tv on a school night

Thar She Blows!!!

2007-10-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

Timber!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm so bizarrely fried from my re-entry into the work world that I can't manage a post tonight, so perhaps more to come over the weekend. But, I will say this--I knew my pixie cut/Liza Minnelli/housecleaning Janet wasn't gonna stick around for too long. Sigh.

And with this episode's being the Janet and Ambreal show, you knew the two of 'em were SUNK.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

Until my energy returns, you are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model!

Hey. Make Me Over. Tell Me Do You Like What You See.

2007-10-10T18:20:00.002-07:00

Haircuts all around today, as I too happen to have gotten a bit of a makeover in the form of a cute short pixie cut (not that I haven’t had this before, but I had been growing it out of late and decided to go back to the choppers, as I always do) as well as several new items for my wardrobe which now needs to include fancy new work clothes thanks to the fancy new job I just landed! So in the spirit of the beloved Top Model make over episode, as well as my own foray into a new look (i.e. no more Danskos to work!) I’m going to get right to business and deliberate immediately!

Ambreal: Not a dramatic change, but if she can work on more dynamic facial expressions, she could be the silent killer of the cycle.

Bianca: Someone should have shaved that girl’s head ages ago. Screw the wig—I was FLOORED by how stunning she looks with an eighth of an inch of hair. And as painfully trying as Bianca was last week, it seems this week she was humbled by her haircut and was quite the trooper where other girls would have griped endlessly about getting buzzed. Kudos to Bianca for rocking her look and attitude.

Chantal: I know she’s pretty, but bad baby’s breath pic aside, I still don’t see her with any amount of modeling moxie. The straight hair and bangs are nice, but she better get over herself and buck up. If she’s so obsessed with wanting to be a model, you’d think she’d have figured out that she just needed to kick it during the shoot and not whine and cry about too much direction. Suck. It. Up.

Ebony: This girl is killin’ me. Someone please put her out of her misery. I liked her better on the cruise when she was a beeyotch.

Heather: No make over needed. Stunning as is.

Janet: As a redheaded pixie cut girl myself, I was super bummed they changed my pixie cut girl Janet’s color, but she looks divine in the black. And once they compared her to the divine Liza Minnelli, I was sold. In my world, Liza's a religion unto herself. In fact, I am now so moved by the spirits of Liza and Janet, that I’m debating making the change to a soft black myself. And yes, the pic on my Blogger profile is me with dark hair, but it was burgundy and not black and it was brief and I went back to red shortly thereafter. This is, of course, probably what will happen again, shortly after I make my hair dark which will probably happen tomorrow. My hairdressers LOVE me.

Jenah: She’s pretty spectacular and she’s already booking jobs with Parisian photographers… As my friend E. always says, "le sigh."

Lisa: I’m willing to bet there’s absolutely nothing anyone could do to this girl to make her look bad. I might have liked to have seen her with an edgier hairstyle (Tyra was right in wanting to see it straightened), but whatev. She’s gorgeous no matter what.

Saleisha: Like we couldn’t see her spot in the bottom two coming. It was about time she got her comeuppance after so much gloating about the house last week. She looks quite lovely with her new cut (Very Veronica Webb, I think, but that might be because I’m so in love with Veronica right now, thanks to Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style. I want everyone in the world to be Veronica. Including me. Saleisha probably has a better shot.), but her picture really did su-uck.

Sarah: Every week I forget Sarah exists. Can’t ever remember anything about her and she never seems to stand out. I like her haircut though and she did take a good photo and win the challenge. But I’ve already forgotten her in the time it took me to type the last sentence.

Victoria: Like we didn’t see this one coming, part deux. The editors spent the whole episode making sure we were well aware that modeling was never Victoria’s dream; that she believes high fashion is ridiculous; and that she’d much prefer to wear sneakers, a t-shirt, and hit the library. Those of us who know our Top Model history, know exactly what all of that means: Striii-iiike!You’re outta there (in the spirit of major league baseball play offs)! Oh well. She was entertaining if not a bit prickly indeed. Although, she exited graciously by proclaiming she would rather go home than take some girl's dream. Although, now that I think about it, this just makes it sound like it was really her choice to go, rather than her admitting her own failure, which is not gracious at all, just smug and passive aggressive. No room in Top Modeling for that. Strike two (of course she's already out, so maybe that's just more of a foul ball)!

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

And in Top Model alumni news, check this out! Hint: it's crazy Lisa from Cycle 5, of *peed in an adult diaper fame.* Oh, if only I could hear Bre's response to this little video item.
Thanks to K. for the tip!!

Holy Crap! This is Real!

2007-10-04T09:28:00.001-07:00

This photo has nothing to do with last night's episode, but speaks to two things: 1. How HOT Jaslene is and 2. How uninspired I was by anyone else last night.

Famous last words from the girl who got the boot, "Holy crap! This is real!" As Kimberly uttered her revelation, I realized I often think the same thing. Sometimes, I can't believe this show is real.

They say that boredom is nothing but a lack of intellectual curiosity. I believe that to be largely true, but on the other hand, sometimes boredom is just a lack of intellect and perhaps that is what caused my complete boredom during last night's Top Model. Stupidity abounds, and well, sometimes, I just can't believe it's real. And sometimes, I just can't take it. Is anyone with me?

It was only episode two and already, I was sick to death of Bianca and her faux uber competitiveness (sorry honey, even without the red hair, I still don't think you'd be high fashion), tired beyond tired of Saleisha's yammering on about her modeling experience (such a shocker that she won the challenge while Bianca ended up in the bottom two again--quelle surprise!), and totally disenchanted with yet another fake fashion show (like I'm so sure that designer put on a real show with only the Top Model contestants on the runway. As IF.).

All I have the energy to say, really, is too bad that Kimberly was sent packing instead of Bianca. I was finally starting to like Kim, although I was concerned about her lofty goal of being a role model for ordinary girls. I feel like she meant well, but...

As for deliberations, I'm not even going to go through model by model, that's how BORED I'm feeling. I agree with the judges that the highlights were Jenah and Heather with the likes of Lisa and Chantal close on their high, rock-climbing heels. I thought Ebony and Bianca were particularly awful while Janet, Victoria, and Sarah kinda hovered in the middle.

All I can say now is AMEN--next week is the makeover episode. Praise the lord and pass the weaves and highlights!

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

What Have You Done Today...?

2007-09-26T18:22:00.000-07:00

If you watch The Biggest Loser, as I always do, you know how the song goes: “What have you done today to make yourself proud?!” This is an interesting question to pose after having watched a TIVOed episode of last night’s Loser immediately followed by tonight’s Top Model. You can just imagine…

But first, I have to ponder, what have I, Gigi, done today to make myself proud? It’s tough to find things that make me swell with pride in my unemployed existence, but perhaps I can find some nugget if I recall my day. Hmm…let’s see…to begin with, I stayed in bed until 10am as Stu and I have been battling a now three-day bout of insomnia, which is not helped by the fact that I seem to have developed an allergy to, well, air conditioning. As a result, I have been spending my days with a constantly dripping and irritated nose. And as it’s been 90 freaking degrees in Philadelphia this week, I’m doomed to not sleep due to overheating if we turn off the A/C, or over nose-running if we leave it on. It’s not a win-win situation.

When I finally pulled my ass out of bed, I spent a few moments wallowing in self pity over my exhausted state. Then I read my morning news, aka The Superficial and Go Fug Yourself . After my usual Wednesday morning, hour-plus phone date with L. in Seattle, I colored my hair, despite the fact that I just had it done at a salon two weeks ago. Needless to say, it wasn’t quite to my liking. My new color isn’t really up to snuff either, but I made the effort. After coloring, I caught up on some email, had some lunch, and decided that even though I was taking a day off from the gym, I had to get outside and get some form of exercise.

Now this, I might be proud of—I took a two hour walk and topped it off with 10 runs up the Philadelphia Art Museum steps. You know, the Rocky steps? Actually, they’re not nearly as hard to get up as one might imagine, but by schlep #7, I was pretty pooped and therefore pretty psyched to have made it to 10 since my original plan was only 5. If Jillian Michaels had been standing at the top, she would have been very proud of me, I am quite certain.

As for the reality show contestants for whom the song was actually written, I’ve never actually blogged about Biggest Loser before, other than the time I interviewed some peeps who were auditioning for the show in Seattle, and I’m not quite sure how to go about it. I really can’t make fun of anyone because who could critique their efforts? However, I might pause to say that I’m not really sure why the blue team thought it was a good idea for Neil to take a hit and consume mass quantities of crap (tasty as I’m sure all that crap was!) just for a three pound pass. And why on earth did Patty find it necessary to pad the calorie count just because she thought Neil might not have followed through on the plan? And while I was sorry to see Jerry go, I might have to call him the Sorest Loser now. He certainly looks great post-elimination, but his departure was a bit bitter.

Anywho…my favorite part of Biggest Loser, aside from oh, every single minute and Jillian Michaels whom I lovelovelove (Actually, I heart Bob as well, but I so don’t like Kim AT ALL), is how much I cry. So I’m thinking that each week I might just do a short post pointing out some highlights and then perhaps keeping a Cry Count. As anyone who knows me knows, I am a SUCKA for the triumph of the human spirit and the great lengths and efforts one will go to to make life changes. So for me, the Biggest Loser is one big cry fest, so moved am I by everyone on that damn show. So this week’s tear count: 8. Yes, I cried eight times during this two hour episode. I need to think about buying stock in Puffs Plus.

But enough of tissues and on to models! As I asked before, what have you done today, to make yourself proud? I overcame exhaustion and congestion to run up and down steps (in 90 degree heat, mind you!), and the biggest losers, well they get to be proud every moment of every damn day. But what about the models? What have they done to make themselves proud? Well, thanks to Tyra they have solved the environmental crisis, wiped out smoking, and educated the public on the ways of Autism and Asperger Syndrome.

Oh yes, according to the Top Model vehicle, “Green is the new black!” and Tyra is apparently nothing but message focused this go round. And thankfully, Mila is supportive of Tyra’s efforts, claiming that it’s important to “keep the earth good.” Booya!

Mila, apparently also thinks that chemotherapy is a hoot. I guess she didn’t learn that smoking is NOT COOL, which Tyra is so desperate to convey. She’s even gone so far as to make Cycle 9 a *no-smoking* cycle because as only Ty Ty can, she’s “taking a stand.” Booya!

And one more thing of which ANTM can be proud, they’re teaching the world about Autism and Asperger Syndrome and thank god for that since education is clearly in need. I couldn’t tell which model asked Asperger Heather, “So do you like see the world differently than me?” Booya!

Editor’s note before I move on to deliberations: Here’s what else I am ridiculously proud of today—as I am blogging about Top Model, Stu is watching Ken Burns’ World War II documentary. Are my priorities in order or what? Booya!

I’m done saying booya now. I just recently saw that awesome scene from 30 Rock in which booya is a key punch line and I just want to use it all the time. I’ll stop. I promise.

Ambreal: She does have quite a neck. She should be around for a while.

Bianca: You knew she was doomed to the bottom two just cuz she was such a beeyotch to bikini dancer Lisa. But you also knew she wasn’t going anywhere just yet…

Chantal: I can see the bedroom eyes thing, but I still can’t wrap my head around why she’s so spectacular. I know, I know, I’ll wait for the makeover episode.

Ebony: She pulled a fast one on us! They bitchy girl is supposed to pull out a killer photo and prove everyone wrong. She froze and got all insecure on our asses. Eva would never have done such a thing.

Heather: Aw yeah! Aw yeah! My Asperger girl pulls it OUT. Even in a photo with another model, who also looked pretty damn good, Heather’s face is riveting. And how planted was Nigel’s question about Asperger so that Tyra could share her vast knowledge? It’s all about the message, people. Tyra is continually teaching us about the ways of this great world in which we live.

Janet: You know I love the pixie cut girls and I think Janet rocked her shot. Twiggy may not see model, and somehow my cute pixie cut girls never make it, but I’ve got their backs.

Jenah: She’s quite lovely. Let’s see how long she lasts having to quit smoking cold turkey. She had quite the look of terror on her face despite proudly renouncing her dirty habit the minute she saw her photo. Has she never seen those ads where they show you the ugly side of smoking and everyone is all gross and dead? She had to wait until her own fictional disfigurement to quit? It gives one pause.

Kimberly: Don’t like her. Don’t know why. Just don’t like her.

Lisa: Pole or no pole, Lisa kicked it. You knew either she or Bianca had to be in the top two so the other could be in the bottom two, just to fuel the drama fire. Oh sure they’ve apologized now, but now that one’s at the bottom and one is at the *wanna be on TOP*…

Mila: Did I call this one or did I call this one? I feel completely justified in wondering why on earth she even made it on to the cruise, let alone into the final thirteen. And honestly, I’m pretty sure the girl is on crack. She “concentrates on the positives so the negatives go away.” And did you notice, not one tear when she had to pack her belongings and go home. That has got to be an ANTM first. Did you notice how Tyra was trying to remind her that going home first sucks? Nothing. It’s all about the positive. It’s all about the crack.

Saleisha: She did manage to pick out the cutest Old Navy outfit, and she did look lovely in her pic, but not compared to HEATHER!

Sarah: Pretty. Anyone else got anything on Sarah?

Victoria: Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!! Smarty pants took a good picture! She’s almost as awkward as Asperger girl. I think they should be the final two. Imagine that runway.

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

Cargo Capris are for Ditch Digging

2007-09-21T07:00:00.001-07:00

If cargo capris are, according to Veronica Webb, solely for ditch digging (but how about that parallel alliteration, folks!), then perhaps this explains why my relocation to the City of Brotherly Love has turned into a move to the City of Why-the-hell-can't-Gigi-find-gainful-employment. Clearly, I've been barking up the wrong proverbial, professional tree. With my great love of cargo capris, I should obviously be toiling away in the Philly humidity day after day, lobbing pounds of dirt from a shovel in order to create holes in the ground. Let me tell you, this is not a career to which I am well suited for various reasons. But apparently it is a career for which I am well attired. As much as I love Tim Gunn, I love my cargo capris perhaps a tad more.

This is blasphemy according to Tim and Veronica. Strangely however, after listening to a voicemail my fahsionista mother just left me, Maman (she's fashionable and French!) disagrees. She called to say she watched the first half of last night's Guide to Style episode and then fell asleep, but before drifting off, she had the wherewithal to declare her belief that capris do not make everyone look short and dumpy. Amen and hallelujah, because much like last night's fashion makeover Nicole, as someone who refuses to wear shorts (and really, no one over thirty should, at least not in public), my summer ensemble usually revolves around the capri pant. Hell, even my winter wardrobe revolves around the capri pant--a switch from kicky sneaks to kicky high-heeled boots and we are, voila, season appropriate!

So my mother and I stand opposed to the belief that the capri pant has, as Tim suggested, contributed to the "slobification of America." And according to Veronica, slobification has resulted from mothers losing all fashion sense, a trend of epidemic proportions (call the CDC!). Veronica was honest enough to unabashedly admit to having fallen victim to the sloppy mommy virus, if one can believe such a thing. Yes, she divulged that she had, for a brief period of time, joined the park mommy set, wearing all sorts of capri and track pants (my other favorite item!) while pushing around her offspring with the other reproducers loitering beside the jungle gym.

And here I digress for a moment to discuss my great and newly discovered love of Veronica Webb. I find her delightfully bitchy while simultaneously wonderfully gracious. And watching Top Model on a Wednesday and Tim Gunn's Guide to Style on a Thursday, pitting the two host super models against one another, is most intriguing. When you think about Tyra and compare Veronica, well, let's just say therein lies the difference between the CW and Bravo, shall we? Let's put it this way, could you ever see Tyra co-hosting a show with the ever poised, ever proper Tim Gunn? You know I love my Tyra, but that Veronica...

And man, that Veronica has the best clothes on this show! Not to make another Ty Ty comparison, but as we all know, Tyra has made some extremely questionable fashion choices lo these nine cycles of Top Model. Conversely, Veronica is impeccably dressed in every shot--even in a hoodie (yet another favorite clothing item of mine!). Did you see the red v-neck hoodie? If I were to want to bear children in any way, I would give my first one for that item. And that would probably be the only one since, I, like Tim, after about an hour with many toddlers, have to send them back to the kitchen. I mean, their parents (Note to family and friends with little ones: you know I love YOURS!).

And with talk of hoodies and kiddies, the gist of this week's episode was that one need not be a sloppy mommy. One can easily be a stylish mommy with the help of a professional stylist, a super model, and a former cast member of Project Runway, who has to be the most fashionable mother of all times (not including mine, bien sur!). Unfortunately however, with her new Barbara Streisand a la 1969 hair style, Laura Bennett looks a bit more tranny than she did last year. But whatever her true gender, I still adore her. Aside from creating gorgeous, although derivative clothes, I will always love her because of that one shot from the first episode of last season's Project Runway in which Laura was shown in a perfect, white, fitted shirt and lovely black dress pants, standing calm, cool, and collected in her drool-with-jealousy worthy New York apartment, staring blissfully out of a floor-to-ceiling window as her five boys beat the crap out of each other and scream like holy hell mere feet away. I don't have one child, let alone five (now six for Laura) who pummel each other on what seems like an hourly basis, and I'm never that serene. I could learn a lot from Laura Bennett.

And, as usual, one can learn a lot from Tim and Veronica. Having watched the show three times now, lessons are obviously the M.O. The narrative is interrupted by Tim's contract, closet-cleaning methods, list of essentials, etc. all meant to continually teach us the basics of fashionable dressing. This is obvious, but what I love is that the true lessons are embedded in the show. So perhaps every episode, I will cull together the best lessons. For this week:

1. A good tailor is better than surgery.
2. A little Movado watch never hurt anyone.
3. Cargo capris are for ditch digging.
4. Formal print sun dresses are for grocery shopping.

Let's discuss this 4th lesson, shall we? In America, what Veronica and Tim dubbed early in the episode as Nicole's Golden Girls sweatsuit, is what we generally wear to run to the grocery store. In France, my mother's motherland, one dresses for the grocery store and everywhere else one might travel in the country, out of respect for the people who would see you. See, here we dress for ourselves, and there, you dress for everyone else. I see the value in the latter, HOWEVER...

However, before the however, I have to tell you that I spent a large portion of my childhood schlepping from store to store with my mother, accompanying her on what seemed like daily fashionista shopping trips, as if they themselves were mere trips to the grocery store. Ironically, every time she randomly popped into a store and tried on some gorgeous cashmere sweater, delightfully dressy dress, or super strappy sandal, she'd say, and I quote, "this would just be good to run to the grocery store in." So, I'm just sayin', I see what Tim and Veronica were going for when they put Nicole in a floral dress with spaghetti straps for errand running, but honestly, folks, you know that Golden Girls sweatsuit is what's getting worn the next time the kiddies cry over their spilled milk and someone needs to run to Pathmark for a gallon of cow juice.

In any event, Nicole did learn to be a fashionable mommy and that's a mighty fine lesson (although I could have done without the weighted vest o' guilt). Maybe not an applicable, every-day lesson, but one should not live by solid t-shirts, capris, and flip flops alone.

And for the record, I didn't like one of those Doug Hannant dresses. Is anyone with me? I hate disagreeing with Tim, but if my mother can do it, well, I guess the apple can stay close to the tree!

Pretty Girls With Stanky Attitudes

2007-09-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

I always go for the cute pixie cut girl, which always makes Stu wonder why the hell I'm constantly pissing and moaning about my growing out my short hair. Doesn't he understand that everything looks better on someone who's in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model???

AWWW YEAH...THE BITCH IS BACK.

Well, no one has actually ever called me a bitch, except maybe this one girl who went to college with my best friend from high school and I ended up making out with a guy she hearted for like years and years (value added: he was engaged to someone else, i.e. not me or the girl who'd pined for him for some eternal amount of time). She's probably over thinking that I'm a beeyotch and I'm long over the fact that when I called him a week after the party he totally dissed me. But whatev. Long ago. The time is now and I am back on the blog, baby!!

Much has happened to me since my little Jaslene took the title of America's Next Top Model. And sure, I should have blogged about my summer love, So You Think You Can Dance, but frankly amidst nine bi-coastal flights, four weddings, and a cross country drive which ended in Stu and I relocating our tired asses from Seattle to Philadelphia so he could take a swanko job at a delightful, small, private college, well, the blogging spirit never quite moved me.

I pondered giving up blogging for good, but after tonight's ANTM premiere, after I saw that someone had named her child Spontanioeuse, that someone had uttered the words "pretty girls with stanky attitudes," and that Ty Ty had turned to a model from Yale and said, "c'mon, you know a lot of these girls are dumb," well, I pondered abandoning blogging no more.

The bitch and the models are BACK.

As always, newness abounds in the premiere, the foremost and most disgustingly obvious being the glaring product placement. Although we have seen much blatant product pushing over the cycles, none were quite so, how shall I put it, FUCKING ENORMOUS as tonight's. We're talking tanker HUGE. We're talking, A FREAKING CRUISE SHIP. Oh, yes the folks at the CW have outdone themselves and put this year's hopeful models on a cruise. Bad enough as that is, the floating hotel wouldn't have been so tacky if it weren't for Miss Jay's needless monologue about the vast list of amenities available on said cruise liner. Like we really needed to know that there was an ice skating rink on board. Of course we did, because of course the models had a jolly good time chucking fake snowballs at each other whilst circling the ice. Wow. I must remember to jot down the name of this cruise ship that I totally can't recall even though they showed it a cajillion times because now that I've seen the top models aboard such a vessel, I know it's the perfect vacay spot for me! That's advertising dollars hard at work people.

So, ahoy matey! On to deliberations! Or more just commentary really since no one has been eliminated just yet. Oh sure like 90 girls got sent home tonight, but I don't have the wherewithal to talk about all of 'em. Just the remaining thirteen then:

Ambreal: Quite lovely. Good spirited. Sold.

Bianca: I'm reserving judgment for after they get rid of her $25 weave in the makeover episode.

Chantal: Yeah, I guess she's modelesque. I'm guessing she gets eliminated early on. At least she would be if I were Tyra for a day.

Ebony: Ah, shades of Ebony from cycle 1 and Eva Diva from cycle 3. The girl who drives everyone else in the house NUTS, but underneath the beeyotchiness is pain and vulnerability. Sniff. Sniff.

Heather: Lovelovelove the Asperger Syndrome Hunchback of Notre Dame! Seriously, she is gorgeous and as Tyra and the Jays said, everything high fashion is concave anyway. So she'll never stick her chest out and spread her legs for Sports Illustrated.

Janet: My new pixie cut pick! My early fave aside from Asperger girl. Janet has quite the dancer's stance and walk, even though she's a waxer. I suppose the two are not mutually exclusive, however.

Jenah: Don't remember a thing about her except for her stunning face, which either bodes well for her future as a Top Model, or very, very poorly...

Kimberly: Nope, can't recall a thing about this chick either than when I first saw her, I thought her eyes were too wide set. Too early to judge. And you know there are those early low hanging fruits you don't need to pay attention to anyway.

Lisa: I've got a soft spot for the bikini dancer. Definitely in the running.

Mila: Mila is my *WTF were they thinking??!!* girl. I don't see it. I don't see her as a model, I don't see her as remotely attractive, and I don't see her as anything but annoying the crap outta me with her "life is a celebration" business. Oh, sure, I like a positive spirit as much as the next gal, but not someone who thinks that like "life is a celebration" translates into like just literally celebrating like holidays, and like birthdays, and like her friends' birthdays...

Saleisha: I'm down with the girl who went to the Tyra Inspirational Institute. Clearly, it worked cuz that girl has got some confidence, but as I'm sure Tyra taught her, it's a confidence mixed with a dash of humility. Excellent recipe, sure to win Ty Ty's heart every week. Although be afraid people, be very afraid, Tyra's gonna be harder on her. One can only wish for another Tiffani-like tirade from Tyra.

Sarah: Eh, whatever. Pretty, whatever.

Victoria: Awkward smarty pants from Yale rules! I always root for the high I.Q. girls. They've yet to make it, cuz they just can't hang on for the entire, as Stu likes to call it, "ride of the braniacs."

Jaslene: Just had to take a moment to discuss the new My Life as a Cover Girl spot with my beloved Cha Cha Diva, who Stu thinks is abysmally unattractive, but as you all know, I find divinely gorgeous, at least in photographs. So the spot wasn't too horrific, she's certainly lively and enthusiastic enough, however, what the hell did they do to her hair in the narration segments? She has this great dark and shiny, free-flowing mane and they gave her some sort of Teddy Roosevelt, parted-in-the-middle helmet. I might start to see what Stu is talking about if they keep that stylist on staff.

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

I'm off to watch my TIVOed episode of Gossip Girl!

The Giants Win the Pennant! The Giants Win the Pennant!

2007-05-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

Perhaps Jaslene's win isn't as historically significant, but when they showed her winning face on that screen tonight, I felt as giddy as a Giants fan in 1951.

The girls I pick as my faves never seem to win so I spent the entire season rooting and cheering for our delightful cha-cha diva, worried at every turn that she might be eliminated.

Mother knows best though and since she has never failed to pick a Top Model winner, I should have trusted what she said two weeks ago. I was at her house in NY when Brittany's go-see debacle aired. My mother thought Brit was the girl with the most model potential, but when Brit got the boot, I shouted out, "Mom, your pick just got canned! Who's gonna win now?!" Mom walked over to the TV, paused momentarily, surveyed the remaining girls, and said, "Ahhhh, that one," pointing to Jaslene, "That girl you like."

For the record, Mom did not like Natasha one bit so I shouldn't have worried, but when Tyra thought that Natasha was stronger on the runway (NOT!), I got a bit nervous. But of course my kicky Jaslene pulled it out, and BROKE IT DOWN. A-freakin'-men!!

Until next season, you are ALL in the running towards becoming the next top model!

And as for me, I'm home for now but have a few more trips to take so my posting will still be a bit scarce, but I should be settled down just in time for the Top Chef premiere...get those knives unpacked!!

tv on a school night will return after these messages

2007-04-25T20:21:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-24T22:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-18T21:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

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."

2007-04-11T21:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

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?!

2007-04-10T08:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-09T22:54:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-03T23:18:00.000-07:00

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*

2007-04-02T20:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Please Stand By!

2007-03-27T16:32:00.000-07:00

In the 1970s, on a somewhat regular basis, while engrossed in a favorite television show, the screen would go blank and the following message would appear:

We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.

And that would be accompanied by a ridiculous watercolor rendering of someone with long hair operating a camera. Since it was the 1970s one would assume it was either a hippie or a testament to the feminist movement and someone had set out to depict a stocky woman doing a predominantly male job. Nonetheless, you had to stare at this image indefinitely until the station got its act together and put your show back on the air. By then you'd usually missed most of it.

In the high tech, digital age, technical difficulties mean something entirely different and usually something server or network related. I actually have no computer problems at the moment, but what I will be experiencing for the next five days is a visit from my mother.

This will mean a pause in all things television and blog related. My mother is actually a fantastic TV watcher, however she doesn't much go for The Search for the Next Doll, Top Model, or Work Out, even though she's a Project Runway fan and recently confessed to having watched all of The Real Housewives of Orange County, reunion included.

But, while I'm sure I'll be tuning into some random television in her hotel room, I am usually a trembling ball of exhaustion when maman (cuz she's French) descends upon Seattle from New York like the Tasmanian Devil, whirling dervishing her way through my days, leaving no time or energy for the likes of careful and considered blog post writing.

I will return to my regularly scheduled programming next week. Please stay tuned!

Ghosts of West Wing Past

2007-03-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

I'm supposed to be writing a post about last week's premiere of Work Out. You will notice that these pictures are not of anyone from Work Out. Or from a gym.

Herein lies the rub: my beloved Jackie Warner (Stu's a little worried I might leave him to *join her gym*) has returned to TV and I was delightfully happy to see all the peeps at Sky Sport & Spa and I took copious notes about items I could address in a post as I watched my TIVOed episode on Friday night. But for some reason, no matter how many times I've sat down to write, I haven't been feeling it. I am feeling remorse for eating a DiGiorno four cheese pizza while watching the trainers perform incessant squat thrusts--ON THE BEACH...IN THE SAND--(although in my defense I had just worked out) and I most definitely feel immense sadness for the loss of Doug Blasdell (I had no idea), but other than that, not much is happening.

What is happening though is that Stu and I are twelve episodes into Sports Night and we are being haunted by ghosts from the past, present, and future: to us, Sports Night appears as the ghost of The West Wing past while in reality it was the ghost of The West Wing future, but watching Studio 60, The West Wing, and Sports Night all within a matter of months, well, you can see how it all adds up to one ghoulish present. Ebenezer Scrooge is nowhere to be found, but Aaron Sorkin's stable of actors, producers, directors, and composers are bedeviling us at every turn.

At the outset, aside from already knowing that Sorkin wrote Sports Night and The West Wing, his scripts seem rather ghostly. Watching Sports Night after The West Wing is like seeing what is to become mature Sorkin dialog with training wheels attached. The screenwriting in Sports Night has the breakneck speed and snapping wit, but it's underdeveloped, not yet fully formed, and definitely not ready to ride on its own just yet.

Delve a touch farther into the opening credits, and we've got numerous episodes directed by Tommy Schlamme, familiar name as executive producer of The West Wing. Hell, if you read through all of the credits on IMDB, you'll see that Timothy Busfield directed a couple of Sports Night episodes as well. And I thought he merely entered Aaron's life as Danny Concannon and is about to leave it as Cal Shanley

And once you see the name W.G. Snuffy Walden flicker across your screen you'll never forget it. So it wasn't particularly shocking to see he was responsible for Sports Night's score as well. It lacks the majestic feel of The West Wing's opening music and whimsical quality of what plays over The West Wing's closing credits, and it sounds a bit too 1980s for something that aired in the 1990s, but it's a catchy Snuffy tune nonetheless!

As for faces on screen, here's where it gets scary. We already knew Joshua Malina (pictured above as Jeremy Goodwin and Will Bailey) went from sports show producer to deputy communications director, but he merely lulled us into complacency so that we were unprepared for the personnel scares that were to follow. If you have heard screams of terror echoing through our apartment, fear not, they are merely shouts of recognition as Stu and I identify actor after actor who we have seen in the future that is really the past and vexes our present:

- Every time I see Ron Ostrow's name in the Sports Night credits, I am certain that I have seen it before, but can never remember where. I finally looked him up, only to learn that he was a reporter in The West Wing's press corp. Ahhh. I feel so much better.

- A pre finally-had-sex-with-Josh Donna appears as a wardrobe assistant who puts Peter Krause's Casey McCall in his unappreciative place. Stu and I have been wondering where Janel Maloney's been since leaving the White House. Apparently she played Amber Frey in a 2005 TV movie. Quite a long way from the oval office...

- Immediately following Janel's cameo (Although it can't really be a cameo if the actor's not famous yet. For Janel it was probably a very exciting bit part.), we watched an episode in which there was to be a blind date for Casey, and a female substitute co-anchor for Dan. I turned to Stu and said, "how much do you wanna bet one of those women is going to be someone we've seen somewhere in Washington D.C.?" Sure enough, there was Lisa Edelstein, high-end call girl/law student/friend of Sam Seaborn, sitting next to Josh Charles (And speaking of ghosts past, here's a fun fact: I went to theater camp with Josh when I was fourteen. What'd ya want? I'm Jewish and from Long Island. It's the law.).

-And in the very next episode, who should appear as a redhead with a cute little bob? If you guessed the next first lady (we wish!), Helen Santos, you would be correct! Stu likes Teri Polo with the kicky cut on Sports Night while I prefer the long, blond, political hair. Maybe it's just that she looks better standing next to Jimmy Smitts. Who wouldn't?

With a season and half left to go, I have the feeling Sports Night will continue to frighten the bejeezus of out of us. And I haven't begun to discuss how many themes and plot points are exactly the same in all three Aaron Sorkin shows (let alone the enormous crossover between The West Wing and Sorkin's movie, The American President). SCARY STUFF!

What Goes Around Comes Back Dead

2007-03-24T16:01:00.000-07:00

In 1980 I was ten years old. It was the birth year of MTV and I began my adolescence when it began its toddlerhood. It formed my formative years. I wanted my MTV and got it. Sometimes, I still get it. Despite my advanced years, I still skip on up to MTV just to check it out, just to keep up with, of course, the dance music (you know how I love "the dance"), and just to see what's up with those crazy kids these days. Largely I just end up getting roped into one of those True Life or Made shows. Amazingly I've yet to succumb to The Hills or Laguna Beach, but I have been known to sit through an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen, which always makes me thankful that I've decided not to reproduce. And let's not forget the fact that I watched the first ten seasons of The Real World. By MTV's standards, I'm so old that one of my college suite mates was asked to be on the first season when we were seniors. Actually, we're so old that she was a Club MTV dancer--before Julie Brown wubba, wubba, wubbaed as the host.

But sometimes, lo and behold, I get to see a video.

I'd been waiting for Justin Timberlake 's What Goes Around Comes Around video for several weeks. Not only did I read about Scarlett Johansson's starring role and was most curious to see how that would play out, but also, put plainly and simply and unequivocally proudly, I am a ginormungous JT fan. And I don't mean just because he brought Sexy Back. I mean because he was Justified (I thank the Girl from Hickopolis for buying the cd for my birthday that year, against her wishes at the time. She's since come around to the wonder that is JT.). I suppose I should be able to say that I've been with him since he was 'N Sync with the teeny boppers, but I wasn't doing much bopping in my mid-late twenties. However, if during those years I had been forced to identify the cutest member of a boy band, I knew enough to know his name and pick his blond fro out of a line up. But ever since the Mouseketeer grew up, got duped by Britney, and cried a river, I've been there. Oddly though, my passion for JT is not like the desire I have for anyone on my "list" (Clive Owen, Sean Bean, Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Matt Damon). There's just something I like about the entire JT thing. I like the whole of him: the music, the image, and it goes without saying, the dancing. Of course, always, the dancing.

I had purchased Future Sex/Love Sounds (I still don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean) the day it was released, and like everyone else, immediately went right for the melodic What Goes Around, yet another Brit dis, which gives one pause as to why JT still feels the need to have another song that laments his being cheated on since he already wrote an album full of bitterness on the last go round. Clearly he's still working through something and perhaps there is more to the the Diaz debacle than Justin's needing to be free to be with Scarlett and Jessica Biel. But no matter. I love the song and couldn't wait to see what was sure to be its sultry visual rendering if the advanced shots of Scarlett in her lusty attire were any indicator.

I've finally managed to catch the video twice now and after two viewings, even though I graduated cum laude from a fine institution, I'm still not quite sure what (open air quotes) "message" (close air quotes) JT is attempting to convey.

The song section of the video shows Justin singing in some high end, upscale 1930s circus scenario. Actually, there's nothing circus-like about it except that there are women in clown-like unitards, dancing with flaming hoola hoops. It's nuanced, and yet, not nuanced at all. What goes aROUND comes back aROUND. Hoola hoops are ROUND. Is this song not about a cycle, a circle, the circle of love, life, fidelity, infidelity, and ultimately death, the end of all cycles and/or circles? We shall see...

As for the narrative of the video, the first verse establishes that JT and Scarlett are hot and heavy (as well as living in some decade that is suffering from an identity crisis between the present and the 1930s in which Justin is continually performing). But perhaps, Scarlett is a bit-- unbeknownst to JT--unstable. As she drowns in a pool, apparently deceased, JT rushes into the water to save her only to find that it's a joke. Scarlett bursts through the water's surface, assuming she has been delightfully amusing by playing dead. Not so much for Justin. He is not amused in the least, but his anger is short-lived because of course, when someone tries to mash her lips against yours while you're attempting to yell at her for giving you a coronary because you thought she had lost her life in an untimely and tragic drowning, making out will immediately quell your fears. Hot sex with a psychotic can be very distracting.

In the following verse, Justin is out with a male friend at a club when Scarlett approaches. She kisses Justin passionately and greets the friend. The chemistry between Scarlett and JT's pal is palpable! Scarlett's vampish stares kinda give it away as well. More singing and threesome chatting ensue until we cut to Scarlett in a make out session in a stairway with...NOT JUSTIN! Is it...is it...why yes, it is none other than Justin's buddy!

Justin casually enters this stairway, which seems odd as it looks like some strange warehouse stairway that no one would ever casually enter because I don't think it actually leads anywhere. But enter nonchalantly JT does, and naturally, stumbles upon his unfaithful girlfriend and apparently not-all-that-good-of-a-friend friend. Justin is rightfully livid and begins to pummel his amigo. Scarlett tries to put a stop to the violence but gets palmed in the face like a basketball during March Madness (so appropriate or perhaps Freudian as Stu is downstairs watching the Tennessee/Ohio State game right now). She is upset and dashes out of the stairwell, out of the building, and into to her sports car. And I can't tell what decade that thing is supposed to come from either. Justin runs after her and speeds off behind her in his own timeless sports vehicle.

The roads are dark. The cars are moving too fast. The drivers are reckless with heightened emotion. If memory serves, Scarlett crashes into a car that had previously crashed and is now in flames--and one might have thought Scarlett could have seen that from a mile away. Well, as Bill Murray says to the squirrel in Groundhog Day, "Don't drive angry!" In slow motion, Scarlett's car is air born and tumbling through sky, Justin looking on in terror.

We then come to the vocal breakdown wherein Justin sings/talks of "paint[ing] a picture" of a cheating KFed for Brit. When the brief monologue is over and the song draws to a close, we see that Scarlett is dead on the road. Unlike her earlier play at drowning, she does not revive herself, and oddly enough, despite what looks like a particularly horrific car crash from which she was thrown through the windshield, she lays with her perfectly alabaster skin sans a single scratch (where were last week's Top Model make up artists?), which leads me to the following conclusions about the video's intentions and message:

If you scare the crap outta your boyfriend by pretending to drown in a pool and then he catches you cheating with someone he introduced you to, you'll probably get into a flaming car wreck and end up dead for real.

So even though the song is about Britney's screwing with Justin romantically, we're really bypassing the issue of infidelity and taking on mortality. Don't mess with the gods. If they see you play dead, you might actually end up dead. What goes around really does come around!

Death and Taxes

2007-03-21T23:30:00.000-07:00

Death becomes Jaslene, whether she's the killed or the killer.

They say that death and taxes are the only two things in this life of which you can be certain. However, if you've watched eight cycles of America's Next Top Model, by now you've learned that there are just a few more things to be sure of in this world:

1. That the smart girl who left Dartmouth to model and is $9K in the hole to Daddy (And not Sallie Mae? There probably won't be any creditors knocking at her door any time soon after graduation.) and was accused of not being a model in the previous episode will do her *I'm-determined-and-that's-why-I-got-into-an-Ivy-League-school-
and-can do-anything-I put-my-mind-to* best and win $40K worth of bling in a test of modeling agility. (How cool is Benny Ninja, the posing coach? Where can I get a name and job like that?)

2. That Whitney would have to linger before opening her box after everyone else, which clearly held the winning bling because a) everyone else's boxes were already open, and b) who couldn't see that coming from beyond the laser maze, out past the doors of the warehouse, and into the Los Angeles street? And how poorly acted was Whitney's gasp of shock and surprise over the bracelet's being in her box as if she OMG just could not believe it! Thank god the acting lessons are merely a few episodes away--another thing of which you can be sure.

3. That the girl who claims destitution, but who's been labeled the beeyatch of the house, will, despite her mounting debt and dreams to provide for her husband and child, not only not win the $40K diamond bracelet, but, great efforts aside, stink to holy hell at the challenge, just to take her down a peg or two.

4. That when destitute Renee is left alone with her failure, she will profess to not being able to handle her own broken spirit and cry to her husband to come get her and take her home, where she should be. Well, yeah she should be at home with her child and not traipsing about on a reality television show, but that's a point I'll stop making eventually.

5. That Renee was most certainly not going home, and was gonna turn herself around and crank out the best photo of the week. Tyra loves a turnaround!

6. That in every episode until her elimination (and you can be sure there will be an elimination), Natasha will say something that's either a sign of stupidity or a language barrier. This week Natasha thought she was going to be deported by the Voguing D.O.T. officer.

7. That if Felicia has to ask if Tyra has a fierce picture they can look at, you can bet your Pussycat Doll ass cheeks she's going home. Seriously--I called that one before Felicia had the crappy photo shoot. First of all, isn't every picture of Tyra fierce (according to Tyra)? And second of all, isn't the house filled with pictures of the woman? Need Felicia wonder aloud if there's one--fierce or not--to gaze upon for inspiration? Like god creating man (you know, if you're down with that creationism thing), Tyra created that house in her image. Oh wait, not in her image, but decorated in her image. My mistake.

8. That if someone has just gotten news of the death of a close friend, the photo shoot will involve...DEATH! Remember Kahlen in a coffin as wrath the day her friend died? Suspicious, no?

9. That the minute Renee decided she wasn't going to tell a soul about her excellent photo shoot, Jay was gonna turn around and tell the entire dressing room. Has he ever done that before? Did you not figure out he was gonna do it the minute Renee said she wouldn't? Indeed, Top Model's consistency in contrivances is as certain as death!

10. That if Felicia insists that she has had a fabulous photo shoot and jumps up and down in her underwear shouting "I'm not going home! I'm not going home!" she's going straight home come time for Tyra to only have two photos in her hand.

11. That Sarah is going to mention her experience as a photographer in every episode. She reminds me of Star Jones who, during her stint on The View, began her every response to every question with "Well, as a lawyer..." You could ask her what her favorite pre-gastric-bypass flavor of ice cream was and she would reply, "Well, as a lawyer, it's got to be Chubby Hubby."

12. That in cycle eight of Top Model, Tyra is going to wear some form of a head scarf during every judging panel.

13. That I will deliberate on every model:

Brittany: Is she ever gonna take a bad picture?

Diana: So many girls had good shots this week, Diana included, that I'm not going to comment on every single picture, but god knows there's always something good to be said about something someone did. For Diana, it was showing us that she had a tad of insight when she said she wasn't buying Renee's seeming 'tude change. Perhaps she's not the dolt I imagined her to be last week.

Dionne: Here's what I loved about Dionne this week, bottom feeder status aside: Right before she started the laser maze, Dionne went on and on about how the hell she was gonna get through that thing and what the hell and oh my lord jesus there was no way she was gonna figure out how to get to the end. What's the first move she makes? A drop-to-the-floor split.

Felicia: Even though she had a clear grasp of the meaning of "oxymoron," which I found highly impressive, her knowledge of the contradiction of looking alive while pretending to be dead just didn't translate in her photo. Baby Tyra is outta there. BTW--have you ever seen Tyra give exit advice before (unless you count the infamous Tiffani tirade)?

Jael: I still can't stand the fact that this girl couldn't open her mouth all the way if her life depended on it, but when you can actually understand what the hell she's saying, I fully appreciate that she says crap like, "I acted the damn fool but had such a good time." Dark girl's got a sunny side. Go figure.

Jaslene: Bringing it in another awesome photo and bringing the oomph to panel. Now if someone would only bring her some nachos. That girl is just ridiculously skinny. But I love her anyway.

Natasha: The only girl who can only model upside down.

Renee: Never let it be said that I don't give credit where credit is due. I didn't think she looked particularly dead in her shot, but it was a beautiful shot nonetheless. I still don't have to like her, do I? You saw the clip from next week's show. You know she can't change her beeyatch ways.

Sarah: "As a photographer..." get over yourself Star Jones Reynolds!

Whitney: She's keeping the bracelet. Yeah--I didn't think she was all that concerned about that nine grand she owes her father. Her photo shoot was a little floppy for my tastes--as in she just kept flopping from pose to pose, I think, in an attempt to make it seem as if she had just landed in that position post model attack--but quite an improvement from last week and I'm still rooting for the big girls. Can't wait to see her get into it with Renee next week!

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

Notes on a Pussycat Doll Search

2007-03-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

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!

The End of an Era.The End of a Two-Term Presidency. The End of Another Five Months.

2007-03-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

Last night, Stu and I sat down to watch the final episode of The West Wing. The red Netflix envelope had been on our coffee table for a couple of days and I'd been eyeing it with extreme enthusiasm and utter dread. For five months we'd revelled in the phenomenally good episodes (and they were some of the best television I'd ever seen), slogged through the painstakingly bad ones (and they were just abysmally, horribly, awfully, ridiculously bad), fell in love with the incoming and outgoing characters (okay, that was mostly me falling in love with Josh, but Stu really, really liked Donna), and I even went so far as to take a practice LSAT on line just to see if I should consider pursuing a mid-career transition to law and politics (it's still up for discussion). And at the end of it all, we were about to be freed of our five month servitude in the West Wing. Much like C.J. Cregg herself, we were about to walk out of the building with equal amounts of elation and depression.

After the final credits of our final episode, I sat on the couch, unable to let go of the roll of toilet paper we'd needed as makeshift tissues. Stu picked himself up and began maneuvering through the apartment, picking up a piece of mail here and a water glass there, the evening progressing along. I still hadn't moved and I still hadn't stopped crying. Stu looked at me, "Are you afraid that if you get up, it will really be over?" I nodded pathetically. I was so excited to learn the fate of the characters in whose lives I had become so invested (the reason I insisted we sit through the horrid post-Sorkin seasons--I needed to know everything that was to befall my beloved peeps!), but I was devastated by their being extracted from life, yanked from my day to day existence with a shocking and painful rip and pull.

And that's the thing about watching a show on DVD, the episodes piled up one on top of the other. You live and breathe these people's lives, inhaling their every experience. The first show Stu and I watched on DVD was Sex and the City. I was attempting to write a sitcom pilot at the time and wanted to watch a show after which I thought I might like to model mine. I strode to the video store with great purpose and came home with DVDs of Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Larry Sanders Show, and Sex and The City (clearly, I was going for that HBO, no laugh track thing.). After gobbling up the first season's episodes like they were pink M&Ms (They have those now. You know, breast cancer awareness candy!), Stu and I noticed that we would both constantly dream about the show and its characters. I remember tossing and turning in my bed, night after night, thinking of nothing but Big and Carrie, Miranda and Steve-o, high fashion and non-stop brunches and cocktails.

The same thing happened when we started our second DVD series, Dawson's Creek. Our watching this was the result of Stu tearing his rotator cuff while on vacation in Mexico. Spending much of his time in the hotel room, he became quickly addicted to the English reruns of Dawson's Creek that were on every day at 5PM. I will never forget his shouting to me as I showered off the day's sun block and sand, "Honey, you gotta come watch this!" "What is it?" I yelled back. If you know Stu at all, you would understand my shock and amazement when his answer was, "Dawson's Creek!" More shock and amazement would follow were you to learn that not only did we rent the entire series upon our return from South of the border, but also purchased several of the seasons and downloaded the rest of off TIVO. Midway through the shows, my nights became nothing but eight-hour long deliberations: Pacey or Dawson, Dawson or Pacey! Must decide. Must decide!

I sobbed and wailed equally as hard at the end of Sex and the City and Dawson's Creek. It was all so bittersweet: Big and Carrie finally together! Steve and Miranda finally married! Charlotte finally adopting! Samantha finally clear of cancer and able to hold someone's hand! But, MAN, nothing topped Jen Lindley DYING on the Creek. WTF?!?!? I had become so attached to these people and they seemed to disappear from my life as quickly as they had appeared on my television screen.

That's the thing about watching a show unfold over several years on television versus watching them over a few months on DVD...

There's no other series finale as renowned as M*A*S*H. I was only thirteen when the series ended, but my sister and I, both devout fanatics, cried our adolescent eyes out over the 4077th's goodbyes (Not to mention the irony of Klinger's being the only one who would actually remain in Korea. That just about killed us.). But we had spent years with these people (No, I didn't start watching the show when I was two. Reruns and syndication, people!). We had been through so much with them over so long a period of time. It was shocking to think they wouldn't be with us anymore on a weekly basis (But how happy was I to see Hawkeye return to TV on The West Wing? Sure he was a republican, but whatever...Hawkeye Pierce!), but after eleven years it's time to let go, devastating as it might feel. And I felt the exact same thing and shed the same amount of tears when Cheers and Friends ended.

But when you watch a show over only a few weeks and months as opposed to years, the characters become close friends of yours in a very short amount of time. The relationship you have with them is so intense, not diluted and spread out over manageable increments, your emotions kept in check by the passage of all of your lives. With a weekly show, you age as they age. You progress with your life while they progress with theirs and you reconnect once a week, and generally take summers off from one another. But when you watch a show on DVD, there are no breaks, and while the show's character's lives progress by years, yours only progresses by days and weeks. It's a very odd dynamic, so that when you're done with the show, its vanishing from your life seems tragic and premature.

So with the swiftness with which the White House staff has packed up President Bartlett's belongings and moved in President Elect Santos' things, Stu and I have been shoved out of the West Wing. We are like C.J. walking away from the gate and blending anonymously into the crowd, off to a new life, a new set of experiences, and a new set of friends.

All I can say now is thank god the Netflix envelope containing disc one of Sports Night showed up this morning! It's only two seasons and it never quite ended so it's final moments shouldn't be all that painful...should they?

There's No Crying in Baseball!

2007-03-14T22:11:00.000-07:00

Penis, er,I mean ice cream, anyone? Phallic symbol aside, I'm actually just posting this pic so I can continue to fulfill my new lifelong goal of annoying the crap outta Renee. This week Brit seemed to get Renee's goat, so, way to go, Brit!!

Was the entire cast of America's Next Top Model PMSing this week? There seemed to be an inordinate amount of crying. I'll cut Jael all the slack she wants cuz, well, dead friend and all. That kinda trumps everything and the girl can shed as many tears as she's got.

Brittany, on the other hand, excellent model though she is, needs to dehydrate and stop producing so much fluid from behind her eyes. I'm sure it sucks to get a painful weave that looks awesome. I'm sure it sucks to win the challenge when you feel like puking. I'm sure it sucks to worry about being nude while holding ice cream in your apparently very sensitive hands and then take the best picture of the week. All of these things HARDSHIPS. We feel your pain, girl. But please--and I quote Melissa Manchester whom I believe said it best-- please, "don't cry out loud." For all of our sakes, "just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings."

Now at one point, Whit BROKE IT DOWN for Brit (Don't you like how I broke down those names so they totally rhyme? Sure, Whitney and Brittany rhyme too, but it's just not quite as clever, now is it?). Whit told Brit that where she comes from people cry cuz someone got shot, not cuz their new hairdo was bothersome. However, a mere thirty minutes later during panel, Whitney cried like she had the weight of every plus sized model on her shoulders. Did you see that crazy crying face? I thought she was upset because her fellow plus girl was a bottom feeder, but she cried equally as hard when Cassandra was sent packing.

Of course by then, the entire damn cast was sobbing uncontrollably, hence my original question. Is it PMS week on Top Model or what?

And of course, we could continue this line of questioning and use Renee's ongoing beeyatchedness as further evidence of the lunar cycle. In this week's episode of Hall & Oates presents "Bitch girl" (Yeah, I know the song is "Rich Girl" and the lyric I'm referring to is actually, "it's a bitch girl," but "bitch girl" is technically a direct quote, just out of context. I'm so ready for a job with real media.), Renee is soooo bored by Brittany and will stop at nothing to tear her down, including telling Brittany she needs to get off of her pedestal for not expecting a house full of girls to talk smack about her behind her back. Sure Renee makes a pragmatic point in pointing out that a house full of caddy girls can only result in gossip and back stabbing, but somehow she twisted her own logic and made herself look stupid. Way to go! Brittany came back with the only possibly retort: "I'm still kicking your ass in this competition!" Indeed.

Screwing herself again, Renee noted that in Jael's time of mourning, she "didn't need any fake bitches being her friend," and proceeded to offer no support to Jael whatsoever. So basically, Renee is implying that by abiding by what she just said, she herself is a fake bitch because if she wasn't she should have offered support to Jael. Either that or Renee is admitting to being the most unsupportive bitch around. There's an LSAT logic question in there somewhere.

On to deliberations (makeovers and photo shoots!)!

Brittany: She may be holding ice cream on a prick, but this girl always knows what to do with her face and body. And the painstaking weave looks like it was worth every grueling minute.

Cassandra: The 'fro looked good, but that was pretty much the only thing that did. I'm sure she's a delight to be around, but as Jade said two cycles ago, "this is America's Next Top Model, not America's Next Top Friend." I am loathe to quote Jade, but she had a point there and it was one of the few sentences she spoke in coherent English.

Diana: Is it just me, or is Diana a dolt? I hate to be mean, but I think I heard her call the non-plus-sized models "straight girls." Seriously. And when she was asked why she was so nervous and uncomfortable with her body she vacantly replied, "oh, I don't know..." You could tell even Tyra was with me on the dolt thing. Tyra replied quite sarcastically, "Some self-reflection then maybe." Diana was just like "oh, okay." Hello! Anybody home, McFly?

Dionne: Lovelovelove the short haircut on her and lovelovelove that during the photo shoot she shouted out, with all of the happiness and sincerity she could muster, "You know what, Jay, I think I'm more comfortable naked!"

Felicia: I'm just gonna say the same thing about her every week. She is nice. She is lovely. She is nice and lovely. And while the dark hair and bangs make her stand out a bit more than she did before, I just don't ever see her as anything more than nice and lovely.

Jael: I'm kinda crushing on Jael right now. As much as I abhor whining and excuse making, the opposite is also true in that I adore maturity and professionalism and all around stepping up when it's necessary. Jael did that and more. Not only did she suffer through an eight hour weave only to have to suffer through having it removed and then totally rocking her crop cut and then kicking ass in her photo, but she dealt with the loss of her friend with a hell of a lot of grace. And in a moment of seriousness, a la Tyra with her enlarged, understanding eyes of sympathy, I do send my condolences to Jael and her friend's family. If you've ever lost anyone close to you, you have to acknowledge it when someone else goes through it, even if they're on a stupid reality show.

Jaslene: Still rocking the photos but can't get it together in person. Surely after Tyra's insightful lesson on culture and ethnicity, Jaslene's Latino spunk will spring to life again.

Natasha: Great pin-up shot until you got to those squinty eyes. What was she doing? The dark hair and bangs are fine cuz she's a beautiful girl, but...waiter, vodka, straight up, please!

Renee: I so dislike Renee that I can't even comment on her picture. If she were a spectacular model I would cut her some slack for being so heinous, but she's at best mediocre so what's the point? Linda Evangelista seems like a raving bitch, but at least she's stunning and an amazing model and doesn't get out of bed for less than $50,000 a minute or some such number that's the equivalent of what I make in year (The actual quote is in the page I linked to. It's far less dramatic that I what I just wrote for her.).

Sarah: Excellent shot and her know-it-all narcissism was pretty in check this week. The dark hair is fine, although I preferred the blond pixie.

Whitney: That skin is to die for, but the face...relax, girl! You're pretty, you're smart--sure you look weird when you burst into hysterical tears, but other than that, you know, go with it!

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

They're Off and Meowing!

2007-03-13T22:12:00.000-07:00

Oh, Search for the Next Doll, how art thou like America's Next Top Model? Let me count the ways:

1. Both shows are like watching porn movies. You really just want to see the photo shoots and performances so you sit through the rest until you get to the good parts. And with the Pussycat Dolls, when you get to the performances, it actually is kinda like porn, so this analogy really works, with all due respect to the porn industry.

2. Both shows are hosted by icons of their industries. I might debate Robin Antin's iconic status but as Next Doll is trying to make us believe that the Pussycat Dolls are some enormously influential cultural force (I believe Mark McGrath referred to them as "the biggest girl group of all time" with which I might beg to differ), we'll let them run with that. However, Robin's understated and downright chilly demeanor is no match for Tyra's faked orgasms of interest in her models. Robin lacks Tyra's narcissism, but she also lacks the joy that goes along with it. Crack a smile, woman! Tyra may only be smiling because she sees herself in all of her girls, but at least she looks happy in her own reflection!

3. As second-in-commands, Top Model has a snarky, platinum blond creative director in Jay and Next Doll has a snarky, bald choreographer in Mikey. Mirroring their commanders, Jay seems like a warm snuggly puppy compared to Mikey's cold, wet, and dead-fish personality.

4. On both shows, the contestants must share a lavishly decorated home (and by lavish, I mean abundant furniture and decor from IKEA) and scream wildly upon first sight of every pillow, faucet, and doorknob. Extra points for the Next Doll's house: no pictures of Tyra AND they have a dance studio. Score!!

5. Both shows give instructions as to next tasks via mail. Top Model has the now legendary Tyra Mail while Next Doll just has generic Mail. However, Next Doll smartly anticipated the potential low I.Q. of their girls and their mail is actually a video with someone spelling out the details of the coming activities as opposed to Top Model's producers still having yet to understand that their girls just cannot decipher any code or riddle.

6. In this particular season, both shows have a young mother who has weepily left behind her toddler so she can spend the entire season crying about how she's pursuing the dream of being a (fashion) model or (sex) dancer/singer for the benefit of her child. I think we all know how I feel about this.

7. Both shows attempt to teach their girls something concrete (walking!) or conceptual (confidence!) and then put them up to a challenge that reflects all they have learned from the day's hard work. Both shows declare a winner of said challenge, but ah, Next Doll has gone all Project Runway on us and declared that the winner of the challenge will be "safe" from that week's elimination.

8. Both shows take great pains to introduce their judges and offer some biographical data. Mercifully, Next Doll only has three to get through. And no judge on Top Model has ever had as much plastic surgery as Lil' Kim. No prizes for Next Doll to announce (we all seem to be clear on the one), but that means no waiting for Tyra to announce what we've already heard one million times while we watch the models react as if they're hearing them for the first time, every single time.

9. Of course, both shows have judges' deliberations! And of course, both shows will have mine. So for this week's dolls:

Melissa R.: Not as strong as I might have liked, but I still think she's got what they're looking for.

Brittany: A fine nuance and distinction, to be sure, but I do agree that her sexy dancing was actually LESS classy than the Dolls. Plus her attempting that solo vocal run kinda blew. You're outta there!

Asia: This chick is a Knicks girl!? Screw the Pussycat Dolls--the Knicks City Dancers, baby!!

Sisely: I know this girl can sing and maybe last night's song wasn't the best for her voice and maybe she's not the best dancer, but there's something about her that makes me think she's gonna KICK IT. Soon.

Anastasia: I'm just gonna start calling her the Towering Inferno cuz she is so damn tall and hot. She could use a little more chutzpah on stage, but with some work, she could be a burning building of a force to be reckoned with.

Mariela: She's the fab ballet dancer I adore for no other reason than that's she the fab ballet dancer I adore. Oooh--circular logic!

Chelsea: Surprisingly good singer. Not surprisingly bad dancer.

Melissa S. Eh. That's all I want to say about her. So I'll say it again. Eh.

Jamie: There is something about this girl that I lovelovelove. She's just cute and kicky and I want her to win. And yeah, she's pretty good at the dancing and the singing, but really, one should win just for kickiness, shouldn't one?

10. Both shows dramatically call out the names of those who get to remain on the show for at least one more week. Models get their photos handed to them. Dolls, don't forget those boas! Models hear "You are still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model." Dolls hear "Congratulations." Someone's getting the short end of the stick here.

11. Both shows make a ginormous deal of pointing out the flaws and mistakes of the last two girls to be called, one of whom is getting the high-heeled boot. I like to call the last two girls "bottom feeders."

12. And finally, we come to the ceremonial closing of each week's episodes. When a Top Model has to hit the road, she is directed to "pack up her belongings and go home." A rejected Doll is told she "will not be the next Pussycat Doll. Please hang up your boa." Hugs all around for both models and dolls alike. Can you feel the love tonight?

At the end of a Top Model post, I always tell readers that until next week, they are still in the running towards becoming the next top model! I believe it is time for what will be my weekly Doll closing, in honor of my love for the song Buttons as well as my burgeoning obsession with the boas:

Until next week, loosen up those buttons and fling those pink boas, baby!

From Rags to Riches, Bel Air to Brooklyn, en Route to Miami

2007-03-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

The Malloys go from traveling bandits to gated-community residents in The Riches.

This post is voyage of sorts—a journey of the mind and the soul and of the remote control. It is not, however, a journey of the body, unless you consider the flight of my ass cheeks from one side of the couch to the other, possibly the result of early onset rheumatoid arthritis in my hip joints.

The journey began at 10PM last night when I sat down to watch the much anticipated premiere of The Riches. I was in a rather chipper mood, despite my STILL being sick and having spent my third day in a row in the apartment. I was still hacking green things out of what felt like my left lung, but I was looking forward to a new television show, a good night’s sleep, and at very least, a day where I might make contact with the outside world.

Sadly, as of 1:25PM the following day, none of the above has yet to occur. Firstly, I did not enjoy The Riches and the only reason I can come up with is that I’m just not much for the crime genre. I can’t get into any of the Crime Scene Investigation Shows, Missing People Shows, or Sexy Coroners Solving Crime Shows (except for Quincy M.E. cuz that show was awesome, way better than Diagnosis Murder because as much as I adore Dick Van Dyke, can you really top Jack Klugman when it comes to sexy, surly crime solving?). It seems the only crime related shows I’ve had brief fixations with are Homicide and Law and Order, which if left to Dostoevsky, would imply that I was far more interested in punishment than crime.

So while, I thought The Riches was an excellent production with a compelling script and great performances, I didn’t take to it. But of course, I wanted to write about it. But I just couldn’t figure out what to write. At 11PM, I took some cough suppressant, thought I’d hit the hay, sleep on it, and come up with something on my way to work in the morning. Unfortunately, I never slept. I believe there must have been some stimulants in that cough suppressant that touted “non-drowsy” as a selling point. Usually I steer clear of such things with my heightened sensitivity to all things caffeine-like, but I had taken it mid-day and napped rather nicely. Although, now that I think of it, that was probably due to a drug combination issue, Nyquil having remained in my system from the night before. So, despite exhaustion, sleep was no where to be found and I lay on our guest room futon from midnight to 5AM, cough fully suppressed, thoughts racing and churning, worrying about what to write about The Riches.

Come 5AM, I finally felt sufficiently sleepy enough to join Stu in our bed. Needless to say, the moment I placed my head upon my pillow, the itch in my chest began, the mucus started moving, and all coughing hell broke loose. I popped out of bed, Stu asking me if I was okay. I burst into tears.

I relegated myself back to the guest room futon, sitting at its edge, refusing to lie back down on that brick of a mattress, coughing, crying, and cursing simultaneously. I sent Stu back to sleep and did the only logical thing. I went downstairs to watch TV.

After viewing several minutes of a few of my favorite infomercials (The Magic Bullet, Hip Hop Abs, and Proactiv Solution), I settled in on, yes folks, a very special episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I know the joke is to say that every episode of The Fresh Prince is a special one, but this one really was. It was the one in which Will, exhausted by the demands of school, work, sports, and romance, is offered some speed by a classmate. Unwilling to take the drugs himself, he puts the bottle in his locker. During the senior prom, an unsuspecting Carlton ingests the pills, believing them to be Vitamin E tablets that will reduce the size of a rather sizeable pimple. A bout of unconsciousness and stomach pumping ensues and we all learn a very valuable lesson about the dangers of drugs (and of doing the Running Man at high speed to I Will Always Love You).

While everyone loves The Fresh Prince, special episode or not, it is particularly special to me because when I first moved to Seattle in 1995 with my dear friend L, and we got our first apartment together in our new city of residence, we made dinner together every night and sat down to watch a 7PM rerun of The Fresh Prince. We also watched a lot of other TV and we didn’t realize how that would be frowned upon in the holier-than-thou-we-don’t-own-televisions Northwest. We were so berated for our TV viewing habits that we started telling everyone we were a Nielson family, forced to watch hours of TV out of civic duty. Imagine my thrill when one day I actually was asked to be a Nielsen watcher and received $1 for filling out that weekly journal. Don’t ever say that dreams don’t come true.

Next up at 6AM, The Cosby Show! Say what you will about Bill, the man will always be a comedic idol and aside from my own love of his stand-up, I will always have fond memories of watching The Cosby Show with my father. My dad thought this show was genius—and it was, for a time—and would actually allow me to watch it with him, despite its time slot of Thursday nights at 8PM, clearly a TV-on-a-school-night violation. Unfortunately what I caught at 6AM this morning was one of the episodes from that final season in which Rudy is too old to be the cute one so she’s been replaced by Raven Symone. In this episode, Denise throws a birthday party for the ridiculously adorable Olivia. She has several friends come to the Huxtable residence and you can tell it’s that phase in which Bill Cosby has become completely enamored of any child’s innate comedic abilities. Sure, a five-year-old in a bow tie singing Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger is funny, but it’s contrived and obvious. But with Bill in the room, it doesn’t matter cuz that man’s reaction to anything is always hilarious. It was one of the worst episodes I’d ever seen and I hated that Bill had that Kids Say the Darndest Things show, but I laughed my ass off at his every facial expression anyway.

And, rounding out my wee hours of the morning viewing--you know I love it--back to back episodes of The Golden Girls on Lifetime! You know what? This show is still funny. But this morning I realized why I love it so much. Yes, I love Dorothy’s caustic wit, Rose’s heartwarming stupidity, Blanche’s insatiable lust, and Sophia’s kicky wisdom. But most of all, I love their cake. These women are old and care not about their midsections and I love them for that. They eat cake in every episode, any time, night or day. In the first episode, they had cake at midnight. In the second episode, they ate what looked like the last episode’s remaining cheesecake at noon. Later that same day, they had a brand new cake for a dinner party, and you know the leftovers were coming out for a late night kitchen conversation. Sigh. It’s never too early or too late for cake with your best girlfriends.

By the time the cake revelation occurred, it was just about 7AM and I was finally getting sleepy again and the lung hacking seemed to have subsided. I switched over the Today Show, thinking I’d get some shut eye and some news at the same time.

You know it’s a sad day when you’re falling asleep to the Today Show rather than waking up to it and you’ve already watched two hours of television. I opened my eyes at 8:30AM and called my boss to let her know I was couch-bound for another day.

There's No Place Like Run's House

2007-03-11T22:48:00.000-07:00

Today I turn thirty-seven (Happy Birthday to me!). Am I too old to petition for Rev Run to adopt me? I'm fairly photogenic--it's not like I'd muck up the family portrait. Sure, I'm a pasty, white, Jewish girl, but it could be like Diff'rent Strokes, new-millennium style (I'd even consider converting! It's not like I was ever bat mitzvahed...).

About three months ago, I was, as usual, on my ass watching TV. It was a Friday night and Stu was out and I was home alone when I stumbled upon my first episode of Run's House. MTV was running a mini-marathon (Is there anything better than the mini-marathon? They turn shows into Lays potato chips. You can never watch just one.) and at first I rolled my eyes, exasperated by another show jumping on the bandwagon of family reality programming. But I quickly realized this was the best family show EVER. It even made me reconsider my life long dream of being a Brady. I kid you not.

That night I watched about six episodes in a row and spent the next week asking everyone I knew if they'd seen this masterpiece. Not a single soul had been to Run's House. Every time I turned on the television, I desperately searched for an airing. I checked the TIVO for upcoming episodes. Nothing. No one had seen it and it was apparently never to be seen again. The heaven of the Rev's house seemed to exist only in my imagination.

But then today, of all days, my birthday, on which I have been quite ill, bedridden since Friday night, so I gotta tell ya it hasn't been the best birthday weekend, the Rev returned to me! Yes, they were all back on my screen: Rev Run, Justine, Vanessa, Angela, JoJo, Diggie and Russy. And it wasn't just one episode. No, the programming gods smiled down upon me and for my birthday they gave me FIVE HOURS of Run's House as the most glorious present ever. Clear out the pool house, Simmonses (which they did in one episode, The Rev demanding that Justine ditch all of her saved issues of Oprah Magazine, insisting that she didn't need to keep them since the same photo appeared on the cover of each one), I'm moving in!

In one of the thousand episodes I watched today, Angela begins an internship at Baby Phat (owned by her aunt, Kimora Lee Simmons, causing Vanessa to earnestly shout out, "hey, nepotism is alive and well!"). She has a rough first day, as all interns do, and when she returns to her lush suburban home, dad senses her disappointment. He says to her, "If that were me, I would have outworked every intern there. I would have walked in an intern and walked out the owner."

Yes, he would have. And come to think of it, so would have my father. Whenever my dad dropped me off at school, he used to say, "knock 'em dead and give 'em hell!" It was his battle cry and he gave a lot of hell to a lot of people. Clearly, so does Rev Run. Perhaps that's why I want to be his adoptive daughter. Not only would I get the much-missed motivational nudge I used to get from my father, but more than that, The Rev would probably fill the spiritual void I have in my life due to the lack of a religious upbringing. I told you I was never batmitzvahed, and MAN, I am a sucker for the Blackberry mini-sermons The Rev gives from his bubble bath every morning. If you've never seen the show and have no idea what I'm talking about, well, you've got to see it to believe it and to be moved to live the most fulfilling life you possibly can cuz that's what the Rev's preaching and I am in the front row of the choir!

And, with all the rap and hip-hop, can you imagine how much dancing I would do? My dad could cut a rug, but he never quite made it past the bossa nova.

Rev, get the lawyers and the adoption papers ready! I'm coming home...to RUN'S HOUSE!

Changing Demographics: Happy Birthday to Me

2007-03-10T12:36:00.000-08:00

If you’ve noted this blog’s tagline and acknowledged the reference to Carol in my profile, it will come as no surprise when I admit to being a Brady Bunch fanatic (click here to read about my Brady obsession and my chance encounter with Florence Henderson). When my passion for watching Brady Bunch reruns whenever humanly possible began, I was about the same age as Cindy in the earliest episodes and it seemed to me that there was not only no one cooler than Greg and Marcia Brady, but no one older. Sure, Carol and Mike were far advanced in their years, but they were parents. I couldn’t relate to them at all. But Marcia and Greg, at sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen, they were something to which I could aspire. It seemed like it would take a lifetime to get there, but I knew I could and would be as old as they were. Someday, I promised myself, I would be just like them: private room in the attic, cheerleading captain, dates with football players (even though my school had no football team) and all.

When I was a bit older and settled into the routine of secret Mary Tyler Moore Show episodes after school, I realized that as far as idolatry was concerned, Greg and Marcia would only take me through late adolescence. That was still a long way off and I could still barely imagine making it to eighteen, but I knew there was more. When my age hit the double-digits, I knew I wanted something other than groovy prom dates in my future. I knew I wanted a career. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I do remember my make-believe games involved rushing around the house with folders rather than baby dolls in my arms, imagining I was routing very important information between very high level offices. With her typing, phone answering, and rushing to and from Mr. Grant’s office, Mary Richards seemed to have exactly what I thought I would want in my future as an independent woman. She worked in television as a glorified secretary under the guise of an associate producer and she got to hang out with some really cool guys (yes, I refer here to Lou, Murray, and Ted). Thus, my new hero was selected.

More than a decade later, when I had my first job after graduating from college and my own apartment to go with it, I walked home after work every evening feeling just like my childhood idol. It felt like I was gonna make it after all!

Flipping through the channels one weekend afternoon in my beloved studio, I came upon a Brady Bunch rerun. Needless to say, channel flipping ended immediately as I’ve never bypassed a Brady episode in my life. At the time, I was about twenty-four and I watched the show not only with nostalgia but also with amazement. It suddenly dawned on me that I was six years older than Greg Brady at his oldest. I had thought that for sure, the minute I had turned eighteen, I would have made a mental note of having finally achieved the milestone which I had always been waiting so long for. But no, I had let the moment pass me by and I had surpassed the eldest Brady without realizing it at all. Oddly though, Greg and Marcia still seemed older than I was, stuck in their own syndicated time zone so that whenever I saw them, I was six years old no matter what my true chronological age. The realization that so many years had gone by was slightly shocking, but no matter, I thought. I’d still never be as old as Mary Richards, my true working-woman hero.

At twenty-five, I became an avid Friends watcher. Not only did Monica Geller and I share extreme Type A personality traits, but I was exactly her age and Monica, Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey’s trials and tribulations mirrored my and all of my friends' issues: constant angst regarding relationships, careers, parents, relationships…The Friends were living our lives, only with better dialog. It was nice to see my own age depicted up there on the small screen rather than constantly imagining what I would one day become. The Friends seemed to be exactly what I already was.

Eventually, twenty eight rolled around. I had been waiting to be twenty-eight for what felt like eons. Twenty-eight was the age, I had one day decided, that some of my favorite kick ass heroines, Kelly Garrett of Charlie’s Angels and Diana Prince of Wonder Woman, surely were at the height of my adoration for them back in the day. I had yet to kick anyone’s ass since I was neither private detective nor super hero, but I had a job that I adored and I was cohabitating with a man whom I adored and who proposed to me that year, so things felt on track. It felt okay that at twenty-eight I was what I once thought of as pretty darn old, cuz, well, so far, so good.

Eventually thirty came and went and I embraced my early thirties wholeheartedly, determining that thirty-something was better than twenty-something any day. And that was true on most days.

Until this one day.

A familiar scenario: me on my ass in front of the television, thumb mindlessly depressing the remote control. I stumbled upon a Mary Tyler Moore Show rerun. Ahhhh. I thought about my age, perhaps thirty-two or thirty-three at this point. I was positive that the one character’s age I would never surpass was Mary Richards’. So mature, so wise, so with it—there was no way I could ever be at her level.

The episode I watched that day involved Mary’s birthday and the revelation that she had moved into another television research demographic. She burst into tears when she realized she no longer belonged in the eighteen to twenty-four year-old bracket. She had just turned twenty-five.

EXCUSE ME?

The remote fell to the floor with the thwack of plastic hitting hard wood. I blinked several times. I looked around for someone to confirm the information I had just gleaned or at least to come to my medical rescue once I fell into an epileptic seizure, the result of the major shock and trauma that had just befallen me.

TWENTY FIVE?

Mary Richards, associate producer at WJM-TV was TWENTY-FIVE? Sure, it was one of the earlier episodes, but the show was only on for seven years which means at the very end of it she was still only THIRTY-TWO. My entire world instantly shattered as I realized that I had surpassed the age of the Mary Richards in that episode ALMOST TEN YEARS AGO.

Five years have since passed and I have come to terms with many things about my age. This weekend I turn thirty-seven and I have a tendency to walk around telling people that I’m pushing forty. I find this ridiculously hard to believe. I find myself wishing I’d paid closer attention when my mother watched Thirtysomething in the 1980s. Surely there were some valuable lessons I had missed that would be helpful as I screech towards a new decade. But to this day, whatever Hope, Nancy, Melissa, Gary, Elliot, and Michael went through still seems impossibly adult: adultery, divorce, illness, mid-career transitions, child bearing and rearing. But now, I stop and realize: I have friends who have gotten divorced, who have dealt with major health issues, who have ended fifteen-year career trajectories, who have children, multiple children...

So now, who is there left to look up to? Whose age can I use to comfort myself knowing that their issues are still decades in the future, nowhere near my own concerns? Who can I be not as old as…yet?

Thank you for being a friend…and for being a lot older than thirty-seven!

The Dog Ate My Homework

2007-03-07T21:57:00.000-08:00

As long as Jaslene keeps kicking it, I'm gonna keep posting her pics. OR, as long as Jaslene keeps annoying the crap outta Renee, I'm gonna keep posting Jaslene's pics, because hopefully, by the transitive property (which surely, I learned about in high school), I would then be annoying the crap outta Renee, who is annoying the crap outta me.

Those of you who know me know this, and those of you who don’t, I suggest taking note: there is very little that irritates, aggravates, and infuriates me MORE than EXCUSES. So after tonight’s episode, I need to get something out of my system..

AAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Obviously, that had Renee’s name all over it.

If you will permit me, a tale: once upon a time, I worked at an advertising agency. One day, in this fair agency, I purchased an ad in The New York Times Book Review. Several days later, it had come to light that while I had bought the ad space, actually having the ad produced had completely slipped my mind. Now, bear in mind that it was 1994—slow computers, no internet, no email, and no digital images. At this point, we still marveled at the thermal paper fax machine. With the deadline mere hours away, the non-existent ad had to be designed, sent to a printer, produced on velox paper, and messengered over to the Times. Before the chaos of emergency ad production began, my boss looked at me from behind her enormous wooden desk and inquired as to why I had failed to create a work order and pass it on to a designer. “There is no reason,” I replied, “I forgot and I apologize.”

Come to think of it, a similar thing happened at work today, thirteen years later, when a sales rep called me on behalf of a bookstore who had not received an order placed a month ago. Turns out, I never forwarded the email order on to anyone. Just sent it right to my trash. Oops. I said the same thing to the rep that I had said to my former boss, “I forgot and I apologize.”

So clearly, this points to either my admirable integrity or my horrendous memory. On the other hand, I can tell you who played the ad agency boss on Bosom Buddies (Holland Taylor, thank you very much—and no, I didn’t just look that up. My friend once tried to stump me on TV knowledge with that one and she’s never gotten over the shock of realizing that I carry this information around with me all the time.), so perhaps this merely indicates my lack of interest in my day jobs.

In any event, I’m sure by now, you see what I’m driving at. I HATE EXCUSES. Needless to say, I hated Jade from cycle six, a terrific excuse maker, but she barely lived on the same planet as the rest of us, so at least there was entertainment value. Renee, on the other hand, is causing me to hyperventilate and there is potential for loss of consciousness should I have to hear her whine one more excuse for why she might have done badly during her class clown photo shoot.

I repeat: AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!
“Wah—I wanna be the ho!” No comment.
“Wah—Jaslene always gets the good things!” Oh yes, always, since there’s only been one other photo shoot.
“Wah—I was the only girl out of her element!” Because I’m sure Jaslene was totally alternative in high school.

I’m so riled up, I can’t even talk about anything else that happened in the episode. Oh but I will say (Who am I kidding? When can I never think of anything to talk about?) that I thought the walking wasn’t too bad, on the whole, but for the LOVE OF GOD…choreography, people!! It wasn’t that hard.

On to deliberations!

Brittany: She rocks it again! Challenge winner and class valedictorian on many levels. She could be the silent killer. She doesn’t stir up much controversy or draw much attention, but she’ll end up being one of the last two standing without anyone having ever noticed…

Cassandra: Eh. Low hanging fruit. She’ll be one of the earlier ones to go. How could you possibly make cheerleading look that boring?

Diana: Lovely face, good pose, a touch of the dead eye though (for those of you who remember my favorite Tyra lesson from the first cycle: “live eye v. dead eye.”)

Dionne: She barely said a word this episode (what, no jalapeño peppers?) but her bad girl pose said it all.

Felicia: Quite nice. Again.

Tyra: I have to pause from our regularly scheduled deliberations and talk about Tyra for a second. Is she on prozac this cycle? Aside from the oddness of her wearing a head scarf for the second time, she’s so subdued. Her monologue regarding Felicia’s not looking like her (yes Tyra, we know it’s all about you) was fairly engaging and humorous. And even her pretending to stab Nigel in the back, which usually would have come off as nothing but embarrassing was utterly tolerable. And with her newfound restraint, I’m finding that I’m riveted to her modeling advice. Without the din of her self-importance as a distraction it’s far more interesting and instructive. How refreshing!

Jael: I gotta give props to Jael. She absolutely nailed her photo. However, if she acts shocked whenever someone compliments her work one more time, I’m going to kick her self-deprecating ass. There’s a difference between humility and a grating lack of self-confidence. Perhaps Jael can figure out the difference in one of those books.

Jaslene: Okay, so she was abysmal on the runway, but the photo, my god the photo. Spectacular, especially since, contrary to Renee’s belief, I’m quite certain Jaslene was not in her element as the weird girl.

Natasha: Where’s the vodka I told you I was going to drink large amounts of as a result of Natasha’s driving me insane? Please don’t ever let her read the Tyra Mail again, and please, send her home. Preferably not via mail order…

Renee: I’ve probably said enough already, but let’s point out how her photo was more or less fine after all of her pissing and moaning. Even more reason for her to SHUT UP.

Samantha: Still stunning, but you kinda knew she was a goner the minute she uttered the words, “I’m never gonna forget who I am.” That doesn’t ever bode well. At least we also got to hear her say, “I’m a lesbian! No, I’m a ho!” Good stuff.

Sarah: There’s just something about her—even her conversing with the make-up artist about eye shadow was irritating. She’s evidently watched one too many cycles and thought it wise to attempt to work product into her conversation. Save it for My Life as a Cover Girl, which I’m quite certain she’ll never have the opportunity to do (btw—Caridee is excellent in those ridiculous ads!). The photo was coy enough, but there was something pedestrian about her interpretation of flirting.

Herbal Essences: Speaking of corporate sponsors and massive product placement, let’s welcome Clairol’s Herbal Essences to the show! Bottle colors looked good and they seemed to make good use of their coloring, angles, and lighting, but I’d like to see a little more emotion from them next time.

Whitney: Some times the smart girls can’t quite cut it cuz there’s too much going on in their minds and not enough happening in their faces and with their bodies. There’s still potential though.

Next week is episode #3 and we all know what that means, don’t we?! Haircuts and tears galore! It’s the most wonderful time of the year! Until then, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model!

What's New Pussycat? (I couldn't resist)

2007-03-06T23:28:00.000-08:00

Don't cha wish...

Before I watched the premiere of The Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the New Doll , Stu had read The New York Times’ damning review of the show. While he didn't watch, he was curious enough to inquire, "So how was it?”
“Well, it’s a horrible show…” I replied, unable to finish my sentence, afraid to acknowledge the inevitable.
“But you're gonna keep watching it... because you love 'the dance.'”
“ I do. I love 'the dance.'”

Oh, I do love the dance. I love all dancing. Actually, I’m not so keen on Riverdance, but hell, I’ll watch Michael Flatley, Lord o’ the Riverdance for a little while just to marvel at the fancy footwork.

My mother plunked me in my first ballet class when I was four, followed by years of the requisite tap, jazz, modern, even theater dance, and eventually hip-hop. Perhaps, if it weren’t for my short, round, polish-shtetl DNA, I coulda been a contender. Alas, however, as I always knew it would, the professional dance world turns without me and my dancing life is one of random classes at various studios and gyms. But like the girls who lined up to audition to become the next Pussycat Doll, the passion still burns within and god help anyone who’s watching TV with me when the channel surfing glides by anything having anything to do with dancing. Eyes transfixed, remote immobile, I will watch every last pirouette.

So as the hopeful Dolls lined up across the stage like some new-millennium, sexed-up cast of A Chorus Line, waiting for their names to be called, I was sunk. I fold. I’m going to watch every last minute of this horrible show.

Despite my Barnard degree, which surely will be revoked once word gets out that I’m a proponent of the mere existence of a search for another Pussycat Doll (Do the Pussycat Dolls actually need another member? Are they like some Logan’s Run Menudo with an ever evolving line-up, members discarded as soon as they reach a certain age and are potentially no longer worthy of loosening up their buttons?), it’s not the conflict between inherent sexism and claims of female empowerment that make this show horrible. From Simone de Beauvoir to Madonna we’ve been debating the definition of feminism and the manifestation of feminine strength for an eternity. I frankly don’t care if you’re Melissa Etheridge in a tux or a Pussycat Doll in panties, be whatever the hell kind of woman you’d like (I’m so getting kicked out of the Seven Sisters club for that.). For me, the show’s hideousness has nothing to do with the objectification of women or the strength of female sexuality.

It has to do with the machinations of the production. Of course, we’re not reality programming novices here. We know what to expect; we understand that producers and editors and even script writers (usually dubbed “story editors” in the world of reality TV) will be twirling knobs, pushing buttons, and cranking levers behind a big curtain in the hopes of conning us into believing that the wizardry of reality show contestants is actually real. But expectations and comprehensions aside, a little subtlety would go a long way. By comparison, The Search for the New Doll makes America’s Next Top Model look like an Oscar-winning documentary, capturing the gritty underbelly of fashion modeling with the utmost of candor and sincerity.

One would think the casting call for the Doll search might have read: “Wanted: dancers and singers for an all female pop group.” But I'm quite certain it must have gone something like this: “Wanted: adversity over-comers (singing and dancing a plus)!” I know Tyra is a sucker for a good Triumph of the Human Spirit story, but the roll call for last night’s contestants was an emptied box of Puffs Plus with Lotion just waiting to happen:

Teen Mother? Here!
Lost parents and sibling in a plane crash? Here!
Fat kid reinvented? Here!
Lived in a car? Here!
Doctor parents disapprove of daughter dancing in lingerie? Here!

And that only pussycat-claw scratches at the surface. It’s not even worth going into the rest, although I must point out that the girl who lived in a car, in an all out attempt to prove wrong everyone that had ever thought her untalented and unworthy, hubris-nemesised herself right into miserable failure, as did the girl who passed on a virus, thereby starting an all-out vomit fest (Talk about gritty underbelly—I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much puke in one hour of television programming.). She wanted the judges to take her illness (but hopefully not the poor health of the other ten girls she infected) into consideration during her final performance. But of course, it was announced that the show must go on, all illnesses, vomiting, muscle aches, and fever aside. Tyra actually made a similar announcement last week, but she didn’t take it so far as to have stage-side medics with IV’s and makeshift beds. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the sight of wanna be Pussycat Dolls shivering under plaid wool, needles in their arms, stilettos and half-shirts at the ready for the big audition. Triumph of the Human Spirit indeed!

But all of that aside, there are actually some talented girls on the show. Some can dance and some can sing and I’m going to watch them parade around in hot pants and high-heeled boots every week, so help me god. So far, the front runners seem to be: Anastasia, the Amazonian beauty; Sisely, the punk rocker who likes to get a full night’s sleep (amen, sister!); Jamie, the kicky blonde chick (pictured above); Melissa R. who seems to possess every attribute one could possibly want in a potential Pussycat Doll; and some ballet dancer who has a gorgeous extension whose name I can’t remember for the life of me (FYI--the CWTV site SUCKS and I can’t get to the cast list).

Starting next week, the judges (Lil' Kim--aw yeah!) will be eliminating girls one big ass pink boa at a time. Rest assured, I will be deliberating, doll by pussycat doll, right along with them. You know, for the love of the dance.

How I’m Gonna “Carry On” and “Make it Work”

2007-03-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

You’re probably expecting me to launch into a commentary on the genius of Tim Gunn right about now, hence your confusion over my selected image of Bill Murray and Carol Kane. Well, there will be no Tim Gunn discussion this evening (oh, but wait until he comes to Seattle in April on his book tour—there will be discussion indeed!). No, tonight is about concept, about procedure, and about the importance of television. And it is, by way of reference, a little bit about Scrooged, the world’s most underrated Christmas movie EVER.

Just shy of its two week birthday, TV ON A SCHOOL NIGHT is in its nascent stages, finding its way into the world, post by post, baby step by baby step (for those of you who are really with me on the Bill Murray thing). Despite not having written since last week’s Top Model episode, I have absorbed plenty of television, but a question has been plaguing me: how to broach it all? How to convey that I do watch TV every single day, come hell or high water, even if what I’m watching isn’t current or new? I’ve been in a quandary, wondering exactly what approach to take with this blog. Do I commit myself to every episode of Dancing with the Stars merely because it’s premiering next week (which would cause husband Stu no small amount of pain, misery, heartache, and anguish)? Or, as I’ve been thinking for the past couple of hours since Stu and I had a tiff regarding my possibly watching hours heaped on top of hours of reality programming merely to have material for witty commentary, do I continue my TV watching life as I always have: a Friends rerun here, an E! True Hollywood Story there, here an Oprah, there a Firefly, everywhere a Project Runway.

Here’s where we come to the Scrooged part. Like Bill Murray’s Frank Cross, sad as it may seem to others although bringing nothing but great joy to me, if I think back, many of my favorite memories are founded in reminiscences of television shows: entire chunks of my life gauged by what series I watched religiously, the progression of my life based on what characters I thought I most wanted to be like. Unlike Frank Cross, I need no ghosts to smack me around, tickle me silly, or drive me recklessly through my past to show me how wonderful the life I haven’t paid attention to is and how much I’ve missed. I haven’t missed a single beat. But, every beat has a TV series, movie of the week, breaking news brief, or special Sunday night presentation to go along with it.

I realized the magnitude of this the other day when I was pondering television’s role in my life. This is where I bring the room down for a moment: my father passed away when I was twenty-two and while now, fourteen years later, much of my memory of the days surrounding his death are a bit blurry, one thing is not. On the day of his funeral, devastated as I was (and make no mistake, I was devastated) I still thought to myself that it was a Wednesday and I wished that everyone would leave our house in time for me to watch Beverly Hills 90210. When no one had left by 8pm, Eastern Standard Time, I hid myself away in my parents’ bedroom to spend some time with the Walshes. Was I so shallow and callous and unfeeling that television was more important than mourning my father’s death? No, but my need for it ran deeper than anything else I was feeling by the end of that day. I didn’t want to be with anyone but Brandon, Brenda, Kelly, Dylan, Donna and David (I’d mention Andrea, but did anyone really want to be with her?). Sometimes watching television feels to me like the relief a cutter must feel when the blade finally penetrates the skin. There’s a rush of relief, a calm that only certain things can bring. For some, it's a knife, or heroin, or a pint of Ben & Jerry’s (yeah, that one’s pretty good too).

For me, it’s TV. I need it every day. I don’t care if it’s a morning talk show; I don’t care if it’s a drama on a DVD that just arrived from Netflix; I don’t care if it’s a ten day old sitcom episode in danger of being deleted by TIVO; I don't care if it's a show I'm watching cuz I can't find anything else to watch. I have to watch something every day and I have to watch television all week long and what I’m trying to say here is that I don’t necessarily watch the same thing on the same day at the same time. It’s a bit random, and until I decide that doesn’t work, that’s how this blog will work. I’m gonna watch something every day, and I’m gonna write about it almost every day, cuz as my sister asked recently after she read the last of my rather lengthy posts, “don’t you have a day job?” Yeah, I do, and I’m gonna attempt not to get fired from it.

But I’m also gonna try to write about as much television as possible.

Let the Screams Begin...America's Next Top Model is BAAAACCKKK!!!!

2007-02-28T23:19:00.000-08:00

This pic kinda creeps me out, but Jaslene's face is killer (pun probably intended).

Ah, it's Wednesday night and the monkey-screeching models have returned to prime time and I feel a certain calm wash over me with every high-pitched squeal that ensures irreversible damage to the ear drum. You just know that someone behind the camera is leaning away from his lens shouting, “Now, girls, now! The Tyra Mail has arrived and you must run to it and scream at blood curdling decibels as if it were the greatest thrill of your life to receive fake mail you already knew was coming!” It’s disconcerting and yet simultaneously soothing, reassuring us that for the next twelve weeks, someone will always—wait for it…wait for it… say it with me now —still be in the running towards becoming AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL!

We know it all so well. We can announce the prizes on demand, we can introduce the judges by heart, and we can pause the exact amount of seconds that pass before Tyra tells us that she only has two photos in her hand. Yes, much of Top Model is by now as worn out as a flannel shirt at the Good Will where the girls soldiered through their first challenge (Someone please tell me how every girl managed to find an outfit exactly her size within three minutes.), but worn out flannel is comfortable flannel (okay, maybe all flannel is comfortable flannel). And if you bought it at Good Will, what was old to someone else is new to you. So on the eve of this eighth cycle of The Tyra Banks Show, oops…er, I mean ANTM, let’s take a look at what’s old and what’s new, shall we?

Tyra’s voiceover over the intro montage announced that she’s been modeling for a cajillion years, of which we are all painfully aware. The Top Model franchise has reached ridiculous heights of success. We know this too. However, I had absolutely no idea that Heidi Klum hosts the German version. How much better than ours is that version?!?!

The gathering of the semi-finalists is usually in a hotel. This time they went straight to boot camp. I was waiting for Tyra’s entrance to be cringe worthy, and it was, but somehow the stepping wasn’t quite as egregious as last season’s Norma Desmond display, and strangely enough, Tyra seemed relatively restrained throughout most of the show. There were some attempts at utterly un-spontaneous, spontaneously zany moments, but they were mercifully brief and a few were actually, well, funny. Go figure.

As usual none of the girls seemed to know a damn thing about fashion until one of them stepped forward to correctly identify Richard Avedon. And another chick mentioned John Galliano. That almost made up for someone not knowing Caroline Herrera.

Plus sized models have returned and this time, “dere’s two of dem!” (This is to be said in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice. It’s a actually a line from one of his movies, surprisingly, not Twins.). This is a first in Top Model history.

Someone apparently tried to put the breaks on Tyra’s raging narcissism as her face is not lurking, larger than life, around every corner of the house. She was actually gracious enough to allow other models on the walls, but of course, they’re only other Top Model winners, well because, all roads lead to Tyra. And she made up for the fact that her picture does not adorn every wall by spicing up the Tyra Mail which is now written on a photograph of Ty Ty AND bears a stamp that is a picture of yours truly. Why hasn’t the United States Postal Service gotten on that yet?

And of course there are the girls themselves. A new bunch, but not a new breed, to be sure. The Mall-of-America-parking-lot auditions continue to give us the best and the brightest!

On to deliberations!

Brittany: Despite claiming she was particularly loud, I can’t recall hearing a peep out of her. Her pro-fur photo was lovely, so onwards for Brittany.

Cassandra: A bit bland, but pretty and she’s representin’ Seattle so I’ll give a nod her way. And hey—let’s not forget, she sewed a wig on to her head. I don’t have much to say about that other than, hey—she sewed a wig on to her head!

Diana: As they commented, excellent proportions and a pretty face, but perhaps some of the worst modeling I’ve seen in a while. So yeah, I’m rooting for the bigger girls, but I dinged her for saying, “Guns are bad, but some people need them for protection.” X (buzzer sound!).

Dionne: I gotta love Dionne, not because she somehow managed to turn a discussion of veganism to jalapeño peppers, and not because of her 1B30 hair color, but because she said, and I quote, “Dentistry and modeling are my passions!” Aw yeah.

Felicia: I don’t quite see the Baby Tyra thing, but she has a nice face and I think they managed to find a nice shot. All quite nice.

Jael: If Jael doesn’t start opening her mouth when she talks, I’m going to jam a hoola hoop down her throat. And enough with the pissing and moaning about winning the challenge. Oh you poor winner, you! Same thing with the fever. HEY—Tyra has to come to panel when she has a fever! Oh, Tyra. If only we all had your fortitude.

Jaslene: Aside from being frighteningly thin, Jaslene has done nothing to annoy me, has a pretty great walk, and took the best pic of the week. Walking every day, all day, might pay off.

Natasha: I know the Eastern European model is IN, and she’s certainly beautiful, but she’s going to drive me to drinking large amounts of vodka. Straight. Right out of the bottle.

Renee: I hate when they have moms on the show. Why? Because, like Renee, they prattle on and on about how they’re doing this for their children. However, I think not. If you really wanted to do something for your child, and you’re twenty years old, finish your education, get a good job, and raise your child. You can say you’re doing this for your kid all you want, but just like everyone else, you wanna be a model cuz you love thinking about people adoring you for your beauty. I once had a co-worker who did one of those Ivy League layouts in Playboy. She yammered about how she did it to make a feminist statement. That argument is about as old as Gloria Steinem. Who doesn’t want to be looked at in a glossy magazine and thought of as beautiful? Get off your self-righteous high horse and I’ll step down off my soapbox—which will probably happen soon because if Renee’s peace and love pic is any indication she’ll be going home to that kid pretty damn soon.

Samantha: Couldn’t tell you a thing about her except that she’s stunning. Oh, I can tell you that she had trouble doing the lesbian wedding shot because since she has a boyfriend, she had trouble pretending to be in love with a woman. Did I mention that’s she’s stunning?

Sarah: I had high hopes for Sarah until I realized the reason Tyra’s egotism had dwindled was because Sarah stole it. It’s great that she has experience and she certainly knows her stuff and is downright adorable with her pixie cut, but her photo was abysmal and if she’s not careful she’s going to go the way of that chick who’s family had “the pretty gene” a couple of cycles ago.

Whitney: I always root for the plus sized girls, and she’s a smarty pants from Dartmouth who cried when she looked at the view from the house. How could you not like her? Hard to comment on her photo since Samantha stole the scene, but hopefully she’ll step up and do us normal sized women proud!

And tonight’s elimination:

Kathleen: Oh, Kathleen. Always sad to see the first girl have to pack her belongings and go home. And I can’t even put into my own words what I’m going to miss about her, even after just one episode, so, in closing, I give you her words. The greatest hits of Kathleen, an ode to her, if you will:

“I think every model wants to date Nigel Barker because he’s so…tall.” Um yeah, that’s the only reason. This reminds me of a friend in high school who said, “The Flintstones is a good show, but it’s so unrealistic because they start their car with their feet.” Um yeah, that’s the only reason.
“My thing is anti-fur. It’s like I hate fur.” Got it. Thanks!
“I know I’m going to have to do something with crap. Not crap literally, but something someone threw away.” Got it. Thanks!
“You’re not the judge of you anymore.” No, but I’m still the boss of me!
I was going to go down the “animals die naturally—like when they fight in the jungle and the woods--and it’s okay to use their fur for coats” road, but it’s too easy and I’m starting to feel a little guilty…Kathleen will be missed, but most definitely not forgotten.

And with that, until next week, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model!

BTW—who failed to tell me that there’s going to be a reality show to find the next Pussy Cat Doll?!?!? Yeah, I’m going to watch it, but I woulda auditioned for crap’s sake! Sure, I’m a five feet tall, thirty-seven year old Jew, but I coulda BRUNG IT. I was just dancing to that “Loosen Up My Buttons” song in my gym class (Urban Dance—or as my friend and I call it, “So You Think You Can Urban Dance!”). I coulda KICKED IT. But whatever. I’ll just watch instead.

Save Studio 60! I just don’t think The Black Donnellys are up to the job.

2007-02-27T15:45:00.000-08:00

Watching The West Wing via Netflix aside, I haven’t been hooked on an NBC drama since the heyday of ER, the years before the show started wearing its emotional manipulation on its sleeve, its bloodied hands reaching out from the television set, not merely to tug on my heart strings, but to wrench them violently out from behind my lungs and stretch them taught across my living room. And with the sitcom so near death that it needs to be rushed to Chicago General’s emergency room and intubated, I’ve been waiting for something exciting and enthralling to come along.

And then along came Studio 60. I had my concerns at the beginning, despite my great love of comedy and the likelihood of my loving a show about producing a comedy show. The first three episodes seemed to be nothing more than a forum for Aaron Sorkin’s ongoing crisis of faith and conflict with the religious right, no matter how great it was to see Matthew Perry back on the air, and no matter how in love with Bradley Whitford I had fallen (the result of said West Wing watching). I gave up after three episodes but returned spontaneously one night to find Danny professing his undying love for pregnant Jordan, Matt spontaneously kissing Harriet in between live sketches, and Aaron Sorkin’s trademark dialogue thriving in every scene. So, of course, now that I’m totally addicted, the folks at NBC are about to yank the needle from my arm. Officially, NBC is claiming indefinite hiatus, but that cat my parents told me was “going back to the pet store for a little while” has yet to return.

But, as devastated as I am by the likely loss, since I’m on some sort of post-Departed-Oscar-win high, I thought I’d give The Black Donnellys’ Irish mob tale a try and see what the execs in programming deemed a suitable and potentially more profitable replacement.

Using the Donnellys childhood pal Joey Ice Cream as a narrator being questioned by the NYPD about the whereabouts of some missing bodies, the pilot tells of the four Irish brothers and their progression from petty dessert theft to truck stealing and ultimately murder and Mob-dom. Jimmy is the eldest sibling who cannot recover from two events from his youth: a reckless driver shattering his leg and several years later, inadvertently leading Italian gangsters to beat his father to death. Kevin is the hapless one who spends his days gambling but has never, ever won a bet in his life. Tommy is the earnest one, the only brother making his way through college. Unlike his brothers, Tommy seems to have never done anything wrong in his life. Sean is the youngest and allegedly irresistible to any woman who comes within a mile of him. And then there’s Jenny Reilley, the girl next door who grew up with the boys and has a soft spot for Tommy who has been crushing on her for years. Unfortunately, she believes herself to be a married woman, unaware that her husband has been dumped in a dumpster, which no one has the heart to break to her.

Highly stylized with edgy edits, freeze frames, rewinds, fast forwards and Joey Ice Cream’s fast talking story telling, the first episode lays the show’s foundations, illustrating that the brothers will do anything for one another and that Tommy will do anything for Jimmy. Turns out, Tommy was the reckless driver who ran over Jimmy’s leg. Tommy never stole a car or anything else again and swore he would never let anything bad happen to Jimmy (Based on Jimmy’s existence thus far, Tommy’s not doing such a great job.). In Joey’s confession to the police, he recounts Tommy’s most recent effort to save Jimmy’s life when it was in jeopardy as a result of Kevin’s owing a bookie upwards of $5K. Tommy manages not only to thwart Jimmy’s ass kicking, but, with Kevin’s help, kill a principal Italian mobster along with all of his henchman, rendering Tommy the newest leader of the pack.

Oh, the humanity and irony of it all. The always-upstanding Tommy must now enter a life of organized crime. Lob off one head, and another one will always take its place. Thus, the rest of the season will follow as the boys defend their territory and each other in probably every episode.

Will I tune in for such affairs of the brethren? I might if the characters weren’t entirely one dimensional: Jimmy: chip-on-his-shoulder screw up (Tommy told him to jump off a bridge if he was in that much pain.), Kevin: loser (As of the pilot, this character is so poorly developed that I can’t even come up with an entertaining parenthetical for him), Tommy: saint turned sinner (But still so damn sincere that you can’t help but wish him well in his new mob-leader endeavors), Sean: cute-as-a-puppy-dog ladies man (I actually don’t find him cute at all but the ladies are supposed to adore him. Although, right now he’s in the hospital after getting the crap kicked out of him so he might be off the market for a while.). I also might tune in if the story lines weren’t riddled with contrivances: Of course virtuous Tommy was the driver of the stolen car that shattered Jimmy’s leg and ultimately his entire life! Of course there’s a cop who’s always looking out for the boys! Of course Jenny has been pining away for Tommy after years of being one of the boys, and of course Tommy harbors feelings for the tomboy turned hottie!

And I might tune in if the premise of the show was at all plausible (i.e. it’s hard to watch The Hand that Rocks the Cradle knowing the entire situation could have been avoided if Annabella Sciorra hadn’t hired Rebecca DeMornay off the street without checking references). Can we really believe that Tommy and Kevin blindsided several thugs on their home turf and then took down the feared Italian mobster who’s been running the hood from the same restaurant booth for decades? And now the Donnellys are going to run the business?

Frankly, I don’t think they’re up to it. Nor are they up for saving NBC’s Monday night 10pm time slight.

SAVE STUDIO 60!!!

Oscars! They Say Insanity is Doing the Same Thing Over and Over and Expecting Different Results

2007-02-26T01:15:00.000-08:00

No, Clive Owen wasn’t nominated for anything. And no, Children of Men didn’t win anything. Clive is just high on my “list,” so I like gazing upon him whenever possible.

Every year, I count down to Oscar day as excitedly as I if were a nominee preparing to walk the red carpet in an Elie Saab gown, which I couldn’t possibly be because a) I’d actually have to have been in a movie, and b) if I were, at about noon, I’d be getting a massage in my suite at The Four Seasons instead of wearing nineteen-year old sweats while having some post-workout hypoglycemic incident and almost passing out in the cereal aisle of the Quality Food Center next to the Kashi.

But regardless of my life’s lack of glamour, excitement, and fashion, Oscar day is a thrill and has been since I the first time I watched the affair in my parents’ bedroom as a kid. Amazingly, my father allowed some school night TV for special events, and the Academy Awards was one of those events. So, I have incredibly fond memories of gathering with my family, staying up late, and delighting in the celebrities, the heartfelt acceptances speeches, the clips of movies I had come to love, and the spectacle of it all.

Year after year, I still watch for the spectacle, but I think we can all agree, sometimes spectacle can be deadly dull when left in the hands of Academy Award producers. Year after year, since I started watching them in my own living room, I have come to realize that the Oscars are nothing but a rather tedious bore. But every year, my excitement swells, I watch every moment, and I am weary after the first ninety minutes—with about 250 more to go. But of course, I can’t miss the dresses, I must see who wins, and I have to keep watching in case one year, the show itself, the very production of the Academy Awards might knock my freakin’ socks off. It never will, but of course, I’ll never stop watching. So let’s get down to business and see how this year’s drudgery went down:

RED CARPET ARRIVALS

- I have a friend whose family is on the A-list in Spain and she claims that Penelope Cruz is a piece of shit as a human being. As an Oscar nominee, however, she looked quite the opposite.

- Oh Cameron…You looked far saner than you did at the Golden Globes. Your hair color is a much softer and more flattering brown and the dress was okay (not great, but okay), but what were you doing in those shoes? They looked like old-lady-dress-up footwear and your feet and legs appeared to be those of a fifth grade boy attempting to clunk around in old-lady-dress-up footwear.

- So glad Reese wore a long gown. She wore cocktail length dresses to the Golden Globes and the SAGs and while she looked lovely, especially sporting those new post-divorce bangs, it was time for floor length, and she rocked it.

- Kirsten Dunst…nonononono. The school girl collar, the metallic design, and the feathery hem did not work together as a team.

- I think Anna Wintour would not have approved of Anne Hathaway’s big bowed dress, however Emily Blunt’s fitted blue Calvin Klein was smashing.

- Jennifer Hudson, what happened? You looked absolutely perfect at the Golden Globes and the SAGs and you blew it on the biggest night of them all! Between the side swept hair, the Jetsons-esque shrug, and the billowy gown, something went horribly wrong. The red dress she wore during the musical number was far more flattering.

- I know Nicole Kidman need not follow Scientology now that she is no longer wed to one Mr. Cruise, but why is it she continues to resemble an alien life form? Too skinny, too blonde, too taught-skinned, and a ginormous red bow around her neck didn’t help matters much.

- I always cite Jennifer Lopez as one of my favorite dressers. Not tonight. With a body like hers, why would one opt for a shapeless Grecian dress?

- There’s a reason everyone wants to take Helen Mirren home. Please help me look that stunning when I’m sixty-one.

- I have no idea who Eddie Murphy’s date was, but her dress seems to have come from the Battlestar Gallactica collection.

- Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner, folks! Best dressed was Gwyneth Paltrow. Her dress was entirely unique and absolutely flattering. The only thing standing between Gwyneth and undisturbed beauty was her hairstyle. She obscured half the dress by wearing her hair over one shoulder, draped over one side of her chest. That gown required hair up and back.

- Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, and Jaden Christopher Syre Smith looked polished and poised as always. That’s gotta be all Jada’s doing, right? She always looks like she’s ready to kick someone’s ass, including her husband. Is there a Napoleon complex for women?

- Thank god Meryl is lovely and the most divine actress in the world because that woman cannot dress herself to save her life. However, I give her mad props for replying to an interviewer’s question about her fourteen Academy nominations with her corresponding size fourteen dress size.

- Did John Travolta have to dye his hair to match Kelly Preston’s leopard print dress which was way too much print for one woman?

- Rachel Weisz looks glorious, but she and Cameron suffer from the same my-hair-is-loose-but-lightly-pulled-back-and-tousled look, of which I am not a fan. They should take a hair styling cue from Penelope Cruz.

- I adore everything about Kate Winslet and will likely never say anything bad about her anywhere, ever and no need to start tonight. Beautiful!

HOSTING DUTIES

I heart Ellen DeGeneres. I really, really do. I’m a long time fan of her stand-up, I faithfully watched her sitcom, and I think her talk show is deeelightful. However, while I think she gave the Academy exactly what they wanted in a host in the post Chris Rock/John Stewart years, she didn’t give me much of anything. I enjoyed her opening monologue—safe, but humorous, evoking her talk show style in content and attire—but after that, I kinda forgot she was there until she kept showing up.

WINNERS AND LOSERS (just the biggies or we’ll be here all night)

Jennifer Hudson/Best Supporting Actress: I gotta say, I was surprised that the Academy went with the first time nominee who lost on American Idol. Pleasantly surprised, but surprised nonetheless. She was poised to win after the Golden Globes and SAGs, but Oscar does love to pull that rug out from under.

Alan Arkin/Best Supporting Actor: I had a sneaking suspicion the rug Oscar was going to pull was going to be out from under Eddie Murphy, also perfectly lined up to win this award. I got the feeling he didn’t have the same suspicion when Alan Arkin’s name was called. I wasn’t a fan of Little Miss Sunshine (I know, I know, I’m like the only one on the PLANET), but I’m an Alan Arkin devotee so I was happy for his win, although I was kinda hoping for some classic deadpan Arkin in his acceptance speech and was not quite prepared for utter earnestness.

Helen Mirren/Best Actress: Did anyone not see this one coming a mile away?

Forest Whitaker/Best Actor: I was rooting for Leo cuz I’ve recently fallen in love with his acting again, but I knew Forest would take it, unless the Academy fell prey to its love of old white men who’ve never won an award after a hugely distinguished career. I was also worried that I might have to hear Forest public speak again, which might have caused me to rip my fingernails off, as I told a friend earlier in the week. Amen and hallelujah, he wrote his acceptance speech down and read it quite nicely. I was with him until about the last three sentences…

The Departed/Best Adapted Screenplay: I’ve become rather fanatical about The Departed and I’m rather fanatical about writing, so I just had to note my joy over this one.

Little Miss Sunshine/Best Screenplay: I’ve become rather fanatical about my dislike of Little Miss Sunshine, despite my love of Alan Arkin and pretty much everyone who appeared in the movie. This leads me to make it known that I think the script was the movie’s downfall. You know, for me, the one person on the planet who didn’t actually like it. I knew it would win this though.

The Departed/Best Director: Due to Departed obsession, I’m thrilled for Scorcese and thrilled for the movie. Needless to say, it was about time (although if he’d won for Gangs of New York or The Aviator, I would have gone all Britney Spears and attacked a car with an umbrella in a vicious rage), but my one complaint is this: how can Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Francis Ford Coppola call themselves the Three Amigos? We all know that title belongs to Chevy Chase, Steve Martin, and Martin Short.

The Departed/Best Picture: I did not see this coming and it made the whole thing worth every damn minute. I’m still feeling the sting of Crash’s beating out Brokeback Mountain last year so I was certain The Departed would be overlooked for Babel’s multi-storied message. So glad the Academy got over that!

HIGHLIGHTS AND LOWLIGHTS

- “A comedian is the saddest man at the Oscars.” Brilliant.

- Um, why was it necessary to have a dance troupe form rather random movie logos? Sure some were nominated for best picture, but some, ah, weren’t. Did they just pick the ones with the best potential for human formation? A talented group, for sure, but I just don’t understand who hired Cirque du Soleil as Oscar entertainment (Please note that I am indeed aware that the dance troupe was Pilobolus and not Cirque du Soleil, as understanding a confusion as it might have been.)

- So did anyone else feel the lack of love during the Beyoncé/Jennifer Hudson duet? Hudson was dynamite without making it look like she was expending any effort at all, walking around like she knew she had Beyoncé beat cuz she was an Oscar winner despite being an American Idol loser. Beyoncé looked like she was out to remind everyone she was a Grammy winner even though her Dreamgirls performance was critically panned or ignored. She appeared to be singing her ASS off but could barely hold a candle to Hudson. I felt like Simon Cowell at the judging table, wanting to say to Beyoncé, “That song is too big for you. Please stop flipping your extensions around like this is the most intense performance you’ve ever given because your voice only supports your bad acting.”

- The evening was mercifully short on montages, but the necessity for the two that they did show was tenuous at best. I guess I could go for the portrayal of writers since I enjoy that sort of thing, but looking at America through the eyes of film? A bit on the vague side, wouldn’t you say? As for the In Memoriam montage, I go through the same thing every year: I get all sad again about the passings I remembered and then I get super depressed about the ones I had forgotten and I have to relive the pain as if it were new news all over again.

So until the pain of next year’s tedious affair, I will no doubt be looking forward to it with great and immeasurable expectation, counting down the days from nomination announcements to award ceremony when I will be planted on my couch happily bored for a minimum of four straight hours, no matter how many acceptance speeches they cut short.

Executive Decision

2007-02-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

Due to a harrowing TIVO glitch—harrowing not because the glitch was irreparable or irreversible, but because any disruption in the time/space/TIVO continuum causes the earth to feel like it’s tilting and pitching wildly out of control and I’m quite sure I’ll slide off of its surface into a vast void of nothingness where surely there’s no good television to be found—Spencer and I just finished watching this week’s episode of 30 Rock. All I can say is thank god for NBC’s new marketing tools which include full episodes of its shows on-line.

And thank god for this episode’s being dead-on-the-money hysterical. I might have to run around the apartment yelling “There’ll be snacks!!” for the rest of the weekend (courtesy of one of Rachel Dratch’s brilliant bit cameos). But in light of my tendency for falling in love with well written jokes (“Yo, where’s Fat Balls at?” “He’s at the hotel management program at Cornell.” “Way to go, Fat Balls! That’s a good program.”) or super silly musical arrangements (i.e. a well harmonized Tomorrow), I have decided not to blog about sitcoms, despite their being my most beloved form of comedy.

Remember the SNL sketch, “The Chris Farley Show” during which Chris Farley would interview celebrities and it usually went as follows?

Paul McCartney: Well, it's great to be here.

Chris Farley: [ uncomfortable ] You.. you.. you remember when you were with The Beatles?

Paul McCartney: Yeah, sure.

Chris Farley: That was awesome!

I think that’s pretty much how it would go down should I endeavor to blog about sitcoms. It’s not like there are exasperating contestants to critique, complicated plots to recount, or maddening new items to dissect (or ridiculously bad interviews conducted by Ann Curry about whom I rant on a fairly regular basis to due the inconceivable fact that there are people at The Today Show and NBC who continue to let her engage in any sort of conversation with other people.). There are, one hopes, twenty-three minutes worth of jokes and enough plot and character to keep you watching. But even in the heyday of Ross and Rachel’s will they/won’t they hoopla, there wouldn’t have been enough to necessitate commentary and my retelling my favorite punch lines—Remember “Ms. Chanandler Bong?” That was awesome!—would probably grow tiresome.

So therefore, my royal decree is thusly:

TV ON A SCHOOL NIGHT will not post regularly on sitcoms unless there is something particularly supercalifragilisticexpialidocious on which to pontificate.

And yes a TV blog's second post has also referenced a movie. And yes, it’s another Julie Andrews movie. I can’t help it! I love the woman! I love when she plays a nanny! I love when she plays a governess! And Mary Poppins is also on television every damn year so it totally counts as a TV reference. The hills ARE alive with the sound of music and a spoonful of sugar really DOES help the medicine go down.

And on that note (if it were a note Julie Andrews were singing, it would be a really, really high one)…

Executive decision made!

Let's Start at the Very Beginning. A Very Good Place to Start.

2007-02-22T00:59:00.000-08:00

The Sound of Music is on television at least once a year so no sassy comments about a TV blog's first post referencing a movie. When was the last time you saw Julie Andrews twirl around on a mountain top meadow, arms wide open to the world, on the big screen? And the last time you saw her singing and spinning on an NBC Sunday night special presentation?

Mm Hmm. Just as I suspected.

“When you read you begin with ABC, when you sing you begin with Do Re Mi,” and when you start a blog you begin with why you started it at all. I’m pretty sure the fates or whoever is in charge of that laws-of-attraction craze Oprah just started has put me up to this.

Here’s how the story goes:

In October of ’05, I started America’s Next Top Novel so I could blog about the glorious train wreck that is America’s Next Top Model while balancing it with the loftier ambition of numerous book reviews. Eventually, however, I was slowed down by how slowly I read (despite a fifteen year career in book publishing). I gave it up, deciding that I should probably write my own book instead of writing about everyone else’s (what with that creative writing degree and all). But, like the fourteen other novels I’d started, that didn’t go so well, likely due to the fact that I was spending most of my time with my ass on the couch, TIVO remote in hand. I gave up Top Novel in May of ’06 and the Luddite that sometimes lurks deep within breathed a sigh of relief.

Until last week.

Last week, thanks to corporate whoring—oh wait, I must mean corporate cross-promoting—my beloved Mychael Knight of Project Runway fame appeared at the Starbucks two blocks from my apartment to promote his My Starbucks t-shirt campaign, which seems to be about Starbucks promoting how they can customize drinks for customers which is what they’ve always done since the first time someone ordered a split shot brevé mocha, so who knows why they’re acting like this is some fancy new PR opportunity, but whatever. There was my Mychael at my Starbucks (or you know, the one closest to my home, which is slightly closer than the one that’s three blocks away). I left work to attend his mid-day engagement and those of my local Runway-watching posse who couldn’t join me waited eagerly for a report (Fun fact: Seattle has the highest population of Project Runway watchers in the country. Don’t ask me why though. Fleece is for warmth, not fashion, people!). In my former Top Novel style, I wrote up an email play-by-play with a link to a couple of photos and a video of me standing with Mychael (the Luddite lives—when I got to the autographing line I accidentally had my camera set to video). I hit send and sighed heavily. Suddenly, I missed blogging. In some sort of all-planets-aligned moment, several of my peeps wrote back saying that they missed my blog. Sigh.

I’d been walking around with blogging on the brain for days when yesterday, a friend wrote me about a call for writers she saw on The Superficial. Why not? I weeded through the Top Novel archives, submitted the required three sample posts, and started feverishly refreshing my Gmail account cuz they were undoubtedly going to be contacting me upon immediate receipt of my application.

Nine hours and several hundred Gmail log-ons later, I started this thing.

After all, America’s Next Top Model’s new cycle starts next week with Project Runway following in April, and I know So You Think You Can Dance has got to be right around the corner. And don’t even get me started on how excited I am that there’s a second season of Work Out and then there’s that new show Drive, with Nathan Fillion, and my new found obsession with Studio 60…

“When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything!!”