The Worst Television Show of All Time

So, I've seen every episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

It is the worst show I have ever seen this much of. Yes, there could be worse shows--I suppose Small Wonder might have been more maddening (she never killed anyone!), but I was young and not the type to play outside, so I literally didn't know I had anything better to do.

We could argue all day about whether Studio 60, or Small Wonder, or Dinosaurs, or Wonder Showzen is the worst show of all time. That's not to the point; what matters are the answers to two questions: (1) why is such a bad show? And (2) given (1), why the hell am I watching it?

I'm going to answer the questions in the order I posed them.

Now, if I were really to list everything that was bad about Studio 60, this blog post would never end, and frankly, I have a dissertation to get to. So let me just write impressionistically.

First, the characters. Or rather, the character. He is Aaron Sorkin. More specifically, (a) he is a history buff, (b) he is a political activist, and (c) he is a comedian.

Let me be a little more exact:

(a) He has access to wikipedia.
(b) He copies and pastes emails from Moveon.org directly into his scripts and has his characters read them under the auspices of talking about the great American tradition of lighting or some shit.
(c) He talks about comedy, and his attempts to actually produce comedy are laughable. Wait; laughable is too close to funny. I'm just going to say "flatulent".

I was being a little bit unfair when I said that there was only one character. There are actually two: the male character and the female character.

The female character ... boy, oh, boy. What can we say about her?

Well first, she is having PMS. There's that.

Second, she has huge heart-to-hearts regarding issues that are about as relevant as the fact that one time, she had a dream, and in her dream, the male character didn't have respect for her. In other words, she is a hysterical mess.

Here's the show's "logic":

There is a 25-year old Jamie Tarsus character who runs the programming for "NBS".
The flagship show is their late-night comedy show (named Studio 60) that has been running since 1986.
She spends all her time thinking about Studio 60 and how great it is.
The show runs on Friday nights--because that's the night everyone is home watching TV.
The Christian right is omnipotent, and spends all their time watching and thinking about Studio 60, because they run sketches like "The Nicholas Cage Show", which just burns their butter.
Oh yeah, Studio 60 always takes a stand by poking fun at the Christians by making fun of their Biblical literalism, which the Christian right cannot take, because it's never happened to them before.
Also, the Jamie Tarsus character wants to put on a show about the UN.

Let me repeat that. She wants to put on a show about the UN.

If Hugo Chavez was the wacky neighbor, maybe ("Presidente Bush, I smell rotten eggs? Ees your eggs rotten? No, ees just jou--jou smell like sulfur!" Huge laughs. Bush shakes his fist at Chavez). Having SNL, basically, be your flagship show is a stretch; but making a show about the UN is by far the most ludicrious stretching ... no, stretching is too weak ... the most ludicrious fisting of reality I've ever heard of.

I feel like I haven't yet conveyed why it is that I hate this show so much. It is unbearably smug, and it is as disconnected from reality as Bobby Brown in an Aha! video.

Let me communicate to you how this is so. One of the featured players' parents have no idea what Studio 60, the flagship show of a major network, on which their son is one of the three main stars, is. That's right, she doesn't know what is the TV show on which her son stars.

You know why? Because she's from Columbus, Ohio.

That's right: Aaron Sorkin does not believe that people from Columbus know how to use a TV.

And yet where does the Studio 60-obsessed Christian right come from?

He doesn't say. Maybe Iowa?

Enough, already. Why do I watch this turd?

Well, sadly, it's about Saturday Night Live, and I can't resist. Plus, the lighting is good.

Also, there's something fun about demonization. I just love hating this show. Just when I think it can't get any more unrealistic than the Maureen Dowd character cutting off her interview to get a look at Sting playing a lute, the bottom falls out and two of the writers hire one of the world's worst black comedians to write for their show because his schtick is that he doesn't tell any jokes and talks about racism. Just when I think that you can't get more smug than two people having a fight about one of them appearing on the 700 club, and therefore being unworthy of his attention, they have a song to the tune of the Mikado with lyrics concerning the personal lives of the writers of the show; what's worse is that the show portrays this sketch as a shining jewel of tightly written comedy.

Think about what that sketch is really, though: take Weird Al Yankovich, and make him do a parody of "Under the Boardwalk". In Sorkin-universe, this makes you a comic genius.

How can I not watch this show?

Blog is the New Blog

Well, here's the blog. It's ready for your delectation.

Any stories?

I got a few.

I was in a steakhouse--Ruth's Chris steakhouse, actually--where they cook the steaks with butter. Sizzling hot butter. (You can even get extra butter.)

And it's not cheap. This is not a cheap place. It's a New York City steakhouse. It's far more expensive than any of you could afford.

I was there with my lady, by the way, and we were enjoying each other's company. The lighting was low, the furnishings were sleek and unintrusive, and the waiter was a male gay.

Then the manager came up to us and asked us how we liked the food.

One thing odd about the manager: whereas every employee there was dressed in a tidy black and white, the manager was a tad unkempt, barbigerous, and bedecked in a tweed jacket. He had a big smile on his face, though, because he knew what m'lady and I were tucking into: steako delicioso.

Tweed: How are you enjoying everything?

His voice was a rich, full-bodied bass.

Me: Oh, it's delicious!

The lady nodded silently in agreement.

Tweed: I'm glad to hear it.
Me: Listen, I've been having a dispute with this one over here (pointing to lady). She thinks the ribeye is the best steak. I think both the New York Strip and the Filet Mignon is better.* So I want to know, what do you, an acknowledged steak expert, think?
Tweed: The best steak here is the cowboy ribeye. No question.
Me: Dammit!
Tweed: If you like the filet and the strip, though, you should get a porterhouse.
Me: You know, I've gotten porterhouses before, and for some reason they just don't taste as good to me as either the filet or the strip by itself.
Tweed: Ah, that would be because the flavor of the marrow mixes with the meat.
Me: That bullshit marrow!
Tweed: Ha ha, yes. Enjoy your meal, folks.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that the man in tweed had absolutely nothing to do with the workings of the restaurant. As the waiter later told us, that man is just a Ruth's Chris fan who goes from table to table talking to people about the steak. In fact, the waiter was under the impression that he wrote for Saturday Night Live and liked to talk to people at the tables to get material for his jokes.

Moreover, at lunchtime, the whole restaurant is filled with crackpots like Tweed. There's a real blue-haired brigade that takes the place over, each one checking up on each other, making sure they're enjoying the steak. Really weird.

I was stunned, first, that Ruth's Chris runs their ship like this. But okay, they're like a little anarchy. Second, my lady was silent during my whole conversation with Tweed because she had only one thought the entire time: "Who the fuck is this guy?"

See, when I see tweed, I think "professor", and when I think professor, I think: "better than everyone else", so I thought: "must listen to him". She saw tweed and she thought: "bad fashion sense."

Second, I was relieved. It turns out that ribeye is not the best steak, but rather the steak favored by a lunatic.

All is right with the world.

*--Notice how my steaks are capitalized and hers aren't? That's because they're better.