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JB: I concur with the previously expressed opinion that humans should stay the hell off the runway and leave the walking and the turning to the professionals. With one glaring exception. Kids. Cute kids. Cute kids dressed in cute clothes. The sort of cute kids in cute clothes that might make a person with an increasing tendency towards pitiful broodiness (not me) forget every word in my...uh...their vocabulary except Awwww. I...uh...they are not alone, either. Nina Garcia's phantom water just about broke when Seth Aaron's mini-model brandished her little purse.
Models Of The Runway
JB: Cerri gets the bitch edit-- hates kids, wouldn't let one of her own model, barks at the younger girls for not cleaning up their shit-- yet still comes out smelling like Irish Spring. Les Yeux Sans Visage doesn't say one word but the only time we see her--doing a yoga pose in Central Park while they wait for the kiddie picnic-- she still seems like a volcanic asshole.
CC: I thought I could not love Cerri more, and yet now I do. Also, it has been brought to my attention that Eyes Without a Face bears a resemblance to Meryl Davis of Davis/White ice dancing fame. I agree with this assessment, and I think the ruler measuring the space between their eyes would also agree.
Celebrity Fit Club
JB: Last week, the drummer from Def Leppard was on hand--ha!-- to lead Fit Club through a bongo-pounding session designed to...I haven't quite figured that part out. This week, between assault courses, the show's therapist, Rhonda, gathered the group around a campfire and got them to cremate the personal items they most associated with their hideous bloat. The Not Fat Nicole Eggert tossed a copy of the National Enquirer with an unflattering bikini shot of her. Jay McCarroll burned all the elaborate scarves and ponchos that helped create his Gay Shrek persona. K-Fed threw his size-40 shorts. Rhonda asked him to say something to his fat pants before their Viking funeral. Federline mumbled a few syllables and the camera cut, as it always does, to Shar Jackson who looked, as she always does, grim. K-Fed may not have prepared a memorable speech but he said more to his pants than he has to her over the course of this series or possibly, ever.
Giada at Home
JB: This week, a taste of Northern Italy. Trenette with eggplant.Ligurian fish stew. Crostata with dried apricots and Tallegio cheese. Once again, the goods stayed wrapped up under a red cardigan and white t-shirt. Once again, she ever-so-slightly terrorized the group of girlfriends lucky enough to be allowed to sit in the spacious dining room of her lovely non-home. One friend ventured a quivery-voiced opinion on the origins of the fish stew. "Very good!" Giada replied with a big smile but a hidden subtext, obvious only to long-time viewers, of "Open your mouth to eat or keep it shut." And in mind-blowing news, our colleague in Young Adultery, Alexa Young, SHARES A NANNY WITH GIADA! And that's my IN!
CC: Holy shit. OK. That is awesome. I'm kind of freaking out. Now...how do I translate this into a $50,000 gift card to Anthropologie? That's right, I said $50,000. That store ain't cheap, and I want many items.
JB: Forgot this was still on, such is the unmissability of the Brit version. Lythgoe has a real chip on his shoulder about the show's lack of buzz and it's perceived inferiority to the original. He kept telling the final 3 they were as good as any American dancers. Demanded Mandy Moore agree that the UK reading of her boardroom power struggle routine was clearly superior. Told a local choreographer he'd be proud to bring his dance to America and let everyone know it originated in Great Britain. Unconvincing. Here's the winning girl: http://www.youtube.com/watchv=8bIZp64Z574
Spartacus: Blood And Sand
JB: It was Cock Week on Spartacus. Which it is every week. But even more so. The welcome return of "Jupiter's cock!". "Our fortunes rise like your cock." "Grab hold of your cock and be a man". "Your wife has been fucked to madness by a hundred vermin cocks.". The cock-shaped candle given to Lucy Lawless in order to set the mood for gladiator seed to find purchase in her barren womb. "Do I stir you to passion? Your cock would disagree": Lucy Lawless on her failed attempt to persuade Cruxus the Capuan to impregnate her. And, of course, the Capuan's own unveiled blade of death.
CC: RIGHT?! RIDICULOUS! Wait, wait, I can't resist: RIDICKULOUS! Okay, good times. I made the mistake of trying to watch this episode while eating dinner, and had to immediately switch over to Throwdown with Bobby Flay (brownie throwdown...the people he was against made a goat cheese brownie while he made a peanut butter caramel brownie...fucking judges gave it to the goat cheesers...this was a deeply stupid decision) because at one point they pushed a guy's face into a bunch of maggots. GROSS! MAGGOTS! EWWWW! I would rather see Big Lug Square Hair Gladiator use his finger to push his own intestines back in (which totally happened, by the way) than maggots! Aaaa! Mine eyes!!!!
Popstar to Operastar
JB: No explanation needed. Pop stars you've never heard of singing opera. Yes, another in my ever-evolving, never-appreciated series of Brit shows that would work over here. I could totally cast the American version. A couple of reality show vets( Sebastian Bach, Bret Michaels), some old school soul belters( Patti Labelle, Gladys Knight), some metal guys (Halford, Dio), a country singer or two, maybe a couple of barely employed r&b chicks (Ashanti, Deborah Cox) and two buffoons (Hasselhoff, Billy Idol). Add a bunch of tunes viewers know from travel commercials and you have a hugely-derided, much-watched show. Here to prove, or ruin, my point is the bass player from Blur:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPKrVFEOb7
CC: I didn't think it was possible for an episode where a grandma got kicked in the face by a cow to be boring. I was wrong.
JB:Yes, it was boring. Cowboy boring, Moron boring. Reality whore boring. Lesbian boring. But... writing or even thinking mean thoughts about Team Grandma now makes me want to paint my tongue black. What a lovely woman. What a heart-warming relationship with her grand-daughter.What an inspiring attitude to life. Would one more week of her enjoying the dickens out of everything been that irritating? But then... if she'd stayed, that means losing the untapped comedy bonanza of the slapstick detectives which would be...adios, old lady!
America's Best Dance Crew
JB: Call the medics! There was an outbreak of bringing it this week. Jungle Boogie brought it. The Canadian Bacon Crew brought it. The Rope Dopes brought it. The Fat Bastards brought it. And the Crazy Clockwork Asian Comedy Robots were somewhat derelict in heir duty as regards bringing it. The disappointment in the room was palpable.
JB: In the history of boring Hollywood episodes. In the history of boring results shows. In the history of Idol Gives Back. In the history of...that was, these were The Most Boring Filler-Stuffed, Needlessly Extended, Suspense-Free Shows Ever. EVER! Except that the first episode climaxed with Jessica Furney reacting to being rebuffed by Rachel Berrying the fuck out. She out-I Want It So Bad-ed anyone who's ever Wanted It So Bad. When her tirade sailed way past the point of merely being awkward, Ellen tried to step in with a well-intended,`You're only 21, you'll make it.' Jessica must have confused Ellen with her mom because she looked at America's Favorite Sort-Of Funny Lady like she was a piece of shit. She said `How do you know?' and actually sneered when she said it. At Ellen! And then the next night ended with the oft-rejected Angela Martin, a woman whose life is so tragedy-filled that being kicked in the head by a cow is on her bucket list, facing another No. And because she didn't Jessica Furney-out, because she was stoic in the face of her crushed dreams, Angela Martin got the closest thing she's ever going to get to a happy ending. Kara promised to write and produce a song for her. Ellen vowed to find her a record deal. America's Most Wanted stepped in to track down her missing mom. That's right, Furney, Angela Martin can't sing better than you, her star quality is as negligible as yours, but she's got A Thing. Her unendingly miserable life is her version of 50 Cent getting shot nine times. The ball's in your court, Furney. The ball of despair.
Ice dancing original dance, bitches!
CC: Or not, because to my utter horror, my damn DVR malfunctioned and didn't get anybody after Davis & White. Who kicked ass, so that was awesome. I don't know about your countrymen Kerr and Kerr though, JB. Brother/sister teams are fairly common in ice dancing, but I still think it's weird to even have to hold hands with your sibling that much, let alone get up in their face all sassy-like while wearing daisy dukes. Oh, great, I just read on the internet that Virtue/Moir were so awesome they, like, practically exploded the stadium. Wonderful. Thanks, DVR, I'm so glad I missed that. *kicks DVR* By the way, did everyone see the eyebrows on the russian chick? I just want to make sure everyone saw the eyebrows on the russian chick.