Here's something you might be interested in.
I was at a party last night in which I ran into Corey Feldman (I'll give you the details on that in a future Crasher). He's the child actor most known for The Lost Boys and Stand by Me, but also by a new generation for his reality show "The Two Coreys."
Reality shows are huge. And we all understand why. They're inexpensive to write (I think they kept going during the writers strike). People love watching a train wreck. And no matter what the premise of the reality show, someone is going to look bad.
I have to admit, if I'm going thru the channels and nothing is on, I might watch some of them. Well, the ones I can tolerate. That crap on MTV where parents are trying to set their kids up with different kids, while they taunt the current boyfriend/girlfriend, is just sick and bizarre.
When I saw a story in yesterdays Union-Tribune about the latest reality show called "Secret Millionaire," I couldn't stop laughing. Apparently, the show went out of their way to show the worst parts of Imperial Beach. They also did a lot of "coaching" and "directing" to get the scenes they wanted.
I remember a columnist for TV Guide writing about a similar experience on the reality show Blind Date.
And speaking of dates, I went out with a woman that tried to get on a few different game shows. She finally got one, and came in second place (which meant no money, just a "thank you" from host Roger Lodge).
Oh yeah, game shows have their share of distorting what you really see.
I got on an email list from a woman whose party I attended years ago. I sometimes get Hollywood type of things from her, and one was for a game show that Dennis Miller was going to host. The title was "Amnesia".
I had made so much fun of my old girlfriend for going up to L.A. to audition, and then driving back to appear on the show.
Yet there I was doing the same thing. But my logic was this...I might possibly get a column out of it (didn't realize that would instead be a blog). I also thought, since it dealt with how great a memory you had, I would be perfect. I can remember things from when I was 3-years-old.
I drove up to the Rob Burnett studios, which were in this residential area, which seemed odd.
I walk in, and a heavy-set African-American lady behind the desk just stares at me. I smile. She doesn't. I tell her what I'm there for...and she points. She doesn't say, "Oh yeah, just go in that room there." Nothing. Just a point.
I walk in the direction of her finger, thinking about giving her a finger back.
I sit down on a couch. I see three good looking Caucasians, all in their early 20s. The guy is in a tie, and seemed nervous. There are two women. One is filling out a form, asking the other what she should write for this or that.
They finish the forms, and talk about their modeling career.
A woman comes out with a clipboard, speaking fast. She takes one of the women back.
About 15 minutes later, she asks me if I've filled out one of the "packets". I tell her I wasn't told to, and then another point. To a different table with the forms. And the second woman is taking back. The guy in the tie just walks out.
They want my email, websites, names of friends with phone numbers. It was insane. But, as I'm reading the rules, they explain they need that to find out stories about me, and test my memory on those things. I'm wondering if they'll instead try to embarrass me. But I don't care. I fill it out.
I'm brought into another room, where they film me for five minutes. I'm told to smile a lot, speak clearly, and show that I can be enthusastic when the camera rolls. For some reason, hearing that pep talk, made me less so.
But she asks questions that make it fun, and I'm able to laugh, and give funny answers.
She tells me I did great, and that I'd hear from them.
I never did.
And on Dennis Millers radio show, he would talk about that show non-stop. One time he said, "What we do, is just go onto a campus like UCLA, and grab students and bring them in to play." I laughed, wondering if they bring them in for the big audition. Or if they look for certain types that might look better on the air, then a guy in his late 30s with a receeding hairline.
The show was cancelled about two weeks after it started.
I got a call a month after that, asking if I wanted to audtion for a different show. They said I'd have to drive up two different times for the audition process. I laughed and said "No thanks."
The woman on the phone said, "How could you not want to be part of something so exciting? You don't even know what you have a chance at winning."
I sighed and said, "Listen...you have video of me on camera. You know what I sound and look like on the air. If you want me, that's fine. I'll do it. If you want to 'interview me', that's fine, too. You or your group of people can do that over the phone. I'm not going to waste my time, and gas, driving up multiple times; while you instead use some wannabe actors and actresses."
She quickly thanked me and hung up.
I was at a party last night in which I ran into Corey Feldman (I'll give you the details on that in a future Crasher). He's the child actor most known for The Lost Boys and Stand by Me, but also by a new generation for his reality show "The Two Coreys."
Reality shows are huge. And we all understand why. They're inexpensive to write (I think they kept going during the writers strike). People love watching a train wreck. And no matter what the premise of the reality show, someone is going to look bad.
I have to admit, if I'm going thru the channels and nothing is on, I might watch some of them. Well, the ones I can tolerate. That crap on MTV where parents are trying to set their kids up with different kids, while they taunt the current boyfriend/girlfriend, is just sick and bizarre.
When I saw a story in yesterdays Union-Tribune about the latest reality show called "Secret Millionaire," I couldn't stop laughing. Apparently, the show went out of their way to show the worst parts of Imperial Beach. They also did a lot of "coaching" and "directing" to get the scenes they wanted.
I remember a columnist for TV Guide writing about a similar experience on the reality show Blind Date.
And speaking of dates, I went out with a woman that tried to get on a few different game shows. She finally got one, and came in second place (which meant no money, just a "thank you" from host Roger Lodge).
Oh yeah, game shows have their share of distorting what you really see.
I got on an email list from a woman whose party I attended years ago. I sometimes get Hollywood type of things from her, and one was for a game show that Dennis Miller was going to host. The title was "Amnesia".
I had made so much fun of my old girlfriend for going up to L.A. to audition, and then driving back to appear on the show.
Yet there I was doing the same thing. But my logic was this...I might possibly get a column out of it (didn't realize that would instead be a blog). I also thought, since it dealt with how great a memory you had, I would be perfect. I can remember things from when I was 3-years-old.
I drove up to the Rob Burnett studios, which were in this residential area, which seemed odd.
I walk in, and a heavy-set African-American lady behind the desk just stares at me. I smile. She doesn't. I tell her what I'm there for...and she points. She doesn't say, "Oh yeah, just go in that room there." Nothing. Just a point.
I walk in the direction of her finger, thinking about giving her a finger back.
I sit down on a couch. I see three good looking Caucasians, all in their early 20s. The guy is in a tie, and seemed nervous. There are two women. One is filling out a form, asking the other what she should write for this or that.
They finish the forms, and talk about their modeling career.
A woman comes out with a clipboard, speaking fast. She takes one of the women back.
About 15 minutes later, she asks me if I've filled out one of the "packets". I tell her I wasn't told to, and then another point. To a different table with the forms. And the second woman is taking back. The guy in the tie just walks out.
They want my email, websites, names of friends with phone numbers. It was insane. But, as I'm reading the rules, they explain they need that to find out stories about me, and test my memory on those things. I'm wondering if they'll instead try to embarrass me. But I don't care. I fill it out.
I'm brought into another room, where they film me for five minutes. I'm told to smile a lot, speak clearly, and show that I can be enthusastic when the camera rolls. For some reason, hearing that pep talk, made me less so.
But she asks questions that make it fun, and I'm able to laugh, and give funny answers.
She tells me I did great, and that I'd hear from them.
I never did.
And on Dennis Millers radio show, he would talk about that show non-stop. One time he said, "What we do, is just go onto a campus like UCLA, and grab students and bring them in to play." I laughed, wondering if they bring them in for the big audition. Or if they look for certain types that might look better on the air, then a guy in his late 30s with a receeding hairline.
The show was cancelled about two weeks after it started.
I got a call a month after that, asking if I wanted to audtion for a different show. They said I'd have to drive up two different times for the audition process. I laughed and said "No thanks."
The woman on the phone said, "How could you not want to be part of something so exciting? You don't even know what you have a chance at winning."
I sighed and said, "Listen...you have video of me on camera. You know what I sound and look like on the air. If you want me, that's fine. I'll do it. If you want to 'interview me', that's fine, too. You or your group of people can do that over the phone. I'm not going to waste my time, and gas, driving up multiple times; while you instead use some wannabe actors and actresses."
She quickly thanked me and hung up.