Plushenko is now wearing a bedazzled black Elvis outfit. (Eeevil Russian Elvis?) Since everyone suspects that he'll win, it's time for his extended profile.

We cut to Plushenko driving around in Russia. "Many people don't like me. Many. My enemies, they worry about me because I'm back, and they afraid a little bit. It's great feelings, you know?" Mmm, he is evil Russian Elvis!

"You need all the time fighting, fighting with your enemy, with your rivals." All he's really trying to say here is that competition drives you to be your best, but with the Darth Vader music playing in the background, it's hard not to experience this guy as a little menacing.

Enough of that for now. Canadian Vaughn Chipeur, who is wearing a bedazzled short-sleeved black jumpsuit, is skating a "rock 'n' roll" themed routine to what sounds like a Dire Straits jam. He looks tense going into his first triple -- and he falls! Goodbye, Vaughn.

Plushenko is ready, and doesn't look afraid, not even a little bit. He lands a quadruple toe loop, which makes Scott Hamilton's voice break. Hmm, but he skates like a kid on the playground. His choreography is not graceful -- it doesn't really look like choreography at all. Good lord, his score is 90.85! It's great feelings, you know?

Thank God, here's skating legend Dick Button to blow this duck out of the water. Sure enough, Dick says Plushenko's jumps were solid, but "look, the arms are flying all over the place" and "the skating skills aren't there."

"I don't find this beautiful to watch, it isn't gorgeous skating," he tells Costas, whose face says, "Keep me out of this, buddy." (And Costas really is sidestepping the endless monologues and the kicking up of controversy this time, isn't he? He usually grates on my nerves with his musings, so I admire his restraint.) Perhaps sensing that he sounds a little too negative, Dick tries to put a positive spin on things: "That's his persona, I think he likes looking like an evil character." Love that Dick Button.

We flip over to women's luge. The announcers are talking about messy starts and great form and so on, but all I can see are human bodies hurling downhill at 80 miles an hour. Maybe if they bedazzled their luge suits and played Queen medleys instead of rattling cow bells, this would be a little more entertaining. Tatjana Huefner of Germany wins the gold. Onward!

Time to switch over to women's snowboard cross. Love this event: four snowboarders at a time, racing down a crazy steep course littered with huge jumps, trying to pass each other. They're showing the quarterfinals now. We're told that Canadian Maelle Ricker, who suffered a concussion in Torino, is American Lindsey Jacobellis' biggest rival here. As you know from the trillion times it's been mentioned so far, Jacobellis was way ahead at the 2006 Olympic snowboard cross final in Torino, she did a celebratory trick, and fell on her ass. She took home the silver medal, but she's been answering questions about her great big mistake for four years running. Yes, we're reminded constantly, this is Lindsey's one last chance to redeem herself in the eyes of the Lord!

Boy, this sport is nerve-wracking. At least one snowboarder wipes out during every heat. Jacobellis wins her quarterfinal heat. In the semifinal, she's right next to her rival Ricker. Can she make it through? She's right out in front with Ricker, oh my god, almost bumps her, and then ... loses control and goes off the course! She's out!

Jesus, that is agonizing. Four years of waiting, and one little bump and it's over. Shots of Jacobellis' sad parents in the crowd. Costas looks like he might cry. Someone save us from this misery!

Enter macho weatherman Jim Cantore, who tells us that the overnight temperatures in Vancouver will be lower soon, so more snow can be made. This is great news, he says. This means there'll be good conditions for downhill skier Lindsey Vonn, the other big American story that they're hyping this week, just so we're sure to feel all the worse when she face-plants and her parents weep in the stands.

Back to men's figure skating. Japan's Daisuke Takahashi tore his ACL last year, so he's endured a world of pain to make it here tonight. He's dressed as a cross between Liberace and Elvis, also black, also embroidered and bedazzled. He's skating to kooky Tim Burton music and he has lots of presence and panache. He's very fluid and looks a little like Prince. He even nails his jumps! Now the music is half old-school accordion tango with crazy percussion accompaniment. Unusual! The crowd loves it! "Wow, that was done with such personality!" says Hamilton. "That was hot!" says Sandra Bezic.

There was no quadruple jump, which Plushenko had, but everything else was outstanding. Whoa, Takahashi gets a 90.25! Evil Russian Elvis looks disgusted in the stands.

Here's Shaun White, telling us about how his mom dropped his gold medal off at the dry cleaner. Apparently he has his own private half pipe in Colorado, where he's been perfecting stunts that no one has ever seen before. I guess all those sponsorships fund a nice life, don't they? But you can't begrudge this kid much, with that wild red hair and that humble smile. Chris Collins compares him to Michael Jordan. "He really doesn't want to just win, he wants to dominate, he wants to embarrass the competition." In other words, if he were Russian, we would simply call him "evil." Because he's American, and friends with Tony Hawk, we call him cool.

And also? He is pretty cool.

Johnny Weir is in the building, in a fur-trimmed coat. Is it fake fur? Here's Swiss skater Stephane Lambiel, wearing what looks like a costume from "Les Miserables," replete with a Frenchy bouffant sur his tête! Lambiel is "battling a groin injury" (in addition to battling the French monarchy). He's going to attempt a quad. "His costume looks overpowering," notes Bezic, but she says his artistry is noteworthy. He stumbles on his quad. Conquered! Still scores 84, pas mal.

Next up, Japanese skater Nobunari Oda, disguised as a superhero, clad in skintight black and silver. We'll call him The Cloud! Unfortunately, he went to the Plushenko school of flailing gracelessness.

Time for the women's snowboard cross final, without Jacobellis. Canadian Maelle Ricker is heavily favored, stays ahead the whole time and wins. The crowd goes wild! Four years after being airlifted out of Torino with a concussion, she redeems herself! All of these stories are so biblical: Start with pain and agony, end with redemption. Of course, when the stories end with pain and agony, everyone gets really quiet and then you lose your sponsorships and people start mispronouncing your name again.

Back to figure skating. Here's France's Brian Joubert, wearing black pants with a belt and a bedazzled black shirt with a horrendous collar, skating to dance club music. He messes up his first jump, then falls on another jump. The announcers are very quiet. He was a favorite, too. Sixty-eight points, bottom of the heap. Poor Jewelboor!

Here's Japanese skater Takahiko Kozuka wearing a red shirt and black jeans, no glitter or sequins, skating to Jimi Hendrix. Yes, finally, something new! His routine is strange and interesting, features some great spins and choreography, and actually goes with the music, which doesn't suck one bit. Refreshing! I'm a fan. Score? 79.59. He was robbed! I guess that's what happens when you don't wear a black bedazzled jumpsuit and skate to Muzak.

Next up, Italian Samuel Contesti, who is dressed as Lil' Abner despite the apparent risks of not wearing black, and skating to a minimal blues song, just bass and harmonica. A real risk taker! What follows might best be described as a Country Bear Jamboree meets street mime. He's making weird European imitations of good ol' boy facial expressions, but I'm too distracted by the big patch on his ass to notice. In short, it's not good.

Now Canadian Patrick Chan, safely clad in bedazzled black, steps out onto the ice. His triple axel lands badly. His footwork is beautiful. He stumbles a little, and looks disappointed when he's through.  Not that great, fifth place, 81.12.

Finally, Johnny Weir is here! He is wearing a costume that conjures a late-night vampire raid on Frederick's of Hollywood. His neckline ends somewhere around his bellybutton. He has a slit in one arm, and a pink tassel on one shoulder. His hair is elaborately styled. His torso is corset-like, with bubble-gum pink threads criss-crossing. Ahh, Johnny. The outfit is frankly awful, but how do you not root for the man who ignores the conventions of his hopelessly conventional sport, and claims to be a role model for freaks?

Weir nails his first jump combination. Yes! Nails his triple axel! Yes! Nails his last jump! Hurray! Now it's time for the pouty faces and the jazz hands and the come-hither looks, all of which he masters. Great spins, great choreography, and ends with a kiss blown to the judges. "He rocked the tassel!" blurts Hamilton.

Weir's coach, Galina Zmievskaya, looks uncharacteristically thrilled. His score? 82.10. Talk about robbed! Galina's face turns sour. He's in fifth place at this point. How do you skate that well and land in fifth? Was Frederick's of Hollywood to blame? Apparently, there was a deduction on one of his jumps. Still, those dusty old judges need to get with the times; fabulousness should not be an automatic 5-point deduction.

Belgian Kevin Van Der Perren is dressed as a bedazzled skeleton. Not a good routine. Oh dear, here's Czech Thomas Verner wearing a little sailor boy outfit. He doubles his quad, then falls on his triple.

Finally we come to Evan Lysacek, Weir's robotically macho rival, wearing a not-very-macho jumper with a feathery neck and sleeves. His hair is slicked back like a villain, appropriately enough. He's skating to Stravinsky's "Firebird," which explains why he's dressed as a bird. I don't know much about Lysacek, but my love for Weir has created a Vader soundtrack in my head every time I see his face. But it's not just me, his feathery sleeves chafe, don't they?

But he skates beautifully, I have to admit, beautifully enough that he weeps into his birdy hands when he's done. As he waits for his score, he's trying not to cry. Aw, now I like the little black bird in spite of myself. Damn you, blood flowing through my veins! You need all the time fighting, fighting with your enemy, with your rivals! Not all the time crying, crying over birdy-handed weepy men! Score? 90.3. Second only to evil Russian Elvis!

Next, we have American Jeremy Abbott, skating to the Beatles in street clothes. Early in his program he singles a triple axel, and that's all she wrote. Hopes dashed, dreams dead, the end. Scott Hamilton sounds crushed over it.

Our final skater is Czech Michal Brezina. He's wearing glittery black with a white vest, skating to "Puttin' on the Ritz." His jumps are solid, but boy, does this one feel endless. His score? 78.80. Ninth place.

The night has taken its toll: Jeremy Abbott's face is red, like he's been crying for the past five minutes since he left the ice, and Scott Hamilton sounds emotionally exhausted. "We knew that this was gonna be a spectacular event. It's just that ... Ugh! The great performances and the devastating performances, it was just both sides, peaks and valleys."

To summarize: Somewhere over the rainbow, the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. But somewhere just beyond that, the dreams that you dare to dream get dashed against the rocky shoals and splinter to bits. Also, hope dies, unmet wishes harden into a tight little knot in your throat, and former Olympic hopefuls turn to the bottle for solace.

At least Weir is in the top six! Even if he can't possibly win, thanks to these stodgy judges, at least there'll be more pouty faces and jazz hands to enjoy. Will Plushenko's enemies still be afraid a little bit? Will anyone wear a color other than black? Will Galina smile again? See you back here in a few days with more Olympian madness!

In order to answer our own looming questions about Wootton, we spoke to him over the phone from London, which he says is quite dark and rainy, but there aren't really men in black trenchcoats lurking around every corner, anxious to slit your throat. We don't picture that anymore, though; thanks to Marc Wootton and Sasha Baron Cohen, these days we're pretty sure that London is filled with men in fake teeth and bad wigs, anxious to make us look like ignorant Americans!

If you wanted to explain to someone what the difference is between you and Sasha Baron Cohen, what would you say?

I don't know. I'm a massive fan of Sasha's work. We've worked with some of the same writers. In America inevitably there's going to be bigger comparisons drawn, because ... I don't know, how should I answer that?

Well, the aim is a little different.

I'm kind of exploring character and it feels like the characters are going on a real journey. If you're comparing it to Ali G in the USA, those are interviews. And "La La Land," hopefully, feels like more of a slice of real life, because I'm massively intrigued by people. So I'd hope that these would feel like less sort of crowbarring jokes into a scene, and more letting scenes unfold. I would hope there's an equal measure of comedy and drama, because inevitably with conflict there's going to always be drama.

You seem to go into these things so armed with ways of handling people and confusing them. It's so much more elaborate than just being alarming and weird.

You know, I'm spending quite a lot of hours with those people. That's another difference between Sasha and me that he tends to go into a situation and leave quite swiftly. I spend time getting under people's skin and letting the characters breathe in the real world. So sharing that journey out to those mountains [in the episode where Wootton's documentary filmmaker alter ego, Brendan Allen, films a couple of rock climbers] was a good few hours. Sat in a car, chewing the fat, talking.

That's exhausting! Isn't it hard to stay in character for that long?

No, it's great fun. Because you're getting paid at the end of the day to play and when we're little people, playing is just the best thing ever, isn't it? And then as we get older, we forget about playing.

How do you choose your victims? How do you find the right people to interact with your characters?

It's really difficult. There's no way you can do it without a group. I kind of create the characters first, with the writing team in London. Then we went out and we played around with a few of them. There were several characters, and we sort of refined it down to three. Although, Gary [Garner, an aspiring actor that Wootton plays on the show] was a bit of a last-minute swap-out because there was another character called Robin that we thought we were gonna do, and then when I went and actually started being Robin in the real world -- he was kind of like a man-child and he had these really weird shorts and this suit, a little bit too tight, and everything was a little bit weird. And I had a bowl haircut, like a a child's hair. So I wandered about as that character without cameras -- this is where Wootton's therapy comes in -- I'm just wandering around the streets of L.A., you know, going to into Nordstrom's and hanging out downtown and just seeing what the vibe's like. You have to do this with all the characters, just to make sure that your hair's believable and people are buying the teeth and the turns of phrase. Because if you can't operate like that, then there's no hope when you get two cameras and suddenly the whole crew and, you know, questions could get asked. So Robin failed at that test driving.

So people didn't buy him?

No, people bought him, actually, and were really a bit freaked out by him and thought he was a bit mentally ill. Although, I love a challenge, and if we do any more of these, I'd love to bring that character to life again, because he's really sort of close to my heart. He's based on one of my nieces ... and a bit of Daniel Johnston. Do you know [of] Daniel Johnston (the songwriter and artist)?

Yes, and people's reactions to him were always pretty interesting, if you saw that documentary on him, "The Devil and Daniel Johnston." People were either a little stunned by him or they took him under their wing.

He's got that thing going on. And he's a bit special, if you know what I mean.

The character Gary Garner is pretty great, too, because people seem to really want to help him understand Hollywood and the business, God knows why.

We took some of that innocence, and I think Gary's pretty charming, even though he's a complete douche, he's got that charming edge. As Ruta Lee [a real-life actress who agrees to mentor Gary] sort of points out quite nicely -- she's gorgeous, isn't she, Ruta? -- I love the way she puts Gary into his place and reacts to him in the way that she does.

You want a character who's going to bring that out in people, their nurturing sides and their disgust.

Yeah, I love that. I think that's really important, and I really hope that people get that we don't just want to hit people over the head with a comedy hammer or run into a park and shout at an old lady. It's kind of about meeting people and letting them call me out as an idiot. Because we could obviously edit it to make people look bad. But I'm hoping that people fall in love with Ruta. She almost echoes what the audience is thinking and what they would perhaps say to such a ridiculous person as Gary.

The assistant Gary hires is great that way, too, the way she warns Gary about watching out for people who might take advantage of him.

Yeah, she's great isn't she? I felt awful repeating her comments [as Gary Garner] about [how one guy was wearing a] cheap watch. Those are the times when you're in character, but you're thinking, "God, I feel bad." But then she just went for me, that stuff by the lift, "You are never going to make it!" I really thought she was just spectacular.

People are the interesting thing. When you meet strong characters like that, they're inspiring. And I think, going back to your original question, how do we come up with all those people? It's really difficult. It's not me, it's a lot of clever heads sitting around and going, "OK, what would work with this?" So we pick a few people out who we actually want to undermine. So some people like psychics I've got a bit of an issue with, and, therefore I'd like to think that we've perhaps undermined some of them and perhaps been a little mean to the right sorts of people. And then there are other people like Ruta who go on a different place on the board, and they're people that it's not about going there and upsetting them, it's about them putting my character in his place. 

Now where do the climbers fall on the scale of people you want to screw with and people you want to enjoy?

Oh, god. I don't want to screw with the climbing community! I know the climbing community are probably going to hate me, but, if it's any consolation to them, I spent quite a few hours, which we couldn't show because we had to turn off all our cameras, being heavily grilled by park rangers. It was awful, we were penned in, and we got our comeuppance for being naughty. At the very end of the day, once police had turned up, because there becomes a point as well when police have got you and you've got your ID and it's Brendan's [one of his fictional characters'] ID and you've got Brendan's phone, and you think, Hold on, we're not filming anymore, do I just stop and go, "It's me, I'm called Marc Wootton, and I'm from London"? It's really awkward. And obviously that got to a point where there were charges being pressed and really an inflamed situation, and then I do have to come clean and say, "I'm really sorry I've wasted a lot of people's time here."

So are the climbers standing there listening to this?

Yeah, because everyone's being arrested at that point, so you've got someone saying, "That guy tried to murder us!" and you've got me going, "No, I'm just trying to make a film," and blah blah blah. This one park ranger was a bit angry because, I think it was the end of his day and I think he was probably looking forward to going home and having some food with his family, bless his heart, and my camera crew is standing there, some older guys, grown-ups, and this park ranger is going, "You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

What happened when the climbers found out that you weren't really Brendan?

I think they were really relieved. I did give them a handshake at the end of the day.

Did they think it was funny?

I think they did because they were in a situation that they were wound up by and fearful of, and then there's the release of the realization.

And it's not just people you encounter who aren't in on the joke -- Kiki, Chico the driver, Ruta Lee are all real people who don't know this is fake. Did you tell them afterward, or are they just going to find out when it's on the air?

There's a real mixture of people being clever enough work it out for themselves, and other people who don't question anything. It's kind of up to the field producer [what to tell people]. Sometimes the penny drops for some people as we're leaving, because suddenly there's a bit of time and reflection, and then some people guess and other people are told.

The person you torture the most would have to be the border patrol volunteer that Brendan Allen films for hours. You keep telling him "We have to start over! We have to do another take!" because Brendan wants it to be one continuous shot.

Yeah, he's protecting your wonderful country's borders.

Did you ever feel sorry for him? He keeps agreeing to do 50, 60 takes. Did you ever feel guilty?

Well, no. I know that on camera he comes across as a lot nicer, because you only have the benefit of seeing him on our show, and he's actually been really carefully researched. You could well have a different opinion of him if you looked at the way he talks and treats and speaks to anyone who isn't American in his eyes. Because I'd read all of the material on him, I was very aware of who I was dealing with. There is a point on take 60 where you're thinking, "Does this guy deserve it?" But he is quite a militant fellow. He is a figure that we wanted to poke fun at.

I did wonder if there was a sociopath behind this show, honestly, because so many scenes end with confrontations and tears. I felt a little sorry for some of the psychics in particular, because they all get so fearful and uncomfortable around Shirley.

Well, it's for Showtime, and obviously we're creating it for Showtime's audience. Hopefully it takes a bit of thought to work out. I know what you're saying. I suppose, if you feel sorry for those people who are professing to speak to the dead. I don't know, there's nothing I can do about that.

Hey, there's a clear place for the sociopath on television. Some of the most entertaining people I've known were borderline sociopaths.

There's a big moral dilemma because the people making the show are obviously executive producers, researchers, they're all sensible folk who have a conscience, I suppose. Obviously sometimes there will be the odd person who gets upset or angry.

But they also signed something saying they're fine with being filmed.

Yes, you're picking people who are auditioning for that type of thing. I wouldn't be able to get out of bed and look at myself if we just grabbed some folk off the street and put them through this grueling day of madness.

The show itself is about aspiration. You have these three aspiring characters, and really, every single person who's on camera is in their own way aspiring, too, or they wouldn't be on camera. That's why L.A. is the perfect place for this show.

People find out that my mum's passed away and I've got an inheritance, and one of those producers says to me that for $300 he could get me on IMDB. There are these really weird low-feeders, and as you say, L.A. is such an interesting place, because there are so many people feeding off others, and there's a whole little economic system that exists that's just quite scary, that hopefully we touch on. I hope that people laugh and think and argue and so on. I would love to chat longer but I have to go and… well, work with autistic kids now.

Nice try.

No, really, I know that sounds like a joke, but Wednesdays I work with autistic children! It's true, actually! 

What no one tells you, of course, is that the former inevitably turns into the latter. No sooner have you put the finishing touches on your masterpiece than a phalanx of professionally smooth humans gathers to discuss how to peddle your brand to the appropriate demographic. "Who is your demographic, do you think?" they'll ask you.

I don't know, you'll answer. Crazy people? Angry people? People who just want to create something lasting but end up pissing away their prime in extended Twitter exchanges and tedious teleconferencing calls?

Desperately seeking status

Just don't say so out loud. Too many sullen artists and brilliant recluses have made that mistake before you, and they have a laundry room filled with glorious unsold paintings or brilliant unsold manuscripts to show for it. Face it, you're going to have to sell something, eventually. Even surgeons and priests and teachers and executives at charitable foundations (especially them) have to sell something. Don’t stay in denial about the need to sell forever, because, short of genius grants and the kindness of strangers, the creative life isn't possible without sales.

That said, it's hard not to get fatigued by the swirling, bullshit-polluted waters of the promotional universe, with its gluppity glup and shloppity shlop. Think too long and hard about selling yourself into a new life, and soon you won't be able to separate your "brand" from your actual personality, or differentiate between your friends and your professional networks. Then you'll need to seek professional help -- whether that's with a psychotherapist or a social media marketing consultant is anybody's guess.

HBO's "How to Make It in America" (premieres 10 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 14) dives straight into the eternal hellfire of a self-promoting universe without apology, and, bewilderingly enough, does so with a scruffy, scattered, early-30-something dude who can't seem to decide if he'd rather pass out business cards or pass out from drinking too many vodka shots at a loft party in Williamsburg. Our hero Ben (Bryan Greenberg) faces that timeless dilemma: follow another pipe dream, or pass the pipe?

Befitting a man who's half stuck in the past -- drinking too much and waking up in unfamiliar apartments -- and half stuck in some dingy present he never anticipated, Ben wears a haunted look of ambition and dread and hope and self-hatred. Even when he tells you his next big plan, there's a wavering in his voice that asks, "Will I ever make anything of myself or am I just a big loser?"

This makes the half-hour dramedy "How to Make It in America" a little bit like "Entourage," except without the money, the fame or the hot girls. ("Entourage" executive producers Mark Wahlberg and Rob Weiss are also producers on this show.) Well, no, there are hot girls here, too, but they won't sleep with these guys, because they're obviously not friends with a big-time movie star.

Yes, as annoying as it is to watch Drama and Turtle harvest lip-glossy sea donkeys with their flaccid pickup lines, it's even more disturbing to watch guys not get the girls because they're not well-connected. No one is rising above anything in this picture; the underlying ego-driven, self-promoting, screw-or-be-screwed backdrop is still there, it's just that we're hanging out with the have-nots this time instead of the haves. When Ben's friend Gingy (Shannyn Sossamon) tells him she's going to give him one of their friend Tim's photographs as a gift, he replies, "That's great, I mean these are like a framed reminder of what losers all my friends are."

Ben is kind of a dick, but you can hardly blame him. He's constantly confronted with the fact that he's stuck in limbo, that he hasn't actually achieved anything, that his dreams might never come true. Ben's ex, Rachel (Lake Bell), has moved on to a guy who's opening a bar in Manhattan. When Ben tries to hit on a girl at a party, she introduces him to her other suitor at the party, saying, "Marco is a painter. He just got back from a solo show in Mexico City."

This is the third show on HBO's roster (along with "Bored to Death" and, to a lesser extent, "Flight of the Conchords") that dabbles in the hipster-manchild milieu of Brooklyn, displacing Carrie Bradshaw's Manhattan as the place where strivers dream big and sleep around and fumble for a cigarette in gloves with the fingers cut off. 

Despite his comment about what losers his friends are, everyone around Ben seems to at least be pursuing some creative goal, whereas Ben works in retail, moons over his ex, and frets about being a nobody -- that is, until he and his friend Cam (Victor Rasuk) dream up a scheme so crazy, it just might work!

Your own personal interest in "How to Make It in America" mostly relies on whether you can relate to Ben's plight of drunken despair mixed with uneasy ambition (I certainly can) and whether you want to relive those years (I certainly don't), let alone relive them against a backdrop of apparently soulless, skin-deep debauchery. 

That said, Ben and Cam have their share of unsophisticated, naive charms. They're at least a little grittier and more imaginative than the first-year corporate lawyers of ABC's "The Deep End" or the competitive doctors-in-training of "Grey's Anatomy" and the other cute professional-class underlings that we're supposed to feel sorry for because -- oh dear! -- they're not big swinging dicks yet. On those shows, the stakes have to be artificially pumped up by cancer and alcoholic moms and married lovers because otherwise, would we really believe that whether or not "Grey's" Christina Yang gets to practice cardiothoracic surgery techniques before she actually starts a cardiothoracic surgery residency is going to determine her fate as a doctor?

Ben, on the other hand, is reduced to hanging out at the end of a long table at a bar, hoping to get a few minutes of face time with fashion designer John Varvatos, because he needs some connections to start his designer jean business. When he asks the guy next to him, "You a friend of John's?" the guy responds, "No! I'm a friend of his, and he's a friend of a friend of John's," you can't help but cringe. At least we're provided with a reminder of the sorts of things most of us would never be willing to do for money, fame or even hot girls. Even after kissing ass with reckless abandon, Ben and Cam are only granted an informational interview with one of Varvatos' associates, who immediately tells them that they're kidding themselves.

Meanwhile, even Ben's egocentric blowhard friends are reduced to hustling constantly, whether they're successful or not. "I didn't find photography, photography found me," Ben's friend Tim (Is that Billy Lush?) tells some strangers at his gallery opening. "I was living in a halfway house, I stole a camera from The Wiz, and I just started shooting. I mean, true art is all in the streets, everything else is bullshit. By the way, I'm having a very special deal on my 20 by 24 prints ..." See also: Johnny Drama, take deux.

But the lowest moments of the show come when Ben and Cam bicker over whether or not they should dip into criminal territory to get the ball rolling.

Cam: Shady or not, at least I'm still going for it, not working for the man like you.

Ben: What are you, 12? How long are you going to keep saying "Fuck the man" for?

Cam: Until we are the man!

Hold on a minute. Was that Turtle talking?

So that's what it all boils down to: Ben and Cam want to be the man. They're not designing jeans because they're passionate about fashion -- not as far as we can tell, anyway. They just want to have more money and get laid more often.

If this were a show about creative passion, then maybe Ben and Cam would be a little more interesting than the glossy professional yuppies on every other channel, straining to make that promotion and bag that babe. Unfortunately, as Ben and Cam demonstrate, more often than not the desire to "make it" is exactly as vague and empty as those two words imply. 

"How to Make It in America" may have set out to create a humbler, more down-to-earth version of "Entourage," but it mostly succeeds at reminding us that not having fame or money doesn't necessarily make you more down to earth. From world-famous pop stars like John Mayer to that kid who made fun of your shoes in the fifth grade, douche bags are born, not made.

Now we cut over to Al Michaels and Tom Brokaw sitting behind the huge Olympics desk. "Here we are on the day of the opening ceremony, and along comes the very sad and stunning news from Whistler earlier today," Michaels says to Brokaw.

"It was a very sobering moment, but as you know, these Olympic athletes in the winter games will tell you that so many of their events are inherently dangerous…. So there'll be a big pause, I think, for these athletes," Brokaw says.

 But there's no big pause for Brokaw, whose tone soon grows brighter. "But once the game begins, Al, knowing these competitors, they'll go about the business of competing with the best athletes in the world, and the rest of the world will have a chance to see the glories of this host country, Canada, and its very unique relationship with the United States."

Breathtaking, to go from tragedy to the glories of Canada, in a few seconds flat. No wonder they brought in a heavy-hitter like Brokaw for this one. Now we can forget about death and sit back and enjoy Brokaw's voice, taking us on a quick tour through the Great White North.

"Remember, Canada was a British colony. That was a long time ago." You don't say! "Our two nations have the largest trading relationship in the world." "Canada is a huge country." "In a fight, you want the Canadians on your side."

Suddenly I'm reminded of one of my favorite headlines from The Onion: "Perky 'Canada' Has Its Own Laws, Government." Sample line: "And they even export things, like Canadian Bacon, and ice!"

 Once our palates have been cleansed of morbid thoughts by Brokaw's giant valentine, it's time for the flashy intro to the Winter games that was probably previously slated for the top of the broadcast: Some dramatic photography paired with soaring music and a lot of melodramatic prose. "Here, where a swerving coastline submits to waves of glacial peaks, where the mapping of the Western world came to an end, the discovery yet begins anew!" Praise Jesus! Who writes this stuff?

"Which Olympic travelers are destined to know victory's rapture?" I was just wondering the same thing a few minutes ago.

We meet up with Bob Costas and Matt Lauer, who want us to know that the Chinese set the bar pretty high with their opening ceremony, but the Canadians are planning something a little more personal and intimate. Are they trying to manage our expectations?

Now here's the world premiere of the "We Are The World" video, to help the people of Haiti. Barbra Streisand wriggled her way into center stage again – that woman's power knows no bounds.

Finally, the opening ceremony begins. We're told that the ceremony is dedicated to  Kumaritashvili. There's a countdown, and… a giant video screen? What is this, the Astrodome?

 We’re treated to some aerial views of Vancouver – but we've been watching this footage of soaring peaks and city skylines for the past hour and a half now. Wait: Here's a snowboarder on top of an insane peak! He slides down across pristine snow while a voice reads out the years and locations of the Winter Olympics. It's a little distracting, actually, because all I want to do is watch this guy fly over snowy cliffs.

Next, he skis through a Canadian maple leaf. Oh, those plucky Canadians with their adorable little maple leaves! Finally, we learn it's snowboarder Johnny Lyall, who arrives in the stadium, flies down a ramp and welcomes everyone.

Dignitaries waving. Royal Canadian Mounties demonstrate their excellent posture. Time to sing "Oh Canada." This is a very long song. How are they getting that Canadian flag to wave inside the stadium?

 Tall ice statues, First Nations people arrive – and by the way, that is perhaps the most polite and respectful name for indigenous peoples ever invented.

Here come the nations of the globe, wearing ski suits, waving little flags, and carrying celebratory camcorders, presumably in case no one else is filming this. The delegation from Azerbaijan is wearing crazy-ass pants and furry hats. The athlete from Bermuda is wearing Bermuda shorts with dark knee socks, an excellent look. Here's Georgia, wearing black armbands and removing their hats, and they're met with a standing ovation.

Germans are wearing pink and yellow coats that say "TEAM" on the front. Italians look stylish in their gray coats. Here's the United States wearing dorky white pants, off-white sweaters and silly looking hats.

And here's Canada. "Canadians as a group are among the friendliest and most welcoming people on earth." How do you measure that statistically, Bob? But this time they want to kick our butts, Bob says. Yeah, I'm sure last time they wanted to politely surrender the gold to whomever might want it the most.

Next, Nelly Furtado and Bryan Adams perform the lamest song since that thing they play at the end of the NCAA basketball tournament, "One Shining Moment": "This is your moment, your time to run like the wind!" I'm flashing back to Up With People. First Nations dancers are jumping up and down like the fraudience at a Miley Cyrus concert.

Now here comes a tribute to "the frigid North." It's snowing. Donald Sutherland is murmuring into a microphone somewhere. People in white are walking through the snow.

 "In effect, right now, we are sitting in a 60,000-seat snow globe," says Matt Lauer, "the kind you would have on a children's or a child's shelf back home." I think a real snow globe might be about fifty million times more exciting than this. Aren't there at least snowmen or Christmas trees in those things?

Wait, some kind of leader type is banging his staff into the snow and blue circles of light are waving out from it. Now Lauer is telling us about the incredible technology that's being used. I don't remember anyone prattling on like this during the most dramatic parts of the opening ceremony in Beijing. Next, Costas is telling us that Beijing spent between $300 - $400 million  on their opening ceremony, whereas this one cost between $30 - $40 million dollars. What did they spend that kind of money on? Did Sutherland hold out for an enormous fee for his voiceover?

Here comes a gigantic polar bear made of lights. Oh, I get it. Canada is sponsored by Coca Cola! But now the ice is breaking up. Is this about global warming? The floor has become the ocean, and there are whales swimming through. That part is pretty nice.

Totem poles. Nothing happening. Am I crazy to want people to start dancing now? There hasn't been much dancing yet.

"The beauty of the trees, the softness of the air, the fragrance of the grass speaks to me, and my heart soars," says Donald Sutherland.

The totem poles turn into tall trees, people in street clothes begin dancing, and Sarah McLaughlin appears and sings, "It's just another ordinary miracle today." I like the fact that there's dancing, but this feels a little Hallmark. How many Canadian performers are waiting in the wings? What next, Shania Twain and Neil Young do a duet? Why isn't Celine Dion involved yet?

Hold on, everything's changing now. There's a fiddler on the moon? Punk rock fiddlers? Maple leaves, everywhere? Fear of a Canadian planet? Punker lords of the dance, glowering at the cameras? Somersaulting punks in plaid? Matt Lauer is trying to explain all of this, but the more he talks, the more confusing it gets. Something about a street with a bunch of pubs on it. (I think we could've figured out that there were pubs involved on our own.)

Now here's a tap dancer on the platform, and more maple leaves. Now there are swarms of tap dancers. Tap dancing doesn't exactly read in a stadium. Oh, we'll fix it by adding sparklers to our heels. Wow, this is quite seriously not good. Now more maple leaves are falling from the ceiling. There are quite a few identifiably uncoordinated people in the mix out there. Oh God. When will it end?

A boy now stands in the middle of the prairie. There's been a great deal of standing while cheesy music plays. The boy is running, he's wearing a belt. NO, don't make him fly, whatever you – oh dear. Flying boy. To add insult to injury, he's doing a really terrible, "Oh my god, I'm flying!" face.

Maybe they should've spent another $360 million on this thing. Apparently $40 million doesn't buy much more than a projector, a flying boy, and a flashback to Lillith Fair '98.

Now things get very literal with a bunch of snowboarders and skiers in red, hanging from the ceiling. Ice Capades. "I think they've succeeded here," says Bob Costas, straining very hard to make us believe that this catastrophically hokey nightmare has been a success.

A slam poet appears, apparently to embarrass Bob Costas for lying through his teeth. "Define Canada." He begins. Well, Tom Brokaw already tried to do that, and it was sort of a disaster, we try to tell him, but he interrupts us. "We're more than just hockey and fishing lines off the rocky coast of the maritimes. And some say what defines us is as simple as please and thank you."

I am flabbergasted. Slam poetry about being polite. I can't believe I'm watching slam poetry at all, this after the grunge 'n' fiddle punk rock festival. Is the entire nation of Canada on about a decade delay with the rest of the world?

"We are an experiment going right for a change!" We make Canadian bacon, and ice! "We believe in generations beyond our own!" We put little maple leafs on our luggage, so no one thinks we're American, because we hate those arrogant bastards! "Canada is the what in 'What's new?'"

"Experiences are what make up the colors of our tapestry. We are the true North strong and free! And what's more is that we didn't just say it, we made it be!"

Yes, you certainly did make it be, my friend.

Here's kd lang to sing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." This is one of the best songs ever written, and kd lang is really a force to be reckoned with. That said, is this song appropriate to the moment? "She tied you to her kitchen chair." Is that a new winter event that I don't know about?

An interminable speech. An opera singer sings the Olympic hymn, an interminable song. A minute of silence for the fallen Georgian luger.

Now it's time not just to say that the Winter Olympics shall begin, but to make it be. And how do we make it be? By lighting the Olympic torch. Here comes the Olympic flame! The crowd breathes a giant sigh of relief. The torch-bearers stand around in a circle and … nothing happens.

 "Truth be told, they may be experiencing something of a mechanical difficulty here," says Costas. You don't say! Wayne Gretzky appears humiliated. Finally, three big poles go up but a fourth is missing. The torch bearers light it, and the results look like a lopsided mess. Right now I'm thinking again they probably should've ponied up that extra $360 million. You always think a cheap Olympic cauldron is going to be just as good as an expensive one, but man, are you wrong.

And do Costas and Lauer acknowledge what a big mess it is? Hell, no. Instead they're happily prattling along as Wayne Gretsky rides to the real outdoor Olympic cauldron in the rain. Why didn't they just have one cauldron? Sadly, this outdoor one looks just like the malfunctioning heap inside.

Oh, Canada. You may among the friendliest and most welcoming people on earth, but sometimes friendliness, politeness, and "making it be" just isn't enough.

Thankfully, the writers of "Modern Family" (see also: the best comedy on TV) understand just how slouchy and pathetic most of us are, so in honor of Valentine's Day, they present us with a glimpse of the typical married couple's flaccid efforts at romance, and how it stands it sharp contrast with the passion of dimwitted teenagers:

But the real kicker comes when Claire (Julie Bowen) and Phil (Ty Burrell) engage in a little Valentine's Day role-playing. Pure, delicious creepiness!