They go with summer like baseball and Cracker Jack. Six-packs and barbecues. The binoculars you got when you were 13 and the divorcee next door’s liberal definition of swimwear.
When considering the decade’s most influential shows, you’d have to include “Survivor.” Because at this very moment, somewhere in the world, someone is being voted out of or off of a kitchen or a catwalk, a ballroom, a boardroom or a bedroom.
There will be no awkward banter between presenters. No fancy gift bags. And no Hugh Jackman musical numbers that make you say, “That’s the guy who plays Wolverine? Seriously? That guy?”
The first rule of “The Real Housewives of Las Vegas” is you do not talk about “The Real Housewives of Las Vegas.”
With the possible exceptions of whoever gets to eat the leftovers on Bravo’s “Top Chef” and anyone who comes into contact with Eliza Dushku and her leather pants on Fox’s “Dollhouse,” the best job on TV has to belong to T.J. Lavin.
After months of some pretty lackluster comedies and dramas, it’s finally here: Spring, when a young TV geek’s fancy turns to pilot season.
The notion that there are no second acts in Hollywood is ridiculous. After all, without second acts, TV episodes would come up a good seven minutes short.
Maybe it was MTV back in the day with its three-minute bursts of Cyndi Lauper and Lionel Richie. Or it could be the fact that the meat we eat has been injected with more questionable substances than Barry Bonds during his prime. But somewhere along the way, our national attention span has come to rival that of a fruit fly on spring break after its fourth beer bong.
In the past couple of weeks, new shows have been popping up like sensitive balladeer types on “American Idol.”
From the beginning of “Kings” to the end of “Battlestar Galactica” and the angels battling demons on “Supernatural” in between, the notion of a higher power has taken on a more-prominent-than-usual place on my TV.