Production was almost cancelled when Bentley Williams, a 28-year-old divorced Mormon from Salt Lake City, left the show, saying Hebert wasn’t his type. Williams was considered a frontrunner, winning coveted roses, the tokens necessary to elude elimination, in every episode. Though Hebert wasn’t his type, it didn’t stop Williams from leading her on.

“I will be pissed if I don’t get the rose,” Williams said during an episode filmed in Las Vegas. “The competition makes it exciting, competing for her, but that’s the extent of me competing for her.”

For viewers across the country, Williams was one of the worst villains the reality show has seen, with host Harrison saying the 28-year-old Utah resident “just seems to have bad intentions.”

While William’s actions were shocking to some, they were all too familiar to women who’ve dated his type — the “Mormon All-Star.”

Outwardly pious, they love to brag about their Mormon missions in an attempt to appeal to young, attractive Mormon women. Their number one priority, however, is looking good. Mormon All-Stars spend plenty of time in front of the mirror, at the gym and in tanning beds. Their affinity for plaid shirts, flat brimmed hats and being shirtless as often as possible is no secret.

In Provo, Utah, home of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints-owned Brigham Young University, Mormon All-Stars abound. Williams, who graduated from BYU in 2007, studied finance, a major noted on campus for having a large number of All-Stars, and lived in various Provo apartments notorious for being a magnet for his type.

While Mormon men traditionally dress in conservative white shirts and ties for Sunday meetings, the Provo 70th Young Single Adult Ward, a known All-Star congregation in the college town covering the Belmont Apartment complex, is noticeably relaxed in its dress. Purple and blue shirts pepper the congregation, which meets on BYU campus.

Single Mormon congregations provide ample opportunities for dating and courtship, and Mormon bishops and Sunday School teachers often speak about the importance of marriage. Sunday meetings are not without flirting, and activities planned by the congregation bolster the already busy social schedule of hot tubbing, DVD-watching and group dates.

But some say Mormon All-Stars take advantage of the culture of dating. One BYU grad said it’s common to see guys who “make three to five girls think they are his top babe at once.”

That seemed to explain Hebert’s relationship with Williams. Hebert freely admitted on Monday’s show she had fallen in love with Williams, but the kisses they shared were nothing more than NCMO (Provo slang for a “non-committal make out”) for him.

Sources close to Williams say he was misrepresented on the show. Williams assumed that a different woman would be on the show, but the producers “begged him to go on” regardless when Hebert was announced as the bachelorette.

Rumors that Williams was only going on to promote his business, a family fun center with trampolines and foam pits, reached Herbert before filming began.

“The fallacy behind that is he doesn’t promote his business at all,” said Raleigh Williams, his brother, adding the business wasn’t even open yet during filming.

The real reason he went on the show, his brother said, was because he “thought it’d be fun” and because it was a good “platform” to start dating again after his divorce. The reason he left was to get back to his daughter, and he knew religion would hamper any potential relationship with Hebert.

“She’s not Mormon, and he’s an active member of the church,” Williams’ brother said.

In Mormonism, dating within the faith is highly valued, making Hebert’s faith a valid excuse to leave. But why did he go on in the first place? If you really want to date a Mormon woman, ABC reality shows are not the place to look.

Williams’ true motives for going on the show are uncertain, but many in Provo assume he just wanted 15 minutes of fame. Though Williams won’t be mobbed like Jimmer Fredette when spotted around town, he’s still recognized. Last week, some BYU students met him at a Kinko’s Copy Center.

“You girls probably think I am the biggest jerk and a mean guy, but I’m totally not,” he said to them.

Although reality shows are notorious for their manipulation of reality in pursuit of water cooler drama, it’s hard to imagine how producers could have made him look as bad as he did. He did, after all, say things like “I’m not going to pass up an opportunity to mess with her head,” and “I’m going to make Ashley cry. I hope my hair looks OK.”

While women across the nation are fuming over Williams, he’s done a valuable service to all those dating or thinking about dating a Mormon All-Star. Sweetie, you might be convinced that he’s the one. He might even tell you he prayed and fasted and God told him you belong together, but if you see red flags, run.

Sorry, Mormon All-Stars, the game is up. They know your secrets.

While the future of Two and a Half Men remains unclear — CBS may decide to replace Sheen — its glory days are now clearly behind it. Whether that would have been the case if Sheen hadn’t begun his strange, downward spiral, we’ll never know. But in any case, the time was probably right for a change. The show has aired for eight seasons, all the while dominating the ratings.

And yet, neither I, nor anyone I know, ever watched it. In fact, most people I’ve talked to (not a scientific population sample by any means, but rather a bunch of twenty-somethings) were only vaguely aware the show even existed. Why is that?

The most obvious reason is that young viewers, who increasingly eschew old media business models, get a fair share of their entertainment online. I don’t have any TV channels at my house — and have no plans to get them in the future — but I watch 30 Rock and Parks and Recreation on Hulu. I’m just finishing up Lost on Netflix Instant. And when I want to watch a movie, I turn first to my computer or Internet-connected Blu-ray player, not a physical DVD or a theater.

But Two and a Half Men has maintained an abysmal online presence. It’s not on Hulu, and Netflix only has the DVDs. That means that, despite wracking up a huge viewing audience for its weekly airing, it’s largely off the radar for everyone in the millennial generation.

Or at least, it was. What Sheen’s escapades have done is boost the show’s digital footprint. Whereas a few months ago it wouldn’t have even occurred to me to watch Two and a Half Men, now I’m sort of curious. I might add it to my Netflix physical DVD queue. If it comes back on the air, maybe I’ll even tune in. And most importantly, I’m sure there are a lot of other members of my demographic who feel similarly.

In essence then, Sheen’s behavior has stormed the strongholds of the digital natives. People who communicate online can’t avoid hearing about him, which for many is a 100 percent increase in their awareness of his current work.

But CBS’s digital stodginess probably isn’t the only problem Sheen’s outbursts are remedying. After all, even if the network didn’t want to stream Two and a Half Men, that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have had a strong presence among blogs and TV critics, right? Wrong.

Oddly perhaps, for such a big hit, Two and a Half Men has generated very little TV criticism, good or bad. I spend a fair amount of my time combing the Internet for entertainment commentary, but up until Sheen’s turn for the ostensible worst, his show was little more than a blip on the radar. Similarly, Slate TV critic Troy Patterson recently wrote about how until this whole debacle, he had never even seen an entire episode. Not a single one — and he gets paid to watch TV!

That fact may be due in part to the difficulty of actually finding the show, but it’s also probably a consequence of the generally tepid critical response it generates. Apparently, it’s not awesomely bad, good, or even charming-but-polarizing (like Glee, for example, which is also on Hulu). As a result, the most prominent media critics and pop culture junkies generally leave it alone.

Sheen’s recent adventures, on the other hand, are absolutely fabulous. It’s a drama for the digital age, recited — mostly by Sheen himself — in epic language and harlequin hijinks. With Adonis DNA, tiger blood, and porn star goddesses, Sheen seems to be setting himself up to be a slummy cocktail of Paris Hilton and Homer. And best of all, everyone gets to take pleasure in the absurdity, pretension and genuine tragedy of the whole story.

Counter-intuitively, this sometimes painful online storytelling can also help propel Two and Half Men into new avenues. Whereas critics and entire demographics ignored the show before, Sheen’s behavior complicates the story. Plot lines, facial ticks, and set design are no longer just entertaining — they can now be prophetic, unlocking subtle signs that foreshadow Sheen’s eventual doom.

None of this is to say that Two and a Half Men is good or bad. I haven’t seen it yet, and I’ve got to send Waltz with Bashir — which I’ve had out for at least a month — back to Netflix before I can get the DVD. But it’s in sight and on my mind. Though before it may have been destined for the historical dustbin, now it will forever be remembered as the backdrop to one of our time’s most curious celebrity implosions.

In other words, as the show becomes history it’s making history, which is a mighty feat indeed.

Before last summer, I had never seen Jersey Shore, nor did I even know anyone who watched it (or, at least, who admitted to watching it). Despite the hype and the controversy, it seemed like just another bunch of clowns in a house — entertaining, perhaps, but ultimately pretty boring too.

But then, over the summer, I went on a trip. To Italy. And I got hooked.

Beside the Arno river, I watched with rapt attention as the housemates wrestled with the trial of showing up to work in a t-shirt shop. In Venice, the call of gondoliers was drowned out by the screams of Angelina, when everyone hated her but before she was evicted. And in Rome, it was the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa by day, and the ecstasy of The Situation when he brought a couple of girls back to the house by night. (And then the girls left. Et tu.)

Along with McDonald’s, unwashed clothing, and other gross things, my thirst for Jersey Shore strangely dried up when I came home. But the trip was enough for me to see that the show is already playing regularly in Italy and a slew of other countries on multiple continents. It also helped me realize that Italy might just be the perfect place for the housemates. After all, the country has had its own version of the show playing for years. In Italian, they call it the Berlusconi administration.

All this is to say that MTV’s announcement about sending Jersey Shore to Italy doesn’t change much, except for maybe the percentage of the Internet that’s filled with snarky comments about the downfall of western civilization. Vapid young Americans — of Italian descent or otherwise —  are already a well-known stereotype on the international stage that some people fit, and some people don’t. Italians, along with most everyone else, know that.

And besides, sending a few reality B-listers to Italy will ultimately draw about as much long-term attention as one more bag of garbage in the rubbish-filled streets of Naples.

In 2011, NBC’s biggest scripted hit is The Office, which averages, not kidding, 8 million viewers. The number of viewers FOX scoffed at eight years ago are now the champagne wishes of NBC executives, who hold on for dear life to any show with numbers above 4 million.

What happened to the Peacock, the network of Seinfeld, Friends and Cheers? Johnny Carson probably rolls in his grave while his beloved NBC is stuck in fourth place, only ahead of the CW (which, really, is barely a network anyway).

In NBC’s defense, there’s no denying that the TV landscape is markedly different than it was even at the conclusion of Friends in 2004. DVRs and web streaming have made appointment TV obsolete, and American Idol’s best days are still pulling in ratings that would be a disappointment for any top 20 show in the 1990s.

The threat of basic cable hasn’t helped. Even ten years ago, basic cable was a refuge for syndication and movies. Now, cable shows are outgunning the networks at just about every awards show. It’s a tough time to be a network, let alone the one in last place.

The recent merger with Comcast brought with it a regime change at NBC, and a new programming head in Bob Greenblatt, the former head of Showtime. Greenblatt took Showtime, then an HBO knockoff, and gave it Weeds, Dexter, Californication, and a laundry list of other Emmy-winning shows that dominate premium cable ratings. His sensibility for relevant and quirky TV seems to make him a solid match at NBC, but he has his work more than cut out for him.

The biggest problem for NBC is one that nobody considers — a problem that the network created for itself by staying ahead of the curve. The majority of NBC content is available on Hulu, and it consistently ranks a safe number one in DVR recordings. However, the Nielsen ratings don’t quite care yet about online and DVR ratings. It’s all in the first-run ratings, and with its more focused 18-49 audience, NBC looks to remain behind.

The opposition, CBS, has a perfect strategy — make the TV set the only place to view a show, that is, until the DVD is released. CBS doesn’t even release its episodes to iTunes, forcing anyone who watches How I Met Your Mother to watch it on Monday night, just like everyone else. NBC’s generosity in getting its viewers content might be indirectly causing its damnation.

So, what’s Greenblatt to do? Insiders are predicting him to clean house, giving way for more shows in the vein of his Showtime hits. He’ll likely nix Law and Order: LA and The Event. He’ll take joy in ending The Cape and Perfect Couples. And, if there is any mercy in this world, he will pull the trigger on the abomination that is Outsourced.

However, Greenblatt has stated that he has no interest in trashing what isn’t garbage, and he has said sees promise in Parks and Recreation, Community and Parenthood. It seems that Greenblatt is going to have it his way — adding more basic-cable-lite programming, as well as keeping the shows that make NBC still relevant. After all, he can’t built a network from The Biggest Loser alone.

It’s highly doubtful that NBC is going to usurp CBS for the No. 1 network in America anytime soon. It’s even unlikely that it’ll suddenly jump to a solid No. 2. However, the new regime has potential to shake things up in a good way. Bob Greenblatt’s strategy keeps comedies like 30 Rock and Community on the air, while revamping the dramas to fit the fare seen on basic cable, albeit with significantly less edge.

If he wants Emmys and Globes, Greenblatt can’t go wrong with his plan. But if he wants to become No. 1 — well, it might be time to dust off that laugh track.

So laments the protagonist in Showtime’s critically acclaimed Dexter — originally based on Jeff Lindsay’s novel Darkly Dreaming Dexter — one of the most imaginative, entertaining and haunting shows on television.

From its intoxicatingly visceral opening title sequence and accompanying score to the haunting end credits, Dexter has held widespread appeal. Originally premiering in 2006, the show has garnered a record-breaking audience of millions, resulting in multiple awards and nominations  — as well as some naturally apropos criticism from naysayers. I’m a latecomer to the macabre cult bandwagon, which just wrapped up its fifth season. (I recently finished the second).

For those of you heretofore unfamiliar with the show, here’s a brief description, faster than you can say, “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.”

The title character, Dexter Morgan (played by the eerily talented Michael C. Hall), feels nothing. He is self-declared to be void of emotion and has a mysterious yet undeniably powerful desire to kill, which he satiates by carefully picking out other deplorable murderers who the majority of society (or at least capital punishment advocates) would deem worthy of sleeping with the fishes. This habit — dubbed “the code of Harry” — was instilled in him by his adoptive father, now deceased but posthumously respected Miami cop Harry Morgan (whose presence is maintained via frequent flashbacks).

All of this is hidden from the public, however, and Dexter lives a tight-lipped and solitary life as a blood spatter analyst for the Miami Metro Police Department where he fakes human emotion and participates in mundane human practices to fit in — both demonstrating his surprisingly keen social prowess while simultaneously placing him in the occasional awkward position. (At one point, when our protagonist must show empathy for his ailing girlfriend, he stares back at her wide-eyed, hoping the absence of blinking will bring a compassionate tear.)

For me, the show provides a fulfilling dichotomy. In one sense, you have the surface story arc involving investigative police work, intriguing killers and the requisite romantic and familial relations. Dexter’s only remaining family is his foul-mouthed yet big-hearted foster sister Deb (Jennifer Carpenter) and emotionally damaged girlfriend Rita (Julie Benz) whose own past issues with drugs and an abusive ex-husband compose some of her primary appeal for our seemingly emotionless anti-hero.

But deeper than that, you have the psychosis of Dexter, whose unique perspective — instead of immediately repulsing us as we might expect — allows us to take a different look into what makes people tick and just how bizarre many social norms really are. On a date at a seaside lobster restaurant, for example, Dexter says, “I have some unusual habits, yet all these socially acceptable people can’t wait to pick up hammers and smash their food to bits. Normal people are so hostile.”

The question remains: Why do we root for a serial killer? Why are we disturbingly sympathetic to someone so cold and calculated? Yes, excellent writing is obviously a factor in piquing our curiosity, but that doesn’t fully explain the numerous books and discussions that have been spawned as a result. (And, I’m sure, some well-placed nature vs. nurture debates.)

Underneath it all, I think we all understand and relate to Dexter at some level. There’s something basic and instinctual to his approach that affects us, whether consciously or subconsciously.

The show brings to the forefront of our mind (maybe in a way we haven’t contemplated before) what it means to be human. There’s an inborn trait for the vast majority of us to want to connect to others. To care and be cared about. To feel. Our fearless Dex sometimes falters in that regard, missing the basic human characteristics that come instinctively to more “traditional” members of society.

These strengths (and foibles) are somewhat symbolically represented in the supporting characters. Deb is detached Dexter’s feeling foil, completely run by an emotional, heart-on-your-sleeve approach; stern Sergeant Doakes strictly adheres to justice and loyalty; Dexter’s foster father believes in basic moral values and pragmatic living. The list goes on.

Inversely, however, as multi-faceted beings I think we realize we all have a trace of Dexter’s so-called “Dark Passenger” — a tacit yet universal understanding of being alienated, having difficulty relating to others, or perhaps not feeling about someone or something as deeply as everyone else seems to. An inner struggle regarding good versus evil and personal ethics. These all represent basic questions of our existence and human nature.

We all wear masks and, at times, retreat into layers of secrecy. While it may not be outright lying, people are prone to adapt in social situations and take on various facades. The part of our personality that most easily relates to the situation we’re in is accentuated — it’s one of those facts of human nature and the reason why we strive to find meaningful relationships with people who bring out our most authentic self.

“There are no secrets in life, just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface,” Dexter recites, in one of his very poetic inner-monologues.

As Freud might say (and take it for what it’s worth), we have a “hidden self” lying in our subconscious that is often too taxing for our conscious minds to handle. In response, we do some cognitive gymnastics and form “defense mechanisms,” or, in other words, we twist reality enough to form a justification for our behavior. Dexter, for example, has to believe that his actions are ultimately beneficial as he religiously adheres to “Harry’s code.”

Beyond all this psychology, the show is simply a fascinating look into the life and mind of a sociopath and serial killer — a concept often misrepresented in the media. While most of the psychopaths we hear about have probably been incarcerated, there exist “successful psychopaths” (hint: not a creepy Anthony Hopkins-esque dude in a muzzle lurking in dark alleys). They’re not just irrational and insane killers roaming the streets without a social conscience.

Often, like Dexter, these chameleon members of society have a strong sense of self-discipline and meticulously regulate their actions. Here again is our beloved killer’s duality — the stark contrast between his role as a disconcertingly efficient murderer and ultra-dependable brother, friend and father figure. He more or less represents the spectrum of human potential. By day, he enjoys spending time with Rita and playing with the kids (whom he has a soft spot for, probably due to their innocence and lack of conditioning by strange social norms). By night, he dispatches killers with clinical precision.

And considering his backstory (early loss of parents by violent means, adoptive guardians and a growing understanding of his purpose and propensity to defend others), is he really that much different than our beloved Batman or similar superhero vigilantes? In one episode, Dexter even tries on the alter ego of “Dark Defender,” while the world argues if his actions are heroic or not.

Whether you enjoy Dexter for its psychological feast or simply like to watch people getting stabbed in key arteries (you little weirdo), the show is captivating.

I will warn you, however. Don’t start watching Dexter unless you want to be sucked into his exquisitely orchestrated web of deceit and complex array of morality issues.

Like one of his ill-fated victims, there’s little chance of escape.

Brushing aside the obvious — that Glee is a for-profit TV show, not a school or charity — Murphy’s temper tantrum surprised me. After all, I genuinely never thought Glee was an altruistic endeavour to promote the arts. The mean-spirited characters, all the screen time spent on personal drama, and the perky-but-bitter tone led me to believe the show was aiming for satire, not didacticism. If it genuinely wanted to promote the arts, there are a lot of things it could do, but showing sexy twenty-somethings playing teenagers being mean to each other isn’t one of them.

Of course, there’s no doubt that Glee might make someone want to sing (or that it can be a fun watch). But how is it any better at that mission than other programs, like High School Musical? In fact, the satirical character of the show probably renders it less effective in that regard than more straight-faced media about the arts. I’d rather watch Glee than High School Musical any day, but I also wouldn’t necessarily use it as a marketing tool for the arts. In the end, if Glee exists just to hook people on singing, then it is truly an epic failure.

Throughout this whole feud, Kings of Leon vocalist Caleb Followill has seemed baffled and fairly apologetic, even saying the band didn’t mean to slight the show. Drummer Nathan Followill, on the other hand, more recently shot back, colorfully telling Murphy to get over it. And though New York Magazine criticizes Nathan for losing the high ground, I was pleased to see someone stand up to Murphy. Kings of Leon are rock stars, after all.

In any case, while the days may be over when not being a sell-out actually meant something, I was pleased to find out the band kept “Use Somebody” off Glee. So they didn’t want to help Ryan Murphy line his pockets in more gold? Good for them. It gives them that much more street cred — and besides, if you’re going to sell out, Glee really isn’t good enough to be worth it. Not even by a long shot.

The bottom line here is that like every other TV show out there — even the good ones — Glee is a business, and not having access to a hit song means lower revenue. The fact that Murphy threw a fit about it just confirms something I’ve suspected all along: the creators of Glee have a some sort of grotesque messianic complex. They believe that they are genuinely carrying the torch of righteousness, while instead making a clunky show that reinforces bigotry and gender stereotypes. Oh, and now they’re greedy too.

I don’t know why it was ever missing from the Thursday night line-up. And I really don’t understand why Outsourced deserved air time while Parks and Rec was shoved into the abyss of short-lived shows.

Outsourced is abhorrently dumb. Parks and Rec is smart. Maybe not smart in the Arrested Development manner to which we television snobs have become accustomed — where every line of dialogue is a double entendre and every character is someone else and we have to chart which joke lines up with which former episode, etc. Instead, Parks and Rec is smart in its simplicity.

The pace of Parks and Recreation is slow. Not boring, just relaxed. And there isn’t much of a plot. The only premise and location in the series is a government office full of workers. On paper, it sounds suspiciously close to The Office, especially given its mockumenatry style. In fact, much of the early criticism of the show wrote it off as an Office rip-off.

It took a few weeks — maybe even the entire first season — for Parks to decide what it was about and how it differed from The Office. By the second season, however, Parks hit its stride and became one of the most charming shows on television by focusing on the endearing characters of Pawnee local government.

Leslie Knope and her Parks and Recreation crew have enough subtle quirks to keep them funny and enough redeeming qualities to keep them watchable. Where Michael Scott and Dwight can be too much to handle at times, the characters on Parks never become abrasive.

The characters are brilliantly performed by Amy Poehler, Rashida Jones, Aziz Ansari, etc., with just the right facial expressions and mannerisms to make any situation that much funnier. Andy Dwyer, played by Chris Pratt, often steals the show as Anne’s dim-witted ex-boyfriend and the City Hall shoe-shiner. April Ludgate, the cynical moody college intern played by Aubrey Plaza, provides the perfect foil for Poehler’s over-eager Leslie Knope.

Most shows struggle to incorporate guest stars without diverting the story — Parks and Recreation does it seamlessly. Louis CK, Rob Lowe, Andy Samberg and Fred Armisen have all shined as guest stars, and the next season promises more surprise Pawnee residents. Parker Posey (of Christopher Guest mockumentary fame) is slotted to play Leslie’s nemesis. Amazing.

We never know what we’ve got til it’s gone. It was a cold, dark autumn without Parks and Recreation in the NBC Thursday night line-up. Luckily, my heart — and hopefully yours — will warm once more with the return of Leslie Knope and her crew this Thursday.

In case you haven’t been following the story, Randy Quaid was once a respected actor. He has been nominated for an Oscar and an Emmy, and he won a Golden Globe (although I’m still not quite convinced that means anything these days.) He’s most famous for playing Cousin Eddy in some National Lampoon movies, though those under 30 may know him better as that crazy drunk pilot in Independence Day.

For reasons no one claims to understand, Quaid and his wife Evi have literally gone crazy. After living the high life and subsequently falling on hard times, Quaid walked away from a starring role in a Broadway play — a role Vanity Fair said would have been a comeback and a “coup” for the actor — two weeks before it was to begin in 2008, was banned for life from the stage actors’ union, and was arrested several times. He and his wife are currently charged with all sorts of things, from burglary to fraud to squatting.

Stars implode all the time, but what makes the Quaids’ story so interesting is that earlier this year the couple fled to Canada and began saying a group called the “Hollywood Star Whackers” was after them. Supposedly the group is trying to kill them, but it’s also behind a vast conspiracy that has engineered most of the couple’s financial and legal troubles. The Quaids also say the Hollywood Star Whackers are responsible for the deaths of David Carradine, Heath Ledger and others.

The Quaids and the alleged conspiracy out to kill them have attracted a fair amount of media attention. And, for people on the lam, the duo has been remarkably easy to find. They’ve been profiled and talked about, and the January issue of Vanity Fair includes a lengthy piece for which writer Nancy Jo Sales hung out with the couple in Vancouver for a while. (The Vanity Fair piece mentions that the Quaids even pitched a reality show based on their recent escapades escaping the law and would-be assassins.)

Theories about the Quaids’ collapse range from drugs to mental illness, and the Vanity Fair piece seems to faintly endorse the popular theory that Evi is somehow at fault. But while any or all of those explanations may fit, there is a much simpler one: 30 Rock.

More specifically, during the show’s first season episode “Cleveland,” star Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan) finds out that Bill Cosby hates him and, subsequently, that an evil group of African-Americans called the “Black Crusaders” is trying to destroy him. As a result, he has to give up his life in New York to go on the run.

Though similar premises have been used before (and though things eventually work out for Tracy Jordan), the similarities between the 30 Rock episode and the Quaids’ story are worth a double take. Both plots hinge on the existence of a ridiculously named cabal of evildoers; both involve struggling stars hiding out in remote locations; and, in both cases, the people surrounding the targeted stars don’t really believe in the evil group.

Obviously there are also a lot of differences between the Quaids’ story and the 30 Rock episode. But a lot of the things that differ — the motivations of the evildoers, the place chosen for the hideout, etc. — wouldn’t have worked for the Quaids, even if they had wanted them too.

There are also other reasons to suspect a Quaid-30 Rock connection. For example, “Cleveland” originally aired on April 19, 2007. That was about a year after Randy filed a $10 million lawsuit against the producers of Brokeback Mountain — he said he was misled to believe that it was an indie film when it wasn’t, but perhaps he was already in financial trouble — and about a year before his more serious legal problems and arrests began in earnest.

In other words, if the Quaids were looking for a script to guide their escape from trouble, they could very well have been looking around the time the episode aired. (The 30 Rock season one DVDs came out in September 2007, which might even have been better timing and which means the Quaids could have seen “Cleveland” at any subsequent time.)

One of the most surprising things about this situation is that any potential connection between the Quaids and 30 Rock hasn’t really been talked about in the media. Aside from a few user comments on entertainment blogs and Internet magazines, my Google searches couldn’t even find anywhere that mentioned the Quaids’ name and 30 Rock on the same page. Perhaps some blogger out there has made this point before, but it appears no one in the mainstream media has spent any time on this connection, either seriously or in jest.

And in the end, I have no idea what is going on with the Quaids other than that their strange behavior bears an uncanny resemblance to an episode of a popular TV show. Did the couple watch 30 Rock and rip off the story? Is this particular plot so elemental that the similarities unfolded independently? Were the Quaids influenced by some earlier film/text/media, perhaps one that also influenced the 30 Rock writers? Or could the Quaids genuinely be crazy — or even telling the truth?

Perhaps only time, lawsuits, and police investigations will tell. But in the meantime, I’m going to keep my eye on Tina Fey and company for clues about where the Quaids might be headed next.

This is Brad’s second run on ABC’s hit series, having ended his first shot at TV love without a fiancé. His great sin, as far as I can tell, was telling two women that he was not in love with either of them and, therefore, would not be marrying either of them.

This confuses me. Isn’t honesty an admirable attribute? Isn’t it far better to call it quits on a relationship before the ring?

This season’s hopeful Mrs. Womacks sure don’t seem to think so. Rare was the woman who, when meeting Brad, did not say, “I saw your season, you have a lot of explaining to do,” or “I hope you’ve changed.” One girl even slapped his face on behalf of all the women in America. Now that’s the way to catch a man.

Shockingly, the slapper was not the craziest of the bunch. Madison — model by day, vampire by night (fangs and all) — not only made the cut to appear in the initial group of women, but was given a rose and advanced to the next level. If there’s one thing that should be avoided in the search for a potential mate, it’s fangs. And the thirst for blood. (I’m looking at you, Bella.)

Along with crazy, this season also has its fair share of catty. One of the best parts of The Bachelor is the individual interviews with the girls. The girls pretend to be “besties” when together, but then when they’re alone in front of the camera they express their true frustrations with, most often, the girl The Bachelor likes most.

There’s a clear frontrunner on the backbiting front. Michelle from Salt Lake City (woot!) nearly passed out with envy when she was denied the “first impression” rose. Even though all the girls share concerns about Brad and his supposed inability to commit, there were still quite a few “I’m not here to make friends,” and “These girls better watch out,” the standard reality television declarations of “I will win and the rest of y’all are will leave here crying.”

It doesn’t take long to tell that The Bachelor is not actually about the bachelor. It’s about women wanting to be better than each other — wanting to look hotter, flirt better, kiss longer and get married faster, because, gosh dang it, without a man thinking we are The Best, we’re nothing. The Bachelor is essentially Survivor with skankier dresses. These girls don’t want Brad. They want a trophy (ring).

That, I believe, is why so few Bachelor/Bachelorette relationships have made it to the altar. To actually get married, you need love. Love beyond $2,000 dates and hair and makeup artists and vacations to exotic locations every week. The kind of love that can eat ramen noodles for dinner every night and play Monopoly on the weekends and pay bills.

The Bachelor is consistently a trainwreck, and Brad and his new lady friends should not disappoint. I thought the Jake-Vienna season was a disaster, but this season promises so many more catastrophes. I had to remind myself to exhale when the season preview ended — so many tears, so much kissing, so many exotic locations and so much girl hate.

It’s not good television. It’s awesome television. Television that makes you appreciate your own stable relationships. Television that makes you squirm with embarrassment on others’ behalves. Television that makes you question the state of humanity.

So naturally I am always interested when a new film or television adaptation of the Holmes character comes around. From the old Basil Rathbone films to the Jeremy Brett TV series to the recent Guy Ritchie/Robert Downey Jr. reimagining, I’ve seen and enjoyed dozens of adaptations over the years. When I was in London recently, I began to hear about a new Sherlock Holmes series (simply titled Sherlock) being produced by the BBC that had received rave reviews. My interest was piqued, and upon returning to the States I looked around for how I could see the series. I discovered the show had aired in the U.S. on PBS as part of their masterpiece series, and was available to view online for free through December 27th. I promptly went and watched the entire series and was really surprised by what I saw.

The twist in the story is that Sherlock removes the Holmes story from the Victorian Era and places it in modern day London. The modern day element feels completely natural, and at no point does it seem like they are being modern for the sake of being modern. Much like in the original stories, Sherlock uses whatever tools he has available to him, whether it be text messaging, modern-day forensics or Google.

While Holmes purists may hate the change of time, the fact is the Sherlock Holmes stories were never about the Victorian Era — they were about the characters. By removing Holmes and Watson from the traditional Victorian setting, the show separates itself from more recent adaptations that focused too heavily on the Victorian elements. This allows the show to place a real focus on the characters, giving them the chance to develop over the course of the series.

The acting in Sherlock is top notch. Benedict Cumberbatch (whose previous credits include the Oscar-nominated film Atonement) plays the title character, in what may be the best incarnation of Sherlock Holmes I’ve ever seen. Cumberbatch plays Holmes as a self-described “higher-functioning sociopath,” who’s intellect (and ego) is truly worthy of the Holmes of the literary canon. Watching him on-screen, you really feel like he is that smart — 30 minutes into the first episode, I realized I was just expecting Holmes to always be a step ahead of me.

Cumberbatch’s  performance emphasizes the more anti-social elements of the Holmes character, but not in the way the recent Robert Downey Jr. incarnation did. Downey’s character had an undeniable charisma, and came off as though he was choosing to be anti-social at times. In many way’s Downey’s Holmes was just an extension of Robert Downey Jr. real personality. On the other hand, Cumberbatch’s character does not choose to be anti-social — he simply does not know how to have human interaction. He is the way he is, and in this he becomes much more believable and relatable. He is not larger then life, just smarter than the rest of us.

Martin Freeman plays Dr. John Watson. Freeman has previously appeared with minor roles in a slew of films, including Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz and Love Actually. Freeman gives the Watson character a new level of depth as a man trying to deal with post-military life. In Sherlock, Watson isn’t the unintelligent, blundering follower of other incarnations. Instead, he is shown to be a very capable and intelligent (albeit not as intelligent as Holmes) man.

Throughout the series Holmes’ trust in Watson grows and he begins to assign him important and meaningful tasks. Watson does not just tag along, but becomes a proactive player in the stories. Freeman and Cumberbatch have an undeniable chemistry, and their relationship grows and develops naturally over the course of the series. In short, Cumberbatch and Freeman deliver what is the most nuanced portrayal of the Holmes and Watson relationship that I have ever come across.

The writing is another area where the show really stands out, the dialogue is clever and demonstrates a wit rarely seen in American television. By setting the show in the modern environment and combining it with excellent writing, Sherlock feels more exciting than previous adaptations — the show moves quickly from scene to scene with fast-paced dialogue and plots. The series consists of three, 90-minute episodes, all of which are wildly entertaining. At the end of each 90 minutes, I found myself wanting more.

The short of it is, if you like Sherlock Holmes, go check out Sherlock. If you just like good TV, go check out Sherlock. The show may not be available for free online viewing anymore, but it’s certainly worth a few of your hard-earned dollars on Amazon or iTunes.