The Real World San Diego
By B
Grade: D+
If you hadn’t already noticed that MTV is scraping the bottom of the barrel with its "venerable" reality program of THE REAL WORLD, the fact that the latest installment is set in San Diego should tip you off. San Diego? I didn’t even realize that was a city. I’d always just assumed it was one of many satellites that comprise the sprawling LOS ANGELES monolith. After watching my first episode of The Real World: SD, I’m still not convinced that I was wrong—but it’s pretty impossible to tell, because it’s not like they ever ever leave their fancy beach house anyway. The next story of the Real World is supposedly going to be in DC, and Rachel says the apartment is right above MAGGIE MOOS in Adams Morgan, which means, of course, sparklefatty ice cream alert! I have to say, as but one floating dandelion seed of the Washingtonian Diaspora, that it is actually pretty sad for Our Nation’s Capital to be lower on the list of Real World destinations than sunny, anonymous S.D.
I guess this is all beside the point, because the advent of more exciting REALITY PROGRAMMING has made The Real World totally irrelevant anyway. Who wants to watch a show where no one gets voted off? Personally, I’ve barely paid the slightest attention to THE REAL WORLD since they had it in New Orleans. That was the one featuring the lovably bland DANNY, a generic-yet-impossibly-dreamy stud with a blurryfaced military boyfriend. (Another selling point of the New Orleans series was David, the R&B crooner with the memorable catch phrase of "Woo Woo.") Anyway, as you would expect, the San Diego version of the show is basically unwatchable, with ONE FANCY EXCEPTION. This installment features a secret cutter. Oh yes. That’s right. Everyone’s favorite type of lady.
Her name is Frankie and she is your typical April Levine lookalike. She has like a tongue piercing-- or maybe it is her eyebrow—and, yes, she is punk, as secret cutters always are. I’m still not totally clear on what a punk is—does it involve pink eyeshadow? An affinity for soaring, Diane Warren-penned power ballads?—- but in the episode I watched, the other characters in the house mentioned Frankie’s Punk Identity about fifty times, so it must be true. (On the other hand, these people also seem confused as to what a "cheerleader type" is, because the girl whom they constantly identify as such looks more like a lesbian counselor at Gymnast Camp to me.)
The Secret Cutter episode was pretty hilarious, because how could it not be? Secret Cutters are some of the funniest people alive. It featured a special appearance by DR. DREW PINSKY--practicing physician, "addictionologist," and true blue Soldier of Camp-- who, at commercial breaks, warned the audience that "cutting is never appropriate."
The best part of the episode was definitely when Frankie’s secret cutting was discovered by the sweet Asian roommate. "I SAW HER COMING OUT OF HER ROOM. (pause) SHE HAD A KNIFE. (pause) AND THAT’S WHEN I KNEW IT WAS TRUE. IT WASN’T FANTASY. FRANKIE (pause) IS A SECRET CUTTER." At this grave pronouncement, I almost peed my pants, and then I tried to call Lady Colossal, who is USA’s #1 Secret Cutter fan, but of course she was off gallivanting and didn’t answer.
There is a certain satisfying aspect of circularity to having a Secret Cutter on what must be the thirteenth or fourteenth season of The Real World. After all, the program is partially responsible for Secret Cutters in the first place-- or at very least for their annoying insistence on ostentatious self-examination. Maybe (MAYBE) if there had never been The Real World, secret cutters would still exist, but at least they would surely do it in fucking secret, instead of self-consciously broadcasting their "problem" to the entire universe. ("OOPS! You can see my prodigious thigh-scars when I wear booty shorts? I’m so ashamed and embarassed!") Because of REAL WORLD, secret cutters and other foolish types have grown up thinking that it is socially acceptable to engage in retarded, confessional style pop psychology at all times. ESPECIALLY while talking loudly on their cell-phones. On the bus.
Like many of my generation, Frankie is fucked up because she has watched way too much REAL WORLD, and now believes that it is charming and important to engage in one’s navel gazing as loudly and self-seriously as possible. For people such as Frankie, there is no difference between one’s normal, insipid inner monologue and the kind of monologue that is played on an endless loop on MTV. What perfect symmetry FRANKIE represents. As if the Real World weren’t already enough of a parody of itself… now the characters have spent their whole lives preparing their resumes, only to halfassedly act out the storylines of REAL WORLDS past—while simultaneously upping the ante in a frantic, futile attempt to be memorable. Despite the best efforts of Frankie and her ilk to elevate the realness to a new level, these people fail to achieve even half the authenticity of their forbears. You have to be pretty fucking processed to be less real than TAMMY of Real World: Los Angeles—the one who got her jaw wired shut to lose weight and rapped "I’m a slave/ I’m a slave/I'm a slave to your lovin’/I can’t get enough of your kissing and your huggin!"
Like Frankie, today’s secret cutters understand that there is no secret that is not worth exposing to your roommates in a hysterical note left tacked to the refrigerator—preferably written in blood. Why cut in secret if there isn’t going to be a dramatic confession? What is the point if you can’t send your friends into paroxysms of concern? I blame the Real World for this disturbing social phenomenon. Fuck you, Frankie! You’ll find no sympathy in this household. We are totally making fun of your outfit.