MAKEOVERS! and that means tears and weeping and whining and crying and that’s just the hairdressers who have to work with these hamsters.



We open on the amazing house in the Hollywood Hills, where Victoria-the-Yalie is confessionalizing that she’s only wanted to be a top fashion model for like, you know, the last three weeks or so since she got on the show, and that her normal attire is a sweat shirt and pyjama pants. And she had no idea how hard this would be for like, you know, someone smart. Like her. Who goes to Yale, if nobody mentioned that before.



Then we see Salacious D explaining (I can’t understand my own notes - so I think it was to Binaca-the-Beeyotch) that she is Never. Never. Never. going to be in the bottom two. You hear what I’m sayin? Neh-VER. Gurl.



Finally, Chantal (and I have to thank the guys at fourfour for pointing this out to me) of the supremely asymmetrical face (girlfriend looks like a forceps baby who got gripped a little too hard) goes on about how nervous she is and has been but none of that means anything to her, because she only cares about winning. Winning! She has to win this. It has been her dream eternal.



Finally, we get to the salon, and this year’s celebrity stylist is none other than Ken Paves, who has done Valentino’s shows. And he is also responsible for Jessica Simpson’s nasty-looking Wal-Mart line of hair extensions and falls and pieces and clip-ins. For some reason, though, Tyra doesn’t mention that aspect of the Paves empire. Since this is the first time Miz Shoes has ever heard anyone say his name out loud, she is amused to learn that we don’t pronounce it the way it is spelled (like working on the highway), but Pah-VAYZ. Sure. Whatevs.



The tension builds as Tyra gives the girls the rundown of her visions for their heads: Ambreal will get her nappy little ‘fro taken down to about an inch; Binaca will lose the jello-colored bangs and get blonde extensions; Sarah will get a cool, short sort of Posh blonde cut; Victoria will get highlights; Chantal will get a peroxide blonde version of Tyra’s own bangs and straight hair; Lisa will get a short curly poodle cut; Jenah will get long, floaty blonde locks; Janet will get her existing pixie cut spiked and dyed black; Ebony will get her $500 weave removed (the hair people have been complaining that it is rubber cemented to her head) and instead she’ll get the long, parted in the middle Naomi Campbell weave (the same one she gave to Tiffany From The Hood—remember her? The Girl She Had Never Yelled At Anyone Like This Before?); Salacious D will get a Louise Brooks bob (or, maybe, considering the way it turned out, a Kelley Osbourne bob) and finally, Heather will get some chestnut color and her ends trimmed. Of course, nothing is ever as simple as it would seem. The truth of Ebony’s weave is that it is, in fact, glued down to her forehead, her scalp, her head… It is nasty beyond nasty, and we get to watch as half the skin around her hairline is pulled off. That’s FIERCE! The Little Orange Man asks her, as he holds the dead thing in his hand, if it cost a lot. She says, well, actually, it was free, but…



And I call BULLSHIT! Back on the Love Boat, Miss Thang was walking around telling everyone that she had a $500 weave, y’all. She was flaunting that thing all over the other bitches. Think we don’t remember? Oooooh, she not only stank, she a liar. Snap!



As for Binaca? Well, she won’t be getting her long, blonde locks because her hair has been dyed, fried, chemically treated, dyed again, straightened, fried some more and is breaking off in chunks. The only way to save her hair is to shave her bald. Not as bald as old Nnennah from Season 6 who got her freak on with the male model in the African shoot, but bald. And unlike old Nnennah, Binaca has a funny shaped head. She looks like my art history pictures of King Amenophis IV, the pharoh with the funny skull. Well, children, Binaca is not taking getting her head shaved well. She cries, she whines, she pouts, she weeps, she sulks, she complains, she bitches, she moans. She actually says to Miss Jay that she feels like a drag queen. Could he arch those eyebrows any higher? Talk to the hand, honey. Binaca lets us know that her momma always told her that if you cut off your hair, you’re ugly. (Nice parenting). Since they promised Binaca long blonde hair, Ken makes up a chemo wig (and O, Lordy I wish I was making that up, but I am not) for her with a latex front. They show her how to put it on, and she still is a bitch about it. Whine, moan, complain. Salacious D, on the other hand, loves her weave, even if it’s so tight her scalp is bleeding. Thanks. Miss Jay shows her how to do the weave pat. Are they going to actually tell this crop of hamsters how to care for these weaves? Nah, where’d the fun be in that.



Now that the girls have been made bee-oo-tiful, they have a make up challenge in which they will have to do their own make up, find their clothes in a room full of clothing racks, get dressed and out on the runway, all in five minutes. They are told to do a dramatic eye and a nude, shiny lip. Their judge is no less a fabulous personage than noted make-up artist, MRS. NIGEL!!! And she’s as beautiful as he is. They must have sick pretty babies, those bastards. The winner of this challenge will have their look duplicated on the new Cover Girl web site and they will get to do a video of it as well. Another good prize. The girls are getting lamer, and the prizes are getting better.



Off they go, and the first thing we see is Binaca bitching that she looks like a boy in a pink bathrobe. Yeah, whatever. Wear the wig and quit bitching, bitch. There are elbows flying and people blocking the mirrors and the makeup. Janet can’t find her rack of clothes, so she grabs the first dress that looks similar and fits. They all make it to the runway on time, but barely. Janet is declare amazing, and would be the winner if she wasn’t wearing the wrong dress, or so they say. The winner? Surprise, surprise, it’s Sarah! Remember Sarah? She’s the one who isn’t quite big enough to be plus size, so she’s the normal size girl? She took a huge risk and did an Amy Winehouse batwing eye. The judges just gushed. Whoo-hoo for the normal size girl who never gets any air time.



Back at the house there is Tyra mail with the question, Ready to be deflowered? And this crop of geniuses decide that means it’s the nude shot. Actually, not far off the mark. Commercials and it’s Jaslene, mumbling about something or other. The solution to her lack of enunciation is to have her do the intro and outro and have people who can actually speak do the commercials. It’s something about violence against women and I seem to hear her say she was a victim of that and that’s why she is so excited to give her voice to this cause. Or she could be telling me that violet is the color for fall. Really. She could be speaking Aramaic for all I can understand a word she says. And back we go to the hamsters.



Nay-chur! The girls are dragged out to a wilderness site where they will be flowers for noted French photographer Lionel Deluy. There they are made up to look like flora, but not necessarily flowers, as Victoria-the-Yalie is a cactus, and Jenah is moss, Lisa is bamboo, Sarah is ivy and Heather is a weed of uncertain variety and painted sort of like the Wicked Witch of the West. The flowers are Binaca who is a sunflower, Janet who is hydrangea (and those tatty silk flowers were blue, but they most certainly were not hydrangea), Salacious D is a pink tulip, Ambreal is a rose with Josephine Baker’s hair and an arched foot that is giving the Little Orange Man a woody (rilly, Mr. Jay, chill on the foot, you are creeping me out), Ebony is a bird of paradise, and poor Chantal is given the perplexing and difficult challenge of being baby’s breath. This very hard. Little Orange Art Director is giving her art direction, and the photographer is giving her direction and they aren’t the same direction and she starts crying and losing it and it is just a mess. Then she interviews that had the two men Just. Shut. Up a minute and let her work, she would have been awesome, because she (join with me now) “was born to do this.” I think that there is a drinking game here, just waiting to be defined. Take a shot every time she says that she was born to do/win this? I’m in. I’ll put the tequila on ice right now.



Back at the Casa des Bitches and Hos, we see Victoria lose it. This is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever done, she states. And all the other girls just stare at her, because they have no idea what ludicrous means. Imagine that you are a cactus? PUH-LEEEZE, she says. I want to wash off this ridiculous make up, put on my jeans and just go back to the library. The other girls just stare at her, because they have no idea what a library is. Salacious D announces once again that she is going to be America’s Next Top Model. So there. Phhhhhhhhht. And Chantal? Well, she wants this more than any of the other girls. She was born to win this. She has wanted to be a model since she was in kindergarten. Really? And at 20 she still has the same dream? Because when Miz Shoes was in kindergarten she wanted to be a cowgirl, but by the time I was eleven, I wanted to be a marine zoologist and do dolphin research. I only ended up in art school because my marine biology teacher (asshole) told me that women couldn’t do research and I’d have to be a teacher. I should have lowered my ambitions and been a dolphin trainer at SeaWorld, but you know, hindsight and all that.



Finally and at last we return to the judging room where the chia pet on Miss Jay’s head has grown another inch. And oh sweet baby jeezus, that is this year’s ruffle. He is adding an inch to the Afro each week when a girl goes home. Oh lord. My head just imploded. I don’t know if I can continue. But wait! There’s a cat fight coming, so I’ll press on, regardless.



The first girl to be reviewed is Victoria-the-Yalie. She has posed in such a way as to make her neck wrinkled, which Miss Jay notes by saying the rings on the tree tell a lot about the tree. Huh? And Twiggy starts to say something about a cactus being prickly and isn’t it amusing that… when Victoria snaps that she is so NOT prickly, TWIGGS. And I’d like to say, way to make the point, Yalie.



Lisa is seen as very modelesque in the two good shots she managed to squeeze out. Salacious D was called a dead flower and she lost her neck and her eyes and she has the very worst thing in the Model Universe: Dead Eyes. Jenah took a lot of risks as moss. Yeah. I know. What can I say that is more absurd than that? But she made a fan out of Lionel Deluy, who tells her that when she gets signed, and oh, she will, he is going to book her first. Janet shows the biggest improvement, even if she is too posey. Hah! Get it? She’s a posey who’s too pose-y?



Ambreal is a rose with a thorn… and dead eyes. Heather was declared one of the best shots of the day, as she blended in with all the other weeds, yet never got lost. She looked haunting. Do you think it was the Wicked Witch make up? Binaca came in with her chemo wig on and was told to take it off, because she looks so much better without it. Now is that commentary on the wig? Or of just how skank she looked with jell-o colored hair? Or of the fact that she looked like a dead sunflower. Miss Jay made some crack about her petals falling off. She looked amateur. Then there is Chantallobotomy. Twiggy didn’t like her face.  She tries the “but I had conflicting directions” tack with the judges, and they all just snort at her and tell her, welcome to the real world, honey. Too damn bad. Take it. Work with it. Sell it. Fool.



Finally there is Ebony. You have utterly no charm, says Nigel, quite charmingly. Tyra jumps at the chance to do one of her vicious impersonations. Literally. She vaults the judging table and stands, pigeon-toed on the runway. Then she rolls her eyes and chews her lips, while sitting at the table, we see Ebony doing the exact same thing.  You have to learn to take criticism without writhing, the judges tell her. Take it with the smallest hint of a smile, and with nods of your head to show you are listening. Or just fucking cry, but don’t make those awful faces. Ewww. The snot mustache was more appealing.



Judging: Victoria is stank. And a Yalie. Sarah is losing weight, and that’s not good. Embrace the curves, all fatty fat fat size six of them. Short lecture about how bad it is to be too skinny. Do you think that the Powers That Be noticed that the world found Jaslene to be both alarming slender and a drag queen? And completely incomprehensible, but I’ll stop beating that dead horse until next week’s MLAACG. Janet belongs in men’s mags, Jenah is stunning, Binaca got the bestest makeover evah, Heather is fab, Ambreal is wilting. Lisa is safe, and Ebony needs to clean up her stank attitude. Chantal has something missing (a brain?) and Salacious D doesn’t translate from real to photos. So, as the pictures are handed out, Jenah is first, going down the line to Binaca (embrace the new you), Chantallobotomy (the judges have doubts) and the final two: Salacious D (I won’t EVAH be in the final two… right?) and Victoria-the-Prickly-Yalie. Going home? Victoria, who really couldn’t care less. Whew. Next week? the return of Benny Ninja!



See you on the couch, the martinis will be cold.



Isn’t It Ironic?

Since I’m fairly sure that I will be burning in hell for all eternity when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I’m just going to say that I find a certain amount of morbid humor in a story that reports a plane full of sky-divers crashed with all aboard.



I will also say that this headline had me spewing coffee all over my keyboard: “Lindsay Lohan Says Rehab Was ‘Sobering’”.



Yup. I think that’s why they call it rehab, Linds.

The RLA and I have been busily watching movies lately. Netflix, IFC, Turner Classics, The Movie Chanel… And I can honestly say that the majority of what I’ve seen has been crap. Jeff Goldblum’s mockumentary “Pittsburgh”? Sucked. It had its moments, but they were few and far between. Like, was the director of the Pittsburgh production of “Music Man” in on the joke, or not. Because if not, the scenes where he’s trying to tell Goldblum that reinventing Harold Hill into a neurotic, twitchy idiot is not going to work, and there are only two days of rehersal left? Those are weepingly funny. If he was in on the joke? Not so much.



“2001, A Space Odyssey” is a classic, right? And I watched it again the other night for the first time in years and years. I watched it straight. I watched it waiting for it to be as brilliant and cinematically life-changing as it was the first time I saw it in 196whatever, when my friend Kay fell asleep during the trip. I kept waiting. And waiting. And I realized that there was a total of 10 minutes of dialog in the whole thing, and that those ten minutes did absolutely nothing toward driving the plot. And then I realized that there was no plot. And then I realized that I needed to see “Barry Lyndon” again. And then I thought that I should call Kay and apologize to her for ridiculing her for falling asleep in the theater and tell her that she was right about that.



We watched “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” and within the first five minutes I identified the choreographer as Bob Fosse. And I’m not even all that savvy about dance. That said, there are certain moves that will forever be Fosse, and nobody else. Jazz hands and contrapuntal feet, to be precise. I want a copy of “A Secretary Is Not a Toy”. Which is a lovely segue into the other musical I watched, “A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to the Forum”, a film that stands the test of time and then some. That is a great piece of cinema, with some great performances by some giants of the stage: Phil Silvers, Zero Mostel, Jack Gilford, and of course, the immortal Buster Keaton. Probably one of my all-time faves, and the number “Everybody Ought To Have a Maid” is almost always in rotation on the i-pod.



Finally:



Miz Shoes is sorry to report that last night’s date with the couch, the martinis and the Bitches and Hos was pre-empted by an altercation in the front yard involving the Noble Dog Nails, JoJo of Very Little Brain, a feral black momma cat and her kittens. Before you perish from the thought, no kittens were harmed in this tale.



There is a wonderful expanse of ferns in the southeast corner of my yard. Giant ferns with tunnels and caves of green. A perfect hiding place for fairies, I think, and so I encouraged the ferns to grow around a tree, over a giant slab of coral rock and the mounds of sand and rock that were the result of quarrying my koi pond. It is a perfect hiding place, as proved by the feral (and here’s an interesting thing: nobody at the emergency room understood the word “feral” even though they were possessed of advanced degrees. At least one would like to believe that nurses have advanced degrees.) cat who had her litter in those very nice green caves.



Another reason to believe that this is a most excellent hiding place is the fact that Nails and JoJo hadn’t found the kittens until last night. It was dusk, and the RLA was taking the recyclables out. The dogs went out with him. And then, the noise! The howls! The hisses! I leapt up and ran out of the house to the front yard where Nails and a black cat were going at it (excuse me) tooth and nail. And JoJo was diving into the ferns. And the RLA was yelling at them all to break it up. We got JoJo out of the way, the black cat beat a hasty retreat over the fence, and I pried a small Jellical kitten off of Nails’ face. I couldn’t quite tell if it was clinging to Nails or Nails had hold of it, but I dropped the little thing over the fence and we all adjourned to the kitchen to assay the damages. JoJo was fine. Nails had a lot of blood on his face and a pair of fang holes in his ear. We washed him off and I couldn’t find the source of the blood (could have been his nose) so I went back out to check for damaged kittens.



I found the nest under the coral rock, and heard rustling in the ferns. So someone was still there and doing fine. The kitteh I’d dropped over the fence was now back inside and trying to get to her nest. She was terrified, tiny and adorable. Well, I’m the cat whisperer, so I figured I’d calm her down and check if that clumpy wet spot on her side was dog spit or worse. I had a towel and some kitty kibbles and I was able to touch her little head, ever so gently, so I reached in for the grab.



She appeared to be fine and unharmed, because she immediately sunk her tiny, needle-sharp milk teeth into my thumb, all the way to the bone. When a tiny kitteh is attached like that, you want to not shake it off, because chunks of thumb flesh will go with it. You sort of have to let it unlatch on its own time schedule. Which I did, and then hightailed it back to the kitchen to scrub out the wound, and, this being the 21st century, Google “feral cat bite”. I there discovered what I already knew, but did not want to consider or admit: cats, especially feral cats, have the dirtiest mouths in the animal kingdom, second pretty much only to alligators. Swell.



I also remembered the story of an ex-friend of mine who had been bitten by her own, indoor cat. She’s a nurse, mind you, and she washed her thumb well and went to bed. She woke up the next morning with a thumb the size of a tennis ball, red streaks running up her arm and a fever. She spent the next three days hooked up to an IV of antibiotics in the hospital. So.



I went to the ER, where, when anyone hears the two words cat and bite in the same sentence, they start to shake their head and tell you that infection is inevitable. And bad. And that probably rabies shots are in order. And possibly tetanus. And I sat and sat and sat and sat. I made the security guard change the channel on the waiting room tv. He had to poll the entire room. One old gomer wanted CNN, but after I explained what I wanted to watch (young girls who want to be models) he started chanting “Mo-dels! Mo-dels!” and so I got to see (but not hear) part of ANTM, and then I got called away to fill out paper work, and missed most of the show.



Now I have four tiny little puncture wounds on my right thumb, a scrip for serious antibiotics and another for the certain side effect yeast infection, and a decision to make about calling animal control to remove the cat and her babies. My tetanus shot was up to date… thanks to Frankenpinkie two years ago, and it turns out rabies is only likely if bitten by a possum, a raccoon or a bat(!).



And that is the story of why Miz Shoes can’t tell you anything more about ANTM than the girl from Ocala (Seminole for pissant town on the edge of the swamp) got sent home for being neither pretty nor good teevee.

There has been a flurry of e-mail the past couple of weeks as a certain “this is not a fake, click on this button and donate to charity” chain letter makes the rounds. The thing is, it isn’t fake, and even though I think I’ll remember to click and donate dog food to shelters, I don’t remember. So.



Over there on the right, in the endless blog roll, just above the Daily Puppy (aww) and the Daily Kitten (double aww) I have added, for your and my convenience, a Daily Click. Click and choose which or all of the charities on that page you wish to support. There’s animals, children, breast cancer, literacy. You name it, there’s a tab for it. And there is shopping for charity, about which one can feel so morally smug.



It’s a win-win all the way around.

Downloaded MAGIC this morning, and haven’t made it all the way through the first full listen, but I can say this: when sings “It’s a long walk home”, he is not talking about from his ex-girlfriend’s place to his. Unless, you know, his ex-girlfriend is Lady Liberty and his apartment is a metaphor for American civil liberties. Another cut that is not about cars and girls is “Last to Die” and unless you were sleeping through all the attempts to dishonor John Kerry during the last presidential campaign, you’ll recognize the line “last to die for a mistake”, as the pull quote from his appearance before congress as a Viet Nam vet against the war. As much as this has been promoted as a back-to-roots rock and roll , this is a very . Not that there is anything wrong with that. And it is a very danceable, hummable .



There are echoes of sounds from the San Francisco Summer of Love, and from late-period Beatles, and even a track where you can actually appreciate that after 30 years and endless stages, Bruce has learned to sing. That may be the result of touring with the angel-voiced Nils Lofgren, too. I’m leaning towards loving this album. The first dozen times I heard the pre-release cut “Radio Nowhere” I wasn’t sure, to tell you the truth. I thought the production was a little dodgy. I thought it was a little, uh, light weight. Then I watched the video, and the penny dropped for me.



It’s only rock and roll, but I love it.

Page 73 of 193 pages    ‹ First  < 71 72 73 74 75 >  Last ›