State of the Union

I have pinpointed a phenomenon that is the epitome, indeed a complete embodiment, of everything that's wrong with America today. I'd like to thank the Bravo television network for blessing us with the lovely slice of Americana entitled "The Real Housewives of Orange County."

I shall henceforth call it "TRHOC," which sounds not unlike the vocalization my cat makes when coughing up a hairball. Coincidence?

The apparent premiere of the new season is upon us, so Bravo has seen fit to run episode after episode of this vacuous programme. A virtual marathon for the brain, an evening of watching TRHOC requires the lack of affect seen in extreme depressives, the rigidity of a catatonic and the stupidity seen in, well, the stupid. Really, one must possess all of those characteristics to get through an episode without feeling as if all Californians, nay all Americans, shouldn't pick up the arms we're so proud to bear and blow our collective brains out.

But, really, maybe I'm putting too much thought into TRHOC. It's likely been years since most of the Housewives featured on this show have had a thought beyond how much money they're going to spend on diamond skull earrings or if their 500cc breast implants might rupture while getting a shiatsu massage at Canyon Ranch.

Lest you misunderstand me, let me get one thing straight at the outset: I am not envious of these women. Give me some credit, that's just too easy. I could theoretically buy a $10,000 watch if I chose to. But I wouldn't. Who the hell needs a $10,000 watch? Anyway, my point here is that my venom towards this show is not petty jealously or my deep-seated desire to whimsically spend thousands on LV purses and thongs at Agent Provocateur.

Rather, I hate this show because these women are dolts. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you the following:

Exhibit A - Vicki: Housewife Vicki is an energy-packed California blonde with a heart of gold who just wants her kids to be her best friends. See, there's a problem with that, because she's their MOTHER, not their friend. But what do I know about raising kids? I mean, I don't have one of those licenses they make Americans get before you can breed. Oh, what's that you say? We don't do that in this country? Well, that explains so much.

Vicki's got this pimply, bratty-faced 20-year old son off at college in Boulder, Colorado. She decides to "surprise" him by showing up for a weekend visit, on a gameday nonetheless. Vicki busts up in his broke-ass college frat house with a twelve pack of Coors and a party-till-you-puke scream. Bratty son, as you can guess, is none too pleased.

The 20-year old basically makes his mom feel like an idiot (which she should) and tells her "I just wish you'd told me you were coming." Fair enough, kid, fair enough. However, Vicki isn't getting the point. "But then it wouldn't have been a surprise," she says. Vicki's prattles on, pathetically asking "aren't you happy to see me?" over and over until she is reduced to tears and flees to her son's bathroom with her Coors Light in hand. Drown those sorrows, Vicki, drown 'em.

Really, I haven't seen such co-dependent, fucked-up Freudian behavior between a mother and son since Anna Nicole Smith and Daniel. This bitch ought to be ashamed, but I don't think Vicki and shame are on intimate terms.

I don't normally side with 20-year olds. I think they're obnoxious tadults (teen-adults) caught in that awkward phase between idiocy and the marrying years. But this kid really has a point. Here he is in his college town just trying to enjoy game day with the guys, and his cougar of a mother barges right in, fake tits on display for all his friends to ogle. It's got to be embarassing. Plus, she's acting more like his long-lost girlfriend than his mother. But guess what, Vicki? He doesn't want a friend, he wants a mother. She of course never gets it, and the whole crying scene ends with the son saying something like "Pull yourself together, I'll be in the kitchen." He's a little bossy, isn't he? I like that in my 20-year olds.

Vicki's obviously feeling badly about things, so she tries to make it up to her son by getting drunk. At this point, she offers to buy him a brand new car if he gets a 3.5 GPA for the semester. Seriously, a 3.5? I mean, it's good and all, but isn't she setting the bar a little low? Kid's not at Harvard, after all. To celebrate the offer, Vicki does a keg stand, and then lets her son's friends suck on her boobs. Okay, I made that very last part up, but she really did do a keg stand supported by her son's buddies.

Where can I nominate her for mother of the year?

Exhibit B - Jeana: Jeana is a former Playmate who is married to an ex-baseball player. She's got American Dream written all over her, doesn't she? It appears, however, that the years have not been kind to Jeana's marriage (or Jeana's waistline for that matter, but that's a different topic for a different day). To be fair, Jeana is the only one who seems to have a lick of common sense in her head, but I don't think she's passed her "midwestern values" onto her kids. When asked about the state of her parents marriage, Jeana's 17-year old daughter says "I think my mom ought to get a boyfriend."

I don't think I need to say anything else at this point.

Exhibit C - Lauri: Lauri's sugar-daddy gives her a $100,000 convertible Mercedes. Problem is, Lauri's 21-year old daughter has a wicked sense of entitlement, and can't even look at her mom's car for 10 seconds without saying something like, "Okay, let's trade your old car in 'cause I want a BMW convertible. Moooooommmm, you have a $30,000 watch on your wrist! It makes me so mad! It's not fair." Oh really?

Good luck to whatever guy ends up with that gold-digging tramp, er, undiscovered gem.

Exhibit D - Jo: Lastly, no introduction to TRHOC would be complete without talking about Jo. The youngest of our housewives, this chick isn't really a housewife at all. I actually have NO idea why she is even remotely qualified to be on this show (Oh dear lord, tee-hee. I said that like these women have qualifications. Har, har, hee, hee.). Jo isn't married, has no kids, but is fucking a really rich dude with a teenage son. She used to live with him in the O.C., but now she's moved to a shitty apartment in LA with her friend in an attempt to start a recording career. She kind of looks like Eva Longoria if you squint real hard and turn your head to the left, but I think that's her greatest talent, 'cause her voice is beat.

Her boyfriend, who has an asinine name like "Slate" or "Slade" or something, knows some people who knows some people (who doesn't?). She cuts a demo, and on the episode I watched last night, they had a meeting with record execs. Slate proceeds to sing along with the demo, trying to show how "in" to the music he really is, but all he succeeds in doing is showing how much better a 40-year old man with a Peter Pan complex can sing than Jo. Shit, even I can sing better than Jo, and I've made ears bleed before.

I could go on, but really, why? Is this what our nation's young people aspire to be? Fake-titted, vapid housewives with bratty kids and big bank accounts? I'd like to think this show is aired with a wink and a nod to the viewer, but I don't think it is. Is TRHOC the new American dream? If it is, then get me the hell out of here.