Turning water into whine
Speaking of whiners, let's award a big, fat "Boooo!" to the Weaver family of CBS's "Amazing Race" (9 p.m. Tuesdays) for shamelessly whining to host Phil about how very hard the race is for them, since none of the other families like them. None of the other families like them because they're about as socially inept as 17-year-old boys (for a refresher course on what they're like, tune in for the next "Laguna Beach" marathon on MTV). The Weavers have proudly stated that they didn't intend to make friends, but they've been showing the progressive effects of this bad decision every week, as they become increasingly alienated from the other families. Remaining aloof was a big mistake, and it probably explains why Mommy Weaver appears to be losing her mind.

The best part, though, was when the little Weaver claimed that what was really, truly breaking her heart was the fact that the other families have "no class" and that her mom and siblings are the only ones trying to be good Christians. What the hell is she talking about? Apparently all it takes to be a good Christian these days is to ask Jesus for favors every few minutes. Sorry, honey, no moral high ground for you until you tuck your big ass back into those skin-tight shorts.

Who would've thought I'd start hating the Weavers and loving the recently eliminated Paolos, those temperamental yet cuddly Italians? And how awful are the Godlewski sisters? Just listen to the sounds they make every time they're on-screen -- it's not unlike a flock of geese migrating south for the winter. It's truly a testament to the lameness of this year's challenges that the Godlewskis are in the lead. Also, the Linz siblings just might be the most repellent gaggle of tasteless, humorless frat boys ever shown on TV. Three terrible, meaty morons and their hapless, abused sister. Basically, that leaves Wally and his daughters as the only acceptable option to win it all, and somehow I just don't see Wally going home with the million-dollar prize.

Either way, let's reserve a great big "Boooo!" for CBS, for having the bad taste to send the stupid families back to America after a few measly episodes in Central America. Are you kidding me? If they were hardly going to leave the country, we should've been warned of that at the start of the race. In the words of the immortal Mrs. Paolo, "I want to go to New Zealand!"

Drawn and quartered
But when it comes to the most tasteless fare of all, naturally we have to turn to the puppetmasters at Comedy Central. Not content with churning out enough "South Park" to insult everyone in America and their pets several times over, Comedy Central turns to "Drawn Together" (10:30 p.m. Wednesdays), a parody of reality shows that places recognizable cartoon stereotypes into a familiar reality format. Mostly, though, this is a show that stoops as low as it possibly can without pulling something.

Take, for example, a recent episode in which Wooldoor discovers that the new housemate, Strawberry Sweetcake, is bent on destroying his entire species. Sweetcake giggles, "You can't spell 'slaughter' without 'laughter'!" Ha ha heh ... Eww. To prove Sweetcake is evil, housemate Foxxy Love shows the housemates a vending machine filled with cakes made from the bodies of Wooldoor's family. The vending machine also has some soiled panties in it, which the little Pokemon-alike, Ling-Ling, immediately purchases and drapes over his face. Yes, you got that right: jokes about the Holocaust and soiled panties, together at last.

If that doesn't make any sense to you, well, "Drawn Together" doesn't really make any sense at all. It's just one strange, sick, dirty joke after another. Sometimes this means it's pretty funny. Other times, not so much. What "Drawn Together" is, more than anything else, is a deliberate attempt to be as offensive as possible. Sometimes, like in the case of "Jackass," this kind of thing works and you find yourself laughing in spite of yourself. In the case of "Drawn Together," it's tough not to picture two grown-up versions of Beavis and Butthead, doing bong hits and dreaming up new jokes involving sodomy, whipped cream and paraplegics.

Tasting menu
There's no accounting for taste, and even if there were, the Taste CPAs would charge way too much for us to afford it. When you survey the last 40 years of fashion and design and culture, the evanescent nature of taste becomes obvious: Taste is a weightless, purposeless property, an empty term used to sell us on the notion that there's something inherently wrong with wearing the same crappy clothes for decades. Similarly, tastelessness isn't worthwhile in and of itself unless you're a 9-year-old boy or you're high on very good drugs -- or both.

Sure, we all have our aesthetic preferences, but commenting on those preferences or comparing those preferences to other people's preferences is downright tacky and judgmental and also sometimes very fun. Even if we subscribe to the notion that we can objectively judge the tastes of others, our only criteria for judging are inherited from the tastemakers, that is, those with enough power to make their preferences into law. Taste, then, like everything else, is about power, and those who would empower the concept of taste are merely taste peddlers with something to sell. Remember Mark Antony -- and Marc Anthony -- who learned not to question their master's taste. Do you really want to be like them, and empower another taste-making tyrant?

Yeah, so do I. Just three more weeks until "Project Runway"!

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