tv on a school night will return after these messages

Just like the Top Models, I'm hitting the road. And since tonight is the dreaded airing of the always hellaciously boring recap episode, it seems like the perfect time to announce a tv on a school night hiatus.

Not only am I off on a business trip next week from which I will not return until mid-May, but due to my now legendary and still harrowing treadmill incident, as of today (after a much needed doctor's appointment), my injured left hand has been sentenced to 4-6 weeks in a splint! ARRRGGGHHHH!!!

Needless to say, I am not particularly thrilled about this as the bulky item now tightly velcroed around my hand, wrist, and forearm makes it a BEEYATCH to type. So perhaps it's for the best that I take a break.

And, since I already know I will be out and about while I'm out of town on the night of the Top Model finale, I will report on the TIVOed episode that will be waiting for me upon my return. It might even be possible for me not to hear who took the Cover Girl crown before then, so I can enjoy the tension, suspense, and surprise just like the rest of the Top Model watching crowd.

So, until then, we are ALL still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model!

Cat Scratch Fever

What can I say? This was the most boring reality series finale I've ever seen. I spent quite a bit of time between 9 and 10pm scratching and picking at the scabs on my knees, which proved a far more engaging activity than the merciful conclusion of The Search for the Next Doll.

But before I say what little CRAP I have to say about Asia winning this thing, I must relay some extremely important information. And before I do that, I must warn you...

Be afraid, be very afraid.

In fact...I suggest you RUN. FOR THE HILLS. Or wherever you're supposed to go when some scary ass shit is about to GO DOWN.

Brace yourself, folks, for these are the words that flashed across my screen as I went to the CW site for a new PCD picture:

APPLY NOW FOR SEASON TWO OF THE PUSSYCAT DOLLS PRESENT

Wait, I think I need a moment to regain consciousness.

What on earth could they be presenting in a second season? They can't possibly need ANOTHER doll, can they? As it is, the stage seemed pretty crowded once Asia was all up in the PCD business after her win.

Or maybe it's a conspiracy. Maybe Robin is an evil mastermind--she certainly looks like evil and unfriendliness incarnate--plotting to take over the world with an army of lingerie clad ladies, weakening all humans with generic pop songs and repetitive choreography. Hell--the very fiber of my being has already weakened and I've only watched one season. If only Tyra would stop trying to improve young girls' lives and save them from the vagaries of poor self-images long enough to see that she needs to form a Top Model army IMMEDIATELY. Robin and her minions must be stopped.

And now that Asia is officially in the Pussycat Doll Army of Mass Destruction and World Domination, I might be a little scared. That girl dances like she is going to THROW DOWN. Either that...or...well, have you ever gone to the bathroom overseas on one of those toilets that's not actually a toilet, but a hole in the ground with two foot pads on either side so that your stance is kinda wide and you have to squat just a touch just cuz, well, just cuz you have to? Apologies for the graphics, but seriously, could Asia close her legs and stand up straight for like one second during a song?

And I can't believe Ron Fair caved. You know he hates her voice and I do too. Talk to the hand, people.

Between the fact that Robin is going to selfishly search for another doll and that Asia won, I am PISSED. Not cuz I was so invested in who won this damn thing, but because I spent weeks watching this ridiculous show only to have my least favorite girl win. Where's old Sisely when you need her? She may not be the next PCD, but at least she never looked like a twelve year old jumping around on stage with the big kids. I mean, did Asia look like the little sister whose older sibs let her prance around next to them for one night, or what? Or are the rest of the PCDs just Amazons, which would further prove my theory that they're forming an army which will take us all by button-loosening force?

I'm either too frightened or too upset to keep commenting so I leave you with the words of Mikey, the best part of the whole show:
"I don't do cat fights. I do choreography."

Okay, okay, Melissa R. and Asia's 3:20am cat fight was pretty entertaining. But not nearly as entertaining as the fact that another huge chunk of my knee scabs just fell off. Now that's worth flinging a pink boa around for, baby!

Here in My Car

A lot of people don't know this about me: I love cars. I love looking at pictures of them. I love watching car chases in movies. I love singing along to Gary Numan's Cars.

A lot of people know this about me: I hate driving. Despite the fact that I've dreamed of owning a Saab Turbo 900 convertible since 1986, would pay any amount of money for a vintage Ford Mustang, and am still lamenting the loss of my mother's bitchin' yellow 1969 Camaro, my desire to drive is about on par with my desire for root canal. And it's not even that I just don't enjoy being the driver. I'm not much on being a passenger either. I just get all cooped up and antsy in an automobile and would just as soon use my feet whenever possible. And don't even think that's cuz I'm such a big fan of nature and being outdoors. Trust me, it's not. Suffice it to say, while a cross-country move is all but imminent in my near future, a three thousand mile road trip is not likely to be (unless Stu and I decide to keep our car in which case we might have to drive it across the country, in which case, I'll suck it up and figure out a way to make my desire to see the Mall of America and Mount Rushmore outweigh my desire to be on the East coast in six hours rather than six weeks).

However, as long as Monday nights involve Nathan Fillion in a vehicle and Rev Run picking up Diggy in a Rolls Royce Phantom, my vicarious affair with cars will continue.

It's fair to say that I'm now committed to Drive. I wasn't gonna blog about it and I'm still not gonna recap the plot (FOX does that quite nicely), but I'm totally enjoying it, even though it is trashy as all get out. Seriously, it's like some ridiculous D-list show. The scripts are laughable, as is the acting (but not Nathan, bien sur), and the actors are weirdly attractive, but yet, just not that great looking (but again, not Nathan, of course). Like you know if this show was on NBC instead of FOX, the hot lead girl would look a little like more like Evangeline Lily and less like someone who's still living in a studio in Los Angeles just praying that a mid-season replacement show on FOX is going to catapult her to the next level. And the teenage girl would actually be Lindsay Lohan (if you could keep her off the...Red Bull) and not some adolescent who looks frustratingly similar to LaLohan when she was still cruising Long Island. Of course, Nathan Fillion is A-list hot to moi, but I sense that he's getting pigeon-holed in these cultish shows and may have a hard time driving his way out (see how I said Drive? I'm workin' the theme, people).

But crappy dialogue and D-listers aside, Drive has something for everyone and is fun for the whole family, unless, of course, one of your family members has been kidnapped, has a terminal disease, has gone AWOL, has broken parole, or happens to have heard the voice of god before dying in a car crash. I normally despise a *the mysteries go deeper and the secrets unfold every week* shows because they usually bore me to tears by episode three, but either my love of Nathan Fillion, or my love of cars is keeping me on the road with this one (did you catch that? on the road? aw yeah.).

Also on the road this evening was my beloved Rev Run. No secret, illegal, cross-country road race on Run's House. Rev doesn't get much further than Paramus, New Jersey to buy a gorilla suit with which to embarrass Diggy, who is embarrassed that his father keeps meeting the school bus in his Phantom Jaguar. Diggy learns the valuable lesson that one should not be embarrassed by where he has come from and Run learns that a gorilla suit might not have been the best way to teach Diggy that lesson. I learned that I still want Rev Run to adopt me. If nothing else, I just want him to give me that look that he gave Russy when he asked Russy why he thought he would get any mail. Russy replied, "Because I'm a special person." If my dad had been able to give me a look of disdain with as much sarcasm as Rev gave Russy, my life would probably be very different right now.

And most likely, I'd probably drive a Saab Turbo 900 convertible instead of a 1996 Subaru wagon.

The Spreader of Light Darkens Our Wednesday Nights No More

I'm posting a pic of Renee cuz I thought she looked the best this week.
It could happen.
(And the CW hasn't put any pics from Australia up yet so we're stuck with this old one until they get their act together.).

While certainly feeling far more lighthearted than yesterday, perhaps just having noticed that my knees are as puffy as marshmallows (if you're not hip to my treadmill incident extraordinaire, click here and witness the horror) has brought my spirits down a notch. But I'm pretty sure that even if I was on Ecstacy, I might still be overwhelmed by the desire to slap Jael upside the head for deeming herself the Spreader of Light. That's treading on Jade territory, but it was almost forgivable when crap like that came out of Jade's mouth because her residence was in another solar system. I believe Jael actually lives on our planet (hell, she'd have to with all of that interest in grass touching, air breathing, and tree climbing), which makes it all the worse because you can see a faint glimmer of normalcy behind that clenched jaw of hers. Jade was a lost cause so she was just frustratingly good entertainment. Jael is merely frustrating.

On the other hand, Jaslene continues to be just a delight! If a Spreader of Light actually had to be declared, Jaslene would be it. She was just so darn earnest about how thrilled she was to travel to another country, having never been anywhere besides the 'hood and around the corner. And her little furrowed brow as she concentrated so darn hard to say her lines without cue cards just makes me want to put her in my bag (she'd probably fit in a carry-on) and take her to every country in the world.

Okay, back to the Ecstasy for a minute--is Tyra on crack or something? Did anyone else notice that something was seriously up with Ty Ty? First of all she broke with panel tradition and had no head scarf on which threw me all off because she's worn one in every single episode this season. And then, she was all wide eyed and wacked out one minute, talking like she was on speed, and then she was totally pissy and dour the next.

Maybe Tyra could pass some of her sudden mood swings on to April from cycle 2 who showed up to give the girls a lesson in broadcast correspondence. Can we get a couple of those paddles the docs in the ER use to bring coronary patients back to life with an electric jolt? That clip of her actually corresponding--and I use the term loosely--from some glorious beach was DEADLY. I might have preferred to watch Jael do some public speaking and we all know her voice makes me want to jam hot pokers into my ear drums. At least Jael is, well, alive. But I found that April looked a bit odd, like maybe she's had some *work done,* so perhaps she had passed away at some point and some Top Model Frankenstein brought her back to life by sewing rigid facial features back together. This might also be the explanation behind her dealthy dull interviewing style.

So before I pass out from thinking about April any further (although maybe Tyra has some something I can use to perk up), on to deliberations!

Brittany: Perhaps the worst job I've ever had was selling health club memberships. Every day I had to call lapsed members, coerce them, if not down right guilt them, into coming into the gym to look around again and hopefully rejoin. Most people feel extremely guilty about not exercising and when pressed, ramble on about their busy schedules. One day I was making my calls and listening to the usual excuses. About half way through my list, I called a woman and asked her why she hadn't been to the gym in a while. Her response: "Oh, I just got out of a coma." I paused. I paused some more. She laughed. I laughed too. "Oh," I chuckled, "that's a the best excuse I've ever heard!" She laughed some more, "I'm actually not kidding. I have been in a coma. I'm just laughing because it's a weird thing to tell people." Uh huh. "But I'd like to start exercising when I'm fully recovered. Can I call you then?" Sure. My point being, who freaking knew Brit had brain damage!? She still looks beautiful and really, if she wins, she does one cycle of those dumb Cover Girl spots and then she'll be lucky to get print work in a crafting magazine like April, so her short term memory problem shouldn't really be an issue past, say mid-2008.

Dionne: Eh. Not much to report on the Dionne front tonight. No great zingers unless you count her use of "mumbo jumbo," but that's not all that thrilling and neither was anything she did this evening.

Jael: She looked oddly good in that blue wig as she was making her exit. Or maybe I was just really excited to see her go.

Jaslene: Oh, my little skinny Janice Dickinson! She's coming back. That would be Jaslene who's coming back, not Janice. Although Janice hasn't appeared this cycle--it might be time. But she's probably so busy with what I believe to be her fake, made-for-TV modeling agency, that she probably doesn't have time.

Natasha: I don't know if I thought her commercial was the best, but it was pretty damn good all considering. Plus I was pretty impressed with her correspondence and her use of Aussie slang. And speaking of Aussies, I haven't commented on Sydney as Top Model's foreign locale. Pretty cool although Tyra's bunny suit appearance was the lamest travel announcement yet. It was oddly lacking in build up and climax, aside from Natasha's strangely endearing delayed reaction. At least Tyra didn't try to convince everyone that Sydney is a fashion capitol. The Aussies always seem to be more about fashion insanity than fashion sense.

Renee: Did Jael spread some light on Renee or something? I think she looked absolutely gorgeous in her commercial and while her delivery was a bit aggressive and boyish, her accent wasn't bad and she really did have good energy. I don't know...I'm sensing Renee could be sticking around down under.

Until next week, you are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model!

Hey--no scenes for next week's episode! That usually indicates the rather dull recap episode. Grrr.

A Sad State of Affairs

I told you she had everything they were looking for in a PCD.

I'm feeling kinda lackluster today. Actually, I'm feeling downright sullen. While my left hand seems to be on the mend (hence my typing this despite my self-imposed spot on the DL), my knees are still an oozing, painful mess of nonbendingess, and watching the stupid PCDs learn some of the worst choreography I've ever seen didn't help matters much. I'm sure the sugar I had in the form of the ice cream I had for dinner hasn't helped either, but you know how it goes. If you can't go to the gym, you might as well eat. Why I can't ever do it the sensible way is beyond me: if exercising less, eat less. It's like my brain only operates on some inverse proportion. I eat less when I'm working out regularly and the minute there's no activity in the foreseeable future, I go right for the Ben & Jerry's. I might feel better if Anastacia was still on the show, binging on hotel room service desserts. Misery does love company.

Alas, Anastacia is nowhere to be found and in my please-pass-the-Zoloft state, I just can't get it up for comically commenting on the PCDs today. I just don't think I have it in me.

I did, however, have it in me to jot down a few notes:

- Chelsea has perfected a really bitchin' nostril flare. Remember when she was a really good mad inhaler? Now she's a really good incensed nostril flarer (like when she can't get choreography and Mikey berates her).

- You had to know that the only national air time that ridiculous Secret Scent Expressions commercial of Asia's was going to get was sandwiched between two Search for the Next Doll segments on the CW. And how cheap was that thing? It wasn't even film. It was slapped together in video amidst a montage of Asia's footage from the show. Sad state, fo' sho'.

- Robin has got to be lying through her ass every time she tells the girls how great they are, right? I mean tonight, after a two minute dance, which I repeat, consisted of some of the worst choreography I've ever seen, she was all like "You could all be PCDs right now!" Are you kidding me? Maybe I haven't laid eyes on the real PCDs enough to form a solid opinion of their dancing abilities, but the little I've caught in videos doesn't make it look like they're ready for Asia, Mel R., Mel S., or Chelsea. Or should I say, I don't think those four girls are ready for the real PCDs. But what do I know? I can't stop looking at my knees. Maybe I missed something. Or maybe since they only danced for like two minutes and all they had to do was pop and circle their hips, I missed the subtle nuances of the number.

- Did anyone else notice that during Chelsea's copycat performance of Xtina's What a Girl Wants, Ron Fair's face looked like he was attempting a Vulcan Mind Meld? Perhaps he was trying to will Chelsea to sing a song without imitating Christina's every vocal move. But kudos to Chelsea cuz copying Ms. Aguilera's voice isn't all that easy. So if that's all you can accomplish in your singing life, things could be worse. Plus. I gotta admit that Chelsea looked A-dorable in that pony tail. Hair back and bangs long is a good look for her. Stu thought she was Shannon Doherty. Worked for Shannon too. Damn those girls with straight hair and bangs! Oh jeez, maybe I do need an anti-depressant. I never wish for straight hair. Well, almost never. Only on rare occasions when someone looks really good in bangs and a long straight pony tail and I know this is a look I will never be able to achieve.

- My career advice for Mel. S is to go be a Jennifer Aniston look alike somewhere. Does anyone else see it?

- If the Search for the Next Doll had a suggestion box, I would suggest that Asia never tie her pink boa around her waist again. It seems like an insult to the significance Robin has imposed upon the boa. And it just looks really, really stupid.

- OMG, the finale is NEXT WEEK. Thank fucking god. We all know Mel. R is going win this thing, dubious honor though that may be.

Until next week, loosen your buttons and fling your boas around, but please, I beg of you, don't ever tie them around your waists.

And as for my sad and sorry state, I should perk up tomorrow since the Top Models are traveling! That always puts a spring in my step. But why, oh why, did they give away the location in tonight's promos? The whole fun of the traveling episode is to wait to find out where they're going. No worries, mate. Maybe they'll got sponsorship from Outback Steakhouse.

On the DL

Oh, that in this particular case, "On the DL" referred to the "down-low," signifying that I had something delightfully juicy to share. Sadly, in this particular case, it refers to the Disabled List (despite my protests, I do actually know a fair amount of sports terminology), on which I am currently placing myself.

Why, you may ask, am I on the disabled list, giving my now injured left hand a break from as much typing as possible? Perhaps it is because yesterday, I FUCKING FELL OFF A TREADMILL.

How, you may ask, did such a thing occur? Well, I shall tell you.

It was only a couple of weeks ago that someone from my gym class said, "Gigi, you've got some very long shoelaces," to which I replied, "Oh, I know. I double knot them though, so it's okay." I should confess now, that I'm a tad OCDish and one of the ways in which it manifests itself is that my sneakers never feel like they're tied tightly enough. As a result, I have a tendency to, over time, stretch my shoelaces to thin spaghetti-like lengths. The bows flop around on either side of my shoe like those crazy rabbits' long ears flouncing about on the sides of their heads. But it's been that way for years and never, never has double knotting my laces not been enough to keep the truly mortifying and horribly painful from occurring.

Until yesterday.

There I was, happily going about the first few moments of my Sunday work out, which includes a treadmill run. I was just warming up and mouthing the words to, um, Britney's Oops I Did it Again, when, I felt something happen to my feet. At the time I had no idea what started it all, but what happened next felt like hours of my body losing all control. In sequential order, I believe it went something like this:
- I take hold of my iPod because my Britney selection was about to end and I want to change artistes. I look down at my iPod and begin circling through the menu options.
- I trip
- I try to regain footing, but can't because, I'm on a treadmill. And it's moving.
- I think to myself that I might be able to get my feet off the damn belt and on to the sides of said treadmill, but I can't because I'm on a treadmill. And it's still moving (and it just occurred to me right now that I was holding my iPod and couldn't grab hold of the bars--not that I couldn't have dropped my iPod for my own safety, but who thinks of such things in the span of four seconds?)
- My feet completely disengage from the treadmill and I am air born until my knees and then stomach and chest slam down on the belt. And we all know what's coming next.
- Oh yes, like a backwards Superman flying through an episode of Beavis and Butthead, I am flung off the hideous machine and land on the cement floor, stomach and knees skidding towards the wall behind me, bouncing a few times before I stop moving. Ouch. (And I will point out at this time how lucky I was not to be one treadmill over to the right which would have flung me into a rather sturdy collection of stationary bicycles.)
- The adrenalin and shock kicks in and I gather my iPod to me, swing my legs around and sit up, which is when I notice about twelve eyes, wide as wide can be, looking at me in horror and amazement. Wanting to come off as supremely cool, I immediately shout out, "I'M OKAY! I'M OKAY!" This is when I notice my insanely long shoelace and deduce that it is indeed the culprit. I point this out to everyone because, of course, I have to be sure they know that I would never trip and fall without just cause, having nothing to do with any lack of grace, poise, and athletic ability!
-And then, to keep up the cool factor, I ask, "Was that wacky or what?!" Everyone nods, expresses great concern and one guy shouts out, "Man, I saw it happening but there was nothing I could do!" I agree with him and thank everyone for their concern. After which I proclaim, "I guess I'll do the elliptical trainer today."
- And I'm not kidding. I walk myself, rather uncomfortably and pathetically, to the ladies room, blot the four welts I have on my knees (two matching welts per knee) and get right back to exercising. People walk by me and declare, "Good for you for getting right in there!" and "I woulda gone home! More power to ya!" Yes, crazy, manic, and now clearly in shock me spends a wicked 35 minutes on the elliptical, pushing myself harder on that stupid thing than I perhaps ever have. I cringe now and then, but damn it, I was getting my work out in as Madonna was demanding, "Don't tell me to stop!" Damn straight don't tell me to stop! Don't tell me I can't keep working out after getting thrown off a treadmill!
- I even go do weights afterwards which is when it all starts to unravel. It's a bit blurry after that, but I remember losing much momentum, skipping body parts here and there, and when I notice I can no longer bend my knees and that some yellow substance is oozing out of them, I decide to call it quits.

Today, my knees are still oozing, I still can't bend them, I have many aches and pains and bruises, mostly on the left side of my body which clearly took the brunt of the crash landing, and my left hand hurts when I grab, squeeze, pull, or push anything. So at this point, I feel like every part of me needs a good rest for the next few days.

So, I am officially on the DL until further notice.

Thank god, Run's House is on tonight. I could use some comfort and wisdom!

"Those who fail to learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them."

Couldn't decide which pic to post...




Oh sweet Jesus, after last night's Pussycat Doll slow burning tedium, tonight's episode of America's Next Top Model was like a high-speed car chase. VROOOOMMMM.

I was just thinking, did you ever notice how whenever the PCDs are in their house, they just lounge around on their beds or eat? Oh sure, sometimes they rehearse late into the night and sometimes Asia decides to relive her boxing dreams in a smack down with one of the girls, but for the most part, they don't do a whole hell of a lot at home. I guess if you think about it, the Top Models don't either but there just seems to be more lively interaction (or maybe just better editing). Even when they're not at a challenge or photo shoot, there's something to watch and witness. Okay, witness may be a bit of a strong statement cuz it's not really necessary to behold a bunch of model wannabes bitch about each other, their modeling woes, or their extraordinarily difficult days, which the weight of the word "witness" would imply.

So what did we behold this evening that was so riveting compared to the tiresome Search for the Next Doll? Well, we knew that acting challenge was due any minute.

And here's where our history lesson begins. Listen and learn future Top Models, for it pains me to see this go unacknowledged cycle after cycle. Ye must be warned: whichever girl perks up when she learns that it's time for the acting challenge not only never wins said challenge, much to her great surprise, but she usually goes home that week too. So Whitelle, the minute you proclaimed acting to be your forte, you were a goner.

And poor Whitelle was the double whammy history lesson. Sad but true, the plus size girl has never won. It's likely that his Top Model history will always repeat itself.

Also, historically, the girl who starts out kicking major ass slowly sinks to the shadowy depths of defeat. We know it, the judges know it, and Jaslene has clearly watched enough Top Model to know it too. Out by the pool she claimed she didn't want to be the girl who starts out strong and then fades. Don't fade, my skinny Jaslene!! Let's stop history in its tracks!

Having nothing to do with history, but perhaps related in that it has to do with a kind of history via legacy via DNA (I'm stretching to tie it all together. Work with me.), I have to pause before deliberations and comment on this kid business. How many freakin' girls have babies in this cycle? Between Top Model and the PCD moms, I can't keep count. And I'm just not down with making the decision to leave your kid to pursue modeling or whatever it is the PCDs do. Not only cuz I think that those aren't the best careers upon which to embark when trying to raise a bambino, but because now I gotta listen to you piss and moan about missing your kid for thirteen weeks or however long you last on these shows. I know, I'm not a mom, so I don't understand, but the thing is, I do understand. I have siblings and friends with kids and they miss their children within hours of being apart which I find delightfully wonderful. But if you know you're going to miss your kid in a day, don't try to leave the tyke for like thirteen weeks. That's all I'm sayin'.

However, I must confess that I got choked up when Renee and Dionne's little ones showed up. Okay, okay, okay, I admit it! It was touching! They all looked so happy, I had to cry. A little. I stopped crying though as soon as Dionne asked what the fuck was wrong with her baby's hair. Oh,that was good stuff. She was pissed that her daughter's hair looked like crap because Dionne's older sister, who is helping take care of the girl, only has boys and despite Dionne's sister being a girl herself, seemingly with her own head of girlish hair, she has no clue how to style a female coif. Dionne was still glad to see her family though, which was good to know.

But right back to history which repeated itself even further when Top Model alums showed up for the shoot. Double the deliberation fun!!

Brittany and the Twins: I loved the twins all last cycle. They were a bit stiff, but I think they totally have the high fashion look. Not the Cover Girl look, but the actual model look. However, in their photo with Brit they either didn't give a crap and didn't even try, or Brit was just that good. Good for Brit either way since the judges just saw that she out shined Michelle and Amanda.

Dionne and Kim: Before I get to the shoot, I have to quote my fave non-photo shoot line of Dionne's, which is even better than the thing about the kid's hair. Re: her acting, "I have no idea why that Jamaican accent came out. I do not speak Jamaican AT ALL." Sigh. I heart Dionne. I also heart Kim. I was completely devastated when she was eliminated from her cycle. So, there's Dionne and Kim about to start posing in the limo and right before that, Dionne says, "I'm not a fucking lesbo." She got major demerits for that and I thought I was going to have to stop hearting her, but then mid shoot, she turns it around! When asked why she was giggling, she responds, "I'm actually enjoying this!" I'm happily taking Dionne's demerits off her record.

Jael and Rebecca: Rebecca always reminded me of Reese Witherspoon whom I think is super fab so I liked Rebecca. She's a bit plain for modeling, but quite lovely. I'm still awed by that dead drop to the floor though. As for Jael, I'm not even gonna talk about her ridiculous shoot or her belief that the judges don't get her because she's "very complicated" (Um, I don't think so, Jael. In fact, you couldn't be more uncomplicated and obvious.). What I am going to do is jump up and down for joy for as many minutes as possible because the judges FINALLY acknowledged that Jael has the most irritating speaking voice on the planet. I'll defer to Twiggy who said, "When Jael opens her mouth it makes me crazy!" Amen, sister!

Jaslene and Bre: I've often said that Bre is a crazy person. I hope she's settled down since her cycle cuz if not, she's still a crazy person. However, she did say some of the funniest things I've ever heard on Top Model, like wanting to know who gave birth to the Wild Boyz because they were clearly ill parented, so her lack of sanity might be worth something. However, I'll never get over the horrible things she said to my Kim! And as for Jaslene, she knows what's what. She's gonna step it back up. I know it. I have faith!

Natasha and Michelle: Oh, who doesn't love a wrestler from Terre Haute, IN, who comes down with impetigo, sometimes mistaken for a flesh eating virus? She's weirdly pretty and yet not. Natasha, however is looking prettier and prettier every shoot and I gotta give her props for pulling it together after her baby didn't show up. Girl, you DIDN'T WIN THE PRIZE. She didn't seem to quite get it and just thought it was unfair that her family didn't magically appear. Yes, it's sad that she misses them so much, but she DIDN'T WIN THE PRIZE.

Renee and Joanie: Now any of you who were with me during Joanie's cycle know how I feel about her. Lovelovelove her! I think Danielle is gorgeous and fabulous, but Joanie was ROBBED. As for Renee, her pic was okay, ugly or pretty, but what I really want to note is that she looks great in a head scarf. I don't know if she's taking cues from Tyra, who has worn a head scarf in every single panel so far, or what, but it works. I don't know if it works so much for Tyra. And what else was she wearing this week? Who let her out of the house in a flouncie mini dress, full head wrap, and strappy sandals? The Go Fug Yourself girls might need to be notified.

Whitney and Shannon: Shannon's really matured quite nicely, don't you think? I mean she's kinda got that *not twenty anymore* look about her and it's working. Didn't help Whitney any though. And while Whitney didn't win the acting challenge, she clearly didn't bomb it either and I think she may be the first girl in Top Model history to decide, in her exit interview, that maybe she shouldn't pursue modeling and that she might be better suited to something else (perhaps acting). Let's hope that history repeats itself. That would save a lot of girls a lot of future heartache.

Until next week--when we travel!!--you are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model!!

Wreckage and Carnage Was Never This Dull

I gotta tell ya, there was more excitement and better executed choreography in the ten minutes of The Day After Tomorrow that I watched on FX while eating dinner, than there was in this hour of The Search for the Next Doll. Sure, I'm a sucker for a disaster flick, but you know I'm an even bigger sucker for "the dance," so why on earth does this show bore the holy hell outta me?

Perhaps because it's BORING. Even during the performances, when the girls are allegedly giving it their PCD all, they still look like detritus floating about the stage like drowning luggage on the Titanic. And--I'm digressing because at this point I have so little to say about tonight's episode and so much to say about a supposedly unsinkable cruise liner--I should mention that I'm also a Titanic FREAK. And I don't just mean the movie, which I love because there is some fabulous wreckage and carnage to behold in those three hours, but I mean the actual ship and the historic event. One time, my awesome friend K. took me to the Titanic exhibit where I got to TOUCH A PIECE OF THE BOAT. The ACTUAL SHIP. The ACTUAL TITANIC. I almost passed out. Screw dancing on stage with the Pussycat Dolls, I freakin' touched a piece of the TITANIC! With my hand. My finger actually touched a piece of the boat. The boat that's been at the bottom of the ocean since 1912. That might have been one of the best birthday presents EVER.

So speaking of sinking ships...how about that Anastacia?! Within the first five minutes of tonight's show, I wrote down: "Anastacia knew that either she our Mariela would make it to the finals? And she's making a big fuss about losing weight but not starving herself, then saying sometimes she just wants to put on a regular t-shirt and no make up? Hmmm...Might Anastacia be going home tonight?" Hey, what'd'ya know? Off she went. Ho hum.

Meanwhile there was tons of Melissa R. footage which there usually isn't. Suddenly we're getting to know her emotional and moral side which can only mean that she's sticking around for a while. I called that one in my first PCD post. Next.

Chelsea, the only one who can sing worth a damn but can't dance to save her life, was relegated to a swing and a couch while the other girls draped themselves over a bar. I'll give the girl credit for working her lack of choreography. But yeah yeah yeah, every week she gets dinged for weak dancing. Talk to the hand.

Asia continues to bug and her damn fingers never stop tapping the damn mic. 'Nuff said.

Melissa S. despite her mantra of "no bottom two, no bottom two," ended up--where else--in the bottom two! Quelle surprise.

Here's what did surprise me--that Robin commended them for kicking it old school. They did no such thing. They're too young to know what Big Spender should look like and I don't think they got the burlesque style at all. Whatev.

The best part of the whole thing was Mikey yelling at Melissa R., "Are you wearing your boob pads?! How many times do I have to tell you to wear your boob pads?!" Clearly, not nearly enough, cuz either we'd be far more entertained or Melissa R. would look like she had some cleavage.

OMG, I am so bored by this show that repeatedly bashing my head against our glass coffee table until skin breaks and blood oozes across the clear surface would be far more engaging and enjoyable.

But yeah, I'm still gonna watch cuz by now, I gotta see who wins this stupid thing. I'm just gonna pray that the Pussycats NEVER need to search for another doll. And I'm gonna hope that next week The Poseidon Adventure or The Towering Inferno is on at the same time. Excitement needs to come from somewhere and it sure as hell isn't coming from the Pussycat Doll Lounge.

Until next week, loosen up those buttons and fling those pink boas. Jeez, I'm so bored, I can't even muster up the energy to end that sentence with my usual "baby" and an exclamation point. Good grief.

What Was I Thinking?!

You might have noticed that I'm not a morning person. Most of my posts go up late at night, far too late, actually, and perhaps the lack of sleep is beginning to take its toll.

This morning, I woke up in a panic. Yes, I was shocked that my alarm was demanding that I wake up because it seemed like such a short time had passed since I had set the damn thing and crawled into bed after last night's post, but more than that, I was panicked by my sudden memory that FOX's Drive, starring one Nathan Fillion, was to premiere at any moment. Fearful that it might be tonight or tomorrow and conflict with The Search for the Next Doll (which would probably be a blessing) or Top Model, I bolted out of bed to check the schedule. With great relief I saw that Drive is premiering on Sunday, which is perfect. A free TV night. Sure I'll be up too late writing, but what else is new?

But, what really worried me and clearly illustrated that I've lost my mind due to sleep deprivation, is that my morning Drive panic reminded me that when I mentioned my "list" a few posts ago, I forgot to put Nathan Fillion on it! I have no idea how this happened so I am here to correct the situation and make amends.

At this point, until another Bourne movie comes out, I'm going to have to bump Matt Damon. I do heart him so, but with Leo's new found manliness and vulnerability in The Departed, well, I just can't bear to part with him. So move over Matt, wonderfully understated actor that you are, Nathan's back!

I feel much better now.

Dancing Pancakes and Duck Soup

Aside from Justine's request to hit Hooters for wings in her ninth month of pregnancy, to which Rev Run replied, "I think, thou shalt not go to Hooters as a priest," the only other comical moment in tonight's premiere of Run's House was Jojo's recounting of Run's having once dreamed about dancing pancakes in cowboy boots.

"Did you want pancakes or something?" Angela shouted out, laughing. It was hard not to laugh along with her even though I had been sobbing moments earlier.

By now, any of us who follow Joseph, Justine, Vanessa, Jojo, Angela, Diggy, and Russy Simmons know about the sad passing of their baby, Victoria Anne Simmons, who died on the day of her birth in September. Most of us probably saw clips of tonight's episode on Oprah last week. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I cried my eyes out watching then and gave a repeat performance this evening. With an encore.

But Rev Run doesn't want our pity. He respects and appreciates our sympathies and condolences, but would prefer to move on, to be grateful for everything he has, to live the happy life he has cultivated with his family. He would like Russy to continue to roll around on his Heelys and Diggy to keep skating.

About thirty minutes prior to tonight's premiere, I had just watched a TIVOed episode of last season's finale. Sap and sucker that I am, I cried as Rev decided to let his girls go and expressed his great excitement over the new life that would be joining the family nine months later. I'd been looking forward to seeing new episodes of Run's House for weeks, but I was worried that I wasn't going to make it through a season of Justine's pregnancy and anticipation for the baby's arrival, knowing what was to come.

But learning from Rev's example (and his Oprah interview, of course!), I already knew he didn't want to linger in grief. As he told Russy, "Don't let other people take us out of our joyful life." So if that was Rev's request, I was going to do my best to enjoy Run's House as much as ever so that I wasn't one of those other people. If the Rev had the faith and strength with which to find utter joy in the face of abject sorrow, then the least I could do was watch his show without wallowing in my own neurotic anxieties.

The other day, Stu and I were listening to Al Green. When Jesus is Waiting came on, I shouted out, "Ooh! My favorite!" It really is my favorite Al Green song. Swear.

Stu asked, "What is it with you and African American preachers?"

I do seem to have a bit of a thing.

I don't know what it is. I think it's that when you spend the majority of your days and nights like a female version of Woody Allen's character in Hannah and Her Sisters, constantly battling an existential crisis over the impossibility of figuring out the meaning of life and being nauseated by the being and nothingness of it all, it's hard not to be attracted to the likes of Al and Rev who live with so much joy. Their faith seems to be the link, so maybe I'm drawn to them because I feel like they'll give me the one thing I'm missing (just like Woody Allen attempting to convert to Christianity!). Hey, for all I know, maybe Jesus is waiting (but don't tell my mom cuz she might still be worried about that Jews for Jesus thing). Probably not for me, what with the Jewish thing and all, but still, the faith in something, anything, seems nice. It seems exuberant. It seems just like what Woody Allen's character found in a movie theater watching the Marx Brothers. And I could definitely have faith in that.

Duck Soup or dancing pancakes, anyone? Or maybe just Hooters. For the wings.

The Search for America's Next Top Pussycat Doll Model

It's late. I'm tired. The Mariners game pre-empted last night's episode of The Search for the Next Doll so tonight I pitched a double header. I watched America's Next Top Model and the PCDs back to back. My sight is blurry and my arm is weary from taking notes as if I'd pitched 18 innings. And that's probably the only sports metaphor you'll ever get from me, no matter how many episodes of Sports Night I watch. But I guess Sports Night would never do me any good in that department since its tagline boasts, "It's about sports. The same way Charlie's Angels was about law enforcement."

And speaking of Charlie's Angels, have we all seen the ads for Bravo's Shear Genius? Jaclyn Smith is hosting. Jaclyn Smith, people! Kelly Garrett! One of my lifelong kickass girl cop/P.I. idols! I was gonna watch the show just cuz in my fantasy life I'm a hair stylist (you know, after my other fantasy life in which I'm a personal trainer and gym owner), but now, this. How can I go wrong?

But I digress. Because it's late. And I'm tired. And it's very possible that I've lost a few brain cells watching two CW reality shows in a row. I've certainly lost two hours of my life, but I lost them willingly and when Stu asked me how I could watch The Search for the Next Doll without laughing, to which I replied that I was laughing on the inside, I realized that at least I lost those hours comically as well. And really, is there any other way to lose time you'll just never be able to get back?

On a related note, while Zen was a comedic bomb on Work Out last night, this evening, two girls shined in the comic arena. And since you know I hold the ability to make others laugh as the greatest of all talents, I might have a couple of new favorite girls. Now you know, on ANTM, my heart belongs to Jaslene and on PCDs I'm missing my Sisely who got das boot last week, however this week, it's as if Jody Watley appeared before me, crooning, "I'm looking for a new love, baby. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah." And these two girls not only made me laugh, but also won their respective show's challenges. I didn't even realize that twin coincidence until just now. This whole double header theme is working out really nicely (And if it concerns you that I've used "double header" twice, lest you think I actually know sports stuff, I had to check with Stu that it did indeed mean playing two baseball games in one night. It does. So I must actually know sports stuff.)

So without further ado, well, really, no ado needed since you can see to whom I'm referring by the pictures above, the two girls who struck home runs this evening (OMG--more sports!! Can you tell baseball season is upon us? I'm doomed until October...) are Dionne and Melissa S.

Dionne has held a special place in my heart since she referred to herself by her hair dye numbers and talked the judges into comas during auditions. She's said many joyous things that I've mentioned in other posts, but tonight, and this might not translate as well in writing as it did in her unique voice, she scored major points for the following:
Re: Natasha jumping in the pool, "Why the hell you wanna jump in a swimming pool?! We're here for business!"
Re: her chosen super name, "Wholahay may not sound good, but it got your attention."
Re: crying over missing her daughter (which I can understand but you know how I feel about the kid thing), "Shake it off! Shake it off," while wiping away her tears with Benny Medina's Hermes handkerchief.

Melissa S. doesn't have the triple threat, trifecta, hat trick (WTF? I just referred to basketball, horse racing, and hockey in one sentence! Are the planets misaligned or something? Cut me off. NOW.), but in one swoop, she was nothing but net (Okay, now I just can't stop myself.):
Re: learning choreography on a bus en route to Las Vegas:"Who learns choreography on a moving bus? Will someone please tell me because clearly, I didn't get the memo."

And with that, I am moving on to double deliberations (Because I'm not even going to waste a moment on that RIDICULOUS name change business.)!

ANTM
Brittany: Oh good lord, get that weave off of that poor girl's head! It doesn't even look like fake hair anymore. Just flaming strands of hay. Announcing her weave issues to Benny Medina was her big misstep, but her photos were fab as usual.

Dionne: Need I say more? Oh, yes, I need. Extra points for not only winning the challenge, but remembering something she learned from Benny Ninja three episodes ago and applying it in her Keds shoot. This type of brain function might be unprecedented in Top Model history.

Jael: Thank god this girl took some excellent photos this week cuz I thought 50 Cent was being pretty generous by only pushing her into the pool and not off the side of the building. I don't even know where to begin but I'll leave Jael with this to ponder: if loving music is all that matters to you in a human being, you might want to set the bar a little higher. Charles Manson loved music too.

Jaslene: Okay, so she finally took a crappy photo, but she's still my girl! She kicked it with 50 Cent and Benny Medina and you know she's going to take everything she learned in panel and use it during every forthcoming shoot.

Natasha: You know, this crazy broad is growing on me. Her shots were fantastic and it's possible that I might not need to knock back a shot of Absolut every time she reads the Tyra Mail.

Renee: She might be growing on me too, and not because Tyra and her Svengali ways forced Renee to have a revelation about the pain in her life, allowing her to apologize for being an enormous beeyatch. She's still an enormous beeyatch, but I gotta give the girl credit for being pretty sincere and genuine about her beeyatchedness. Although she gets absolutely NO CREDIT for thinking that Funky Cold Medina implied a transvestite party. Where on earth did she get that notion from a song written by Young MC and performed by Tone Loc?

Sarah: No shocker in the poser heading home. Now we don't need to hear about her life as a photographer anymore. I shan't miss her at all.

Whitney: Sure, I want Whitney to get the skinny bitches (But not Jaslene! Ironically, the skinniest of them all.), but I just can't get it up for her. And it's not even her plus size that's going to cause her elimination. It's time for her to stop being smart Dartmouth girl. She might need my acupuncturist who told me I think too much.

PCDs
All right, I'm going to knock these deliberations out of the park in one shot (That might be a mixed sports metaphor. Or just a mixed metaphor. Or just a bad metaphor.). Even though I have new found love for Melissa S., I think Chelsea has a good voice, I loved Mariela's dancing, and I find Anastacia stunning, I don't think any of these girls should be the Next Pussycat Doll. How about them apples?!

Firstly, I still have no idea why on earth there needs to be another Doll, but secondly, while I'm not saying that the actual PCDs are a hotbed of natural talent, they at least look like adults and professionals (professional what, I'm not totally sure, but that's something we can debate at a later time). These girls look like adolescents flailing about at a high school talent show, imitating what they think a PCD performance should look like without having any idea how to make it happen. Actually Asia's just busy imitating Beyonce, Mariah, and Whitney (that's where she gets that fingers-tapping-on the mic thing) and it's not working. So glad that vocal coach called her on her fake singing. Stu and I call it vocal noodling and it is indeed a total cop out. It's what you do when you can't pick a note and stick with it. You just flop and slide around it and hope that someone thinks your vocal chords are just remarkably acrobatic. This is why Jennifer Hudson can kick Beyonce's singing ass any day of the week. And I'm really glad Ron Fair called her on it, in addition to the finger thing. Can you tell Asia's bugging me? Have your cheeseburgers and french fries and get back to the Knicks City Dancers! That's way cooler anyway. But leave the burger and fries. I'm totally PMSing like Asia and my need for meat and salt is insatiable right now. And like Anastacia, I could really use a good dessert.

But seriously--or not seriously cuz Stu already questioned whether or not this show was a comedy--I always talk about how no one who's ever been on Top Model ends up doing anything but catalog work (potentially in a jumper in a crafting magazine, as Ms. Alisa witnessed--see the comments section of this post), but compared to the girls competing to be in the PCDs, the potential Top Models look like they're going to become the next Tyras, Cindys, Giseles, Heidis, and Darias.

But hey, at least, tonight, Mariela learned that she was fearless and Robin actually showed some emotion and teared up when she eliminated the girl with the killer extension. And as usual Tyra got all of her girls to tear up. See how I tied it all together since I watched both shows tonight? Did I mention that it's late? And that I'm tired?

Until next week, you are still in the running towards loosening up those buttons, flinging those pink boas, and becoming America's Next Top Model!

One Thing Leads to Another

Snugglin' at the comedy club leads to...

Snarkin' at the sushi joint leads to...

Smoochin' in the girls' room

Oh, how right The Fixx were, lo those many years ago. While I'm sure they didn't coin the phrase, they might have been the first to sing it, and it sings and speaks the truth. Let's see how indeed, in last night's episode of Work Out, one thing led to many things, and not many of them led to workin' out.

The first link in our daisy chain of events is Gregg's request that Zen accompany him to court, where he stood trial for clocking an agent who made a derogatory comment. Gregg continues to pine for Zen, although I'm not sure how deep the pining actually runs since his criteria for someone being a person worthy of his affection seems to be based on appearances only. In the first episode he stated that Zen was a "great girl," and then proceeded to break her down into a list of great body parts and not much else. Nonetheless, he wanted her emotional support in court, which she was unable to give, offering not compassion, as Gregg had hoped for, but cold-hearted pragmatism. Apparently Zen's family is filled with lawyers and by osmosis she has absorbed plenty o' legal knowledge. I thought it was pretty compassionate of her to try to pass that knowledge on to a twenty-three year old who was about to represent himself in front of a judge, but Gregg didn't see it quite like that and bitched to one of his clients about it while he was stretching out the guy's hamstrings as Zen stood closely by, obviously hearing every word.

Zen later apologized and Gregg revealed that he had done some research--his use of the words "clickety clackety" while vigorously pantomiming typing were meant to be universal symbols for Googling legal terminology--and successfully represented himself, getting his case dismissed and ending up with a disturbance of the peace on his record, which he seemed to feel he deserved for various other activities in which he partakes on any given weekend.

From Gregg's successful court appearance, we move to Zen's on-stage, stand-up comedy performance, which I'm sorry to report was not as successful. First of all, let's clarify one thing: what Zen failed to mention when she said that she was performing stand up, but that was made perfectly clear when the emcee introduced her, is that she was performing at an open mic. I think we all know what this means, yes? It means that she volunteered to sign up to do her routine and that no one actually asked her to do so, except maybe the producers of Work Out who were looking for an outing for the gang and something to beef up Zen's story lines.

Now, I like Zen. She seems like someone I might hang out with. But I probably love comedy a lot more and let me tell ya--a routine based solely on poking fun at your reality show cast mates does not a comedic routine make. Since they never showed Zen performing last season, no matter how many times she identified herself as a comedian, it kinda made me wonder if she had any material prior to the popularity of the show. And sadly, the jokes she made about her fellow trainers weren't particularly funny. I have the utmost respect for stand-up comedy and anyone who attempts it, so Zen gets an A for effort, but rhyming Erika's "rack" with Rebecca's "crack" without any punch line other than "that's what keeps people coming to the gym," isn't necessarily sturdy joke construction. However, Zen did raise an excellent point about Jackie's hair, which leads me to ask if Jackie has a stylist at her home every morning. She can't possibly create that perfect bed head look on a daily basis on her own, can she?

While Zen may have faltered on the comedy stage, she performed quite nicely at Jackie's sex-toy slumber party, modeling lingerie like a true, as Jackie called her, "closet exhibitionist." Zen feigned shyness over her exposed bum, however it was apparent that she wasn't all that ready to doff the flimsy ensemble and relinquish the attention. Unfortunately for Zen, all of the attention went to Jackie and Rebecca. They started hanging out last week, and by this week, they were inseparable, Rebecca fawning over Jackie's sultry feet and stinky dogs. As Ms. Alisa noted in her comment on my previous Work Out post, "lesbo-tastic" experimentation was sure to ensue after said foot fondling and canine cleansing.

And what led directly to such experimentation was--in addition to Jackie's toes and pooches--the scene stealing magic lotion which Rebecca and Jackie dashed into the bathroom to spread on their vajayjays. One thing always leads to another and if you put cream on your hoo-hoo with another gal in the powder room, you'll probably end up making out with her in a different bathroom the very next day.

But before that can occur, you have to follow the correct course of events which includes upsetting your co-workers by cuddling at a comedy show. And then over sushi dinner, you have to act utterly surprised when said co-workers are freaked out by this sudden display of affection between you and your employee, the same employee who spent the entire last season mentioning penises whenever possible. Brian Peeler actually deemed Jackie and Rebecca's PDAs "unethical" and I'm trying to figure out if he's opposed to girl/girl action or employer/employee action. Regardless, despite the turmoil amongst the trainers and Jesse's shock and awe over the loss of his status as Jackie's bitch, action there was.

Rebecca and Jackie rushed off to the bathroom to discuss the inter-gym-staff uproar and amidst hand-holding and longing gazes (surely meant to convey confusion, frustration, but let's-get-it-on attraction, in spite of all this confusion and frustration), Rebecca asked if she should "back off." Right then and there, passion got the best of them and the make out session began. Who knows where it will all lead...I sense it will lead right to Jackie's Hollywood Hills boudoir if upcoming scenes are any indication (But what about Jackie's reconnection with Tiffany? And is it just me, or is Tiffany kinda gummy? Like small teeth and a lot of gum.).

None of this led to anyone actually exercising, but those Sky Lab clients did appear at the gym for boot camp during which Jackie reprimanded Laurie for quitting her plank pose with only two seconds to go. And rightfully so--who gives up with two seconds to go? You made it that far already, stick it out! But I'm also a big fan of the drill sergeant as personal trainer and really loved Jillian Michaels from The Biggest Loser who chained people to treadmills.

Heeeyyyy...do you think my love for Jillian led to my obsession with Jackie?

Praise the Lord and Pass the Afikoman*

Rev Run and family in the church of Oprah

Happy Passover, everyone!!

Due to my mother's comings and goings, as well as the flaming pit of hellfire and damnation that my life will be for the next month (Actually, the next three months, but I'd like to keep my sleep medication to over-the-counter strength so I'm attempting to take it one month at a time.), I was unable to attend the seder I had been invited to, which is too bad cuz I'm really good at that part where you stick your pinkie in your wine ten times and drip the Manischewitz on to your plate to represent the ten plagues. I have been known to flick the cough syrup...er, wine...at whomever is seated next to me, for which I have been reprimanded on several occasions. What can I say? Seders are long. I gotta keep myself entertained.

But since tonight I am not seated at a table full of hungry Jews (I told you, seders are long), what better way to celebrate my peeps' exodus from ancient Egypt than to watch a TIVOed Oprah interview with my beloved Rev Run and family? Oprah is nothing if not god-like and Rev Run, well, I think you know of my unwavering faith in the Rev. So really, the evening was very religious for me.

Actually, although my mother's schedule prohibited my eating gefilte fish this evening, which is too bad because I could inhale the stuff, it was my mother who informed me of Rev's appearance on today's Oprah. She had never heard of him before Saturday, when I spent a large portion of our dinner time reciting just about everything I'd ever heard in every episode of Run's House that I'd ever seen. She actually seemed fairly amused, considering she had no idea who he was (She's almost seventy and as uber hip and cool as she is, Run DMC has never been on her radar. She totally knows about Justin Timberlake though. She likes to remind me that Alpha Dog got crappy reviews. Fair enough.). Then, yesterday, she saw a commercial for today's Oprah, on which, lo and behold, Rev was to be interviewed with his brood. There's a name for that phenomenon--you know, when you've never heard of something and then once you know about it, it seemingly pops up everywhere, which makes a lot of sense in this case since the new season of Run's House premieres next Monday. Amen and Hallelujah!

Before I sat down to watch Oprah, I had decided that I wanted tonight's writing to be about inspiration. It's an important holiday and with this weekend's Work Out post having been a bit of a downer because I was in a bit of a funk (absolute melt down and freak out is more like it), I felt like I needed to turn things around. I'd worked myself into a frenzy of panic every night for the past few nights (hence the over-the-counter sleep aids) and the only thing that calmed me down was watching episodes of Run's House. But by the time the TV was off and the lights were out, my brain was a frenetic mess all over again.

So tonight, on this holy night, I looked to Rev Run for help again.

One of the first questions Oprah asked was why Rev wanted to allow cameras in his home. He said that he wanted to show people his family's life "to lead by example and to inspire." Bingo!

I often ask myself why I can't seem to get enough of Run's House. Of course, I love the family antics because they make me laugh out loud, and yes, I love Rev and Russell Simmons because their drive and ambition are awesome, and yes, I love how much everyone seems to love each other, but what's odd is that I'm generally turned off by practiced religion (probably the cause of the wine flicking), to which the Rev is so wholly devoted. And certainly Christianity isn't quite my thing (Although, as a teen I had a bizarre Jesus obsession and my mother was quite certain I would horrifyingly become a Jew for Jesus.), but there is something about how Rev uses religion to devote himself to creating and living the life he wants with commitment and compassion, laughter and love, and pragmatism and practicality, that is riveting and downright addicting.

There is something about watching this family's every move that does set an example and is inspiring. Watching Run's House makes me want to live the best life I possibly can. And if that's not religion, I don't know what is.


*Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition
Afikoman


And P.S., how psyched am I to learn that I too can be on Rev Run's email list for daily words of wisdom AND that there's a book?!

And P.P.S., speaking of inspiration, this was quite a night for it. To what am I referring, you might ask? I can answer that in three words: ONE SHINING MOMENT. Talk about Triumph of the Human Spirit! I wait every year for the end of March to roll around just so I can watch this montage. I don't even watch college basketball. It's all about the montage of victory, defeat, sweat, tears, joy, sorrow...yeah, yeah, yeah, I also go nuts for stadium anthems at any sporting event, especially that Gary Glitter song. Cuz that's how I roll.

Workin' Out and Thinkin' 'Bout the Green-Eyed Monster

Jackie and Kathy WORK IT. I'm soooo jealous.

I was supposed to go to Bainbridge Island with my mother today. Yes, the maternal visit is still in progress and it's going quite well, but it's Sunday and I needed a few hours to get my act together before returning to my bane-of-my-existence day job tomorrow and I thought mom could stand a few hours of quality time with my brother and the grandkiddies. So I opted out of the schlep on the ferry and worked out instead. And then I came home from the gym and watched the TIVOed episode of Work Out that had been burning a hole in my Now Playing list since Tuesday--far too long to have to wait to see Jackie and company. I swear, if I could watch them every day, I would. Seriously.

Seriously, I love this show. I mean I LOVE this show. I failed to post on the first episode because I claimed I wasn't feeling it (feigning obsession with Aaron Sorkin instead), which is an odd thing to feel about a show I claim to adore so much. As I was watching this week's episode, however, I realized that my problem wasn't that I wasn't feeling anything, as "not feeling it" might imply, but that I was feeling way too much. Yeah, I was troubled by the news of Doug's passing and yes, I was fuming over Jackie's ridiculous relationship with Mimi (amen to that break up!), but there was something else going on in that little overactive brain of mine.

I once went to an acupuncturist who said to me, "All your problems are one problem. You think too much!" Tell me about it. Again, today, I could barely figure out how to write this post even though I was thinking (always thinkingthinkingthinking) about the various things I could write about.

And then, I had a thought.

I was thinking about how this week, Jackie picked out her clients for Sky Lab, her new makeover/psychotherapy project. As we all know, I am a sucker for the Triumph of the Human Spirit and an even bigger sucker for those who want to triumph via major life changes. Projection anyone? As Jackie interviewed her life-changing hopefuls, I wept into the dishtowel I had been using to hold my lunch (A rather hot bowl of rice. I really love rice.) I was so happy for the peeps about to work their asses off to shed unwanted pounds and unwanted self-hatred. But when the new clients were assigned to their trainers, I was devastatingly jealous. I whined to the screen: I want Erika to train me cuz she's a recovered bulimic! Ooh--I want Zen cuz she's a comedian with body image issues! Nononono, I want Gregg cuz he's the hardcore new guy! Oh wait, I want Andre cuz he's military!

I want so many things. Trainers and otherwise. And every day, I carry around all of the things I want in my bag, my pockets, my hands, my head. They weigh me down with the heft of desire. And when I watch Work Out, more than any other show, all of those things that I want for myself but do not have become as heavy as whatever Brian Peeler can bench press. And my guess is, that's a lot.

And it's not just the bodies. Of course, I would love to look like Jackie, Erika, Zen, or Rebecca, or any of the models and actresses who pay upwards of $400 an hour to train with them. But it's more than that.

It's Jackie. And that's a lot.

We all know I'm totally hot for Jackie, but it's not just that I want her. It's that I want to be her (Maybe for starters, I should stop eating Newman-O's while I write...). With every muscle, blood vessel, bone, vein, organ, cell, and sinew in my body, I want my existence to be hers. Yes, I am aware that this sounds particularly psychotic and stalkerish, but it isn't. It's not anything more than thirty-seven years of dissatisfaction and disgruntlement over decisions made by cowardice.

I just typed and delted a list of all of the things of Jackie's I covet. The list ranged from owning her own gym to having a kick ass sporty wardrobe (You thought I was going to say "kick ass body," didn't you? Yeah, that's in there too, but Stu can tell you how badly I'd love to live my life in hoodies; low waisted, cropped cargo pants; and chunky sneakers.). But what I realized is this--while I often fantasize about becoming a personal trainer and owning a gym as much as I've fantasized about being a screenwriter and going to the Oscars, my obsession with Jackie and my seething envy of everything in her life from killer shoulders to a home in the Hollywood Hills comes down to wanting this one thing that she has in spades:

Drive and determination that is not hampered and hindered by fear and anxiety.

My guess is that my acupuncturist might tell Jackie that she thinks too much too. But Jackie acts as much as she thinks. Maybe if I watch the rest of this season, I can learn not only how to have the abs I want, but the life I want. Then I wouldn't need Jackie's.

And then maybe she'd sleep with me.