The Hills & The City: Restaurant Wars

I've sort of reached a point with The Hills and The City where I can't really watch them with any... objectivity? That's not the right word. I can't really watch with any... humanity? Is that it? It might be. Basically when I watch these shows these days I enter into some sort of feverish trance-like state of seething hatred and cold, drunken fascination. It's like watching Glenn Beck, only the crazy words these people say don't really have any bearing or effect on anything important. They just burble up out of their mouths and mingle in the smoggy air and pester us like allergies and then fade and disappear. It's a fleeting kind of misery, but it's still misery. And I just don't know how much more of it I can take. But I've written a check that I aim to prove my ass can cash, so I must finish out this season. I simply must. Well, OK, I'll give it another whirl this week. But I can't promise anything for the future. I just might not be able to bear it.

The Hills

Linda Fiorentino is: Jayde

On The Hills nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Um, there was some jabberjaw about Justin Bobby, as there always is, because everyone is sad and lonely and pathetic. Justin Bobby is basically an old gnarled, knotted root that a bunch of Celtic witches found in a remote wood one day and brought to life. Basically he is that thing from the Cranberries "Dreams" video made manifest, only he is ugly and stupid instead of the beautiful man of Dolores O'Reardon's dreams. Justin Bobby is a mound of tar and chewing tobacco mashed together and fashioned into some sort of awful shadow-baby that grew up to be a hairstylist/male model/actor in the worst possible way. Justin Bobby is useless and ugly and dumb, and I cannot figure out for the life of me why anyone would bother to spend any time, real or made-up for TV, talking about his stupid coffee-grinds features and his utterly, mind-numbingly boring personality. Actually, scratch that. Justin Bobby would be more interesting if he had a boring personality. But instead he just has an entire lack of one. There's just a hole through which wind and dust whistles where a personality should normally be. He's awful. He's a dead fish lying rotting in the Pacific sun. Let's please, please, please never mention him again. Please, MTV. I beg of you. No one is watching the show anymore, and it's because of (well, not really) him. Please. No more Justin Bobby. I can't with him anymore. I know that if you get rid of him you have to get rid of Audrina, because he is her only storyline, but would that really be such a loss? I think not.

Other than that muddle of dirt and backwash, the episode was also about Kristin Cavallari and Jayde, Brody's awful Playmate sorta-girlfriend, getting in a restaurant fight. This show likes nothing better than a restaurant fight. Well, maybe a party fight is better, but only slightly. Restaurant fights are great because you get to have the awkward moment when the waiter comes over and everyone's all "Uhhhhh..." and we feel sort of nice because one of our avatars on this show, the regular collateral folks in the periphery, has made an appearance and reminded us that yes there is a world outside of these hideous, horrible creatures who think we genuinely care what they have to say. Jayde and Kristin yelled at each other about Brody, a hunk of bologna that someone left out on the counter for too long, because they both like him. Because he is... What? Khloe Kardashian's step brother? I don't understand the attraction. Brody Jenner is as useless a human being as ever there was. What does Brody Jenner do? Honestly, like, do. Dude's been on three, count 'em three, reality shows, only one of which has "succeeded", and it's not even his show. Princes of Malibu (also featuring Spencer Pratt) royally tanked, and Bromance was the most uncomfortably-homoerotic thing since the 1972 Olympics. Brody is a puffy failure of a human being and no one should like him.

And yet here's pretty, cynical Kristin droning on about him. And on the other side is the ridiculous and malformed Jayde. Her name is malformed, her ideals are malformed, and her face is malformed. Her face is a perfect example of the perils of plastic surgery. All strange, too-smooth rounded edges and sunken, stretched hollows. Somehow Jayde managed to become Playmate of the Year. But it does not change the fact that she is ugly and awful and dumb. And, worst of all, Canadian. Kristin knows all of this, so she engages in fights with the dumb bug, knowing full well that she's better than her and will always be better than her and will always win. I mean, Kiki, let's not go nuts. You're not that much better than Jayde. But you are somewhat better. You're at least smarter. Jayde is about as smart as three ferrets trying to figure out a subway map. According to Jayde's Wikipedia page, she owns a modeling agency called "A Touch of Class." Ugh, who is the terrible Prometheus that brought the word "class" to the dumb and inherently classless of the world? Because it used to really mean something, that word, and now it's just been co-opted by idiots and buffoons like Jayde Nicole, the fart-brained nudie model who started a charity called Lengths for Love, thereby ripping off a charity called Locks of Love. You couldn't come up with some other name, huh Jayde? That was it? Lengths for Love was about as far as you could go? OK, OK. That's fine. Here, want some milk? OK. Why don't you go take a nap now. That whole Lengths for Love thing must have taken a lot of energy to come up with. Yeah, go lie down and I'll bring you your binkie.

So Kristin called Jayde a bitch and Jayde said "Are there no other guys in the whole city of... Hollywood?" And, yes, you'd be correct if you read that and assumed that for a minute there on The Hills last night, a character forgot what city she lived in. I think Jayde meant to say "the whole city of Los Angeles," which is where she lives. But she couldn't, so she just desperately looked up at a street sign and just said that. She's lucky she wasn't sitting at a different intersection. "Are there no other guys in the whole city of... Public Access Road?" And actually, Jayde, there aren't. Public Access Road, ON is run by an Amazonian-esque tribe of Canadiennes who won't take no guff from nobody, no how.

Anyway, after the restaurant fight Kristin went and discussed matters with Brody and he just kind of folded his ham-like face up and blinked his beady black bird-eyes and I dunno, I guess he's getting back together with Jayde? Ugh. Though, it shan't last long Jayde. Soon you'll be sent packing back to Public Access Road. You'll make a fine rodeo bride. Kristin for her part has fled to Las Vegas with Stacie, where they will make love with tigers and eat poker chips and disappear forever into desert mirages. Or, you know, they'll be joined by boys and they'll drink at clubs and the world will echo like the dying, emptying place it is.

Um. Let's see... What else... Oh, right. Basically the plot of The Omen is starting to unfold on The Hills, as Heidi and Spencer move ever-closer to creating a childspawn together. There's been a delay partly because of Spencer's reluctance to be responsible for... anything, but also because the process by which Heidi's noonie can get infected with babyitis is long and involved. It involves various tentacles and moon phases and elaborate series of ropes and pulleys and the blood of Holly Montag, though thinned by alcohol as that stuff is these days, it's not nearly as potent, so they'll need to wait until the end of the season. Anyway, surely whatever childling these two creatures of the afternoon produce will be some sort of devil spirit with an evil army of rottweilers. Or, as I shivered and feared and almost-wept about last night, it'll just be a normal bouncy bubbly kid, innocent to the wicked world, dumb to the cold and horrid machinations of its fleshless, plastic parents.

And if MTV is complicit in that, if they are complicit in these two horrors consummating their fake marriage to have a real baby, I will walk out. That's it. I will throw in the towel. If Heidi and Spencer Pratt are allowed to raise a child for the sake of reality show camera time while I can't even get married in most states in this country, then I'm done. I'm dunzo.

Proof positive that Heidi will be a terrific parent? She went to a therapist (who was, I hope, stripped of her license immediately after last night's airing) and asked her if it would be OK to trick Spencer into knocking her up. Like going off birth control and not telling him. Because maybe that would just be the push he needs. A surprise pregnancy rigged by his wife. And then the kid grows up and is sifting through videos one day while on free-time release at the home, and he watches an old grainy video of his mom talking to a terrible therapist about how she tricked his dad into knocking her up. And then America lurches and fumbles for a second, but rights itself and spins on, as it always does.

[Flag waving in the wind, fireworks, music, the end.]

The City

Meet my lovely roommate, Lance.

On The City, two things happened. First, Whitney Port went on a date with a Fabulous Homosexual. Then, Elle magazine broke off from New York and sank into the sea. It was dramatic and sad, and then the Elle thing was pretty affecting too. Let's talk first about Bonny Gay Patrick and his Incredible Initials.

Whitney is basically Io in reverse, a glorious bovine priestess turned into a goo-eyed human being by some lusty cow god. Which is to say that Whitney has big eyes and isn't the sharpest Lee Press-On in the drag queen's drawer. I mean, she's not dumb so much as she's completely without guile or savvy. She just sort of galoompfs along, stage lights and pianos and safes and bits of sky crashing down all around her, completely unaware. So when she was set up on a blind date, we all knew something was going to be terribly wrong about it, and that Whitney would not notice. Or she would notice that something was amiss, but in the end not be able to quite place her finger on it. When the date began and young Lord Patrick arrived, it was immediately apparent that this cute young fellow prefers the company of men. He had nicknames and little initial abbreviations for various (well, probably all of the) fashion designers—super creative things like "LV" for Louis Vuitton—and was just sorta snappy and bitchy to poor, softly-mooing Whitney. Her eyes kept pulsating and bulging in the way that they do when she's uncomfortable with something, and you hoped that once she got back to talk to Roxy and do a little date post-mortem, she'd say "It was fun, but... he's gay." Because it would be nice to have a gay character on the show, especially one as fetching yet oddly-badly-dressed as Patrick, but no. Instead she just griped about his fashion bitching and his request that they "join forces" on the bill. She was really scandalized by that, as was Roxy. I didn't get the big deal. What's weird about that? It's a perfectly pleasant and jokey way to say let's go Dutch on this date. Much like "go Dutch" is an expression. I guess she would have preferred "Whitney, you should pay half of the amount owed on this bill and I will pay the other half, because it is 2009 and that is what is fair. Plus, I am gay and am going home to s--- m- b-------'- c---, so pay up." That's what she wanted to hear. So that was dumb. Gay Dude character opportunity? Squandered. Nertz magertz.

Part II was when Joe Zee and everyone continued to take huge axes to the Elle offices, destroying it in big stupid pieces as Olivia just sauntered around and made a straight-up ass of herself. Why Joe Zee and Erin the fake PR lady would continue this charade is depressing and confusing enough. But that the Editor-in-Chief of the magazine, the more-angular-Rita-Wilson-looking Robbie Myers, would show up on the program and pretend that Olivia is a real person just sort of explains to me why the magazine industry is dying. Because many of these publications are so far up their own asses they think it's always nighttime and no one can see the stupid, indulgent things they do. It is dark up your butts but it is not actually dark out here! We can see you, Robbie! Pretending that Olivia is a real employee! Bartering the goodish name of your magazine for a few MTV eyeballs! And it is sad and pathetic and, oh look—

[more fireworks]

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