of Steve’s 60 inch Samsung, waiting for the show to begin.
“How long’s it been since you’ve watched a television show?”
“Oh. Let me think.” Elizabeth twisted her mouth to the left, then right. “I went over to Gail’s for a Christmas dinner a few years ago, and we watched It’s a Wonderful Life. It was very good. Just like I remember it as a kid. Does that count?”
Steve laughed, and said, “No, not really. How about a series, like Law & Order, or The Sopranos?”
“ The Sopranos sounds good. Is it about Beverly Sills?”
Steve looked at her closely, but couldn’t tell if she were serious.
“I remember watching Sex and the City ," she added, "but that was probably a while ago.”
“Well, things have changed a little bit since you were last watching television. They call this 'reality TV,' but it has almost nothing to do with reality.”
Just then, a TV-themed version of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries blasted out of the surround-sound system, showing a sequence of names and faces behind mock prison bars. "There she is!" exulted Elizabeth, as Gail's open-mouthed smile tracked across the screen. When all the contestants' names and faces had passed, Skip Corcoran appeared on the screen. He flashed his Brylcreem smile, then assumed a tone of mock severity. His voice was low, pitched as though taking the viewer into his confidence.
“Good evening, America, and welcome to the premier of Guest House Gestapo, the show where contestants will be pushed, prodded, tested, and…for all but one, ultimately broken. Behind me is the guest house, where nineteen people are about to find their lives changed…forever!”
The theme music blared again, and the camera zoomed in on a large, stone-built house. A linked GHG was projected on one wall above a fist with crossed chains. The scene faded out, replaced by a small Australian-accented reptile who seemed to be selling insurance.
“Well, that was cheesy,” Elizabeth said.
“That was pretty typical for these sorts of shows. The whole idea is to put people with divergent backgrounds into a closed environment, ratchet up the pressure and see who breaks.”
The commercials eventually ended. When the show came back on, Skip Corcoran was standing in front of a studio audience. They applauded as though he had just uttered the most profound words in human history.
“Welcome back, America. Tonight, you will be witnessing one of the greatest social experiments ever attempted, and we’ll put you right in the middle of the action. We have placed over fifty cameras and twice as many microphones inside the guest house. From the moment the detainees enter the house, privacy will be a distant memory. Now, let’s meet our detainees!”
A curtain behind Skip opened to reveal nineteen people standing, smiling and waving. The camera started at the left side of the group and panned slowly to the right, pausing for a moment on each face. Gail was fourth from the left. She had promised to send a message to Elizabeth that she was thinking of her, and when her moment in the sun arrived, she mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Then she laughed, but the camera was already moving on.
“She looks beautiful,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, but one of these things is not like the other. Everyone else looks like they are auditioning for an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, and Gail is a little more, um, mature.”
“She knew it was going to be that way going in. She thinks it’s an advantage. Maybe she can be the house mom.”
The contestants were a melting pot of backgrounds and races. There were two people dressed in business suits. One was wearing jeans and a cowboy hat. A surfer dude wore nothing but board shorts and a smile. The only other person that looked to be over thirty was a small, bald man dressed in an ankle-length robe, tied around his middle with a rope.
“All summer long, we have surprises and twists and turns galore in store for our detainees, so they
“How long’s it been since you’ve watched a television show?”
“Oh. Let me think.” Elizabeth twisted her mouth to the left, then right. “I went over to Gail’s for a Christmas dinner a few years ago, and we watched It’s a Wonderful Life. It was very good. Just like I remember it as a kid. Does that count?”
Steve laughed, and said, “No, not really. How about a series, like Law & Order, or The Sopranos?”
“ The Sopranos sounds good. Is it about Beverly Sills?”
Steve looked at her closely, but couldn’t tell if she were serious.
“I remember watching Sex and the City ," she added, "but that was probably a while ago.”
“Well, things have changed a little bit since you were last watching television. They call this 'reality TV,' but it has almost nothing to do with reality.”
Just then, a TV-themed version of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries blasted out of the surround-sound system, showing a sequence of names and faces behind mock prison bars. "There she is!" exulted Elizabeth, as Gail's open-mouthed smile tracked across the screen. When all the contestants' names and faces had passed, Skip Corcoran appeared on the screen. He flashed his Brylcreem smile, then assumed a tone of mock severity. His voice was low, pitched as though taking the viewer into his confidence.
“Good evening, America, and welcome to the premier of Guest House Gestapo, the show where contestants will be pushed, prodded, tested, and…for all but one, ultimately broken. Behind me is the guest house, where nineteen people are about to find their lives changed…forever!”
The theme music blared again, and the camera zoomed in on a large, stone-built house. A linked GHG was projected on one wall above a fist with crossed chains. The scene faded out, replaced by a small Australian-accented reptile who seemed to be selling insurance.
“Well, that was cheesy,” Elizabeth said.
“That was pretty typical for these sorts of shows. The whole idea is to put people with divergent backgrounds into a closed environment, ratchet up the pressure and see who breaks.”
The commercials eventually ended. When the show came back on, Skip Corcoran was standing in front of a studio audience. They applauded as though he had just uttered the most profound words in human history.
“Welcome back, America. Tonight, you will be witnessing one of the greatest social experiments ever attempted, and we’ll put you right in the middle of the action. We have placed over fifty cameras and twice as many microphones inside the guest house. From the moment the detainees enter the house, privacy will be a distant memory. Now, let’s meet our detainees!”
A curtain behind Skip opened to reveal nineteen people standing, smiling and waving. The camera started at the left side of the group and panned slowly to the right, pausing for a moment on each face. Gail was fourth from the left. She had promised to send a message to Elizabeth that she was thinking of her, and when her moment in the sun arrived, she mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Then she laughed, but the camera was already moving on.
“She looks beautiful,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, but one of these things is not like the other. Everyone else looks like they are auditioning for an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, and Gail is a little more, um, mature.”
“She knew it was going to be that way going in. She thinks it’s an advantage. Maybe she can be the house mom.”
The contestants were a melting pot of backgrounds and races. There were two people dressed in business suits. One was wearing jeans and a cowboy hat. A surfer dude wore nothing but board shorts and a smile. The only other person that looked to be over thirty was a small, bald man dressed in an ankle-length robe, tied around his middle with a rope.
“All summer long, we have surprises and twists and turns galore in store for our detainees, so they
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