The Stranger

Subject line is corny, yes, but I stole it from MTV, so don’ t blame me. Anyway, I lied. Yesterday I said I was going to stay home and listen to Radiohead while battling whatever sort of virus has caused my brain and body to shut down, but I ended up watching TV.

Not only did I see that White Rapper Show (Persia is CRAY-ZEEE), but I also saw the newest MTV reality series called I’m From Rolling Stone. Have you seen it? It’s about six young “rock writers” who get “the opportunity of a lifetime”—they snag a two-and-a-half-month gig at the magazine for the summer. They battle each other for assignments, they get to meet celebrities like Nelly Furtado (blech), and in the end the young writer with the most talent and drive walks away with a one-year contract as a Contributing Editor of Rolling Stone.

They picked six of the most perfectly entertaining weirdoes. There’s 19-year-old Colin from Portland, who’s the youngest and least experienced of the bunch, 23-year-old Krishtine, who throws a fit whenever her name is spelled incorrectly and claims she’s going to “bring the ghetto” back to the magazine; there’s 23-year-old Krystal, a hippie poet who uses tons of flowery prose to say a whole lot of nothing, 22-year-old Peter, an Australian rower who does most of his writing while drunk, 25-year-old Russell, a cocky motherfucker who learned how to write in juvy, and lastly, there’s 25-year-old Tika, a black lesbian slam poet.

I would say that Russell is going to win it all, but he’ll probably choke on his ego first. And Krishtine is more bark than bite, so she’ll implode too. Krystal is far too nice for the competitive side of the show, and Peter, well, Peter’s drunk. If I had to guess, I’d say Tika’s gonna win it. Then again, I’m awful at predicting this sort of thing. Nevermind. Don’t listen to me.

In the first episode, the kids had to write their first assignment—a 500-1,000 word piece about their local music scene. With the exception of cocky Russell, Joe Levy ripped their green little asses apart. I couldn’t not watch. I’m obsessed not only because I’m also a music geek who makes a living “reviewing their mail” (Klosterman’s hilarious), but also because I always wondered when the rock writer was going to become a celebrity in his or her own right (beyond the land of other aspiring rock writers, that is). Apparently, the time is now.

Make no mistake about it, though. Until they’re able to prove otherwise, these kids will be reality television stars first and rock writers second. Snap.