Babe

The billionth revival of my blog, and yes, it's another Mad Men post. I just want to say: the finale tonight was ah. may. zeeng. Smart, beautifully paced, and didn't leave me destructively sad. But best of all, it ended on easily one of the most endearing and wonderful songs ever written:

• I Got You Babe by Sonny & Cher

More Sonny & Cher music on iLike

What I said to my step father, with whom I was watching this with, is this: I always love being surprised by Mad Men's soundtrack. This season, when both "Satisfaction" and "Do You Want to Know a Secret" played, I thought they were anomalies. You know, because I was alive and culturally aware in the 60's and I know these things. But when I begin to hear songs like that - modern songs that my parents grew up with - it turns this masterpiece of a show into the organic story that it is. It isn't stuck in one year, with one problem. It grows and evolves, and it acknowledges that there's a world outside itself that is changing with it. I thoroughly enjoy those delightful reminders. Because you think you know Don and the world of Sterling Cooper - this buttoned-up, slicked-hair utopia, filled with 1950s optimism - but then you see (nay, hear), what they're surrounded by. Young girls screaming at boybands. Stupid kids watching Bandstand. A hippie culture that's really just a pill all too easily swallowed.

Somebody gon get pregnant.

Gawker predicted the Tracy Morgan/Jordan mash-up that happened on 30 Rock last night, but they were unsure about the last frame.  Well fools, I found it, and it's awesome:

Blinky recap numbero uno!

Let me just preface this by saying that in no way no how will I ever encapsulate the literary magic that Richard at Gawker seems to sprinkle over any recap. The man is a brilliant spectator of the reality show circus, with an ineffable power to narrate that I would never dare to copy.

Anyway. Regardless. This show just spews too much insanity into American homes for me to stay quiet. The third episode, to my surprise, was still set entirely in the Hamptons. I guess a whole lotta doody went down in West Egg, huh? We got to see Silex gloat over their own sickly pale arachnid bodies in a "sauna;" we got to see the Countess "indulge" her daughter and a few friends over an etiquette luncheon (oh that lucky girl); and we got to see Bethenny run around being the woman I wish I was, dancing dirty with rich gay men and pounding back tequila and looking like a pair of perfect boobs on perfect legs with perfect everything. Seriously, lucky girl.

Even though we haven't gotten back to the Island yet, the women are definitely falling back into their owb archetypes, which brings me such glee. Luann reminded us all that SHE MARRIED AN ARISTO HO HO HO ISN'T THAT RICH NOW WASH MY FEET WITH YOUR TEARS. Her daughter Victoria is shipping off to Count-let school in Bougey-burg Connecticut with a bunch of other girls that were named after queens. Kelly was true to her aloof quest in proving that she's not here to be a Housewife when she filmed more scenes of herself looking at the other women as if they were batshit crazy. Ramona, never one to disappoint, acted batshit crazy. She vehemently denied that she'd help Jill with an arthritis fundraiser until she - wait - remembered he daughter had arthritis. Then she laughed maniacally at Jill's hesitance to join a tennis game while her husband Mario drunkenly looked on and waited to get wasted enough to want to have sex with her. (I'm just hypothesizing how their marriage operates, that's all.)

Oh yeah, she also engaged Governor Patterson in a conversation over who was more blind. FOR REAL, RAMORON???!!! FOR REAL? Also, I feel it appropos to call any blinky with David Patterson in it a BLINKY. You know. Because his eyes are fucked up.

You're just jealous.

Two Housewives posts in a row? Why you ask? Because I have been waiting a GD month for this mess. Also, it takes a certain amount of gall for someone to slap recession-raped Americans in the face with a show about rich, flippant women who will pay no heed at all to the death of Wall Street. And for that I feel like I owe someone my attention.

First of all, and most of all, LOL at Alex and Simon. LOL all over their faces. Bethenny said it best when she noted that Alex and Simon probably showed up at the Social Life Hamptons party thinking the event was named for something they could win instead of the magazine actually throwing the soirée. These two are at a point where they totally know their own shtick and are playing it up to the point of unquestionable obnoxiousness. Sure Simon. Sure you're happy in that "Provençale" shack you're going to call a Hampton getaway where you have to crouch in an attic bedroom and pray your kids aren't going to learn how to turn on a 17-year-old TV/VCR unit. Oh God, then they might catch an episode of "Dora the Explorer" and learn Spanish.

Next item: Jill is obviously the star of this show now and for that I thank the Lord. And Cindy Adams of the New York Post.

Next item: Ummm... are these hos pulling a fast one on me? Just when I was signing out my praises for the NYC women's faithfulness to their own persona Ramona says something intelligent and LuAnn takes off her countess tiara if only long enough to be fair and impartial. WTF is going ON here? I hope this twisted turn into reality doesn't last long. Probably once the girls return to the Island, Ramona will go back to thinking she's Carrie Bradshaw and LuAnn will go back to thinking she's Queen Frostine.

Next item: Ugh. Someone please hit the snooze button on the new girl. Kelly's the only real socialite of the crowd, which means she isn't here for the free spa trips or bar hops or (as the old reality adage goes) to make friends. She's here because she's an editor at Elle and as soon as Nina Garcia turned into a psycho and "Project Runway" jumped ship from Bravo's collateral, the executives had to placate the magazine somehow. Kelly is a fan of being surrounded by men ("gay men, bisexual men, straight men..."), having people hang out by her pool in their riding boots, and staring with the same facial expression as someone who fell asleep under a heat lamp. Done. Next.

Whatever guys. The important thing is that I once again got a chance to judge these women I secretly want to be and Bethenny imparted more wisdom on us through her glassy drunky warbles. Cheers to this season.

At least it's not Celebreality

This weekend when I wasn't losing a battle with my kitchen trying to cook a three-course meal, I was doing what I normally do to forget about the fact that I'm broke: watching the nonstop loop of the same four programs on Bravo. Since it's ending tomorrow to make way for the most awesome series ever, the last few episodes of The Real Housewives of Orange County aired, and below are my final judgments. Because the reason reality TV was invented is for people like me to rehash it out on blogs that hold no lasting cultural relevance.

The OC girls, as I've said before, are entertaining merely because they're all outrageously insidious and self conscious. However, I think the reason they don't measure up to the NYC girls for me (aside from the fact that I live in New York myself and have an allergic reaction to Southern California) is because they tend to be a little inconsistent. If I liked these girls to begin with, they somehow ended up letting me down, and vice versa. On the other hand, I will ALWAYS love Jill Zarin, ALWAYS scoff at Alex McCord, and ALWAYS think Ramona Singer has lost it. And lo, the following are my comprehensive opinions about our West Coast compatriots.

Jeana Jeana is oozing with insecurity and it hurts my heart. It also makes her scenes extremely difficult to watch. Jeana is sweet on the outside and has the semblance of the most rational women in the OC with her docile manner and her sage wisdom. She only occasionally makes snarky comments, but more-than-occasionally makes very non-confrontational judgments. Her inability to stand up for herself is most evident - and most frustrating - in her interactions with her kids. The way she lets her rancid sons verbally rip her apart is just. fucking. appalling. I used to be really turned off by feminists, but it's women like this that remind me what we have to lose in a simple abusive relationship. Blech.

Tamra Someone at Bravo envisioned the profile of the perfectly lofty entitled Orange County wife, and Tamra Barney embodies it. She's really good at sabotaging people. With tequila. And using all the stupid shit they did when they were drunk against them in a court of blond judgmental women. Of all the OC housewives, she's the one who most resembles your best friend from seventh grade: she laughs with you, tells you how hot you are, and goes shopping for a dress to wear to the dance with you. But then she goes home to text the boy you have a crush on, send a blow to your self-esteem in a three-way calling attack, and write in her diary about how big your ass looked in that dress. In other words, I really like Tamra, but damn, bitch is straight outta Mean Girls.

Vicki I think Vicki is sort of the top dog of the OC housewives. Funny enough, Vicki also thinks Vicki is sort of the top dog of the OC housewives. Vicki's trademark is harping on about how hard and constantly she works, which really is a commendable feat considering how faithful she is to her responsibility of filming a reality show for Bravo - dutifully going to all the restaurants, spas, and nightclubs she needs to film her scenes. It disappoints me to see how poorly Vicki handles her relationship with her family, especially her husband Don. She excludes him from almost everything she does, and it's clear that Don just gets through it by downing another Corona and laughing about it. Drink up, Don, drink up.

Lynne Just as I do with all the other housewives, I have mixed feelings about Lynne. Because overall, this lady seems to have wandered into this whole mess in the midst of a hashish trip. She genuinely doesn't seem to have any ill feelings toward anyone, and has very rarely made a hurtful comment about anyone, behind their back or to their face. Her relationship with her husband is so adorably real and her Jessica Simpson inspired comments are silly at best. However. I think this woman lets her peyote habit get in the way of her consciousness that she's on national TV. Yeah, her kids are a little out of control - and they're very typical of a normal American situation - but Lynne sort of lets it slide. Like, lady, are you going to even TRY to discipline these girls? Because much as the fog of THC is clouding your vision, there are about a couple thousand women out there right now who are judging your face off. Including single, childless women. Like me. Put down the bong and take that girl's keys, because she just raided your liquor closet.

Gretchen I was really rooting for this lady from the start, which was tough in light of all the criticism she was getting, including from the all-knowing Bethenny Frankel (thegreatesthousewifeEVER). Like Lynn, Gretchen honestly seems benign (no cancer pun intended). You may call it Anna Nicole behavior, but to me Gretchen did seem honestly concerned for fiancé's leukemia and sincerely in love with him. I'm sure there were tons of days where the camera's didn't follow her into the hospital when she visited him, since the hospital doesn't have pinot grigio flowing and blond bitches fighting, but it's suspicious how often Gretchen managed to run off on little trips with the girls. As the season went on, it got a little tiring to hear her make that "I need to get away from stress of the hospital" excuse and you had to begin to wonder how quickly Jeff was whithering away in whiles. He ended up passing away in September, and the amount of promotional material that was quite obviously filmed afterward, in which Gretchen has a breezy smile on her face, is pretty fishy. Lauri Waring Peterson quit filming in the middle of the season to help fight her son's heroin addiction, and, you know... just sayin, Gretch.

I guess when all's said and done, I'm just really looking forward to trading in short and shiny minidresses against a sunset for some tasteful LBDs in high rises.

Six degrees

Last night, after Obama's press conference, shouty Chris Matthews had a live midnight episode of Hardball. I'll admit, I was only watching MSNBC because I heard the Westminster Dog Show was on. But anyway, Matthews was interviewing Kevin Bacon, who stars in a new film as a lieutenant colonel who escorts the remains of a fallen soldier from Iraq to Wyoming. He was sitting next to the real man he played in the movie, Lt. Col. Strobl. Strobl was talking about the tight community of the Marine Corps when he said, "the 'six degrees of separation' comes to my mind for some reason right now" Uhhh... maybe it's because YOU'RE SITTING NEXT TO KEVIN BACON.

Here's the video. Hilarious "duh" moment sets in around 6:08.

Please renew this clusterfuck, Bravo. PLEASE.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Bravo is running a Real Housewives of New York City marathon! Right now! Are you watching it?! Watch it! Exclamation points!

The Real Housewives franchise is easily one of my favorite things in life. It's reality TV without the trash, so you don't really feel guilty watching it, you know? Kind of like reading Elle (not exactly the New Yorker but not exactly Cosmopolitan). Well, ok, addendum: the ladies of Atlanta kind of brought some trash(-y hookers!). It's a tightrope we're walkin, right Kim?

For me though, the women of New York produced the best dynamic, probably because each of the five of them had distinctly honed personalities with a basket full of neuroses and negatives that I can scrutinize. Not to say that the OC girls and the Atlanta girls are boring by any means, but it's like, the OC girls are all backstabby blond bitches. And the Atlanta girls are all (say it with me) trashy hookers. The New York girls, on the other hand, are just a squawky mess. And since you all care, here's my profile of each woman:

Ramona I already talked about this lady a while ago, and my sentiments still ring true as I revisit the season this morning. In the last episode, in front of three models, Ramona made the statement that "modeling is an industry that doesn't require a lot of brains." Then she dug herself into a more hilarious hole by trying to apologize. What a girl-woman. I hope no one ever clues her in.


LuAnn Not to say that this group isn't perfect, but ugh! If there's one woman I could pluck out it would be LuAnn, the "cunt-ess." LuAnn thinks her "royal" shit doesn't stink, sauntering about with a sense of entitlement that I once believed was only real in period movies. She barks at her housekeeper, refuses to go on a first-name basis with drivers and the like (since they're "like children" and under her authority), and attributes the privileges she deserves to her European title. Seriously, are you fucking kidding me, LuAnn? As if "European" was even an indication of superiority over "American." She therefore is an immediate target for...

Alexandsimon Alex should always be referred to as Alexandsimon. Since her confusedosexual British husband, Simon, is practically sewn to her fabulous Roberto Cavali frocks (that he picked out). Alexandsimon is OB-sessed with gaining access to the upper echelons of society, so much so that Alexandsimon makes it a 24-hour job to research events, shop for designer costumes to wear to said events, and then scour the paper the next day for photographs of Alexandsimon at the event. Wearing the fabulous Roberto Cavali frock. Alexandsimon also has this insecure unrelenting quest to live the European life that LuAnn espouses, naming the children François and Johann and making it a point to tell everyone that François (who is fucking FOUR) makes speeches or whatever in French and Latin. This surreal behavior ere go takes a toll on Alexandsimon's house, which is dilapidated, and the stuff Alexandsimon's kids should be learning, like basic colors/numbers/shapes, and manners.

Jill Aw, Jill. The most balanced, normal lady in the whole cycle. There's very little shade of character in Jill that I could criticize, because she has her head on straight in the way that only a hardened, no-nonsense Jewish woman from New York would. She talks about her boobs ALL the time, which is kind of hilarious, only stopping to make astute, completely correct critiques of the other crazy housewives. She's in love with her awful chihuahua instead of status, which, after LuAnn and Alexandsimon, is really refreshing. Oh yeah, and she hates Ramona and it's fucking hysterical.

Bethenny After Jill Bethenny is the one who I could see myself totally being friends with. She's the only non-married, non-mother of the group, and she won't let us forget it. Bethenny's job is to cook food sometimes but mostly to just get drunk and badger her boyfriend about proposing and making her pregnant immediately. She's best friends with Jill, understandably, since they're both really good at sitting across a table from pretentious idiots and rolling their eyes. Her talent for critique is exercised in full force on her Bravo blog, where she attacks Housewives of other seasons in similar unminced words. Keep on keepin on, homegirl.


UPDATE As Bethenny would say, holy inappropriateness! The Bravo gods heard my prayers and are indeed blessing America with a second season of New York Housewives. This calls for a GNO with Alexandsimon. I hope we get photographed!

Thanks again, Vh1

Tonight I resigned myself to Vh1 to watch some wholesome family programming. By that I mean trashy episodes of Rock of Love Bus, Real Chance of Love, and Tool Academy. First item on tonight's post is the fact that I'm actually in effing LOVE with the song from Real Chance of Love, "Does She Love Me," performed by America's most eligible bachelors, the Stallionaires. For cereal you all, this song is catchy!



Next item. Tool Academy. It's sort of like Charm School, except it doesn't feature the alumni of previously crappy reality shows to labor. Basically, nine "tools" are forced to go through a relationship boot camp per the wiles of their doormat girlfriends. Obviously this is much to the chagrin of the nine gentlemen, who enjoy engaging in things like screaming why they're awesome, wearing aviators while they spray Pam on their delts, and giving themselves idiotic American Gladiator pseudonyms. They also have trouble living with the fact that being confined to a grooming academy for 30 days grossly interferes with their agenda of banging twins every night and drinking Natty Lites. This show's pretty easy to follow, mostly because every other word is "babe," "bro," or "douche." I say: beer me a whole season of this shit, dude.

Top 10 Characters of 2008

10. Jonathan Rhys Meyers: He totally out-douched himself as Henry VIII on the second season of The Tudors, which returned this year as the porniest thing besides Californication that was allowed on TV. I guess he tied this spot with Natalie Dormer, who played a totally kick-ass, painfully beautiful Anne Boleyn. And much better than Natalie Portman did.

9. Megan: Rock of Love's Megan inspired just way too much hatred from me to be excluded from this list. Megan defines the profile of that girl who knows she can use a rockin bod to get, like, whatEVER she wants (and yes, I'm only saying that because I'm jealous). Consequently, she wears nothing but teeny weeny bikinis everywhere (seriously, everywhere) and tries to carbon copy Paris Hilton by walking around with a smug grin and a dressed-up chihuahua. Unlike Paris, however, she does not stop imbibing, which gives her constant ceiling eyes, and she seems to be unaware that her 15 minutes will be up as soon as Vh1 cuts the cord on this ridiculous batch of incestuous reality show characters. PS: thanks much to Sharon Osbourne for giving Megan just a fraction of what I wish I could.

8. Heather: Heather is definitely the undisputed heathen queen of Vh1 - I will forever sing her praises (until, you know, like, Vh1 realizes they can only ride on the same four reality shows for so long). Unfortunately I missed her breathtaking performance in the first season of Rock of Love, which included Steph's faves like the "yumola" oyster scene and a joyride through some of the most ridiculous hairstyles imaginable. I think this little vignette sums it up perfectly. Regardless, in 2008, Bret's old flame championed through a second round of RoL 2, I Love Money, and Charm School, kicking Daisy's ass, hating Megan, hating Megan some more, and ultimately faltering under the marijuana ban they imposed on the set of Charm School. Hows about a 21-gun salute for our fallen pothead stripper soldier.

7. Christian Siriano: Bar-none the most talented, innovative, and awe-inspiring designer on Project Runway. After his victory the show clearly began to meet its demise, so it was only appropriate that he gave ProjRun its defining peak. Plus, he gets definite bonus points for being a total featherweight twink that defines his edge with such catch phrases as "tickety tack" and "fierce." (Yep, sorry Tyra, but Christian totally swept that carpet from out under your feet.)

6. Wall-E: This little robot almost pissed me off in his sheer adorableness and vulnerably good heart. Jesus. For three straight days back in July, I couldn't stop being all like "oooowaaaaaallleeeeeeee."

5. Jemaine Clement: Yes, Jemaine, yes it IS business time.

4. NeNe Leakes: "Caution to the wind, bras be damned" was this lady's mantra. If there was ever one woman in the Housewife collection who I'd want to hang with, it would most surely be NeNe. As her awesomely colorful voice was a pleasure to imitate among friends, she gave us such quotable gems as "don't be tardy to this party," and "close your legs to married men," and "TRASHY HOOKER." Her eccentricity completely made up for the fact that she kinda got hilariously drunk and kinda hilariously ripped on her "best friend" in a limo one night... especially since her best friend was totally self-deluded and self-centered. Whatever. NeNe, you're the lady.

3. Ramona Singer: aka "Ramoron." I seriously think this lady is full-on retarded. However, Ramona has definitely been my favorite housewife thus far in Bravo's whole series. Though NeNe is surely spunky and "three-snaps-in-the-Z-formation" enough for me, Ramona was just too faithful and too sincere in her ridiculousness to forget. She sort of reminded me of that aunt you had that loved to be around girls, and spoil them with outlandish tea parties, or try and infiltrate their adolescent teen pop world and be the "cool mom." She refused to be painted as anything but the perennially young Manhattan party girl, and in my book she gets immediate points for style and consistency.

2. Don Draper: This man needs no explanation. Even if I knew he's had careless, unprotected sex with scores of uppity brunettes, wastes his lungs and liver away on packs of Lucky Strikes and old-fashioneds, and based his entire life on a lie about his identity... yeah... I'd still hit that.

1. Barack Obama: Duh. That one.

For the Record

Sunday night was MTV's début of Britney Spears tell-all documentary by... some director whose name I can't remember called Britney: For the Record. Not-so-coincidentally, it aired commercial free (with a brief pause to plug her fragrances Curious and Fantasy) just two days shy of Britney's birthday(record release). Happy belated birthday, girlfriend. The film was a somber, silent affair, revealing shots of Britney being ushered from Escalades and make-up stations, while she talked over a faint piano sonata in the background (one of those effects that goes really well with like, candid slo-mo camera work).

Anyway, despite the fact that this entire feature was presented in full monopoly by the Britney Spears empire, I actually found it exceedingly poignant and one of the most objective, clear perspectives on a life that really is such a vicious circle of public exposure. Even though Britney herself isn't, like, y'know, totally articulate about her situation and stuff, her truly sorrowful loss for words is kind of heartbreaking. Here is a girl who has so much to be grateful for, but is so burdened and overwhelmed by the "control" and monotony in her life that she doesn't even know how to express herself or where to start. As many reviews will reveal, Britney seriously shied away from talking about her frappuccino-y barefoot-y days of head-shaving meltdowns, but the honest and silent awkward pauses she took in her responses, and the exhaustion that was evident in her breath reveals serious hurt. Listen guys. This woman is not going to look into the camera with a sober smile and say "yeah I fucked up and married a deadbeat and went on a bender - oops!" She's like, 27. Just because she has two children and a grillion dollars and went to rehab doesn't mean she's going to be the comeback story on the cover of MarieClaire. Shit, most people don't fix their lives even by the time they're 40. The main conundrum for this lady, and her public, is that Britney has become an idea... a mere presence or existence... rather than an individual. We call it "superstardom," and I can't imagine living through it during your formative years like she has done. You know, in lieu of actually growing up.

There were some high notes: I was especially delighted to see that Brit Brit is hanging out with people she genuinely seems to admire and trust (which she herself claims is a step in the right direction). Except for one scene in which entourage members laughed off her emotional frustration, Britney never once seemed upset or impatient with anyone. Her home life seemed happy and sedate: her two FADORABLE kids were waddling around in silly Halloween costumes, and her father seemed to be dutifully protective and proactive about Britney's career and homelife. And Britney herself, as a parent, seemed sincerely aware of "her babies" which "get her up in the morning." I still think she has a long way to go in her relationship with Sean P and JJ, and I hope she crosses it fast, because they are growing up rightquick. It seems as if her desire to regain the 20-something freedom she lost as public prey overshadows the irrational, unconditional love she should have as a mother. If you have a 2-year-old and a 3-year-old, your fucking sun and moon should rise and set around those kids. I don't think it does for Britney.

But, when all's said and done, as Chris Crocker has so ebulliently pleaded, Leave Britney Alone. At least she isn't lookin like this crazy mess anymore. Dang, yall!

Hey economy: STFU and put on a scarf.

OMJ you guys, have you seen the new Gap ads? The holiday ones always make my heart a little more toasty, and this year they're inundated with celebrities that simply make me giggle. In a year when Wall Street almost canceled Christmas, Gap makes me wanna spend my American money! For one, Jennifer Hudson greenlit her own shots despite the wretchedness in her life, and for that my heart really goes out to her. Also, the SOS Dreamboat comes sailing into the Gap in a button-collared beige sweater: Jon Hamm (swoon!). To top it off, as I noticed gliding up Third Avenue on an MTA bus, the dudes of the finally-funny-again Saturday Night Live faux-male-model some striped crew necks and look pretty fuckin loveable doing it. Ohmigawd. Also. Jason Bateman + adorbz daughter. Also. Dwight Schrute. Ohmigawd. Cool celebrity overload.

Also. Has anyone noticed how SNL has once again become hilarious? I actually would no longer be ashamed to forego a night out on Saturdays just to stay in and watch. Naturally the most interesting and bizarre election in history lent a lot to the show's boost in ratings and credit, but I'm both impressed and pleased that this show can hold its own and entertain without making a satire of the political circus we call American government. I can't really do it justice in words, other than to say the rotational skits (Surprise Lady, Two A-Holes, etc) are pretty damn funny, but even the new randoms carry enough novelty. This one is my latest fave.

When men was men and dames was dames

I haven't paid any heed to this blog in so long - I'm a terrible parent. And then I choose to steal away to it during work. Shame on me!

But. Speaking of mixing leisure with work, I have a new obsession. And it doesn't come from a bar well or the Gawker media network! No, lately I have been fully ensconced in AMC's beautiful confection Mad Men, an ode to the sexist, elitist, Kennedy-era executive kingdom of skirt chasers and four-martini lunches. (As per usual, I am once again slow on the latest brilliant pop culture uptake, as Mad Men has already been lauded by publications like Vanity Fair and graced the cover of Entertainment Weekly.) It's funny, because as misogynistic and philosophically concrete as the time was, there's something still so appealing and captivating about the gloss of it all: the economic optimism, the epicurian habbits of wining(scotching) and dining(smoking), and the impeccable approach to sex and how to sell it. I remember stories of my grandfather (though not in advertising, a thirsty member of Washington's lawyer crowd after he was swiftly ushered out of Kennedy's State Department) spending more time guzzling down lunch than inquiring about his wife and four children. Sure, it sounds a little irresponsible, but as the alpha female of Mad Men, Joan Holloway, says of the behavior, "isn't it the best?"

To sum up the mantra in one scene, here's SterlingCooper's resident slimeball, Pete Campbell, musing for the non-con, ambitious secretary Peggy Olson his idyllic vision for existence:



Fucking hurrah for chauvenism.

I'll have what she's having.

Here's hoping that my substance abuse impediments never find this sort of affect on my social skills.

After catching up on the last few episodes of Project Runway on YouTube, one of the thumbnails under the "project runway" search list really caught my eye. Here it is for your viewing pleasure - I hope you start to feel as uncomfortable as I was watching it. Luckily Tim Gunn shatters the icy wall of "WTF"ness by declaring a most decidedly out-of-character exclamation that puts his "holla atcha boy" moment with "that little gay grommet" Blayne to shame. Never have I loved the man more. Enjoy:

Austin Scarlett is in the mothereffin house, bitches.

The demise of Project Runway is such a sorry loss to good television. The fifth season aired on Wednesday and, thanks to numerous and correct theories that it is being quietly put out of its misery by Bravo (to spite that bitch network Lifetime for stealing PR from them - ugh! dumb whores), I didn't even feel buzzed enough to catch the first airing of the premiere. With nothing better to do, I tuned into a repeat to gauge whether or not I would be paying this program any attention this season. Good news is, I think I will (either through repeats or online or some shiiiit). Bad news is it does NOT look like this season will hold a fucking CANDLE to the previous four. And I mean like one of those shitty birthday cake candles that are an inch and a half long and half a centimeter in girth. But I digress.

Although watching these designs unfold, and seeing people in really challenging situations that force them to be innovative is always fun, the cast of this season is just so blaaaaaaaaa. They are either COMPLETELY vanilla (or "silent fashion assassins," as one boring ass Pollyanna defined herself) or totally cliché. Wow, you're a twinky gay guy with crazy hair and a cutesy lexicon? I don't know if you'll stand out next to that girl who ironically dresses up like a 40's pinup and wears red lipstick everywhere. Just to prove that they weren't above keeping contestants around for the pure sake of color and conflict, the folks of PR decided to keep Stella (a 40-something woman who dresses like a hell's angel and seems to have missed the fact that 1988 has come and gone - she was wearing wool long johns with a leather bikini bottom on top), even though she sent something that wasn't even a definable outfit down the runway:


Thank god this adorable number took the cake.

The challenge, by the way, was "taking it all back to where it began," which I think is a whopping harbinger from the PR producers themselves. They're sayin: "This is it yall, because once this mofo moseys on over to the Uterine Broadcasting System you can kiss our popularity wave goodbye." Just as in the first challenge on the first season of Project Runway, the designers were made to pick out materials from Gristedes, a New York grocery store, and make some sort of wearable, innovative costume out of it. AKA yall race in there and whoever buys the most table cloths and shower curtains wins. Yawn. BUT - ZOMG - look who came out to say hello!!!!

AUSTIN MOTHERFUCKING SCARLETT. The REAL winner of season one. Seriously, where has this bitch BEEN? Homegirl also got to be the guest judge for the challenge. Needless to say, Austin was the saving grace for this episode. If only this season's roster were as magically gay as he, maybe Project Runway would have a fighting chance. Sigh. Anyway, here's most of the rest of the designs (and more shots of Austin looking sheerly divine and kick all our asses with his fabulosity):

Finally this blog has some effin relevance in the world.

Holy shet!

My favorite VH1 commentator - or maybe the best talking head in the history of anything in the universe - Michael Ian Black, has challenged Tucker Max to a deathmatch. And in true (drunken) alpha male form, Tucker has heartily risen to the bait. Hurrah. My money's on Tucker, because he is like five times the size of Black with ten times the wired adrenaline, but Michael Ian Black does have that advantage of, you know, fully functional nerve endings and is like, a whole immune system ahead.

Michael Ian Black, by the by, is some hot ass shit right now. Not only because he's the only one worth watching on VH1's new nostalgia fest I Love the New Millennium, but also because he's June's Hot Slut of the Month on Dlisted. I'd post a video of him being filarious on VH1, but that's tired. Here he is in the greatest cinematic tour de force that God ever had the mercy to bestow upon mankind, Wet Hot American Summer:



UPDATE: Michael Ian Black roars with excitement! Tucker responds, "I assume that he is kidding about this. I am not at all. Once he realizes I am completely serious and that this means he is going to get punched in the face, I doubt he'll be as eager as he is now."

Oh hell naw.

Oh no she dih-ent.

Thanks to Dlisted, I can access the baser forum of current events without shame - you know, without feeling guilty for not reading the feminist-inspired Jezebel, keeping tabs in the New Yorker, or starting my day with a financially jargoned episode of "Squawk Box." (A happy medium = just going to Whole Foods or the nearest news kiosk and getting a TONY - fawesome!)

Anyway. I was relaxing my eyes this afternoon from the harsh love of Microsoft Excel when I happened upon this travesty posted by favorite Perez Hilton wannabe sight.

I whole heartedly support New York and all - in ALL her nationally televised faux romantic/ authentic promiscuous endeavors, but homegirl (read: Vh1) needs to realize when enough is S.R.S.L.Y. ee-nuff. We don't need a third I Love New York, nor do we need a shittier version of Lohan's shitty Monroe photographic "tribute." This is downright lazy and overconfident. Vh1 has mastered the celebrity-for-the-sake-of-celebrity genre, and the understanding that their audience is similar to that of a blog: urban, (completely) self-centered, thriving purely on its circumspection of every other social class via the interwebz, and ironically "normal," for which I applaud them. But honestly, is THIS what it has come to?

P.S.: Loves how the good stoner lackies over at my favorite network DON'T EVEN BOTHER to AIRBRUSH those pics. Aces!

Feeling revirginized? Trashy Lingerie's got just the thing for you.

I know I haven't updated this in like three centuries, and for that I apologize. But trust me, the joys of funemployment (namely the grossly disgusting amount of free time) will allow me to come back in full force in a day or two.

For now, I just HAD to share this video I came across of the late great Anna Nicole Smith, and her of her glorious televised ode to American decay: The Anna Nicole Smith Show. This series delivered 23-minute installments, reminders of the basal barnacle of society that brought us such phenomena as Bobby Trendy and "Howard, get me a pickle!" You don't have to watch the whole thing (though I highly recommend it unless you really can't stand listening to someone high on a whole bottle of Percoset and half a handle of Captain's). At least forward to about 1:45 in, when Anna utters probably one of the greatest self-assertions I've ever heard:

Just because I haven't had sex in two years doesn't mean that I don't wanna feel sexy. So, me and Kimmy went to Trashy Lingerie [yes that's actually the name of the establishment - take a wild shot in the dark as to what their inventory consists of] to get me some really sexy clothes.

Enjoy, yall:

VH1, you do not disappoint.

The season finale of Rock of Love 2 aired last night, and boy am I glad I did not have money riding on that shizz! In the surprise of the century, Bret picked the most NORMAL girl in the competition, Ambre (who, to quote Daisy, is "like 80 years old and so boring"), and let Lil Mis Lips-n-Tits know that her tour ended there in Cancun. Unfortunately, in my opinion, this charming little piece of croissant didn't put enough la resistance up to stick it out till le fin. Oh well, c'est la vie. The best part of the episode? Bret's suavely classy choice of last words: "Now let's go have hot monkey sex." Wow Bret; be still my beating heart.

Not to assume that this outcome is the product of any real "feelings" or "relationship growth," but I can at least rejoice in the mere semblance of good decision making on Bret's part. I'm proud that he chose someone not only close to his own age (Bret, contrary to your paranoia, you aint foolin anyone into thinking you're 29, though I understand how mounting ultraviolet guitars on your wall and riding hogs around your living room can be deceiving), but also someone whose already-obnoxious valley girl accent, poor vocabulary, and sub-par inarticulate speaking skills are not smothered by the gargantuan amount of collagen in her face. Daisy does not look her own age; she looks like a 58-year-old TRYING to look her own age. Gugh. Just so glad that gal is out the door. I cannot WAIT for the reunion show.





SEE YA, HO! --->










Unfortunately I didn't have the wherewithal to stick around for Viva Hollywood, nor do I anticipate holding any interest in that show - NO GRACIAS, SENOR. But I did visit VH1's site to see if there were any deleted scenes from ROL2 of my favorite skanky skank skankishly skanking things up. There, I discovered under the "VH1 Classic" section the glorious and sacred cache of Pop-Up videos. I thought that stuff was lost and gone forever with the rest of the flannel and polyester 90s. Needless to say, I spent about 4,329 hours watching some of the videos VH1 had posted (there are roughly 80 for your viewing pah-leasure in two separate links). Something about them made me so nostalgic for the days of Limited Too, awkward middle school dances, body glitter and shitty lip gloss, and writing three different letters to Leoanardo DiCaprio but then not sending them because I was a pussy. It reminded me of when VH1 had a little bit of integrity, even though it catered to the likes of vanilla middle-aged yuppies, like when it aired stuff like VH1 Storytellers, Behind the Music, the VH1 and Vogue Fashion Awards, and even those crappy Diva concerts. I still watched it, bland as it was (not bland but totally fucking rad = Pop-Up Video). But I must say now more than ever, VH1, I really appreciate that you've degraded yourself to the baser interests of human devolution.