Cocktail Party Primer (Episode #16)

Sorry for last week’s absence. A dear old friend jetted in from New York, and she insisted on a quick jaunt up to the wine country last Thursday. After a coupla dozen half-ounce pours of Sonoma’s finest, somehow it just totally slipped my mind that there was something I’d meant to write. What with the holidays and the WGA strike, there’s only so much going on in the first place, but I know you forgive me for being a bit sparse. Here are a few tidbits I picked up this week to get you through the opening rounds of gossip over the eggnog bowl.

• Remember when everyone said they were “cautiously optimistic” about coming to a deal to end the WGA strike by December 4th? At the time, that struck me as a suspiciously ambiguous phrase of the sort of that PR people spout so they don’t have to admit that they have no idea what’s going on. Turns out, in this case “cautiously optimistic” was code for “Everything’s going to go all to hell and there won’t be any new TV for ever and ever and it will just be poorly conceived reality shows as far as the eye can see while great shows don’t get renewed and Martha moves to Tibet to live a yurt since that is the only place where the specter of Let’s Hook a Dancing Celebrity up to a Lie Detector can’t haunt her.” Ahem. Sorry. I’m feeling a bit melodramatic about the whole business lately. When you hear they may have to cancel the Oscars since there wouldn’t be anyone to write the crappy monologues, you can’t help but feel a little pessimistic. And hell, I don’t even watch the Oscars.

• Kid Nation and America’s Top Model both wrapped up this week, basically making it the Super Bowl for whiny, attention-desperate people who weigh less than 85 pounds. Seriously though, I didn’t watch either of these shows. I came across a few clips in various places, but in both cases, there was something about the contestants’ shrill voices yapping away that made my cat’s tail get all bushy and made me reach for a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Since I try to avoid any stimulus that turns me into a bigger drunken fuddy-duddy than I already am, I’m unable to watch the shows and thus unable to report of who actually won them, not that it much matters in the great cosmic scale of things. This tendency also means I haven’t watched a music video since 1996, that I grow faint the presence of velour jogging suits with words across the behind, and that I wouldn’t recognize any of those Disney Channel mini celebrities if they bit me. It’s just the cross I must bear.

• Are you a fan of what one unnamed film executive described as “nudity, vomiting, and defecation . . . the stuff consumers really want?” Do you own a computer? If so, I know what you’re getting for Christmas. The vaguely film-like Jackass 2.5 will be available through Blockbuster’s Movielink service on December 19. The unnamed executive, who coined the above charming turn of phrase, went on to tell the New York Times that they expect to make $70 umpty-bajillion dollars from the release, and that they plan to roll naked in said cash while society goes down the toilet. If you can bear to wait until December 26, you can also obtain this modern classic on DVD or from iTunes. But of course, if you’re the sort of person who is motivated to pay to see someone get hit in the testicles with a golf club rather than watching it for free on YouTube like the rest of us, there’s no way you’ll be able to wait.

• I was excited about Knight Rider, but only so far as it pertained to the joke-writing possibilities inherent in tacky 80s nostalgia and some young, pretty boy actor reprising a role that was created by The Hoff in all youthful, hairy-chested glory. Upon hearing this week that Will Arnett, he of the fetching gravely voice and glorious Gob Bluthiness, will be the sound of KITT, my enthusiasm has totally jumped out of the ironic and into geeky reality. Arnett will be portrayed on screen by a Ford Mustang driven by some guy from a soap opera. My fingers are crossed that they introduce the new KITT by having it appear in a puff of smoke behind a curtain while accompanied by the dramatic strains of Europe’s “The Final Countdown.”

Martha Smith is a San Francisco-based freelance writer and editor. She writes mostly about food, TV, and other things that can be enjoyed while sitting down.