The Obama Era could have a transformative effect on young people -- or at least on their image. Millennial youth, the ones we think of as shiftless slackers, came out in droves to vote for Barack Obama, and were among the blocs that secured his victory. If they were to embrace the era of responsibility he alluded to in his inaugural speech -- even just a little -- early-to-mid 20-somethings could rehabilitate what it means to be young in this country.

 

And here's hoping they do, because rather inconveniently, there's a show reinforcing the old stereotypes in a big way: "The Real World: Brooklyn."

Granted, "The Real World" has never exactly made young people look good. After the Las Vegas season got boffo ratings, the production team decided to stick with what was apparently working: a septet of functioning alcoholics puking and making out, sometimes in that order. "The Real World Brooklyn" promised to be different. This time, the press materials and promos promised, MTV would take these kids and drop them into New York City, the heart of everything, and see if they had what it took to fulfill their dreams. No longer would the roommates be given a job they had to do; the Brooklyn crew would be free to pursue whatever the Big Apple had to offer.

As someone who just moved away from Brooklyn, after being chewed up and spit out by it, I resent the leg up that these kids are getting. They live in the Red Hook neighborhood, in a massive warehouse that's been converted into the ultimate loft space, as is usually the case with "Real World" digs. And don't expect them to hoof it, bus it, cab it and rail it around town like us commoners. They have a Prius at their disposal to tool around in. Free rent in an incredible space, and a free car? For people who already had hopes of coming to New York to make something happen for themselves, it doesn't get much better.

In the second episode, Baya from Salt Lake City reveals herself as an aspiring dancer with the spirit of hip-hop running through her veins -- or so she says. She decides to try out for a dance school called the Hip Hop Dance Conservatory, and finds out that professionally dancing is, gasp, actually a job. Before a grueling audition, the director asks her why she dances. "I love the way it makes me feel," she says in a dreamy voice.

 

"So let me ask you a question," the director replies. "After, about, a six or seven hour rehearsal, you haven't allowed to take a break to get water. Are you going to love what you do then?"

 

"I hope -- I've never been pushed to that extreme," she replies.

 

Surprise: After she gets pushed to that extreme, she has second thoughts. Her roommates come to pick her up, in the Prius, of course, and ask her how it went. "I love hip-hop," Baya says, "but, being there six days a week, I think I'd fall out of love with it." To her surprise, she gets accepted to the Conservatory and then declines the invitation. It's too "military-esque," and she doesn't like the tough love. Hopefully, they offered her slot to one of the other auditioners, one who actually wanted to be a dancer and would do anything to get there.

In Episode 3, Baya's roommate crush, Ryan, reveals that he wants to pursue a music career. Like Baya, he gets opportunities opened for him because he has cameras following him around. He meets a manager at a bar, who puts him in touch with a record producer he can audition for. Another roommate, Chet, tags along. While Ryan auditions for "Machine," the producer, Chet says "I want to hear 'The Tampon Song.'"

 

Feel free to read that sentence again.

 

Ryan obliges, and proceeds to sing a song he wrote on a jag about what life would be like as his girlfriend's tampon. Machine's dismissal was polite, but no less firm for it: "That was very funny. You're such a cool guy, and you're lovable, and you have a love of music, and you should build that...with your friends on your own, and if people follow, then the sky's the limit. But I don't think you should be here, because I'm ready to take a budget and make a record." "That dude is way too professional," Ryan says later -- I suppose because he thought he was auditioning for someone who doesn't produce music for a living.

A story ran in Newsday about the Brooklyn cast before the season started: 'Real World Brooklyn cast hopes NYC won't hate them.' Something tells me that's panning out as well as the rest of their New York City hopes and dreams -- they want something, but aren't willing to work for it. If you don't want to do what it takes to make things happen, please, for the sake of struggling young people from coast to coast, just don't. Laze around that massive house and have fun while you're in town. Enjoy the hot tub, play some pool. Puke and make out, even in that order. But for the love of all that is holy, don't try to be the face of Young America's Strivers. They'd appreciate it.