I'm starting to think that this town is nothing but Lana's coffee shop, the Kent farm and a never-ending maze of secret laboratories. Every time Clark turns around, someone is stripping him down and strapping him to a slab in order to discover his big secret. Please, like nobody can figure out that a straight guy with those abs is obviously a superhero? The bigger mystery here is the sparks bouncing between Annette O'Toole and creepy John Glover. A little Martha-Lionel hanky, maybe? Just a word of warning to the writers: The freaky-obsessive, comic-book-crazed fans will spontaneously combust if you go there. So hurry!
Life's Funniest Moments
I could get behind last week's Live TV's Greatest Bloopers or whatever, since it was a funny enough distraction. Once. Now it's just getting g.d. ridiculous. Did NBC really can Ed to fill the 8 pm slot with clip shows of New Zealand news reporters spewing dirty innuendoes and Jack Hanna getting knocked around in his wild adventures by an ostrich? I don't care how rewarding it is to see those dirty French talk-show hosts catch fire. This sort of cheapo programming makes me wonder why Jeff Zucker thinks we hate ourselves enough to watch this, instead of...
...which I haven't exactly forgiven for sending Jennifer Hudson home last week. But reading Elton John's slams that the show was racist reminded me of two things. One, that we still had some serious talents of color left onstage and, two, that the tired old queen's opinion was about as valid as most of his music. Please, we're talking about a guy who teamed up with Eminem, who I totally dig, but would never consider a beacon of ethnic sensitivity. That said, I'm glad I came back, if only to say goodbye to John Stevens. Granted, a lot of us have been pretty brutal to the singing X-ray, but let's face it, the kid did serve a purpose. I mean, who else was going to bring back smart blazers for 16-year-olds? Or make George Huff look like a good dancer? As for tonight's Group A of LaToya, Fantasia and Diana, let's all say it together: Final Three.
I love the Vegas, too. Never been, but any town that can drive Jimmy to put a smackdown on Caleb and open Summer's eyes to the glory of Seth has got to be a bangin' good time. Not that casa Cohen was short on good stuff, either. That Hailey-Julie catfight was just campy enough to keep things from becoming Girls Gone Wild: Orange County and Theresa's baby news actually had me feeling a little bad for the Chino escapee. Until I realized that teenage pregnancy isn't as scary as the fact that the teenager in question is having a child so late in life.
Keg stands, ladies? Really. It's one thing for the girls to throw back their body weight in booze for a game of "I Never," but this is just silly. Then again, I'd probably resort to sucking from a tap on national TV if I had to share a house with Trash, I mean Trish. Her face when Jenny S. was revealed to be the spy was priceless, as was her Gold Digger T-shirt. "Like a hooker... just smarter" may have seemed funny, honey, but it still makes one a tramp, OK? The dates this week were typically lush, save for the attack of the Rose Bowl marching band with Jessica B. I felt like I was in the video for Fleetwood Mac's Tusk. And poor Karen. I liked her. Especially after she bid Jesse goodbye with that cryptic warning about "one of the girls." Get on with your buggy-eyed beauty-pageant-meets-Jennifer Garner bad self! And Jesse, get off whatever you're on. Now that the Giants have signed Jared Lorenzen, you might want to pick someone really worth getting to know, since you'll probably have a lot of free time soon.
TV Land Moguls
What a nice little surprise. Classy, informative and fun, fun, fun, this six-part series on the giants of the medium plays like Biography for the E! generation. Relatively free of the dishy bitterness inherent to True Hollywood Stories, we instead get a loving salute to '60s icons like Dragnet's Jack Webb, Beverly Hillbillies creator Paul Henning, The Fugitive guru Quinn Martin and Sherwood Schwartz, whose Brady Bunch is all the proof I need of a loving God. Man, how I wanted my older brothers to be Greg and Peter. They never tied Bobby in a blanket and threw him down the stairs. Anyway, these guys must have been pretty cool, seeing how so many famous fans pop up to sing their praises. Though Webb's estate may want to follow up on Dick Wolf's confession that "Dragnet's DNA is in Law & Order." They could make a mint off that paternity suit.
Salute to Soaps
Don't roll your eyes. You know soap operas are a blast. Me, I'm a diehard and still, this primer on afternoon delights was an eye-opener. Who knew Days of Our Lives' Peter Reckell has been playing Bo for the last 21 years? Or that his castmate Alison Sweeney made such an adorable host? Sure, maybe some of the shows are a bit ham-handed with all the big hair and silly names, but come on. There is no way you haven't toyed with calling out of work to find out how Passions' Theresa plans to get back the baby Gwen stole from her or when General Hospital's Sonny will realize that accidentally shooting Carly made her fall in love with Alcazar. Hell, I may have to "come down" with something just to watch this again, since I was also a little distracted by...
...which had me crying before the first commercial. Good lord, my heart broke into a thousand pieces for that poor wretch Kristy. A mother of two, 25 going on 60, saggy everything, missing teeth, legally blind. Sissy Spacek's Carrie didn't have it this bad, and she had Piper Laurie yelling at her dirty pillows. Just when I pulled it together, the reveal started the waterworks all over again. Not only did the Extreme team turn her from a mess of The Swan proportions into a Susan Sarandon-looking babe (without all the annoying political posing), but her husband used the moment to re-affirm his wedding vows. It was so sweet... Oh my God, here come the tears again. I gotta go.