I was doing some upkeep on Rob-Rivera.com as well as PortoDiao.com and after seeing nothing but code and Photoshop for 6 hours, a brother needs a break. Enter the idiot box: lately I’ve become more receptive of the boob tube, mostly because finally honest-to-goodness good shows are popping up that involve the viewer and invite him to invest in the narrative. Shows like “Rescue Me,” “The Office,” “Arrested Development” (may it rest in peace), “Battlestar Galactica,” “House,” “Lost” and, to an extent, “24” are making me want to get my fiction fix from the television, something that hasn’t been the case for a long time. And while we’re both on the subject and in the spirit of ranting, “Heroes” looks like it should belong in the roster I just mentioned above on the surface, but I can’t help but see it as utterly disappointing. It’s not because I was expecting to get my head blown off by the awesomeness, but because by general standards this show is sub-par, and an insult to the stuff other creators with a healthier idea well are doing with an episodic format.

“Heroes” is misleading, caters to the lowest common denominator disguised as a “high concept” show and suffers from plot holes the size of moon craters. The same could be said about “24,” but the underlying difference between “X-4: Mutant Academy” and “The Jack Bauer Power Hour” is that after several seasons and practically reinventing episodic content on TV, Bauer and pals are aware that the premise and the characters are hyper-realized as well as ridiculous, blowing up the proportions by simplifying the themes and objectives of the show to play up the story’s strong points of a show of this nature: Jack Bauer is a terrorist terminator. “Heroes,” on the other hand, has an air of self-importance and bravado that, at first, seems fitting. As you watch episode after episode though, you begin to see the story’s flaws and, though I will not spoil it for the 3 of you who haven’t seen season 1 in its entirety, the whole thing spirals out of control into a huge mishmash of the comic book world’s greatest stories. One thing is homage: Tarantino has done it in every movie he’s ever made, but he brings something new to the table. It’s a Frankenstein approach, one that grabs already existing elements and adapts them in order to create a new life.

The difference, the one that breaks “Heroes,” is that it’s just a greatest hits list of the top 10 comic book clichés without bringing anything new. No heart. No originality. Even if I wasn’t looking for anything more than to be thoroughly entertained by the nonsense on display before me, to invest in a whole season only to see rip-off after blatant rip-off take center stage to a narrative that doesn’t make good use of some characters, completely disposes others and for what? A conclusion that throws away all the tension built throughout the course of the season by way of a single phrase (Save the Cheerleader, Save the World™) and have it culminate in what is the very definition of “disappointment.” Thanks, but no, thanks.

So there I am, after a night out to drink some beers and have a good time with friends, I get home with the sole desire to vegetate in front of the TV for a while. I’m flipping the channels trying to see if I can catch something worth the effort when my channel surfing abruptly wipes out on a national channel. I don’t remember which one, but it could be 21, 33 or 78. These channels are owned by the same station (RCM) and they segregate their overall content on each of these, judging by the type of content. I don’t remember which exactly the one I stopped in was, but judge for yourself when I tell you about what was on…

Imagine, if you will, the 3D framework of a video game from 1991. It seems you are inside a beach volleyball court, since what you see before you is some sand, a net and a crowd container surrounding it all. There’s the sea and a shoddy sailboat in the background. Some palm trees and the occasional poorly-rendered seagull flying about. On the other side of the net though, front and center, there is a girl. A live girl, blonde and in a bikini. Don’t forget the high heels and D-cup breasts. She has an hourglass figure, and she’s just standing there talking about something I can’t quite seem to concentrate on. All I want to do is get that silly volleyball net out of the way!

There’s a timer at the bottom of the screen, counting down. The first impression wears off, and I finally tune in to what the girl is saying (translated from Spanish):

I’ll be here ‘til 12:30 trying to stop your balls! Remember how Volley Playa works; there are 10 minute rounds and you have to throw your balls at me! If I stop them you get no points, but if they go over the net then you’ll get 100 points! Text message your nick and you’ll be in the running… text message your coordinate and I’ll play with your balls! Remember, the more balls you send me, the more chances you’ll have to win! I want your balls, so hurry! Hurry before the time is out! Give me all of your balls, people! I’m here waiting for your balls tonight!

She just went on and on until these 3D model volleyballs came into the screen and over the net. There was an alphabet above the girl, and each letter represented a coordinate. The gimmick was that you sent in a text message with a coordinate (i.e the letter V) and a volleyball would shoot into the TV screen to pass right below said letter. She was right below the F and G, just standing there and talking to this voice-of-God guy that I could only assume was the chat operator. The more she asked for my balls and the guy’s voiceover chronicled who hit her in the face with their balls and who didn’t, for some overpowering reason I couldn’t bring myself to change the channel. I couldn’t understand why. Was it the obvious innuendo? Was it the frustratingly distant girl in a bikini just standing there, talking crap? That’s the moment when someone put a reggaeton song on, and she started to dance.

The screen was filled with balls almost immediately, and she did nothing to dodge them. In fact, she stayed under F and G for the full 20 minutes it took me to find the willpower needed to change the channel. I turned off the TV soon thereafter, fearing I would be entranced again if I land on that station once more during my channel surfing.

For a guy who demands to be challenged by the entertainment he watches, I sure fell for that silly Volley Playa show like a jackass. And I’ll probably be on the lookout the next time I decide to watch some TV late at night.

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