You know you watched it last night, “Basketball Wives, LA.” First of all the command is given (take note all you snooty, think you are all that, women, aka classy) “Talk to me in ghetto!” Seriously? To prove that one is down with it (also known as down to earth), one has to speak “ghetto?” And just what is ghetto? Could I have a dictionary, please?
“Who the #!*& are you?” Again, Seriously? Since when does one have to come to a new setting with a curriculum vitae of their life? Whatever happened to gradually getting to know someone? I’ll tell you what happened. Ratings happened; waiting for relationships to meld on camera is probably like watching paint dry. No one is going to tune in to see that.
And, you know you were waiting for some stuff to hit the fan. Beautiful, blessed women just sitting down to a good meal and casual, cordial conversation will not send the ratings soaring. We can get that stuff in our everyday lives. We want some madness, some craziness, some “I don’t care if the camera is on me and I am outside at a nice restaurant in Malibu where all the other folks (you know what I mean) are watching and having their stereotyped musings confirmed,” insanity. Sure enough near the end of the program, BAM! Words lead to pushing and heels taken off and sisters trying to get at each other (Compton and Oakland in the HOUSE!!!!). You know you watched and tweeted about it and delighted in the stupid madness of it all. NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!! LET’S DO THIS!!!!
I truly pray that there is no reality in these reality programs, that everything is scripted and the drama that unfolds before us is the figment of some producer/writer imagination. I pray this, but I know it isn’t so, that what we see (for the most part), is what we get.
I have no words for these programs; I do not have the words or the energy to express my distress about the images presented to national and international audiences, images that are appalling at best, and to me, downright embarrassing. O, yes, I hear you, “You, Donna, watched it.” Yes, I did; such programs provide great fodder for future programs not just about reality shows but about women, our take on one another, how we build or destroy friendships, etc. But, guess what. I’m too old school to keep watching. I can no longer watch women who have been blessed beyond their wildest imaginations trash those blessings as soon as the camera comes on. And we digital voyeurs devour it all, hook, line and sinker.
Out all of those “ladies” last night, I would probably be Tonya (though I would try to intervene to stop a fight that’s happening over my head and I hope I am not as loquacious as she seemed to be). But, then, I wouldn’t be a part of that group. I have a feeling that they don’t do their shopping at Payless and J. C. Penney.
Feel free to disagree with me, but DON’T MAKE ME TAKE OFF MY HEELS!!!