Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Notes on a Pussycat Doll Search

This post is dedicated to kick ass women like Pat Benatar and that lunatic Dame Judi Dench played in Notes on a Scandal who's really more crazy than kick ass, but it works for the post and it's funny, so I'm running with it. Also, I just realized that the sucky CWTV site is not putting up new photos of the show and I'm gonna get tired of the available pics pretty damn soon, so this week, we're going with Pat and Judi!

To that end, a la Dame Judi's scandalous diary, I present my notes on tonight's episode of The Pussycat Dolls Present The Search for the Next Doll:

March 20, 2007

Seated on my couch, notebook in hand (I most certainly cannot remember absolutely everything that transpires between these girls if I don't put pen to paper!), thusly begins another episode of The Pussycat Doll show, which is what I much prefer to call it. I find the entire title completely abhorrent. I refuse to use it on principle and in fear of repetitive stress injury from typing so many utterly unnecessary letters.

Ah, tonight's theme: personality or persona, as Robin Antin seems to enjoy mixing it up a bit by using the two interchangeably, lest we tire of the constant use of one of the words. What a pity that throughout the entire episode, I saw not one thing that demonstrated that any of the potential pussycats actually had a personality, or persona, except perhaps Sisely, who's overarching persona seems to need quite a bit of time for sleep and rehearsal.

Here, I must address my great elation regarding the choice of Pat Benatar's Heartbreaker as one of the songs to be performed! One of my greatest influences in my youth was Benatar's oeuvre, including In the Heat of the Night and Crimes Passion. At nine years of age, I knew not about what she was singing when she belted out "You're the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasies!" But I knew that I would one day have my own inner fantasies (Clive Owen) and thought it wise to run around the house in a unitard shouting to everyone who would listen that someone, one day, would indeed be the right kind of sinner (Clive Owen).

On this next matter, I have not much to comment, however I feel it is my duty to remind you, dear diary, of choreographer Mikey, swiveling his hips in a lurid fashion and shouting out "push push push push push push push!" I shall relive it incessantly.

An imploration to Ms. Antin: under no circumstances, should you ever--and I must reiterate--EVER, jump up and down in a fit of excitement. It was rather horrifying and I beg of you, should you find yourself announcing a makeover to an assemblage of giddy girls who believe your brother to be some sort of hairstyling Svengali, please contain your clearly insincere enthusiasm and stand perfectly still. This will be to the benefit of all.

I am quite certain that I have never seen more posteriors than on this show. Must all the girls flounce around in cotton hot pants with their ass cheeks visible to the entire world at all times? Is this what the skinny girls wear on a regular basis? I recall when I was able to clothe myself in a size zero, while I was attired in some rather constricting denim trousers, I did not reveal my--excuse my Yiddish--tush on national television. Granted, I was not afforded the opportunity, but I think I make my point quite clear.

These makoevers are a complete travesty! I believe it slipped someone's mind to inform Mr. Antin that the term is "makeover," and not, "make-look-exactly-the-same-as-before." The one exception to this seems to be Chelsea who looks far less ogre-like with her newly coiffed bangs. And yes, her vocal performance actually did stand out, which was no feat, but garnered her a spot in the next round nonetheless.

I do believe that if Sisely utters the words "sleep" and "rehearsal" and Jamie lets fly out of her mouth the words "confidence" and "persona" one more time, I shall find a very large shovel, beat them both over the head with it, and bury them in rather shallow graves in the garden behind my home. Of course these are two of my favorite pussycats, so I will do no such thing. I was merely expressing my exasperation at their relentless discussions of these concepts. In addition, I own no shovel nor home and have not a garden, so carrying out this task would be of the utmost difficulty.

A word of advice to Ms. Sisely--and I say this with great love--if you are so deeply concerned about the quality of your voice and preserving said quality in light of much missed sleep, perhaps you should not be screaming at the top of your lungs at the newly banged Chelsea, who was clearly coached by some off screen presence as to how she should best inhale deeply and glare at Sisely before a cut to commercial.

And speaking of off screen coaching, who is behind Anastacia's seemingly choreographed eye movements? When her performance ended, she posed along side her pole and glowered murderously at Melissa S, who had possibly earned that glare as she had won the earlier challenge, likely inciting much jealousy in her fellow pussycat contenders. Moments later when it was announced that Anastacia's group had won and all would be safe from elimination, Anastacia's eyes seemed to be attempting to seduce Mariela into some sort of bi-lesbian-chic scenario. Mariela was so overcome with joy and pride during this episode that I sense her highly emotional state might allow her to be lead down such a path.

As for this challenge wherein Melissa S. was granted immunity from elimination and Mariela tearfully proved to herself that she had vocal capabilities, the very thought of tossing the girls into a studio and merely replacing the vocals of Don't Cha (what sort of madness is this spelling?) only serves to remind me of how I used to sing to the instrumental B-side of Madonna's Live to Tell. It also brings back fond memories of the vocal booths available at Six Flags Great Adventure where in pre-karaoke days, one could choose a song out of a book and enter a similar recording booth and have oneself recorded crooning his or her favorite tune. I opted for Bette Midler's The Rose. Oh, the pathos.

No pathos in that performance of my beloved Heartbreaker, however. For all of her punk rock abilities, Sisely was horrifically off tempo. She looked quite the part but apparently lack of sleep and rehearsal...well, enough said on that note, I imagine!

But in the end it was my lovely little kicky Jamie who was told she was not to become the next Pussycat Doll. Life is indeed cruel, and well edited if you live your life on a CWTV reality show, as it goes without saying that dear Jamie was asked to hang up her boa because of her lack of personality. Oh, the irony.

Until next week, dear diary, may we all loosen up those buttons and fling our pink boas about!

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