January 2008 Archives
The reason this was so unlikely is that they're normally the sort of team that would bug the crap out of me. Not so much her -- she's kind of bandy-legged, but cute -- but him, with the dreadlocks and the "maaaaan" all the time. Oh, also the whole "newly dating" thing; normally I would regard that as a recipe for spectacular relationship flameout. But they have ensorcelled me.
I started to realize that I had a crush on them during last week's episode, when I found myself in kind of serious distress at the thought that they were going to be eliminated, and expressed my relief that they weren't with a squeal that was really far too loud to be for a couple of people I don't even know.
Okay -- am I high, or is the dude in this commercial saying that if he had known his wife had bad credit, he would not have married her?! I realize he isn't real, but still, this is the message the company chooses to sell its service -- you should screen out the potential life partners who might hamper you financially? Don't get me wrong: I'm not a bad-credit apologist or anything. I certainly agree that people who have bad credit shouldn't get crooked sub-prime mortgages or unsecured credit cards or anything like that -- for their own good (and that of the economy). But that they shouldn't be allowed to find love? Gross.
So there this photo of Clay Aiken in the TWoP bullpen (...I'm just going to let you all marinate in that one for a moment and start again with a new paragraph).
It's a printout of Clay's face, up close, from a very recent photo and while it vexes me for many, many reasons, it mostly vexes me because in this photo he looks exactly like Martina Navratilova. And I like Martina Navratilova, so the connection is doubly troubling. But it did remind me that, with the new season of American Idol right around the corner, waiting to devour us all whole for the forseeable future, I should probably lay down some Idol primer here on the Telefile. So while I was researching for the Ten Most Insane Performances In Idol History (coming Monday, and thus concludes this segment of the TWoP True Hollywood Story: Joe Writes A Damn Blog Entry), I came to one conclusion that I felt needed to be addressed all by itself. It's a truth I now feel more strongly than anything I've ever felt about Idol. And that truth, quite simply, is this:
OH MY GOD, WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T SING "TURN THE BEAT AROUND"!
Never before has one song done so much damage to the fragile ears of America. For one thing, it's not even that good a song -- not in its original Vickie Sue Robinson incarnation, not in its Gloria Estefan incarnation, and not in any of its FAR too many Idol variations.
Or have you forgotten Carmen Rasmusen's version? I didn't watch much of Season 2, and since there seems to be one contestant each season who gets the "Goat Girl/Boy" designation for their vibrato, most of them not being that bad, I fell into a "How bad could she really be?" place. After some YouTube-ing, I got my answer, and that answer was "Feta" because never before has the combination of goat and cheese been more profound.
Or how about Diana DeGarmo's rendition, with its almost otherworldly flatness, not to mention the Fringe Skirt That Ate Up With People? There's no reason for you to remember Season 4's Amanda Avila, but she bombed with it too and was off the show within two weeks. And of course, last season, poor Haley Scarnato not only added the disco non-anthem to her long list of "Songs That Have Kicked My Ass" but also had to sing it twice because it's the song she got voted out on.
Seriously, Season 7-ers, don't do it. I don't care if it's Disco Night, Gloria Estefan Night, Songs That Are Also Imperatives Night or what: there's a better option out there. And stay away from "Crazy Little Thing Called Love," too, damn.
When I saw she'd put it on, I was all, "Oh, LEAH. I can't believe you watch this show! Wouldn't you rather look for a nice documentary on DVD instead?"
Ten minutes later: "That's a pretty crappy deal from the banker. Geez."
Ten more minutes after that: "SEVENTEEN! PICK SEVENTEEN!!!!"
Wing: I don't want to interfere with the picks, but can I suggest My Shocking Story: Half Man, Half Tree?
Miss Alli: You definitely can.
Wing: Shall I read the description?
Entire Bullpen: Obviously.
Wing: "32 year old Dede lives in a remote village in Indonesia with his two children, trying to care for them. Dede, a former fisherman, has an extraordinary skin condition: he has root like structures growing out of his body - branches that can grow up to 5cm a year and which protrude from his hands and feet, and welts covering his whole body. He is known locally as ‘Tree Man’" --
Miss Alli: By his incredibly uncreative neighbors.
Wing: I'm sure it's more colorful in the original Indonesian.
Sars: Come on, guys, calling him "Avon Barksdale"? You're not even trying!
Wing: [continues to read description; crowd is distracted by Tree Pun Olympics]
Sars: "Lord Of The Rings."
Miss Alli: "Twiggy."
Sars: "D.A. Arthur Branch."
Miss Alli: "Branch Rickey."
Joe R: D.A. Branch is played by Fred Thompson.
Joe R: Maaaaakin' a stump speech!
Wing: Hey, he just wants to know if the doctors can spruce him up a little.
Sars: Changin' his name back to Douglas...FIR God's sake. [pause] Gnarly.
Let me tell you something, Networks McGee. You have American Gladiators, and you have Deal Or No Deal, but you have no network without writers. There is absolutely a zero percent chance that you will eventually decide to run your network without writers. Your chances of going on without them are nonexistent. You don't get the best work out of creative people by treating them like their work is worth nothing -- how hard is that to understand?
Honestly. You're going to work with these people again. You can't not. Dude, you got here from The Office and Ugly Betty; what's the problem? Writers. WRI-TERS. What are you thinking?
I cannot believe you seriously used the word "Jaters" in your scoop email today. I cannot believe it. I feel betrayed. You have gone over to the dark side. It's like you are dating Satan.
You are referring to Lost fans who enjoy the pairing of Jack and Kate. You are calling them "Jaters." You are in league with the people who say "LoVe." You are in league with the people who say "Gizzie." Let me repeat: you are taking your clothes off for the devil.
This is not okay. It is absolutely, positively not okay. I tooth-grittedly tolerated the advent of the word "shipper," because it allows people who want nothing from a show except to watch two specific people make out to segregate themselves from everyone else, and that segregation can be a good thing. But this is too much. Please. I would rather you started using "OMG" and "IMHO." I would rather you use "IKR," which I saw the other day for the first time, and which I understand to mean "I know, right?"
I would rather you wrote entirely in lowercase letters.
I would rather you used Comic Sans.
Stop the madness. Resist Lucifer's bewitching kiss. This is still supposed to be a civilized society, and we should have standards, and you are a real publication, and stop it right now.
Miss Alli (through sobs)
Line Of Fire. I do not remember this show existing myself, but the archives are insistent that Jessica recapped it, it featured David Paymer naked, and someone was a "promiscuous boozehound."
Skin. What could go wrong with a show about the sex industry? Djb found out. Three episodes, you guys.
Birds Of Prey. There were thirteen whole recaps of this, and yet when I saw the title, I thought, "Didn't that get canceled in the second week or something?" Poor Daniel.
There & Back. This wasn't even that long ago. This was, like, two years ago. But before Potes brought you Rock Of Love and other classics, she covered two whole episodes of what amounts to an O-Town retread, and if you think about how intense that is, you'll...well, you'll be impressed by how intense that is.
More like this later in the week. I don't think we reached any final conclusions about a definite winner. Sars and I sometimes get distracted by YouTube clips of Anna Devane being menaced by Grant Putnam's dog.
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