Thursday, September 1, 2011

For Dancing Sparks and Hired Guns

I am among the world's most pop culturally obtuse individuals. I have never watched a minute of "Jersey Shore". Nor have I ever seen "E.T, the Extra-Terrestrial" (although I have long loved whenever I see or hear someone refer to that film and give it its full title). Never have seen either one. No present intention exists to see either one.

Ditto "Dancing With The Stars". I am not an "anti-reality TV" snob by any means. For years, Margaret's mom used to come to our house on Thursday nights to watch "Survivor" with the Missus and me. While we have not watched it even once since Suzy B. died in June 2009. It apparently evokes a particularly painful memory in the deepest recesses of Margaret's soul. My wife's change in viewing habits bothers me not. Life goes on.

Returning to the subject of the "Stars" show, as a gentleman who (a) cannot dance; and (b) has zero interest in watching others do so either on television or live and in-person, I am not the target audience for this particular program. That being said, even as a non-viewer, I believe that the network that airs it has an obligation to recruit bona fide stars to compete on it. Let this be your guide ABC: If a viewer turns your program on, then he or she should be able to tell immediately which half of each pair is the "Star" and which one is the professional dancer.

Regardless of whatever other rules the programming wonks may or may not want to put in place, my recommendation should be acted upon without delay. If even a casual viewer cannot tell which one of the twosome is the star, then the producers need to start fishing in the deep end of the talent pool. Apparently among this Fall's combatants (playing the part of the "STAR" mind you) is Cher's son Chaz Bono, whose stardom (affording that term the broadest possible definition permitted by the Einstein Estate) derives principally from the fact that he used to be Cher's daughter Chastity Bono.

Also included among the galaxy this time around is a woman named Elizabeth something or another whose claim to fame is that she used to be George Clooney's girlfriend. Given the depths at which the producers have set this particular bar, one can feel the crackle of anticipation for the Spring season when the producers bring back each of the girls Gorgeous George dated while at DeGrassi Junior High.

And of course there is a Kardashian. That family is reality television's version of Gremlins. Someone must have sprayed the first one with water because they continue to pop up and out all over the goddamned place. I presume that is from whence this one has come....or perhaps he has simply been hiding all of this time in the shadow cast by sister Kim's posterior. Stranger things have happened.

I presume that the low-wattage power of certain contestants notwithstanding that this edition of this show shall continue to generate the type of ratings for ABC that warrant additional seasons. I cannot promise that - regardless of however long it shall run - I will ever cast an eyeball upon it. However, if it hangs in there long enough, I just might have a chance to compete on it. The fact that I cannot dance matters hardly at all. The fact that I am not a star matters even less. It is simply an application of Adam's Rule of Inevitability. Eventually it is my turn. There are, after all, only eight Kardashians.

I come cheap. All they have to do is call. An operator is standing by.


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