Jon & Kate Plus 8: Hang 'em from the highest tree

I just finished the season opener of Jon & Kate Plus 8. It was painful to watch, especially for anyone who has gone through the breakup of a marriage. Clearly they are each putting on the Brave Face that I remember so well from my own life, and that, perhaps, makes it harder for me at least to see. I get the sense that they are both doing the best they can in a crummy situation.

Meanwhile, the citizens are milling about yelling, Jump! Jump! Or maybe, to make the metaphor I'm reaching for clearer, Off With Their Heads!

I am astonished at the hysteria that this family has generated in the tabloid press, and thus on line, and therefore in Twitters and Facebooks etc. etc. etc. For a while public sentiment was against Jon, the doubledealing, cheating, oh-my-god-he-got-hair-plugs, what-does-he-do-for-a-living-anyway husband. But now, now Kate is on the rack because...because--

...because she's a woman and she isn't meek. I have a couple of book shelves full of most worthy historical assessments of the role of women, with titles like Disorderly Conduct, The Female Grotesque, and (one of my person favorites) The Madwoman in the Attic. They are all a testimony to the fact that in our culture, we have not wanted our women bold and beautiful and we have certainly not wanted them smart and articulate. Kate Gosselin fails on all four points, and thus she must be chastened, scourged, and maybe even burned at the stake.

As always, it amazes, saddens and disgusts me that it is mostly women who are casting the stones. Lord, how we love to hate each other. And we're so good at it, aren't we? While little boys bash each other over the head to establish dominance in the sandbox, we girls do it with sly innuendo and backbiting. We're the master (if I can use that word) of the verbal assault because really, that's the only ammunition our culture has allowed us.

I don't know what will happen to the Gosselins. I wish them well. I wish their period of time being scapegoats for the American shadow psyche is brief. I wish we weren't all so fucking eager to raise the flag and then, just when it's flying high, pull it down to trample it in the muck. I don't know--I guess I wish we weren't so human.

Dancing With The Stars - American Idol: the last word, sort of

Indulge me while I write about my true interest in life: television of the reality genre. T'is true that I'm a People mag sort of girl. Actually, I prefer US because they never try to be high-minded about their gossip and besides, my friend, Stefanie Wilder-Taylor does fashion reviews for them.

Stephanie and others do round-up/wrap-ups of shows like American Idol and Dancing With the Stars. I prefer to just pop in occasionally for the brief--140 character--insightful comment, which is why you may want to follow me on Twitter one of these days.

This week, unfortunately, my fleet fingers were otherwise occupied, so the final finales (as opposed to the penultimate finales) of both shows went by without my wit and wisdom. Or at least my wit. Or maybe just wisdom. I dunno, 'cause I tend to think I'm funnier than I am.

DWTS: Of course, Shawn Johnson won. She is, after all, America's Sweetheart. And we need to appreciate her more these days because when she finally grows up--and out--her body will settle into something resembling a fireplug, and we won't like her so much because she will no longer be Cute. Think Mary Lou Retton. Not only that, but Hair & Makeup really did right by her. Compare the look she sported in the Olympics, when I assume she was responsible for her own glitter and eyeshadow, to Tuesday night's, and there alone you're talking the difference between a girl and a woman. Now I'm wondering if she'll maintain that look--false eyelashes and all--for the 2012 Games.

American Idol: Of course, Krissss won. And I don't think it had anything to do with the homophobia thing. I think that is just an easy excuse, like the stutterer who couldn't get a job on radio because he was Jewish. Nor do I think Kris got the Christian vote. Actually, I didn't know there was a Christian Vote until he brought it up. I voted for Kris and I'm not Christian. I voted for Kris because I don't think Adam will wear as well in the public eye. The thing that made Adam so brilliant was that he Performed his songs. What he lacked was any real connection with the music and the audience. If singing is a form of communication, then Adam was Narcissus, creating the perfect picture--for himself.

Tonight begins So You Think You Can Dance, and I'll be there. As I will for the season opening of Jon and Kate Plus Eight. Aren't you excited????

Not In the Kitchen with Gwyneth and Mario

There are carrots and potatoes and maybe a head or two of garlic roasting in the oven. I've tossed them with olive oil and lightly sprinkled them with sea salt and ground pepper, the four variety kind. To what end, you ask? I'm not sure. They were what was in the refrigerator--you may remember them left over from my last culinary adventure--when I got VERY HUNGRY watching Mario Batali and Gwyneth Paltrow in On The Road Again in Spain.

This is an odd program. The premise seems to be that chef Mario Batali and Gwyneth Paltrow are on a culinary road trip through Spain. The purpose? Well, there is a lovely cookbook that they're flogging at the end of the show, written by Mario with assistance from Gwyneth. I don't think of her as being a particular expert on any cuisine, let alone Spanish. Doesn't she exist on a macrobiotic diet? Or love alone? But, no, Mario has told Oprah; Gwyneth has a healthy appetite. Is that sufficient expertise? What do you think?

They are, at least in the episode I watched, accompanied by a middle-aged man who seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place him, and a lovely young brunette, whose sole purpose seemed to be to offer a visual contrast to Gwyneth. The foursome drove for a while and then dined for a while. Driving and eating, this is the stuff of great drama.

Actually, it is unscripted television at its most banal, and I'm someone who loves reality shows. But the ones I watch are produced by people who understand arcane dramatic concepts such as story arc and dialogue. The successful reality show are cast so there there is a variety of personality types and edited so there is a narrative line throughout. But the characters in On The Road Again are, with the exception of Battali, bland, insipid, a bit like rice pudding without the raisins. Further, there is no story and the dialogue--well, think of the talk at your dinner table when everyone's mouth is full. All the four can offer is a variation on the theme of "Mmmmmmmmmm."

So in some way this is a gentle form of porn, watching Gwyneth Paltrow put things in her mouth and lick her lips and moan appreciatively. Perhaps that is its purpose after all. But on PBS--isn't that too cheap a thrill?

The Rachel Zoe Project

Call me shallow; call me stupid--but I love this program. I love Rachel and I love Brad. They're so incredibly cute, so mini perfect and intently intense about fashion. Like what else would one be so intently intense about?

And I hate Taylor. She's a bitch, a shrew and, after tonight's show, I see why Tay has been badmouthing Brad. I thought maybe the producers weren't showing us what a fuckup he was that would justify Taylor's disdain. But no, she's just pissed off that her friend didn't get Brad's job. Petty, petty, bitchy bitchy--and due for a comeuppance, I hope, in the next week or two. That's what I like about reality shows; they're the 21st century Morality plays.

See Me In a Goooooood Mood!

I just watched three hours of reality programming. Life in a microcosm. Competition on a small scale. Pettiness gets punished. That's my kind of reality.

America's Next Top Model: I want Isis to win. Why? Because she is so not your typical ANTM contestant. She's battling a bunch of negativity in the house, and it beat her down this time. She better get back on her high horse, flip the naysayers the bird and ride off into the sunset that she deserves.

Project Runway: I want Michael Kors to win. Oh, he's not a contestant. But he makes me laugh, and a man that makes you laugh is worth a fortune. Not to mention that he's Jewish.

Top Design: Is Andrea Schroder not the most gorgeous creature. And I sense that it's the producers that are reminding us again and again and again that--hey, she's married to Rick Schroder. And they're Mormon, which means that this is another arena of reality programming in which the Mormons excel.

And that's all I have to say about anything!

Nashville Star vs American Idol - The Judges

Here's the difference: Nashville Star, the judges are Serious with a capital S about critiquing the singers. America Idol, it's pretty much a joke, as we all know. The three judges on Nashville Star--Jeffrey Steele, John Rich, and Jewel--are working hard; they are not just stage dressing (that would be Billie Ray Cyrus). They're coming up with thoughtful, articulate, professional critiques of the particular performance and the singer generally. There's a sense, particularly with the two guys, that they see themselves as gatekeepers to Nashville; they don't want anyone in who doesn't really belong in the Country genre. That makes the show a real learning experience for the singers and for the audience, which adds a dimension that American Idol, with only one serious judge, can't achieve. The numbers are down on AI and I wonder if it's that it's become so very predictable. Who cares what Randy and Paula have to say since they don't ever say anything of substance. They've been coasting on cute and cute gets boring after a while.

Is The Food Channel Dumbing Down?

I think so. I just watched the latest episode of The Next Food Channel Network Star (or whatever it's called). Between the episode itself and the commercials, it seems clear that The Food Channel is looking to appeal to the common mom cook without much time (or talent?) in the kitchen. I don't mean to be snobby, but when I watch a cooking program, it's to be taken to a higher level in the kitchen. Rachel Ray doesn't cut it with me. Bobby Flay--eh, he's cute, albeit somewhat damp looking, but he doesn't inspire me to new culinary heights. Thinking about it, the only Food Channel programs I really enjoy are the ones with professional chefs doing high concept cooking. The other stuff--the easy, peasy in the kitchen stuff--nah, I can do that myself without the laugh track.

Blah blah blah blah

So--another day, another dollar. Oh, no, that only worked when I was earning a living. Now I'm just--not.

Last night I had one of those nights where my tiny little brain would not stop racing. It may have had something to do with the several ounces of chocolate I had right before turning out the light. But surely the milk chaser should have had some sort of soothing effect. One would think. Wouldn't one?

Today was one of those days when I suddenly realized at about 8:22 pm, that I had not spoken to another human all day. I talked to Molly, and she seemed to listen. But maybe not. I tried to work up a bit of a pity party for myself, but I just couldn't get there. I am realizing these days how much of my isolation is, well, it's My Isolation. It's how I like things. I do like to be alone. I like not having places to go and things to do. Except when the point comes, as it did about 8:20 pm, when I really wish I had SOMEWHERE TO GO AND SOMEONE TO SEE.

Tonight I watched Wednesday night's cooking shows: Hell's Kitchen and Top Chef. I find the incessant screaming in Hell's Kitchen a tad wearing. And the male egos always on display there a tad pitiful. Top Chef, on the other hand, offers a relatively calm kitchen (relatively, I said!), but there too the male egos--why, sometimes they're being exhibited by the women.

Tomorrow (are you beginning to pick up the theme here?) I will continue my ambidextrous machinations of the now two new websites that I'm creating. Me, Wordpress and Liquid Web--we're just like THAT.

Idol Gives Back

At what point does the appeal for donations by showing the reality of the needy's lives (and if that isn't an awkward amalgamation of words) move from helpful to hokey? Or--are all these give-give-give shows really doing good?
1. I loathe (okay, maybe dislike intensely) that program where the former model-turned-carpenter-turned-reality show star engineers the giving of a fantastic home--built and paid for by a corporation who garner more good will than any ad campaign could yield--to a needy-but-incredibly-deserving family. In the midst of an hour long program (minus commercials, of course), the plight of the family is dragged out for all of us to sob and sigh over: ah, the hard luck; oh, the disease; woe, the fickle finger of fate. At the end of the hour, the family's reward for having us slobber over their very life is a new house. Our reward is the relief those sobs and sighs afford. The network's reward is--well, you know what it is. This kind of a program is a 21st century version of Queen for A Day: may the most tragic--and entertaining--tale win and take home the crown, whatever it may be.

2. American Idol Gives Back: Is this in the same genre, only with better music and prettier people on stage?
I came in in the middle of it tonight, right about when Annie Lennox was doing something with poor black babies in Africa. That was only one of a number of Very Poor Folks trotted out for us, the viewing public, to see in all their misery and degradation. This, so that we would be moved to donate to the Idol Gives Back charity. We visited, among others, a New York mother and her two kids with Simon and a Kentucky family with Miley and Billy Rae Cyrus. I felt intensely uncomfortable, because of the way in which the meanness of these peoples lives was not only on show, it was the show. The camera-work was excellent, coming right in for a tender closeup of the ceiling fan with a bulb dangling forlornly; the sores on the New York mother's nose and forehead were technicolored; the Kentucky mother's teeth were--missing. Billy Ray Cyrus was practically gagging over the state of the Kentucky trailer. As the music dipped and soared, he stuttered that even when he'd called Kentucky home, he'd never seen such a place or knew that people lived like that. Simon, on the other hand, actually got in there and touched the people he was visiting, hugged them even, but all the while he looked veddy veddy British, stiff and formal and longing to Wash His Hands. I squirm right along with him, wondering what this family is thinking having this television star and his retinue, bright lights and camera, shoehorned into their tiny tenement. But then something changes for me. I find myself not so much anxious at these pictures of abject poverty, but involved with the mother and her kids. They have names now and faces and some dreams about what the future can be for them. They are, therefore, no longer the statistical They, but real people who I feel a connection to. My discomfort now is being matched by my involvement, my urge to participate, to act--to give back.

So here's the thing: when does outright manipulation of an audiences' emotions become necessary, a tool for teaching us, hoisting us up by the collar so that we are forced to look at the way the world really is? And if the only way in which we can be made to see is by sandwiching reality with starlight, is that such a bad thing? I don't know.

What I Learned From My Last Post

1. That my regular readers were struck dumb. I can't believe it was the quality of the post--oh no, never that. Perhaps it was the quantity. I have long questioned just how long a post should be before it is too long. There are some bloggers, not present company of course, who do go on and on and on and on and on, etc. etc. ad infinitum. One might say they have bloggorhea. One might--and I just did. I suggest a firm editing hand to those bloggers, but then I thought Emerson (as in Ralph Waldo) needed a good editor. And Leibniz as well.
2. That I am not the first to remark on Chikezie's gums. "Chikezie and gums" is evidentally a relatively popular search term.
3. That another popular search is for "Amanda Overmeyer and Jewish". I don't know why, since I'd be willing to bet she isn't (mainly because Jewish girls don't ride Harley hogs) and how it is that so many people who wrote about her also wrote about some Jewish thing. I did, yes, but in two completely separate posts. Which leads one to wonder just how and where that Google worm is crawling.
4. That I needn't hit Vegas with my American Idol bets. But in all fairness, I was calculating on a popularity contest result and America, this time America did the singing thing.

American Idol - by Jane

Yes, folks, I actually took notes while watching tonight. And now you, you lucky things, are the beneficiaries of same. To begin, then:

1. Amanda Overmeyer: she of the two-toned hair. What is it with this black and blonde thing--she's the third person I've seen it on and forgive me if I say, I don't like it, it looks cheap and tawdry and tatty and rocker chick. Oh, yeah, she IS a rocker chick. Okay, on her it's skunk chic. I got all caught up in her hair style tonight, because I was BORED. Here's what I wrote: "If she doesn't change up her singing style, she's going to lose because all that rock is boring after a while." Here's what Simon said (and I swear he said it after I wrote my note): "Predictable...in danger of being boring..."
2. Kristy Lee Cook: I like her. She's a plucky gal in her underdogdom, and that appeals to the bleeding heart in me. I also like her voice; it's smokey. Simon's take: "not a good performer." I think he's right. She seems to have a quirky personality in there, but it's not coming out when she sings.
3. David Achuletta: I'm a heartless bitch, but I don't like him. He's a kid, a twirp and however big his voice is, he doesn't have the life history to put into his singing. However, there is a resonance in his voice that is just incredible. I keep hearing that he's the frontrunner. Why? Because he's got these chubby cheeks and is a cute little boy? He's the tweeners heartthrob, which makes him a good matchup to Miley Cyrus. Is this what the music world has devolved to: wet dreams for eleven year olds?
4. Michael Johns: I want to like him, but somehow he never comes through for me. He's sorta damp in a moldering kind of way. My notes on him were, and I quote: "Eh." Simon said his perf was a "mess".
5. Brooke White: If I could look like anyone and sound like anyone, it would be her. She's so beautiful in a gangly, fey way, and when she sings, her voice gives me the chills. She's the only one of this lot who I can see up there with Kelly and Carrie. Simon said she was "terrible."
6. David Cook: Another "eh", but in all fairness, I was fiddling with the DVR when he was singing. But that counts, I think, that I thought the DVR was more important than his performance. Also, and you can tell him this, I HATE his hair.
7. Carly Smithson: If you're the sensitive type and/or you like Carly, skip to the next bit, because I am in my Simon Cowell mode here. She sang "Blackbird" and I thought it was a terrible, awful, horrible performance. Her interpretation of extreme emotion is to hunch over, a stance that was ghastly with that red maternity top she was wearing. It had big poufy roses all around the neck, which was not only ghastly (am I using that word too much?) but so incredibly unflattering. It made her look like a turtle who's shell is a tad too tight. And it was sleeveless. Which meant that the big poufy roses were competing with the extravaganza she's got tattooed all over her arm. Bad, bad move. It's one thing to proudly show your tats but (a) we KNOW she's got them, and (b) sometimes less is more, ya know. But I'm not done. In addition to the hunchback, Carly shows extreme emotion (and she was extremely emotional in this song) with three expressions. First, is the pop eyes, which surely is what she'd look like if someone gave her a good goose. Second, is the closed eyes. Third, is the smile which reveals her teeth. Maybe the dentist who came through with caps for Jason guy last year do something about Carly's fangs. Simon's verdict: he didn't like it, said it was "indulgent."
8. Jason Castro: Another "eh". He sang "Michelle" in the most pedestrian manner. Boooorrriinng. Simon said if he'd heard the perf on a radio, he'd have changed the station, but that Jason's "face sold the song."
9. Shyesha Mercado: She sang "Yesterday," a song that can make me cry when McCartney sings it. Not tonight. She said she wanted "to touch everybody the way the song touched" her, back in Middle School. She didn't touch me. It started off too high and her voice got all wispy. Midway though she got better, and Simon said it was "your best perfomance so far." Not for me.
10. Chikezie: There's something very sweet about his face and I want him to do well, but I dunno, not an "eh" but not a bra burner either. Also, when that dentist gets done with Carly, he should do cosmetic surgery on Chikezie's gums, which need to be foreshortened.
11. Ramiele Malubay: Who the hell is styling her? They've got her looking like some Phillipino Cholo girl. The outfit was dreadful, the hat was ridiculous and she was tottering around on shoes that were about as big as her head. She's got a terrific voice, but she was all over the place tonight. She sang "I Should Have Known Better" and it should have sounded better.

Because this is a popularity contest more than a singing contest, I think Kristy, Michael and Chikezie will be in the bottom three. Who goes? Probably Kristy.

Dancing With The Stars & The Bachelor

You get two for the price of one, fans.

Here's my critique of the first: Gosh, it takes forever for these people to do their little dip and sways. They could have cut the music by a half as far as I'm concerned. Maybe, where Penn is concerned, by three-quarters. And totally erase that goofball who's manhandling the lovely Julianne. I know the real bloggers give a play by play of each couple, but I'm not one of the real bloggers, so I'm just going to give you highs and lows, with an emphasis on the latter, because that's just how I am. So here's my prediction: Jason will last until almost the end, but he won't win. Adam will go on Tuesday. Steve will go to week five or six. And that sexy, sexy, R & B boy--he'll take the trophy!

First, a confession: I have never watched The Bachelor before. There is something too totally twee about some guy handing roses to the "lucky beautiful ladies"--well, frankly, it makes me want to spew. (Isn't that an evocative word, spew? It sounds just like what it is). However, this time I got caught by the Bachelor himself. He's a Brit, an Oxbridge man, who's now a banker and, as all good Brits do, wears brown shoes with his gray suit. He seems exceptionally down to earth and focused. The not so sub-text of his interview was that he had a messed up love affair, his father had a stroke, and thus, the Bachelor is trying to get bewedded and befathered before dear old dad dies. Good luck, mate. I left after the first umpteen Lovely Ladies exited their stretch limos (here's a gig for you--drive a rock star around by day and a reality star by night), and truly, they are a motley crew. It didn't help that they were meeting the Bachelor in the chill night air of Los Angeles in winter (note to all: there is a reason why Angelenos always take a sweater or jacket with them at night). Oh, and it was raining, which didn't do much to their blow-outs--and that only serves as a testimony to the hair care products the show is using. No, what drove me from the television was the utter insipidness, the vacuous, vacant, vapidity of almost all of them. Except for, I think her name was Amanda. She has possibilities.

That's a wrap for tonight. I'll tune in again to DWTS. And The Bachelor? eh.

Project Runway - The Finale

Gillian...Christian...Rami

I love Gillian's clothes. They're so incredibly wearable. But Christian's are outstanding: wild, dramatic, gorgeous. Rami's? Not so much. As the judges said, he's got a problem with color--as in, yucky blue and pidgeonblood red.

Yeah!yeah!yeah! Christian won.

Here She Comes...

When I was a kid, watching the Miss America contest was right up there with watching the Oscars. Yeah, it's been a joke all these years since, but I was willing to see if they could actually make it more relevant and contemporary and all those other things that they've been advertising. I watched the Miss America Reality Check where the judges were trying to get the women to lose the makeup and the hair spray--and they did for that show, pretty much. In the ads for the actual contest, you could see that we were supposed to think of Miss America as another American Idol or Dancing With The Stars. But someone forgot to tell the organizers of the state competitions, because by and large what they've put in front of us would be sneered off the stage by the likes of Cowell and Bruno. In the talent competition, there was only ONE contestant that was remotely 21st century. The others were ballet dancers (make that mediocre ballet dancers) opera singers, and a violinist, who wasn't bad but what do I know about violin playing?

I've been live Twittering the finals, so if you want to see my scoop, eyes right:

For Ryan Seacrest, an Ode...

I was going to do this is pentameter with an ABBA CDDE rhyme scheme, but damned if I can remember what all that shit was about.

I used to know it. I used to know not only the common parts of speech, but those uncommon--and therefore kinda cute. A friend told me the other day that her son could use my help because he was studying metaphors and similes. All I could think--it popped into my head like a blinking neon sign--was FOS. Figures of Speech. And then the next blink: Tropes. Which is what FOS actually are. I kept silent, though, because she's a new friend and I didn't want to scare her away.

So I was going to do my encomium to Ryan Seacrest as an ode. But first I had to Google odes and when I saw all the stuff about meter and rhyme schemes, I was like: Oh, yeah, vaguely, I remember that. It was not unlike the time I had to write an article about orgasm during a multi-year dry (um huh) spell. Oh, yeah, I remember that, vaguely.

Thus, my Ode to Ryan Seacrest has died aborning, and this rather pedantic piece of prose will has to suffice.

In all of the huge keffuffle (now there's a word they taught us in grad school) over American Idol, no one ever mentions Ryan. Other than to quibble with his clothing or the closeness of his shave. The focus in AI is always on the contestants and the judges. Who was good, who should be sent home. Or the relative merits of Randy and Paula as judges compared to the great god Simon.

True, all of these people are elements of what makes AI the success that it is. They are the characters in the drama that is played out each week. But a play takes a playwright and since AI is live and unedited, that dramaturge to a great extent is Ryan Seacrest. His script is minimal; timing and segues are probably all he has in front of him. He's got to take each moment of drama or trauma and make it entertaining. Do you know how hard that it to do? How quick-witted he has to be? How aware of all aspects of the show, past, present and future? How verbally apt and psychodynamically able he has to be?

Take the other night, for example (no, you take it, no you--). I think it happened when Jordin finished singing. Randy has done his "Yo" thing and Paula had clapped her pitty pitty hands when Simon, in full roar, absolutely eviserated Jordin. Not that what he was saying wasn't true. Not that Jordan didn't already know it. But for some reason--and who knows with Simon--he felt the need to grind it in. Take his thumb and really pulverize to a paste.

It was, to say the least, an awkward moment. And that is one of Ryan's tasks--to smooth over the awkward moment. To save the contestant, to make the audience feel comfortable with the tension. He did it this time by making some comment about Simon, that tangentially maybe sortof could be assumed to allude to his girl friend. And Simon smacked back.

He took, as the Brits say, "the hump" and got all "pissy" (as they also say). I'm not going to answer your question, he told Ryan, because you were just rude about my girlfriend. I want you to apologize for insulting her. They got into a bit of a pissing contest what with the no I didn't yes you dids flying back and forth for what seemed like forever. Would Ryan apologize? Would Simon back off? No, and yes.

The easiest thing for Ryan to do would have been to apologize. Everyone could have gone back to breathing and nothing would have been lost. Except for Ryan's ability to control Simon, which is mandatory to the success of the show. Ryan has to humanize Simon for the audience, and he has to do it while not alienating Simon himself. It's a tricky tightrope wire he walks there, and he does it admirably.

Thus, my non-ode. Ryan earns his money, and probably more. The show, without him, would not be AI, as is true, of course, of Simon as well. The contestants will come and go, Paula and Randy may fade away, but Ryan and Simon: without them, AI would be just another amateur hour. Simon gets the accolades for this all the time. Ryan doesn't. So I wanted to say so.

Things About Which I Might Write

Christ, my grammar is good. No dangling participles for me, nosireebob. (Picks nose, shuffles feet, clears throat)

1. I sent two--count 'em TWO--job apps on Monday, faxed them that is, and I have not heard from either. Such is my job search and thus it is going. D. posits that I might be a trickle or two hasty in expecting to hear back from them, but jesus, if they aren't dazzled by my resume and stunned by my letter, then what gives????? I expect major responses when I speak, people.

2. I signed up for BlogHer'07 today. I'm not eager or anything. Such is my social life and thus it is going, or not, as the case may be. I booked my hotel (the W) ages ago and got a double should anyone want to share (please send your Slam Book from high school as No Creeps Allowed. Just Nerds.)

3. This time I'm bringing cards. And t-shirts, the ones referencing Descartes: Blogito Ergo Sum that I'm having made up. I'll put them on the site when they're ready.

4. Blurbomat has a great photo on his blog, a sky shot, about which I commented, "Fan-fucking-tastic!" I am not only a grammarian of exceptional note; I am also articulate and well-spoken. If you like his, I refer you to mine on Flickr, which are pretty fan-fucking-tastic too if I say so myself. Which I just did.

5. I traded a necklace for a felted purse on LeahPeah's Trade A Craft site. This was our first trade, and we all shuffled around in corners fixing our hair and clearing our throats. Till one brave soul told me she liked mine and did I like hers and I did and we did and it was good. Go look. Join. Post photos. Be good.

6. Speaking of which, sort of, anybody else out there watching Work Out on Bravo channel? I'm trying to figure out what the demographics for the show are: gay women? straight men who like gay women? workoutbuffs hoping for a tip or two? Me, I watch it because it takes place in West Hollywood and makes me feel like I'm still a part of the real world there. I also like Jackie, although not in that way. Not that there's anything wrong with it. She's really brash and out-there (which I mean in the most non-gay way), but there is also a sweetness about her, a vulnerability that makes her seem like she'd be someone I'd want to know.

7. I have just drained the dregs of my morning coffee. And it's only 3 p.m. About tea time, yes?

ANTM, or I wish I could tell you...

...that I doing something wild and wonderful yesterday. However, I got caught up in the second season of America's Next Top Model Marathon. God knows when it started, but I checked in at about 2-ish, just intending to keep myself company while I finished wrapping gifts. At 11 p.m., after Yalonna won, we turned the TV off. Yes, we. D, too, was mesmerized. There is something about that show that sucks you in.

First, I love Tyra. Yes, I know. I'm so horribly out of it, but I think she's doing wonderful things in the world; sort of a junior Oprah (who, incidentally, is beginning to annoy and bore me--is it just me, or has she gotten too thin? and too Lady Bountiful? Hubris, O, hubris). And the producers on ANTM have a terrific sense of story. In all the seasons it has been on, there are few times that it's been predictable.

Unlike other reality shows I could mention. As in The Apprentice, which I will not be watching. Or Survivor, which has become my multi-tasking option. And even American Idol has gotten woefully predictable.

I watched a couple of Britain's Next Top Model the other night, and it wasn't the same as ANTM. For one, the production values on BNTM suck, as is the wont of the Brits. I mean, the judges sat at a long table covered with a cloth in front of a hanging cloth and that was the extent of the Judging set. Tacky tacky. The competitions and shows were also much meaner. And the girls, ah, the gels--I spent too long in England I suppose, and my ear is still finely honed to accent differentiations, but the contestants for the most part sounded stupid. Dumb. Like they belonged back at Boots stocking shelves. The equivalent contestant in ANTM's season two was Shandi, who somehow got plucked from behind a Walgreen's counter and make it to the final three. It was fun watching her evolve from homely geek to sorta-confident sorta-model, and she did it with such humility.

Perhaps I needed that day-long fix of ANTM because I was so unbearably, excruciatingly disappointed with the finale of this latest season. I know Caridee was America's Sweetheart, but even the judges in the last test said she didn't hold a candle to Melrose. So how come Melrose didn't win? We wuz robbed!!!!!!!!!!