. I keep watching, and I see this every time, so I wasn't just having a "Psycho" flashback one night. It's in there. It's either a wound or a seriously eerie tattoo. The second thing this commercial grabs me with is the fact that when the two girls play odds/evens, the loser mutters something under her breath that looks and sounds amazingly like, "Damn." Now, it's certainly understandable, if I'd lost and had to plunge into the icy water, "damn" would the mildest of my interjections. But I just didn't think you were allowed to say "damn" in TV commercials. Anyway, I've had my TV set on closed-captioning for the past two days trying to catch it, but alas, it's not been shown yet.

ELIDEL: Now, I hate commercials for prescription drugs; actually, I think they should be illegal. But boy, am I in love with the little Elidel Man. You know him, the pixated superhero who's a combination of Buzz Lightyear and Elvis Costello, floats and hovers rather than flies through the air, has a penchant for strawberry ice cream cones, and likes to read Eczema Monthly. And the way he says, "Elidel...that's El...li...del" is adorable. What's not to love? If I didn't already have my own superhero in Captain Asshole, I'd recruit him, even though all I have is dry skin. Maybe he and Captain A can team up to form some kind of Cuteness Justice League of their own. (Wasn't that a movie?)

ALLEVE: Now here's one that I unfortunately see way too much. The woman gets out of her car, and, in the driveway, starts a conversation with her husband:

Husband: What did he say about your arthritis?
Wife: He said to move my knee as much as possible.
Husband: But it hurts when you move your knee!
Wife: Well, the doctor suggested Alleve.
Husband: But we always use Tylenol!
Wife: Well, Tylenol can wear off, unlike Alleve....

And the wife goes on to explain to her panicked and frankly idiotic husband how everything's going to be OK with Alleve. The husband just needs to be kicked in the nuts. And the wife has the patience of Job. In a perfect world, the conversation would go kind of like:

Husband: What did he say about your arthritis?
Wife: He said to move my knee as much as possible.
Husband: But it hurts when you move your knee!
Wife: Yes, I know. It's hurts like a mofo. But it's what he said, okay? Anyway, he said to take some Alleve.
Husband: But we always use Tylenol!
Wife: Well, fuck Tylenol! He said Alleve! Now, get out of my face before I take my good leg and kick you in the nuts.

All I hope is when they go inside and we can't see them anymore, she bonks him on the head with a cast-iron skillet.