David Foster Wallace on Ambition

Blog Guilt #2

The second round of Blog Guilt. This time I wrote about the film The Last Seduction. Same class, same rules apply. If it's dumb, ignore me.

Disguise in The Last Seduction

Bridget Gregory is not a human being. Human beings have flaws, they’re vulnerable, and they hurt. Soren Kierkegaard once wrote that “Don’t you know that a midnight hour comes when everyone has to take off his mask? Do you think life always lets itself be trifled with? Do you think you can sneak off a little before midnight to escape this?”[1] Yet, Bridget is able to escape the film, all one hundred and ten minutes of it, without ever touching her mask. In the final scene, Bridget rides in a limo, the closest a neo-noir film will allow us to the notion of “riding into the sunset.” And in this scene, Bridget not only flicks her nose up at Kierkegaard but at the two prominent males in the film, Clay and Mike, as well. Throughout The Last Seduction, Bridget uses her sexuality as a weapon, dominates male characters through her knowledge of gender roles, and has no problem donning numerous identities in order immerge victorious. Yet, as Bridget manipulates the male characters in the film, John Dahl, the film’s director manipulates the audience as he uses the thinnest narrative pretense to hide what Bridget truly is – a modern day psychopath.

The Last Seduction opens with Bridget’s husband, Clay, earning $700,000 from a drug deal. But Clay is not the typical “bread winner.” He is essentially unemployed and the funds are supposed to go towards his medical school tuition. Yet, Clay’s panic filled tears underscore the aforementioned deal, which only happens due his medical connections and sheer luck. This man is no hero. Clay returns home, money in hand, and gets into a fight with Bridget. The situation escalates, he slaps her, but the incident dissipates, tensions fade. The two become intimate, but as Clay enters the shower, Bridget hides the rest of the condoms and tells him she’s running out to get more. Yet without hesitation, Bridget grabs the money and leaves. This heist was pulled off with lips and cleavage, no firearms involved. In this way, Bridget uses her femininity as a substitute for violence. However, later on in the film, when Bridget is pursued by a private investigator, she uses her sexuality in a much more sinister way, “using it to distract someone before she commits violence.”[2] In this sequence, Bridget walks out of her house and his apprehended by the private investigator. They climb into Bridget’s car. She drives while he sits in the passenger’s seat. Their conversation is hostile. After some time passes, Bridget makes a comment about the man’s penis, if it’s really as big as she imagines. At first, the private detective resists these advances. He’s a professional, or at the very least, functions under the guise of one. However, after further encouragement, the detective relents. He unbuckles his seatbelt in order to unbutton is pants. In this moment, Bridget pounces. She drives the car into a power line. Upon impact, the detective flies out of the windshield. He’s dead and it wouldn’t have been possible without the distraction enabled by Bridget’s sexuality.

Throughout the film, Bridget uses her knowledge of gender roles to not only get men to do what she wants, but to guarantee her innocence. Upon Bridget’s arrival in Beston, she quickly befriends a local insurance sales man named Mike. Their relationship turns sexual and on one rainy night, Bridget and Mike find themselves alone in the office building that they both work in. Mike, either half-serious or wanting to impress Bridget, demonstrates how he can catch a cheating husband by reading his credit report. This act impresses Bridget, who, taken by curiosity, calls the wife of one of the unfaithful to see if she can sell her on the idea of murder. Afterwards, Bridget tricks Mike into not only thinking that she now works as a part-time assassin, but needs him to kill someone as a way to prove his love for her. And while this may seem preposterous on paper, Mike believes it. Bridget leverages her femininity in order to engage Mike’s masculinity, to force him into a construction of power and strength that both parties know is false. Yet upon further pestering, the illusion of an unfulfilled gender role is enough to have Mike seriously contemplate murder.

Bridget constructs her femininity in order to have Mike believe that he is a failure of a man, that he cannot garner enough masculinity to prove his love for her. And this isn’t the result of bad acting but of design, “everything about Bridget seems slightly off, or faked, because she employs her femininity.[3]” This facade of femininity is again employed near the end of film. Mike, who finally relents to Bridget’s suggestion, sneaks into Clay’s apartment with the intention to murder him. However, the plot goes awry and both men realize that they have been tricked. As the men come to terms with one another as allies, Bridget walks into the door and kills her husband. Any illusion of femininity dissipates as the last drop of tear gas fills Clay’s mouth. After her husband has stopped breathing, Bridget turns her attention toward Mike. She informs him that she knows about Trish, the transsexual that Mike married while he lived in Buffalo. This revelation is enough to send Mike into a blind fury, for “the trauma here comes from the idea that a masculine man is supposed to be able to ‘recognize’ a feminine woman.[4]” Bridget capitalizes on this fury and provokes Mike into raping her while the authorities are on the phone. In the course of a few minutes, Bridget has played both cold-blooded murderer and rape victim. Once the authorities arrive, Mike is subsequently sent to prison as Bridget’s disguise of femininity claims its third victim.

Throughout The Last Seduction, Bridget uses her sexuality as a multipurpose disguise, one that can be used as a weapon, can dominate male characters through established ideology, and can assume many identities. Yet, Bridget’s femininity is not only used to trick the men in the film, but also the audience. Bridget is undeniably the protagonist of the film, yet she unable to have an emotional connection to any of the other characters, they are pawns in her scheme. Given this context, Bridget’s femininity masks her psychopathy, her manipulation along with her tendency to kill. Yes, she is a strong woman, but she is not a woman. She is powerful, she is intelligent, she “kicks ass,” but she lacks the flaws, vulnerabilities, and shortcomings that are essential in not only a character, but also a human.

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[1] Kierkegaard, Soren. Either/Or. II. 146. Print.

[2] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 95. Print.

[3] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 95. Print.

[4] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 97. Print.

Larry King Has Fun

Marble Madness

Blog Guilt

Blog Guilt is a thing. You know you have this thing you should update on a regular basis, but just can't find the time, or the thoughts, or the mental bandwidth. So since I haven't updated this things in forever, here are some thoughts I had about the film Speed. I wrote this piece for my Violent Women in Film Class and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. If it's dumb, just act like this was written by someone else or something.

The Man of Action as a Source of Strength

            In his 1864 novel, Notes From Underground, Fyodor Dostoyevsky writes about how the conscience man is paralyzed by his thoughts, crippled by insecurity. If Dostoyevsky is indeed correct, Jack Traven, the protagonist of the film Speed, may not possess an ounce of consciousness. Over the course of the film, Traven saves an elevator’s worth of people with a crane, tries to disarm a bomb on the base of a moving bus, and frees a hostage from a vest lined with explosives. In the early moments of the film, he even shoots his partner as a way to resolve a hostage situation. This man clearly posses little, if any, self-doubt. And Traven’s status as a “man of action” isn’t limited to his own finitude, as other characters siphon some of his strength. Annie Porter, a spunky twenty something, catches the bus one day just to learn from Traven that the vehicle will explode if it reaches a speed under fifty miles per hour. After the bus driver is shot in an altercation, Annie takes the wheel as Traven thinks of ways to diffuse the situation. At first glance, Porter exemplifies the independent woman – intelligent, witty, and able to drive a large bus at high speeds, an activity one almost always associates with men. Yet, throughout the film it becomes clear that Porter is not truly independent and powerful, as she owes her bus driving skills along with her life to Traven, her man of action.

            In her book, The Violent Woman, Hilary Neroni makes the argument that from the moment Traven climbs aboard the bus, he is there “to protect Annie.”[i] This position is not only indicative of Traven’s role in the film, but also of his place in society. The character of Jack Traven is a white male who lives to protect. He’s a cop, one who likes to party, save lives, and make passive comparisons between his work and sexual acts. In fact, early in the film “after the elevator crashes, Jack and [his partner] Harry sit down and take a breath, and they say to each other, ‘Was it good for you?’ ‘It was great for me.’”[ii] This exchange between not only coworkers, but also friends, illustrates the way sexuality is engrained into the male psyche, how every act of bravery is an act of masculinity. And as an audience we rarely think twice about this exchange, for from Uncle Sam to James Dean to Keanu Reeves, the prevalent cultural ideology has taught us that the heterosexual white male is here to protect. This ideology is evident throughout Speed but discards any veil of subtlety right after Harry has been killed. Jack receives the news, and for a moment, becomes despondent, paralyzed by self-doubt. His masculinity challenged. But Annie pleads with him, “Don’t give up on me. We are really scared and we need you right now. I can’t do this by myself.”[iii] This quote not only affirms Annie as a female who needs a male protector but also establishes that Jack Traven needs to be reminded that people depend on him in order to save the day. After Annie delivers that line, Jack returns to his previous ways. Any blow his masculinity may have taken in the aftermath of his friend’s death is mitigated with the knowledge that people need him. In the world of Speed masculinity triumphs any self-doubt, any consciousness.

            Annie, despite her goofy ponytails and innocent eyes, drives a bus over a gap in the freeway. This physical act, coupled with her sharp tongue and wit, may lead some to argue that she is an accurate portrayal of a young, independent woman. Yet, any illusion of Annie as a feminist icon is undermined in the film’s final minutes. As Traven and the rest of the LAPD close in on the location of Howard Payne, the film’s antagonist, Annie is told to stay inside the van. However, curious about the current situation, Annie ventures outside and is not only captured by Payne himself, but has a vest lined with explosives forced upon her. In the sequences that follow, Payne gets the hostage money that was promised to him, and with Annie in tow, tries to escape by way of the subway. Yet, Traven is privy to Payne’s plan and pursues him underground, the final play in what has been an a hundred and sixteen-minute pissing contest between the film’s two central male figures. However, down in the subway, it is clear that Traven is one step ahead as a paint bomb explodes all over Payne and the money. In this moment, as Neroni points out, “[Payne] realizes at this point that he has lost all possibility of regaining his masculinity. When he realizes this he has a violent fit – punching, kicking, and screaming.”[iv] This outburst is the physical manifestation of Payne’s humiliation, his castration, at the hands of Traven. Payne, frustrated at Traven’s success, leads the young cop to the top of the train. If masculinity is to be reclaimed, Traven must die. Yet, Payne’s eagerness to reclaim his manhood proves to be the end of him, as a low-hanging ledge literally takes his head off. In the aftermath of the battle, Traven returns to the interior of the train, ready to reclaim Annie as his own. However, he finds her handcuffed to a pole and the train out of control. In this moment, Annie argues with him to go, to leave her to her fate. Two people don’t have to die here. This argument is reasonable, it may be cowardice in the realm of action stars, but it at least makes sense. Yet, the ideology of male as protector finds a way to triumph over all. Jack saves both of their lives and the film ends with them on the ground, kissing as people applaud. The hero has not only reclaimed his masculinity, but has also won the girl. The same girl, who a moment ago made a sound argument for her independent death, is in his arms. Her autonomous decision making ability rendered mute by his ability to protect.

            On first glance, Annie Porter may come across as a strong, independent woman. She drives an explosives bus all over Los Angeles and cracks one-liners at the expense of her fellow riders. Yet, at the end of the day, she is at the mercy of two men’s masculinity – Traven’s protective spirit and Payne’s impotence based frustrations. And by the end of the film, she owes Traven not just driving ability but also her life. In this context, Porter is not a true independent woman, just a male construct of one. She is able to engage in both mental and physical give and take, but in the end, does nothing to disrupt the ideology of the male protector, the man of action.

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[i] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 57. Print.

[ii] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 47. Print.

[iii] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 57. Print.

[iv] Neroni, Hilary. The Violent Woman. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2005. 53. Print.

Phoenix - Entertainment Homemade Performance Video

Because for some reason, stripped-down Phoenix always sounds better.

Addition

But Seriously, Don't Smoke

Flubber?

Chocolate!

Television as a Cultural Control

Here's a paper I wrote a couple weeks back. I'm okay with how it turned out so I'll post it here.

            On June 29^th, 2012, the film Magic Mike, directed by Steven Soderbergh, released to a warm reception from critics, trending a 72 out of 100 on the aggregate review site Metacritic.[i] However, Peter Travis of Rolling Stone was somewhat critical of the film, awarding it a two out of a possible five stars. In the last sentence of his review, Travis wrote “I didn’t see this coming from a sharp observer like Soderbergh.”[ii] Yet, while Travis’ review of the film may have had some valid points, this notion of director as prime observer came across as out of date and irrelevant, especially given the growth of reality television over the past two decades. 

            Friedrich Nietzsche, in his work Human, All Too Human states that “A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends.[iii] And for eons, this was the widely accepted mentality: that the power of observance lay with artists, writers, and philosophers. However, reality television and other innovations have rendered this cultural phenomena mute and ushered in a new era where the power of observation has been wrestled from the hands of the few and given to the many. Now everyone is a journalist, a filmmaker, a star, and the advent of constant surveillance has given individuals a near infinite audience of their peers. The use of the word surveillance carries a negative connotation, but the proliferation of voyeurism could have proved to be positive development—a development that could have allowed individuals a window into other cultures, ideas, and beliefs. In A Heartbreaking Work of Stagger Genius by Dave Eggers, a young, anxious Dave auditions for a role on The Real World: San Francisco. His interview with one of the producers proves disastrous, but near the end he is asked, “Why do you want to be on The Real World?” and he responded with “Because I want everyone to witness my youth.”[iv] The use of surveillance technology, and specifically reality television, could have been used to build a more tolerant world, one where difficult and honest interactions are broadcast on national television. Instead, the medium of reality television turned its back on providing a new forum for expression and open dialogue and as an alternative delivered content that perpetuated and reinforced certain cultural norms and practices in regard to issues of family, sex, and economics.

            As reported by the New York Times, the premiere episode of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” on TLC drew more viewers than the Republican National Convention. Not to be proven as an isolated incident, the show returned a week later to have around the same amount of viewers as the Democratic National Convention.[v] On first glance, this statistic may come across as sad and depressing, implying that Americans care more about Alana Thompson (Honey Boo Boo’s actual name) than their next president. Yet, these three programs, the national conventions and “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo”, are really about the same thing: trying to get you to like a semi-fictional character. Honey Boo Boo serves as an ambassador for redneck culture, similarly to how Barack Obama and Mitt Romney, during the 2012 election, campaigned and advocated for their respective party’s platforms. Week after week, throughout the fall, Honey Boo Boo appeared on national television, all too excited to promote “Go-Go Juice” and the “Red Neck Games,” along with other aspects of the culture that she and her family hold so dear. In all aspects but responsibility and power, the roles of presidential candidate and reality show star were similar in the fall of 2012, and this was no accident on the part of TLC.

Annette Hill, in her book Reality TV: Factual Entertainment and Television Audiences states, “Factual entertainment is a category commonly used within the television industry for popular factual television, and the category indicates the marriage of factual programming, such as news or documentary, with fictional programming, such as game shows or soap opera.[vi] Throughout the production and marketing of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo”, TLC embraced the concept of factual entertainment. On a typical episode, the Thompson family engages in some kind of activity that plays to the strengths of their humor, be it attending the “Rock Star Divas Pageant” or engaging in a summer weight loss challenges. Yet TLC, in a stroke of either genius or fiendishness, extends the characters of the Thompson family beyond the television show and into reality. On October 15^th, 2012, Alana and her mother, June, appeared on “Jimmy Kimmel Live.” Early on in the interview, Alana kept her person intact, as the first words out of her mouth were “This is Mama and I’m Honey Boo Boo!”[vii] June also answered Jimmy’s questions with the same gusto and unabashed manner that she carries on the show. Yet, when asked about the family’s future plans, June slid the character away for a moment and adopted a milder accent. She stated, “It’s all about my kids. That’s why I chose to put money in the trust fund.”[viii] Yet, the moment passes away and Alana and her mother move onto the topic of family nicknames, bewildered when Kimmel doesn’t believe that Alana’s sister, Jessica, likes the nickname “Chubs.”

This shock, and the resulting moment of silence between mother and daughter, demonstrates the sales aspect of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.” Education, nutrition, and the general reality of the Thompson family’s socio-economic status are never really addressed on the show. Instead, the audience watches activities that range from shopping for dresses to a half-hearted weight loss program that ends in the entire family eating cheese puffs. In this light, the moral of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” comes across as anti-education and anti-upward mobility and perpetuates a belief that as long as you have family and simple pleasures, all will be fine. As illustrated through the Kimmel interview, June seems to understand what is at play and has a plan for the day the cameras stop rolling. She has even gone as far as to never mention on that show that each of the Thompson children has a different father, preserving the illusion of a happy and unbroken family.[ix] However Alana, when asked by Kimmel if she prefers her birth name or Honey Boo Boo, hesitated, later stating that she doesn’t know. A little girl caught between a character and a life.

“The Bachelor”, ABC’s long running dating show, is about to enter its seventeenth season, clearly a cause of celebration among ABC executives, for most television shows fail to make it past their first season.[x]  For those unfamiliar with the premise of “The Bachelor”, the show revolves one man, usually in his mid to late 20s who is already wealthy or is poised to inherit an ungodly amount of money. For the duration of the show, this bachelor lives in a house with twenty-five other woman and at the end of each episode must give roses to the women he wants to stay. The rejects, the ones who fail to receive a rose, are all seemingly contractually obligated to cry on camera as they pack their suitcases. The show does its hardest to convince us that this is a difficult, tremulous decision for the bachelor, as everyone on the show is supposedly “looking for love”[xi] and a potential soul mate. Yet, despite this claim of love, none of the final couples featured in the previous sixteen seasons of The Bachelor have stayed together.[xii] In this light, “The Bachelor” is not a show about love, but a show about spectacle. The show asks its audience to tune in on the promise of witnessing the birth of true love. Yet, with it’s industry-standard six-week shooting schedule, “The Bachelor” values flash, sex, and fleeting stardom over the development of a legitimate relationship.[xiii]

In 2001, Steven Reiss, a professor at Ohio State University (OSU) conducted a study in collaboration with James Witlz, at the time a Ph.D candidate at OSU. The two men found that one of the main factors that separated a casual viewer of reality television from a regular viewer was the idea of status, identifying with phrases such as “Prestige is important to me.”[xiv] And this prestige conveys itself under the belief that when you watch “The Batchelor,” you watch someone similar to yourself rise to fame and potentially fortune. This is evident during the opening episode of Season 16 of “The Bachelor”, especially when new bachelor Ben Flajnik, gets to meet his women. One of the women, Lindzi Cox, rode in on a horse and pronounced that she was here “to find love.”[xv] While Courtney Robertson, another contestant on the show, stated in her introduction video “I think wedding rings look pretty amazing on me” and “I know what I want. I think two carets is, you know, I deserve it.”[xvi] All of the contestants on “The Bachelor” are clearly familiar with the show. Therefore, it is absurd to believe that Courtney and Lindzi’s actions were fueled by anything but a desire for fame and wealth, an urge that was only encouraged by being, at one point or another, viewers. Even Ben Flajnik, the bachelor himself, may be conflicted in his motivations. The start of episode frames him as a wounded soul, one who was wronged by his time on “The Bachelorette”, a spinoff show whose premise is identical with the exception that the ratios are flipped, twenty-five men to a single woman. Before the episode cuts to the bachelor house, Flajnik engages in a montage of presumably attractive activities such as kayaking and playing “This Year’s Love” by David Gray on the piano (lowered head and all), all the while his voice narrates the performance, “One would like to hope that you can find the love of your life at any point in time, and if I could find it while being the bachelor, I’m all for it.”[xvii] Yet, Flajnik undercuts this manufactured sympathy when he finishes the monologue with, “I’ve never juggled twenty-five woman.”[xviii]

Reiss writes, “Reality TV allows Americans to fantasize about gaining status through automatic fame. Ordinary people can watch the shows, see people like themselves and imagine that they too could become celebrities by being on television.”[xix] And this is exactly what “The Bachelor” does; it attracts people who want to be celebrities, want to be on television and uses them to proliferate a distorted form of love, one which cares more about spectacle and material possession than portraying an honest relationship. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare wrote, “The course of true love never did run smooth,” conveying that love is at times painful.[xx] “The Bachelor” serves as the antithesis to this ideal, having what will soon be seventeen seasons to promote excess and fame over commitment and companionship, a love of spectacle over love of person.

On May 8^th, 2012, my roommate and I munched on cheese puffs while we watched the season finale of “The Voice”, NBC’s self-described “interactive singing competition.”[xxi] We had both watched this season from its inception and labeled Jermaine Paul, an R&B/soul singer who has a voice that could convince any racist grandma to let him into her house, as our personal favorite. We sat through two hours of forced monologues, half-hearted compliments, and seemingly profound life lessons that could somehow be boiled down into thirty seconds and a plug for Starbucks Coffee. We waited for the moment that we, and presumably the rest of the country, knew was imminent. And around eleven that night our patience was rewarded, Jermaine was crowned the winner, cheese puffs flew through the air, and for a moment, as steamers and balloons rained down from the ceiling of a studio somewhere east of the 405, I felt that the world was okay, that I was apart of something bigger than myself and that through hard work and dedication, both Jermaine and I had succeeded in our shared cause.

 Yet this optimism, this moment of faith renewed, was undercut the moment I opened my laptop and realized that I owned all of Jermaine’s songs. For how “The Voice” works is that week in and week out audience members vote to see who stays on the show. However, as opposed to “American Idol” or “Dancing With The Stars” where the voting is conducted over the phone, on “The Voice” you cast a vote for a contestant by purchasing their song on iTunes. Yet, despite my minuscule financial investment in Jermaine’s future, I know almost nothing about the man. For everything I have learned about Jermaine has been spoon-fed to me, carefully cut and scored in order for me to observe exactly what had been intended. I know that Jermaine is the son of a preacher, one of ten children and spent some time signed to Shaquille O’Neal’s Twism Records, and with this sliver of information I should feel no empathy for him, for I am not relating to a person, but a character. A character who’s history had been presented to me in the form of carefully constructed thirty-second video clips.

“We can only murder strangers if we cannot imagine what it is like to be them,”[xxii] contemporary philosopher Richard Kearney argues. Yet, if this is the case, then I shouldn’t be throwing cheese balls into the air upon Jermaine’s victory, I should feel ambivalent toward his cause; for my only real interaction with him is that he sings to me for about two minutes each week. But I don’t feel this way; I cheer for him, I buy his songs on iTunes, I tune in every week just to know I supported him and his dream. But, I’m not supporting him; I’m supporting the version of him that has been sold to me, the version that some producers have crafted in order to get me to buy more 99¢ songs. And I can acknowledge this, or at least I have the power to acknowledge this, but am seemingly reluctant too.

 Nietzsche believed that the weak person clung to God, even in the presence of overwhelming evidence that he doesn’t exist. And in a sense, this is how I feel about Jermaine. I want to imagine him as this perfect soul singer whose career I can directly support. This vision is appealing, inviting, but at the end of the day, my capability for imagination is not being used to get me to love, but to purchase. In a piece for the New Yorker, Kelefa Sanneh by way of Jennifer L. Ponzer writes, “that reality shows have a tendency to blur together into a single orgy of joy and disappointment and recrimination.” And it is this disappointment, this moment of dissatisfaction that corrals us into opening our wallets. The role of observer is transformed into an economic exchange, one where currency is exchanged for a potentially good feeling. In this sense, the economics of “The Voice” more closely resemble the illicit drug market than the music industry. We are taught that yes, one needs hard work and have a bit of talent to achieve their dreams and all the positive feelings that come along with that, but if you want a little bump, a little more of a guarantee, some consumption is involved.

Alan Ginsberg opened his infamous poem “Howl” with the phrase “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.”[xxiii] And earlier this year, ex-Facebook employee Jeff Hammerbacher offered a humorous update with “The best minds of my generation are thinking about how to make people clicks ads.”[xxiv] However, as illustrated by the growth of reality television, it is not just online advertisements that try to distract us, manipulate us, and alter our views towards things such as family and love. Yet, to some extent we tolerate this control; we, for the most part, don’t move out to the desert, drop our cell phones into toilets, and usually prefer to spend our off hours watching Netflix as opposed to rioting in the streets. Now, I don’t advocate on behalf of anarchy or nihilism, but instead I have a hope. A hope that with a greater cultural emphasize on thoughtful action, we can tiptoe towards a future where we are aware and honest about our impulses, desires, and behaviors.

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[i] "Magic Mike." Metacritic n.pag. Metacritic, CBS Interactive. Web. 5 Dec 2012.

[ii] Travers, Peter. "Magic Mike." Rolling Stone. Wenner Media, 28 2012. Web. 5 Dec 2012.

[iii] Nietzsche, Friedrich. Human, All Too Human. Cambridge University Press, 92. Print.

[iv] Eggers, Dave. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Vintage, 2000. Print.

[v] Kepler, Adam. "‘Honey Boo Boo’ Has the Ratings, if Not the Critics." New York Times. 28 2012: n. page. Print.

[vi] Hill, Annette. Reality TV: Factual Entertainment and Television Audiences. New York, NY: Routledge, 2004. Print.

[vii] Honey Boo Boo and Mama on Jimmy Kimmel Live PART 1. 2012. Web. 7 Dec 2012

[viii] Honey Boo Boo and Mama on Jimmy Kimmel Live PART 2. 2012. Web. 7 Dec 2012.

[ix] Hickman, Matt. "Honey Boo Boo's guide to thrifty living."Mother Nature Network. 27 2012: n. page. Web. 7 Dec. 2012.

[x] "About the Show." The Bachelor. ABC. Web. 8 Dec 2012.

[xi] "About the Show." The Bachelor. ABC. Web. 8 Dec 2012.

[xii] "The Bachelor." Wikipedia. Wikipedia. Web. 8 Dec 2012.

[xiii] Burnett, Daynah. "Are the Bachelor Roses Real? 5 Weird Fan Questions Answered." Wet Paint. 27 2012: n. page. Web. 8 Dec. 2012.

[xiv] Reiss, Steven, and James Wiltz. "Why America Loves Reality Television." Psychology Today. (2001): n. page. Web. 8 Dec. 2012.

[xv] "1601." The Bachelor. ABC: 02 2012. Television.

[xvi] "1601." The Bachelor. ABC: 02 2012. Television.

[xvii] "1601." The Bachelor. ABC: 02 2012. Television

[xviii] "1601." The Bachelor. ABC: 02 2012. Television

[xix] Reiss, Steven, and James Wiltz. "Why America Loves Reality Television." Psychology Today. (2001): n. page. Web. 8 Dec. 2012.

[xx] Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Washington Sqaure Press, 1993. Print.

[xxi]"The Voice." The Voice. NBC. Web. 20 Nov 2012.

[xxii] Kearney, Richard. Anatheism: Returning To God After God. New York Chichester, West Sussex: Columbia University Press, 2010. 42. Print.

[xxiii] Ginsberg, Allen. "Howl." Poets.org. N.p.. Web. 8 Dec 2012.

[xxiv] Vance, Ashlee. "This Tech Bubble Is Different."Bloomberg Businessweek Magazine. Bloomberg, 14 2011. Web. 8 Dec 2012.