This would not be quite so humiliating if, as author of an etiquette book, she weren’t a self-proclaimed ‘expert’ on how to publicly present one’s self.
Because singing (in front of others) while tone-deaf (aka SWT) is the least dignified thing one can do, no?
Actually, that’s not true. Engaging in SWT–with the subject being how classy you are– in front of an at-home television audience of several million people is worse. And unlike The (divorced) Countess (by previous marriage), I have credentials to say so: in undergrad (after graduating charm school myself of course) I taught etiquette (for 2 different charm schools, no less!)
To quote the song, Elegance is Learned… best from an actual professional (see above).
At the end of the day, all we can do is thank god they have software to treat SWT (aka Auditory Photoshop)! Because now the world won’t be subjected to Luann’s embarrassing foray into SWT …unless they watch TV of course.
Update: Apparently the doctored version of this song– not unlike that of Tardy for the Party– sounds much different than it did on television. Because it is currently at #9 on iTunes’ dance chart. Will Luann beat Kim of the Real Housewives of Atlanta in the battle of reformatted SWT singles? It won’t be easy, as Kim’s “Tardy for the Party” peaked at#3 on iTunes’ dance chart… and #80 on the overall chart.)
Stay tuned… but use protection (from SWT): keep the earplugs handy!
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- SNEAK PEEK: See Countess LuAnn in the Studio – Un-AutoTuned (tvwatch.people.com)
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- Money Can’t Buy You Talent Either (dlisted.com)
When I saw this issue of People, I mistook the cover-girl for one of my gated-community-in-OC neighbors:
Apparently Heidi had all of this work done because, at 23, she wanted that “Hmm, how old is she?” plastic look. Disturbingly, it points to early-onset Madamism (aka plastic-surgery-induced resemblance to a drag queen puppet). Famous victims of Madamism include Joan Rivers, Mickey Rourke, and Wayne Newton.
Extra points go to anyone able to tell which is human!
A wide array of media outlets have reported on Heidi’s surgeries, taking positions ranging from shock to outrage and/or disgust. Coming from the pros, I find this annoyingly hypocritical. Because as someone who used to work in that industry, I can spill its most open secret: everyone on camera goes–or is sent to–to the cosmetic dermatologist, regardless of age.
But then there’s the blogosphere, allegedly comprised of normal people, whose commenters seemingly jump at the chance to act superior. As in “How sad it is that this poor girl hates herself that much!”
Because inner beauty is all that others really care about, right?!
Of course, even as they publicly snicker, everyday people are nonetheless succumbing to the message of said reality tv-starlet obsessed media: That it is desirable–even normal– to look plastic.
As if the pinnacle of natural beauty were breasts that allows one to watch the tide come in (courtesy of saline implants) as the woman approaches.
This warped sense of beauty is especially prominent among early 20-somethings whose moms all have saline boobs (having come of age when it was illegal to get the silicone ones put in. Courtesy of one rich trial lawyer. End of history lesson.)
To wit: One J-wow, of MTV’s Jersey Shore fame:
Apparently, she thinks she thinks she had everyone believing she was implant-free until that Jersey biatch Snookie let the cat out of the bag.
Says the NY Daily News:
Like most women in my neighborhood, I am no Botox virgin, so to speak. However, in the words of Nina Garcia, I like to think my taste level is there. Unlike that of Ms. Montag-Pratt.
Want evidence? I am willing to pay up the nose (not to mention braving the 405), all to see one of the guys who enables starlets like Demi Moore to say they are 100% natural with a straight face. This is also unlike Ms. Montag-Pratt, who obviously got her work done gratis in exchange for publicity. She is a businesswoman first, yo.
More evidence? Prior bad acts on the part of the good doctor: No, I’m not referring to his shady malpractice history… moreover, this is the guy who did Gene Simmons, businessman, reality star and spokesmodel…. who you know would never pay for it.
I mean, really, why else would you let a guy who looked this natural do 10 procedures on you?
Forgive me if this sounds elitist… It’s not that I’m above freebies from the Plastic Surgeon. It’s more that I’ve no desire to join the cast of Real Housewives of Orange County… even though you might argue that I am one already.
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A few years back, a study appeared that young girls would rather be a celebrity assistant than a Senator. Apparently people under a particular age think fame is the end-all, be-all (to the point where cleaning up a famous person’s dog crap is something to aspire to.)
Well I, for one, am very glad I’m not famous. Because when you are famous (and dare to sport blond roots), this is what happens to you:
The evil tabs say you are going bald from hair extensions, when in fact, all you did was dye your hair many shades darker than your natural color and miss a touch-up appointment.
Ladies (and gents, if that’s how you roll), let this be a lesson to you. If you are going to go dark, be religious about touch-ups. Dark roots are expected. Blond roots, however, are foreign (and therefore odd-looking), giving evil-doers the perfect opening to slander your good name.
Trust me: I once toyed with Fergie’s current hair color (if her roots are any indicator, we share the same natural coloring). As soon as my blond roots became visible, the rumors started to spread: apparently, I was balding… from bulimia!
Hey, didn’t Fergie admit blaming crystal meth-induced side effects on bulimia once?
And so it begins.
And so I say to the young girls represented in the aforementioned study: Enduring this kind of BS is bad enough when you can switch schools!
I don’t get it. People will do anything to become famous– like make out with vile creatures on Vh1 dating shows.
Can anyone explain this?
Kimora Lee Simmons debuts the world’s tackiest clothing collection, ‘Fabulosity’. If only her taste level were as developed as her penchant for irony.
Bad things happen when people access too much money too fast.
Some gamble it all away, white-trash lottery-winner style.
Some buy overvalued homes, only to lose them 6 months later to foreclosure.
And then there are the most selfish, most socially irresponsible of all- those who use said funds to create multiples in their own name, littering the world with reminders of their bad judgment for generations still! And these lil’ monsters aint pretty. But they are pervasive… like the smell of rotten eggs, or the mug of Ryan Seacrest. Monsters as socially conscious as Ted Nugent and Kathy Lee Gifford’s would-be offspring… (Widespread child labor happening now! Airheaded denial statement by publicist to be issued shortly!)
Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, it is my honor to present the most recent monster brainchild/brand of Kimora Lee Simmons, ex-wife of Russel Simmons. (And future Baby-Momma to Djimon Hounsou).
What, did you think I was bashing to the helpless offspring of Octomom, after all the poor woman has been through? Shame on you!
It is named “Fabulosity” and it is priced such that it may be consumed by the masses.
Notice the verbiage “most recent”?
Indeed, she has unleashed previous monsters brands upon us, which explains quite a lot.
Like why this particular one is so fugly.
The last major monster of consequence she birthed, Baby Phat, is comprised of some serious ugly (to quote the coolest Project Runway contestant ever, Laura Bennet). Meaning that she has quite a low point from which to jump off.
Now that she’s popping out a monster that will sell for half the price of BP, the only way to avoid undercutting Baby Phat is to make the newbie half as appealing.
Or twice as fug, as the case may be…
And, in fact, is.
If this was the goal, kudos to Kimora on a bang-up job!
How did she do it?!
I envision a cami-and-shorts dressed Kimora, hair-in-bun, glasses on, pen in hand, sitting cross-legged on her fabulous pink ruffled Dollywood-on-acid bed getup among a stack of Glamour magazines, feverishly scanning the “do’s and don’ts” section of each issue for ideas. You know, the section where they black out the offenders’ eyes to protect their identities?
Which actually inspires me a little. Kimora, as you know, is every girl’s idol. And I certainly want to take my cues from her whenever possible. So I think, working backwards, that I’ll try to imagine WTF Kimora was thinking when she designed these outfits, in “don’t” form.
Except these clothes are so heinous–and taking people’s hard-earned recessionary dollars in return for swathing them in these clownsuits is so morally wrong… it’s time for veritible fashion martial law!
I only wish I were an officer for the fashion police so I could dutifully issue this citation, using said “don’ts” as specific violations:
- FASHION VIOLATION#1: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of 24-K Trump/Hussein-Style gold paint accessories (exceptionally tacky accessories per USFC 210.1)*
- FASHION VIOLATION #2: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of tone-on-tone clothing.**
- FASHION VIOLATION #3: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of universally unflattering jeans per USFC 215.3 (70’s throwbacks)
- FASHION DON’T #4: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of tacky iron-on style decal on a shirt.***
- FASHION DON’T #5: Indecent exposure 103.21: Displaying knit clothing item with built-in hardware
- FASHION DON’T #6: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of schizophrenic tank/short sleeve shirt
*Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine tripled due to presence of 2 or more offending items on the same person.
**Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine doubled due to presence of exceptionally ugly tone per USFC 212.3 (mustard).
***Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine doubled due to presence of contextually ugly tone present on decal per USFC 213.1 (gold).
Can we just talk about that chain-link schizo tank/short sleeve shirt thing for a moment? I believe she is trying to rip off the wide-yolked knit top concept here, except she was just a little off in her formula. Instead of using the time honored couture formula that says sexy = innuendo, she went with sexy= Jersey Shore streetwalker.
Tres Innovative, Kimora!
Now as far as I can tell, the wide-yolked shirt evolved from Flashdance, and is supposed to pseudo-unintentionally flash just a piece of brastrap or leotard or tanktop. Innuendo. It is not supposed to be held up by it— on both sides– as part of the same shirt! Can You say Jersey shore streetwalker chic?
And now for the rest of the citation… as you can see, the fines would be hefty. And plentiful.
In fact, I’m thinking, with Fabulosity alone, we could pay for the trillion dollar bailout! No really! Follow me here:
What if fashion police really existed, and we punished bad fashion like we currently punish, say, bad weed? (Rather approppo, I reckon, once you recall Kimora’s bust for posessing the ganja… which she promptly turned into bad fashion, forcing her models to walk the runway sporting t-shirts with her mugshot!)
But I digress. To recap: fashion is the ganja. Which makes Kimora the cartel (being responsible for cultivation and initial distribution). Translation: major fine and/or jail time. Of course, I doubt that we could convince the public to actually jail people for polluting our collective field of vision, so the fine will have to do. But please! Tie her design-tubes so she doesn’t give birth to any more of these monsters of fashion!
As the dealer distributor, JcPenney Stores would pay a reasonable fine as well.
Anyone caught posessing or disrespecting her body by using wearing this crap would receive yet a smaller fine. After all, we don’t want to fine the users too bad when what they really need is fashion rehab. Come on people… they are victims too. Okay, so they hurt society far more than they hurt themselves. But please, have some sympathy!
As long as we continue to idolize the unworthy, we will suffer the consequences of their unjust wealth. So if you spot some serious ugly/a fashion violation/evidence of monsters in the wake, do your part and speak up!
Remember… Only you can put these quasi-celeb fashion lines out of business!
Attn Men: If you ever want sex again, avoid ordering your woman’s gift from a TV ad produced by Jenna Jameson’s porn empire.
It’s that time of year again- obligatory gift-buying season. Which means that most dudes couldn’t be more afraid. Because this is one area, like decorating and party planning, where the straight male is genetically engineered to perform badly. Only the ramifications of doing so can be much worse than social humiliation… inappropriate gift-giving can equal no nookie in the new year! Quelle Horreur!
But fear not, feeble-minded tough guys. If you act now, for 19.95 you can purchase what is guaranteed to be the perfect gift (plus it’ll make her hot and horny as a bonus!): an aphrodesiac-like purfume made of snake oil!
Okay, now be honest. How many of you men reading this did I have going with that one, up until the snake oil part? It’s okay– it doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you desperate… desperate to believe you can solve the problem that easily.
And Wherever there is a desperate buyer, there is a savvy snake-oil salesman in the wings.
Some are worse than others.
The most evil of all know exactly how to prey on their targets’ soft spots.
And who knows a man’s weaknesses-and is therefore in the better position to sell said men heavily polished turds– more than a true professional?
Go ahead and try to tell me there are no such professionals behind this bit of marketing genius:
click here to watch
I can see see it now…
INT.’MASSAGE PARLOR’ BREAK ROOM; CHINATOWN, USA – NIGHT
Four industrious femmes are chatting in heavily-accented Engrish: the two Massuese/Madame/Co-owners called ‘CINDY’ and ‘LUCY’, a moonlighting Stripper/Porn Star/Businesswoman called ‘TRACY’, and a massuese-cum-marketing genius called ‘JENNIE’. In the spirit of Tracy Quan, the ladies are putting their knowledge of seductive man-ipulation to work, laying the foundation for an empire. You go girls!
Here in massage parlor I learn about dumb American men and their fear of picking out gifts for special lady. They all afraid bad gift=no sex for looong time. But this good- it mean more business for us!
I think I know a way to get better business! Growing up I worked in China’s largest sweat shop. I think we can use sweat shop connection and knowledge about dumb American men to make million!!
Oh, my sister still works there. She says they must put nice looking fabric in bin labelled “reject pile” because it caused rashes and tested positive for melamine and asbestos. I think my sister can give us the material instead of taking it to dump!!!
Then we can get my sister’s kids to sew the material into PJs- it will cost us very little!
We will not sell items in stores, so no one will see the bad quality until it’s too late!
But who will buy such bad quality? Who won’t return the stuff when it causes rash and/or falls apart after one use?
We just make sure items look good in pictures. No woman will return such a gift anyway!
I know! We can disguise the bad materials by doing a nice wrapping job and including some stuff like they sell at the 99 cent store in the bath section!
Still, why men buy?
As we know from working in Massage Parlor, horny American men are dumb. Horny American men threatened with no more sex are desperate. Was there ever an easier mark?
All we need to do is sell them on the fact that our gift will not get them cut off in bedroom. What kinds of gifts get men cut off?
Anything that shows the man put little or no thought into what the lady likes. Like appliances or stuff from Home Depot.
So we say our gift effortless but still thoughtful! We even include card and give suggestions for what to write!
[Speaking in sexy voice]’She’ll think you spent weeks planning it!’
That’s perfect– I can hear our ad now! Men believe anything if said in a horny voice.
Also, promise something sex-related… like the only gift guaranteed to take her clothes off!
Men are so easy to make money off of when sex is involved. They do not have enough blood in their bodies to support their brains and dicks at same time!
Can’t you just hear the girlish giggles everytime a man orders from them?
Men, I beg of you, don’t give them more giggle gas.
You may think it’s not, in fact, so egregious. And perhaps you’re right…
So just in case you decide to ignore all that we’ve learned here and order a Pajamagram, let me tell you of the pennance my bf paid after he gave me the finest Pajamagram money can buy for V-day 2 years ago:He actually took me to dinner at the Bluewater Grill and presented me with this customized card, explaining that it was supposed to neutralize the Pajamagram.Which it did… just barely. (Five-star resorts have magical powers!)So to all of the men out there who wish to avoid unpleasant relationship consequences this holiday season, I leave you with an ancient Chinese Proverb, albeit very loosely translated…
Pay Now or Pay Later.
Attention Obama Enthusiasts: Sandra Bernhard has a lesson for you involving Sarah Palin, gang-rape and bad taste
Americans like to support the underdog. It’s a big reason Obama’s doing so well right now: he represents everything that the current administration is not.
This is especially significant when your outgoing Prez is possibly the most widely-panned in history… for good reason. Being associated with Bush is the biggest handicap possible.
Seriously, I doubt that Abraham Lincoln, JFK or FDR could get elected this climate.
But what happens when the underdog’s supporters turn into pitbulls?
Ever heard of the term Backlash?
Attention Obama-enthusiasts: your rhapsodic Palin-hating is the recipe for one. Just ask Sandra Bernhard.
From The Superficial:
Sandra Bernhard is still alive (?) and just got herself banned from a benefit for a women’s shelter after recently making a rape joke about Sarah Palin. Sandra said the Alaska governor would get “gang-raped by my big black brothers” if she ever came to New York, according to Us Magazine:
On her Web site, Bernhard said the gang-rape joke was part of a larger piece from her show about “racism, freedom, women’s rights, and the extreme views of Gov. Sarah Palin – a woman who doesn’t believe that other women should have the right to choose.”
Said the comedienne: “I certainly wish Gov. Palin no harm – I’d just like her to explain to me how she can hold such outrageous views … and then go back to Alaska.”
Perhaps a women’s shelter isn’t the best venue for Sanrda Bernhard’s “humor”.
Ummm, ya think? Then again, as the article went on to say, she does have the “aesthetic qualities of a murder scene”…
In other words, to quote Nina Garcia, Taste level is… lacking.
In more ways than one.
Now I’m willing to bet that said woman’s shelter is not in the habit of backing up Palin, McCain, or conservatives in general. Because backers-of-woman’s-shelter-using-Bernhard-for-fundraising and fans-of-bible-beating, anti-abortion-Republican-VP-candidate are as far apart as two groups can be.
As mutually exclusive as, say, government and efficiency.
And the quickest way to unite two diametrically opposed groups through a common cause. Or a common enemy.
When someone like Bernhard goes too far in attacking someone else– even where that someone else is less than popular– she comes off like a bully. And Americans hate bullies.
Just ask Saddam Hussein… the liberated Iraqis? Yeah, we started a huge money-burning disaster because Saddam made himself the unlikeable bully. And Americans, in the beginning atleast, were united by the cause.
Remember Bush’s 90% approval rating? If that’s not proof of how bully-hating unites people– and even causes them to get behind idiocy– I don’t know what is.
Obama supporters take note.
So, unless you want to see Palin as the eventual first female president, Obie fans, quit while you’re ahead.
The formula band flurry/boy-band barfalon began with New Kids on the Block. Now they wanna re-pollute the airwaves like it’s 1991.
| No longer can we deny this sad,
shameful chapter in U.S. history:
|Even Halle “I have Hit & Run Anmesia” Berry can’t deny this atrocity!|
Does anyone remember what the billboard hot 100 looked like 10-15 years ago? For those of you who blocked it out–along with other traumatic childhood memories– I’ll sum it up in two words. Here, take your pick: boy “band”. Formula “band”. Pupetter-led “band”.
Except in this case, the term “band” equals a group of pre-selected, pre-pubescent boys, all of whom share three characteristics:
(1) passable dancing ability (can be trained with a choreographer);
(2) passable singing ability (with aid of vocal coach and heavy computer remixing);
…and most importantly,
(3) Non-threatening type of sex appeal (see Sanjaya from American Idol) that entices 12 year-old girls to cry, swoon and drool… then spend their allowances on cheap Chinese imports bearing the likeness of said “band”-mate.
This dark time in musical history over a decade.
And then people woke and/or grew up. Tired of saccarine junk-pop. The boybanders left the airwaves without having any lasting impact on the evolution of music.
Ahh, but that’s not to sat they left no destruction behind.
One can hardly fathom the sheer volume of landfill space devoted to New Kids On The Block trapper-keepers, Backstreet Boys lunchboxes, ‘N Sync posters, and so on. The way I see it, at minimum, each boybander should have to plant 50 trees per year in order to help negate his carbon footprint!
But hey, at least our fellow humans have quit embarrassing themselves by supporting faux-musicians! Finally, we’ve come to a time where the only way a boy-bander can get airtime is to do trainwreck reality tv.
And this is where they really shine, IMHO. Did anyone catch House of Carters on E! ? C’est magnifique! Très insipide! Genius!
In fact, boy-banders make such excellent reality-show subjects that I, for one, am willing to grant them amnesty for their past sins against music/culture, as if they’d never even polluted the audio airwaves with a single song!
I say: let them do their stints in Mtv and Vh1… as long as said stints are limited to shows like Celebrity Rehab, The Hills, The Real World, The Surreal Life, and Flavor of Love. I don’t begrudge them the ability to earn a semi-sleazy living. I just want to protect music’s cultural heritage!
But like African dictators, some people just won’t hear it when the world begs them to disappear…
Just when it looked like these musicians “entertainers” had found their place on basic cable, on 30 Jan 2008 Elizabeth Hassle-bin-laden put forth a most terrifying plight .
Side note: I knew she was a little nutty, but president of a cultural smut-pushing fanclub?!
Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but it looks as if they weren’t just posturing.
Please. Make. It. Stop. People are already pointing to this decade as the redux of the 70’s, with gas prices, stagflation, and a presidntial candidate who just may turn out to be the second coming of Jimmy Carter. Who’ll get elected because he’s the anti-Nixon/Johnson Bush.
Some things are better left forgotten.
Seriously, Old New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys Men, et. al., I think the rest of the country would support me in offering you this deal:
Stay out of the recording studios. File your past transgressions against contributions to pop-culture under “quaint time in history”; they’ll do well next to other atrocities like acid-washed jeans, disco and MC Hammer pants.)
In return, we– along with the state of New Jersey/landfill capital USA — will forgive your sins against mother earth.
That’s right: act now, and despite your Bigfoot-sized carbon footprints, we won’t make you plant any trees or pick up trash.
In short: Produce no new waste, and we’ll absolve you of responsibility for the old.
Act now, and as a bonus, you’ll save yourself from (further) public humiliation! We understand that your definition thereof is, shall we say, elastic, but trust us, the following clip is nothing to be proud of circa 2008.
I especially like it when you try to get the audience to sing along…
Just imagine how that will look 10 years from now.
Fellow Connoisseurs Vapid Culture:
I realize it’s been quite some time since my last post. Allow me to explain.
There has been a fracture in the fabric of my world; a crack in the cornerstone of my cosmos.
‘Twas once filled with the sunny days and fake tans seen on The Real Housewives of Orange County.
But today, my universe is gray.
No, I wasn’t forced to move from Huntington Beach, California to Flyover Statesville, USA.
Of course that would suck and everything, but one can always recover from a move by moving back, no?
Sadly, the predicament in which I find myself comes with no such easy answers.
It is, in a word, dire.
Ladies and Gentlemen, my tivo has fallen ill.
[Cue Ave Maria]
And his chances for recovery don’t look so good.
If memory lapses are any indicator, his hard drive’s days are surely numbered.
In fact– and forgive me if I sound contrite– I’ve taken to calling him Teddy Tivo.
He’s not warm and fuzzy, just named for another key societal figurehead who also recently learned he has a dire illness of the hard drive.
Still not sure who I’m referring to?
OK, so Teddy Tivo is named for an Edward. Or Ted.
Last initial K.
Sometimes followed by the letters “D-Mass.”
And despite the problems with his memory, let me assure you that this illness was not in any way caused by alcohol!
How dare you even think such a thing!!
And I know he’s only going to get worse, but I’m having a hard time pulling the plug on him, no pun intended.
Seriously. I loathe puns. Tasteless analogies regarding beloved senators with terminal illnesses are one thing, but puns? Well I never…!
If nothing else, you’d think that wanting to keep an old relic alive would give me some of that righteous indignation that the fundamentalist Kool-aid drinkers walk around with, right? Wrong. It feels bad.
On many levels.
For one thing, I feel like a greedy bitch who wants to keep her not-at-all-warm-and-fuzzy-Teddy alive for selfish reasons.
Think of all of those younger tivos out there that need vital organ transplants– as a donor, Teddy could give them new life! Picture the young tivos that surely would be spared the indignity of a premature burial in a landfill grave!
Ack-now I feel like a bad eco-citizen to boot!
And speaking of dignity, it does seem wrong of me to keep Teddy alive for my own selfish reasons when he can’t function at a decent level.
I suppose I was hoping for a kind of spontaneous recovery-miracle, but then the tivo doctor rained on that parade… all the way from India, mind you. I grilled him like a lamb kabob, and the upshot is this: Teddy’s problem is intractible and severe. And and no, he has never seen this type of problem spontaneously resolve itself.
Maybe that’s because there’s no Hindi tivo god? Food for thought.
You must be wondering why I’m so attached to the un-cuddly old bloated lug with the bad memory from the non-drinking problem then, huh?
Well, let me tell you, I’ve got reasons ’o’ plenty. And not just the usual crap about the good times we’ve shared, the stuff he introduced me to and the dreams we built together. Nosiree.
See, like most men who are post-prime, Tivo Ted is ill-equipped to function in today’s world, but full of amazing, one-of-a-kind stories from back in the day.
Indeed, he has lived to see some of the best stuff imaginable, much of which he has yet to share with the world. He can tell stories nobody else can! Like the entire marathon of Make Me A Supermodel (UK Edition)!
Have you ever tried to find that show on youtube? The only stuff that shows up are vanity clips from the one [uncloseted] gay contestant!
And these old shows, having been recorded at a time when Ted was young and spritely, playback perfectly. And it seems wrong to take him from this world before he has had a chance to tell those stories, as it were, you know?
The problem, however, is with Ted’s ability to remember new stuff.
Things will seem fine– we’ll get through minute 48 of 60 in the finale of America’s Next Top Model– and then Teddy will freeze. And start skipping.
Forcing me to reboot. And delete the poisoned recording.
**On the plus side: I have discovered a whole host of television offerings available online!
And of course, good ol’ itunes is a lifesaver: my iphone has rescued me from boredom with an HBO offering more times than I care to recall.
Another thing I hate to recall? How many times I’ve missed out on hearing the high-and-mighty, I’m-so-smart Tyra Banks utter the grammatically incorrect phrase “Congratulations, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.”
As if there is this monster named “Becoming America’s Next Top Model”, and [you] are running towards it?
But seriously, fellow vapid culturists, putting Tyra Banks aside, ’tis one thing I know.
At the end of the day, as attached as I may be to Tivo Ted, nothing can make up for the loss I felt upon missing another ending of Viva Hollywood: Vh1’s search for America’s Numero Uno Telenovela Star.
Especially because it meant missing another installment of the show-in-show cheesefest El Masacre de la Mascara.
I missed the finale because of you, Ted!!
I dunno, kids. Methinks Ted’s days are numero’ed.
¡Viva Tivo Nuevo!
ANTM Claire drinks her own breast milk!
|To quote The Smiths in Girlfriend in a Coma: I know… it’s really serious!|
Wilst in Sydney, I was floored… [seriously, NPI: I loathe puns; I am like waaay smarter than that!]… by how much more model-esque the average 20-40 year old Sydney chick iooks compared to her LA counterpart. And as far as fashionista bragging rights go, it’s almost a toss-up between Ms. Sydney and Ms. NYC– which is, like, the self-proclaimed fashion capital of the world, no less!
Still, that’s no excuse for what you tube has enabled millions of us to discover: when it comes to having girls with true modeling potential, ANTM is to AusNTM what Barbizon is to Elite. Or what H&M is to Prada. What Bop! is to Elle.
Want Evidence? At least two ANTM winners have been under 5’7. The casting directors on AusNTM won’t even talk to you unless you are taller than that. Because in the real world, no decent agency will, either- not if you want to model clothes!
Naturally, I have sooo much more to say on this most serious of topics.
But it will have to wait, because I’m still not unpacked.
Until then, “self-soothe” with this most maternal 9-second clip of the face-planter, as she readies herself to drink from her own busom (with the aid of a pump, of course).
Don’t mother nature and modern technology= a fierce coupling?
Hmmm… do ya think they selected her because she makes for good TV?
Nah–she’s clearly got HUGE modeling potential. That is the new face of Chanel, people. Claudia Schiffer , Keira Knightley… and Claire from ANTM.
Fellow Vapid Culturists:
Please excuse my protracted absence. I was stuck on another continent… well, except for the stuck part.
In my defense, I did manage to discover the fountain of youth while away!
Q: How does one avoid turning 30, 35 and (quelle horreur!) beyond?
A: Fly to Australia the day before you birthday!
Not because you’ll die on the way, phobies! It’s so you can cross the dateline and skip one day entirely-a date of your choosing.
For Example, let’s say that, like moi, you were to:
- Fly out of LAX March 14th @ 8AM,
- arrive in Sydney 13 hrs later @ 9PM
- on March 15th 16th.
This would have made you too a very wise person, for you also would have heeded the immortal words of Ceasar: “Beware the Ides of March, especially when it means turning 30 and over.”
Clever plan, no? Okay, so maybe it’s not quite the fountain of youth, but it’s a valuable tool in the fight against awareness of aging.
Lest you think I’m entirely self-obsessed, I’ll have you know I had other reasons for going to Oz.
I wanted to visit places of historical and cultural significance… like the house where The Real World, Sydney was filmed.
For those of you who remain blissfully clueless on the matter, here’s the rundown on fat-gate. In short, it started with the National Enquirer running a picture of a cellulite-happy Miss thang in a bathing suit (while she was filming America’s Next Top Model 8 in Sydney). How did it end? Well, it wasn’t pretty. For a number of reasons. But you’ll have to watch the 6-second clip to fully appreciate it.
Why did it get so ugly? Well, admittedly, certain vapid bloggers made several catty comments in between. Which, I admit, is a terrible thing to do to a woman of such understated dignity:
Yes, that is Tyra Banks dancing around in a headless kangaroo costume.
And yes, I was able to resist the temptation to purchase one of my own at the airport, even though it was duty-free!
All in all, this trip was vapidly awesome enough to warrant further postings. Postings in which I shall share all of the critical, life-changing insights gained.
For instance, did you realize that calling an Aussie politician a “friend of Bush” is like calling him a child molester? For reals.
Also, believe it or not, in Sydney itself virtually no one has heard of The Real World, Sydney. And naturally, Mtv, Inc. had a reputation for being avaricious, just like they do in the US. In this land where toilets flush backward and Christmas takes place in the summertime, it’s nice to know that you can always count on Mtv to remain cheap!
- American Idol
- Celebrity Rehab
- consumer psychology
- Dr. Drew
- Interior design
- Mental Illness
- Plastic Surgery
- Popular Culture
- Porn Stars
- Project Runway
- Questionable Taste
- Real Housewives of New York
- Reality TV
- Stage Mothers
- The Hills
- The View
- viva hollywood
- WGA Strike