Holy shit. Did you see Anna Nicole Smith's new hyper-reality show last night? This is difficult for me to talk about as I am still processing. But, um, in summary, with the lurching speech and complete inhibition of someone on the heaviest of medications plus seven gallons of Old Crow:

- Anna goes house hunting ("Are we there yet? Are we? Oh god, I can't wait anymore!" she says to her baffled real estate agent during the four-minute drive to a house) and actually riffles through homeowners' refrigerators ("Ooh! Watermelon!"), gets in their bathtubs ("Help me. Help me. I can't get up. [waggles talons at the camera]"), and dry-humps their beds like a horribly drunk Goldilocks. When she finally finds a house she loves, she says "This is a thumbs up! [Puts up her thumb.] No, it's a two thumbs up. [Flips up second thumb.] If I had more thumbs up [We see her imagining a magical world where she has more than just two thumbs.] I'd give it more thumbs up."

- Anna talks to her son on the phone and asks him, "Do you love me? Do you really, really love me? More than all the raindrops in the world?" etc., etc. [cut to a shot of him typing on his computer, looking fundamentally bored]. Finally, she asks a question about him, "What did you eat tonight?" and he says "Pizza." "Pig snup?" she yells. "No, pizza." "Oh." Then she passes the phone to her lawyer.

- Anna aks, "Why do they have news? What is it for?" And then, later, talking about reality shows, I think, "They all just tell you 'life is shit and then you die,' but really, life is shit and then you LIVE, believe me, I know." Which is actually kind of brilliant. Isn't it? I can't tell anymore.

- Anna flexes her eyes and does this endless "you want me, big boy, huh, huh" routine directly into the camera for seriously five minutes.

- Anna tells us she hasn't had sex in two years, and her "assistant," who has a gigantic tattoo of Anna on her upper arm, rolls her eyes in such a way as to make us all think that maybe the two of them are involved, somehow? Or something? Anything?

- Anna informs us that she can't wait to get home and masturbate.

- Anna repeatedly chastises her breasts, the twins, for trying to escape. And it isn't really clear if she means escape from her teensy tops or from her tortured skin, which has been stretched beyond all sanity.

- Anna ... oh god, I can't go on. Calling it a train wreck, a demolition derby, a complete toxic apocalypse just doesn't capture it at all.

Basically, it was the longest half hour in television history and I can't really believe that the people holding the cameras, the producers, the editors, or anyone involved in the project (including me, really) can just sit back and watch this lonely, drug-addled person rip and shred her way through life like an unsupervised 2-year old without staging an intervention. Now that's good television!

In honor of the event, we had a special white trash TV night (fish sticks, tater tots AND mashed potatoes, two different types of jello, and then this amazing chocolate cake/vanilla pudding/coolwhip "tiramisu"), and after the show finally ended, we sat around eating and debriefing -- we really had to talk through the feelings, it was that traumatic.

We struggled to understand how "Meet the Osbournes" is OK, but the Anna show is just tragic. Maybe it's that Ozzy is obviously surrounded by people who love him and keep him grounded and safe? Then we wondered which kind of show Elvis would have had, an Ozzy or an Anna? And even though Elvis eventually ODed on a toilet (for shit's sake!), and any reality show would have to at least hint at that trajectory, I still think his show wouldn't have been nearly as bad as Anna's.

From what I learned on the Graceland tour, Elvis had all his man friends living with them ("we wouldn't be alone for weeks at a stretch!" Pricilla says in the voiceover tour) and they ate meatloaf (also "sometimes for weeks at a stretch!") and had snowmobile races and set off fireworks and shot things, like a non-stop five-year-old boy's birthday party. And that still sounds better than watching Anna's small, paid entourage try to simulate a family in the middle of her camera-starved life ("It makes me feel so good," she tells us, "to have the paparazzi yell my name. Anna! Anna! Anna!").

Eventually talk turned, as it so often does, to hippies, and we all breathed a small sigh of relief. Because even hippies are better than Anna. Or at least they're funnier.

(PS: My diary has officially moved over to my official evany.com website. Let's meet up over there!)

(PS: My diary has officially moved over to my official evany.com website. Let's meet up over there!)