Down the red runway they came, clutching their handbags and flipping the hair away from their faces self-consciously. The fat women of "More to Love" were looking to get hitched, preferably tonight, and preferably to the fat man at the end of the runway. They cried to the cameramen about their terrible dating lives, their nights spent watching skinny bitchez get the men they deserve, and affirmed that they were "ready! right now! for love!" This moment will never happen again, they said, they will never have the opportunity to meet another person ever in their lives, it was now or never, never ever, just now, on camera, to-night, just this moment, a moment like this, never again.
And they were talented, and deserved of our attention, and this was very important to clear up in the beginning, just so we don't get the wrong idea and think these women were in-any-way-average. Why, one could even speak in Spanish, but only sort of, and another knew how to jump and straddle her legs and foist herself into a lighted pool. Yet another was an excellent shit talker and could shit talk a storm about that woman who just wants to foists herself into pools. There was also a nanny, a waitress, a teacher, and a...rocket scientist?
"Yes, I'm a, UHMMMMMM, rocket scientist" this woman said to blonde man. "Wow!" he exclaimed, but then she looks scared, like her chances had been dashed. "I hope that's not toooo scaryforyou!" "I'm actually a garbagewoman," she wanted to say, but it was too late, her five seconds were up, her time in front of America had expired, and she was the weakest link, goodbye.
"What will happen to these women?" we're forced to inquire. Will blonde fat man just pick the skinniest one? "What is he looking for?" the fat women cry. It's all just so terribly scarily unclear. And there will never, ever be another time for love except tonight, right now, in front of the cameras, where all can see every rumple, every tear, every wispy hair, every nervous, jittery movement. Because love is not about any of the things we think it is, it's actually about projecting your emotions on stage, and revealing your battered soul to an anonymous audience of millions, and begging them for acceptance. And it's not love unless this man says the feeling is mutual, and is willing to kiss you beneath a palm tree, in front of a lighted pool.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Glee: A Review
What is this? There are girls spinning in the air to rap music. Why are they in the air? Things aren't explained. The one thing we do know is that their coach is the forcible lesbian from 'Best in Show' who speaks like a drill sergeant. She compares everything about cheer leading to something dire and awful like waterboarding, guilting her players into more and more ridiculous poses and formations.
Where are we? Oh, right. The proto-typical all-American high school, with all the usual social hierarchies. You see, Glee choir is the lowest of the low; they are so beneath the hierarchy they are actually gnomes living in the high school's water pipes. Instead of Glee, they should be Gloom, because that's how they live: in a gloomy doomy subterranean social strata that shares space with rats and those who play Magic cards.
Cut to the young, impressionable teacher who just wants to make a difference in the world. He's given the opportunity to re-vamp the high school Glee club and goes about setting up a registration list. The candidates include a gay boy who wears Marc Jacobs and sings like a fifty year old woman, the world's most stereotypical black teenage girl who says things like "Hell to the No" (I'm still not sure whether this character is commenting on black characters or if this is FOX and I should just shut the hell up) and a wheelchair-bound boy whom characters push around and then just let go. There's also a pretty young thing who's meant to represent the Myspace generation, and who's obsessed with her own youtube channel.
But that's not enough! The Glee teacher must have a sexyface to represent the club, someone who will transgress social rank and provide sweet, sweet sexual tension on stage, someone like, like a football player! Yes, yes. Except all the football players think Glee's for fags (and they're oh so right about that, so deliciously right), but what about that one football player? The one singing in the shower? Oh sure, he's a bit bulky and tone deaf but look at that face, look at those muscles, look at that effortless air of masculinity! Weelchair boy and Marc Jacobs boy just won't do!
So. Jockboy is snagged from the locker room and dragged, naked, kicking and screaming, to the theater practice room where he is forced to sing Billie Holiday, or something. Together, we watch Glee go through the motions of their first rehearsal; a bumbling thing that would shame a community theater stage.
But they have ambition. And beneath those clothes are diaphrams of steel, and a steely resolve for soaring new versions of pop music standards.
But first the team must suffer through a rival's remix of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab," set to a jazz-pop tempo and choreographed like a Broadway showstopper: big, brash, hip. The players drop and fall to the ground and twirl their partners and tap dance and snap their fingers on either side of the stage like one long compilation of every musical theater number ever performed.
The Glee folks are shocked, terrified by their competition. "What is this alternate universe where Glee is actually a popular way to spend time?" they ask themselves, looking utterly humiliated. As the lone jock in the club walks out of the theater, a steel brass quartet provides the soundtrack to his befuddlement.
The next day, jock boy is cornered by his fellow football players. See, Glee is for fags, and he's not a fag, right? Of course not, he missed practice because he was busy, helping his, uhm, mom, with her, uh, prostate surgery. There were no sequins involved, no singing, no calls and response. Just prostates. He's off the hook, prostate surgery, plain and simple, right?
But here comes the real test of Jock boy's allegiance to musical theater geekdome. A handicapped member of the Glee team has been locked up in a portapotty. He's yelping. Team members are laughing, like evil hyenas bent on gay domination. It is the test.
Jock boy releases handicapped boy from the stinky fingers of the portapotty and sticks it to his team mates, telling them they live in bumbfuck nowhere and why don't they just lock themselves in a portapotty because that's where their lives are going to end up anyway - in a cloistered, miserable stinkhole. The team members look shocked. Jockboy has switched ranks. He's obvs a fag.
But, to us, it is clear Jockboy is going to carry Glee to fame with his adorable face and sweaty jersey and easily-styleable hair. It's obvious: he's the winning ingredient.
Jockboy and Myspacegirl have their first duet, to "Don't Stop Believing." Black girl, gay child, and handicapped boy provide back up doo wops and such. Of course, people from the school - rivals, teachers and randoms - are in the area and stop by and hear how amazing they sound and shake their heads and mutter to themselves about how it's not fair that their talent knows no bounds. And the emotional bonds of the club are strengthened the way folks are always strengthened when they inspire jealousy in other people.
But there's a problem with music teacher. See, music teacher don't get paid fer shit. And his wife, well, she wants the Crate and Barrel, Crate and Barrel or at the very least Pottery Barn, and all he can provide is Ikea or maybe dollar store Mexican candy, which isn't furniture at all! So what will he do? Will he quit teaching? Will he quit Glee club? But they just sang a cover of "Don't Stop Believing!" It was such a bad song, and now it's been sparkled with gay pixie dust.
And what of Myspace girl? Will she stop having drinks thrown in her face? Will her myspace page acquire nicer comments or maybe even online "buddies"? Just WHAT will happen? Will Marc Jacobs boy buy a new Marc Jacobs shirt? Will jockboy take his shirt off again, preferably on stage and while making out with a boy? Will lesbian drill captain have a change of heart and decide she wants to join Glee, and take off her shirt and embrace them all with sweaty abandon? What? That could happen! Oh yeah? WHAT THEN?! WHAT WILL HAPPEN?!
Where are we? Oh, right. The proto-typical all-American high school, with all the usual social hierarchies. You see, Glee choir is the lowest of the low; they are so beneath the hierarchy they are actually gnomes living in the high school's water pipes. Instead of Glee, they should be Gloom, because that's how they live: in a gloomy doomy subterranean social strata that shares space with rats and those who play Magic cards.
Cut to the young, impressionable teacher who just wants to make a difference in the world. He's given the opportunity to re-vamp the high school Glee club and goes about setting up a registration list. The candidates include a gay boy who wears Marc Jacobs and sings like a fifty year old woman, the world's most stereotypical black teenage girl who says things like "Hell to the No" (I'm still not sure whether this character is commenting on black characters or if this is FOX and I should just shut the hell up) and a wheelchair-bound boy whom characters push around and then just let go. There's also a pretty young thing who's meant to represent the Myspace generation, and who's obsessed with her own youtube channel.
But that's not enough! The Glee teacher must have a sexyface to represent the club, someone who will transgress social rank and provide sweet, sweet sexual tension on stage, someone like, like a football player! Yes, yes. Except all the football players think Glee's for fags (and they're oh so right about that, so deliciously right), but what about that one football player? The one singing in the shower? Oh sure, he's a bit bulky and tone deaf but look at that face, look at those muscles, look at that effortless air of masculinity! Weelchair boy and Marc Jacobs boy just won't do!
So. Jockboy is snagged from the locker room and dragged, naked, kicking and screaming, to the theater practice room where he is forced to sing Billie Holiday, or something. Together, we watch Glee go through the motions of their first rehearsal; a bumbling thing that would shame a community theater stage.
But they have ambition. And beneath those clothes are diaphrams of steel, and a steely resolve for soaring new versions of pop music standards.
But first the team must suffer through a rival's remix of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab," set to a jazz-pop tempo and choreographed like a Broadway showstopper: big, brash, hip. The players drop and fall to the ground and twirl their partners and tap dance and snap their fingers on either side of the stage like one long compilation of every musical theater number ever performed.
The Glee folks are shocked, terrified by their competition. "What is this alternate universe where Glee is actually a popular way to spend time?" they ask themselves, looking utterly humiliated. As the lone jock in the club walks out of the theater, a steel brass quartet provides the soundtrack to his befuddlement.
The next day, jock boy is cornered by his fellow football players. See, Glee is for fags, and he's not a fag, right? Of course not, he missed practice because he was busy, helping his, uhm, mom, with her, uh, prostate surgery. There were no sequins involved, no singing, no calls and response. Just prostates. He's off the hook, prostate surgery, plain and simple, right?
But here comes the real test of Jock boy's allegiance to musical theater geekdome. A handicapped member of the Glee team has been locked up in a portapotty. He's yelping. Team members are laughing, like evil hyenas bent on gay domination. It is the test.
Jock boy releases handicapped boy from the stinky fingers of the portapotty and sticks it to his team mates, telling them they live in bumbfuck nowhere and why don't they just lock themselves in a portapotty because that's where their lives are going to end up anyway - in a cloistered, miserable stinkhole. The team members look shocked. Jockboy has switched ranks. He's obvs a fag.
But, to us, it is clear Jockboy is going to carry Glee to fame with his adorable face and sweaty jersey and easily-styleable hair. It's obvious: he's the winning ingredient.
Jockboy and Myspacegirl have their first duet, to "Don't Stop Believing." Black girl, gay child, and handicapped boy provide back up doo wops and such. Of course, people from the school - rivals, teachers and randoms - are in the area and stop by and hear how amazing they sound and shake their heads and mutter to themselves about how it's not fair that their talent knows no bounds. And the emotional bonds of the club are strengthened the way folks are always strengthened when they inspire jealousy in other people.
But there's a problem with music teacher. See, music teacher don't get paid fer shit. And his wife, well, she wants the Crate and Barrel, Crate and Barrel or at the very least Pottery Barn, and all he can provide is Ikea or maybe dollar store Mexican candy, which isn't furniture at all! So what will he do? Will he quit teaching? Will he quit Glee club? But they just sang a cover of "Don't Stop Believing!" It was such a bad song, and now it's been sparkled with gay pixie dust.
And what of Myspace girl? Will she stop having drinks thrown in her face? Will her myspace page acquire nicer comments or maybe even online "buddies"? Just WHAT will happen? Will Marc Jacobs boy buy a new Marc Jacobs shirt? Will jockboy take his shirt off again, preferably on stage and while making out with a boy? Will lesbian drill captain have a change of heart and decide she wants to join Glee, and take off her shirt and embrace them all with sweaty abandon? What? That could happen! Oh yeah? WHAT THEN?! WHAT WILL HAPPEN?!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Thai Tom: an Obituary
Thai Tom has apparently been shut down by food inspectors, which is sad. The cramped, hot and probably even-dirtier-than-I-could-tell restaurant will be remembered for its excellent Swimming Rama dish - a bed of spinach flooded with spicy peanut sauce and topped with chicken - as well as its traditional Pad Thai - which tasted like it contained some sort of secret mix of spices that made it more authentic and delicious than any other Pad Thai I've ever tasted. The owners were always efficient, if a little rushed, and I'd argue the blaring Thai pop music was tolerable, since the food was just that good. While walking down the Ave past Rudy's and past the disgusting Jack in the Box, the smell of Thai Tom always meant you were nearing the better parts of that over-crowded, overwhelming and dangerous street. Thai Tom, you will be missed (if indeed you are actually closed and this is a permanent thing, if not...hi!, see how much you would be missed if you were actually closed!? Get yo shit together!)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Four Steps to Creating a Political Blog in Seattle
Publicola gets written up in a Harvard journalism publication.
Buchanan on Maddow
Isn't it nice when all of your values are affirmed by a cable news show host? Who'd have thought I'd even be able to write that sentence five years ago?
Rachel Maddow spent part of last night's show addressing the hateful diarrhea that spewed out of Pat Buchanan's mouth the last time he was on her show.
Conservative pundits constantly lie about things like this and get away with it. It's nice to know Maddow, for one, won't take it.
Rachel Maddow spent part of last night's show addressing the hateful diarrhea that spewed out of Pat Buchanan's mouth the last time he was on her show.
Conservative pundits constantly lie about things like this and get away with it. It's nice to know Maddow, for one, won't take it.
WebMd
Remember the time when you actually had to call up a doctor and ask him what was wrong with you? I don't. These days, every twitch, every stomach pain, every day of feeling le tired has a cause which can be found online.
Which brings us to...THE SYMPTOM CHECKER. This hypochondriac's wet dream can be found by clicking on a corner of the WebMd home page. Click, and up pops thousands of symptoms. Are you confused? Perhaps you have dimentia from a head injury. Tired? Chronic kidney disease. Hungry for ice, dirt, or paper? Wait...what?
Maybe you have...crazymouth?
Real cause in the comments thread.
Which brings us to...THE SYMPTOM CHECKER. This hypochondriac's wet dream can be found by clicking on a corner of the WebMd home page. Click, and up pops thousands of symptoms. Are you confused? Perhaps you have dimentia from a head injury. Tired? Chronic kidney disease. Hungry for ice, dirt, or paper? Wait...what?
Maybe you have...crazymouth?
Real cause in the comments thread.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Quote of the Day
The funniest thing about this show is kind of what's universally funny about teenagers: that they like to pretend they're a lot older than they are. That the experiences of short days and fleeting months compounds for them into years' worth of torturous drama. Their newly formed, Bambi-legged personalities are given such weight and consideration. Kelli is This, PC is That. These kids don't seem to realize that basically everything in them is malleable at this point, that they'll be entirely different people—aside from a few core things—by the time they wake up tomorrow morning. So watching them be so steadfast and sure of Who and What they are, with all these things that they've done, is both silly and sad. Just like being young!
Richard Lawson on "NYC Prep"
Saturday, July 11, 2009
The Greatest Youtube of Our Generation is Back Online
Are you the type of person who sits by the television and narrates, with a loopy sense of interpretation, the subtext of everything (reality tv, soap operas, etc)? This woman is the master of doing this! Behold: "Welcome to my Home"! Back online, after being pulled by Ms. Brenda Dickson herself!
My friend taught me how to save youtubes to your hard drive by adding the word "kick" before "youtube." This video is now on my hard drive forever. Take that, Brenda Dickson!
My friend taught me how to save youtubes to your hard drive by adding the word "kick" before "youtube." This video is now on my hard drive forever. Take that, Brenda Dickson!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
"Finally, an Honest Bar Mitzvah Invitation"
Have you ever been to a bar mitzvah? That "coming of age" ritual every Jew undertakes at the tender age of thirteen? Often ostentatious, long, and as expensive as a "Super Sweet Sixteen" episode, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs place an especially onerous burden on parents. Who were silent. Until now...
Behold: "the Honest Parent's" Bar Mitzvah invitation!
That last line is my favorite.
Thanks, Neal.
Behold: "the Honest Parent's" Bar Mitzvah invitation!
"It is with great stress, emotional and physical fatigue and incredible financial sacrifice beyond comprehension,that we invite you to join us as our wonderful son
Jacob Adam
is called to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah.
Saturday, May 12th - (yes we realize its Mother's Day Weekend)
Temple Israel
14 Coleytown Road
Westport, Connecticut 06880
at the ungodly hour of 9:00 am even though you don't really need to be there until 10:20am to catch the real action. If you make it through the 3 hour service, please skip the kiddush (its just cookies and cake) and join us instead for an overly large and ostentatious Kosher (my husband's idea) evening meal, which starts at 7:00 PM,(not 8:00 PM.. or you will miss out on the 2000 canapes).
Birchwood Country Club
25 Kings Hwy S
Westport, CT 06880 (which we had to join just for this event and you would not believe the initiation fees)
You will be in the presence of lots of boisterous and expensive entertainment and 60 to 70 unruly pre-teens wearing expensive dresses, funny hats, fake bling and brand new white ankle socks...as well as 80-100 middle aged+ adults, some balding, some with bad toupees, most will be professionally coiffed, designer attire galore, lots of REAL bling, and most "tootsed" to the nines. At least 1/3 will be hormonally challenged and some will act stupid while under the influence. Some will not even know where or who they are. Some will complain about the food. Blah Blah Blah.
Please have the courtesy of showing up if you RSVP that you are attending, or you will be billed for $210.00 a plate if you are a no-show. Please RSVP as soon as you get this and not a day before the cut-off date. I can't take the stress. The gift of choice is either green, or contains a routing and account number. "Off the top of your head" gifts and Gift Cards are a waste of your time and ours.
Hope you can make it! Lisa and David Miller
Dress: Black Tie optional
Theme: 007 James Bond
BYO yarmulke. I don't have the strength.
That last line is my favorite.
Thanks, Neal.
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