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Wednesday
Sep132006

Rock Star is my friend. Really.

So Rock Star: Supernova is over.

I will no longer be able to hold a conversation. I am now officially the most boring person on earth.

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I don't think a day has gone by over the last thirteen weeks or so that I have not had at least four conversations about Rock Star. So those conversations are mostly with my husband, but come on...that is why we are meant to be. We are both hopelessly. addicted. to. crap. TV.

We ushered the small child off to bed, settled in with our carry out pad Thai and got down to the business of making SuperNova interesting and marketable to budding tween rocker grrrls a complete band.

And it was a good show. It didn't have to be. We all know Tommy Lee and the two other dudes made their decision after the first show long before tonight's curtain call, so it's not like Dilana, Lukas and Tobey had to kick it up. But they did.

After the shocker of Toby get the big steel-toed boot (I so thought he was going to win this bad boy), I have to admit the Big Reveal was a bit anti-climatic for me. Yeah yeah yeah, Lukas won. Now Mac can sponsor their worldwide tour and Lukas can (please please) stop playing that horrible Headspin song. Dilana and Storm can finally unbraid each other's extenstions, move to Vermont, get married, make records with Dave Navarro. It's all good.

Maybe my need for their to be more fireworks and glory in the show's finale is really about my sad, sad attachment to The Rockers. Just saying out loud, "Wow, I'm really going to miss these folks...I mean, show" really says it all, doesn't it?

It reminds me of this study my mom read a few years ago about how some alarming percentage of the American Public really, truly believe the people on TV are their friends. Friends.

When she told my family about this one night, we laaaaaughed (and then quickly turned our rapt attention away from fellow human contact to Phil from Amazing Race or some such with an exclamatory sssssssssshhhhhhhhhh!, probably from my father).

"Yeah, " I said (during a commercial), "that study is probably full of those freaks who watch The Bold and The Beautiful. You know they are lonely enough to believe it all has an element of reality to it."

Spooky, isn't it?

Not the study, but how closely it mirrors me, who swears up and down she saw Katherine from The Mole in a parking lot a few months after winning the big money on season one.

Why fight it? I love Rock Star. I love it. I love it. I love it. And maybe, just maybe if I go to the concert all rocker chic-ed out enough and scream along loud enough, they'll raise the horns right at me.

Even if I don't get Rocker love I (desperately) seek, you know I am asking Bruce to buy me tickets for our anniversary (four years is three vodka-cranberries and a torn-and-tied-back pleather halter top, right?).

And when the Rockers realize they really are friends of mine, here's who you can bet your black duster coat they'll be:

Lukas, the creepy dude who works the back of the house at the Hooters (I know, we already know this part) where you work just to get yourself through the Women Studies program in grad school (it ain't always pretty what you do to keep yourself in the Erica Jong, people). He's all look and no touch for the ladies in the front of the house, if you know what I mean. And by look, I mean, "Oh. mah. gaw. What aisle in Sephora do you find that sparkly-creamy highlighter shadow?"

Toby, that frat guy from the "cool" (*eye roll*) fraternity you hooked up with junior year who is forever known in your circle of grrrlfriends as "That Sorta Hot Guy Who Incessantly Talks About Getting Wasted." You know that guy? Of course you do. All your grrrlfriends in that circle do (*wink*).

Ryan, my second husband. Or possible the brooder you were fascinated by but failed to fascinate in return when you could not name one single Jeff Buckley song off the top of your head after four Black Butte Porter pounders.

Zayra. Borrow her clothes on the off chance your work friends will actually let you on the float at the Queer Pride parade this year? Hecky yeah. Renew the lease? Prolly not such a good idea.

Phil. Didn't you go to high school with Phil? Or was it Hebrew school? Oh wait...he looks sorta...No. Hmmm. What was his last name? Was he Julie's little brother? Phil Who Again? Never mind.

Dana, your college roommate. Ummmm, nice and...ummm, well, she did teach you how to sort laundry and send you a lovely little thank you note for those boxers you puffy-painted for her for finals good luck.

Storm, who you dragged Dana down the hall to visit during her How To Give A (Really Good) Blow Job workshop for the floor, only asking that participants bring their own curling irons or vodka bottles to practice on. (Somewhere in the world, Tommy Lee just felt the overwhelming need to say, "School of Hard Knocks, dude!" while he-he-heing to himself).

Dilana? Oh no, honey, you were way too intimidated by her to even think of being her friend. Even if you thought she was hella rad. Even if you secretly wanted to be her. Even if she did cry during Kumbayah when the week of camp was over. No no no no no.

I don't want to brag that I clearly am friendly with way more of these reality folks than you, so I will stop there. But please, feel free to chime in if your BFF is Patrice or your uncle's neighbor's favorite cashier at Fred G. Meyer's sister is Jill or whatever.

I'll just take the rest of the evening to be alone with my thoughts and my memories. Until Survivor: Segregation Island starts tomorrow, that is.

Then the popularity really begins.

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Reader Comments (1)

hhhmmmm I really should turn the tv on, this sounded like fun!
September 14, 2006 | Unregistered Commenter2Jmama

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