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Wednesday, February 07, 2007


Television of the Damned

Awhile back, I got into a debate with my friend Deni when he expressed the opinion that actors shouldn't whore themselves out and make themselves part of evil corporate hootenannies (e.g., doing commercials for McDonald's or corporate training videos for Nike).

Now, while I agree with Deni on a great many things, including the fact that McDonald's and Nike are both reprehensibly vile companies, I had to say that, as someone who got a degree in theater that has earned me very, very, very little money over the last decade, I would, if approached to play a singing banana in a commercial for Haliburton, take less than a second to ask, "What sort of banana would you like me to be?"

See, there are an assload of people out there who want to be actors. And not some tiny little ass, either. And an extremely minute percentage of those poor buggers are getting paid at any given time. So I can't in the slightest blame someone who pays rent by working the 7PM-2AM shift at Ruth's Chris if they compromise their principles a wee bit and accept a one-day gig that nets them more than they make in tips over a month.

This is what I said to Deni and this is what I truly felt. Until today.

Today, while off sick, I dragged my ass over to the laundromat to wash some clothes. I left my iPod at home--fucking stupid move--and had no choice but to yet again to deal with forced consumption of daytime television.

There was a program called, I think, Dr. Keith. It featured this bald dude speaking with people who'd been contestants on Beauty and the Geek. That's right, this show was so magnificently pointless that they had to drag on assholes from a fourth-rate reality crap-fest and shove them in front of a camera...again!

Then I was subjected to the double-barrel assault of Inside Edition and Judge Hatchett. I.E. has the zombie-esque Deborah Norville doing a story on the dumbshit K-Fed left for ol' bumpy-vag. This "star" had the courage to invite the I.E. cameras along as she went in for lipo and a tit-lift. Then Deborah marveled at how wonderful She-Who-Got-Boned-By-K-Fed's stomach looked. I bet Jane Pauley DVRs this so she can giggle her fucking ass off at the grisly end of the douchebag who took her job.

Judge Hatchett, meanwhile, apparently makes a living by doing what Maury Povich does, but without any pretensions to Maury's gravitas. It seems--and keep in mind that I've only seen one episode, here--that she specializes in letting morons debate whether or not they exchanged fluids before she tells them the results of a DNA test. This is the kind of show where they do a minute-long preview of what's coming up before every break and then do a minute-long recap of what happened previously when they come back from break.

I really considered just dumping a bottle of Clorox down my throat and ending my misery. And at that point, it hit me that there are some shows I wouldn't work on, no matter how much fucking money you paid me.

So there you go, Deni. There's where I draw my line. Not as morally upstanding as you, but more out of a sense of self-preservation. 'Cause I couldn't work on a Judge Hackett-type show for more than a week without sucking on a rifle.

I knew there had to be a line somewhere...

I feel slightly better about being friends with you now.
If you ever spot me on some re-enactment show, i.e. America's Most Wanted, acting all "street," please find me and slap me.
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