The Shaw Report: The End of an Era?

The people over at Entertainment Weekly seem to have wised up, twofold. First, they give Project Runway the cover story and, and!, put Heidi AND TIM GUNN on the cover. I saw it while loitering around the Philadelphia airport and got pretty giddy. It's too bad the rest of the issue had more filler than an American Idol season finale.

Secondly, as my subscription ran out back in the spring, EW and I have been estranged for quite some time now. And because I'm a masochist, while waiting for the plane I flipped right away to the Style page and...no Jessica Shaw? Just a tired feature on the red carpet at the Video Music Awards? Whuh? So I flip around frantically until, lo and behold, there's The Shaw Report on the News + Notes page. But now, instead of the usual three-by-three matrix of irrelevance, Shaw has been downsized to a tiny spot in the bottom-left corner and only one category instead of three. (Celebrity Offspring, no less. Girl, please. That's so two months ago.)

Did the editors realize how inane the feature is, and how it offers nothing whatsoever to the advancement of popular culture? I certainly hope so. Because if I wanted to read tired filler features about which citrus fruit is "in" right now, I would pick up an Us Weekly or, if I was feeling particularly shameless, an In Touch. EW gets its share of criticism, but I have yet to find another weekly mag that keeps me as unpatronizingly informed about what's going on. So, thank you, EW, but can't we just get rid of The Shaw Report altogether?

Mini-Fop

Finding a job. Unpacking my apartment. Reading. Writing something meaningful in this blog. These are all productive things I should be doing on my last few days off. Instead I just spent the last twenty minutes making this:



Admittedly it doesn't look like me. But I'm pretty sure I have that sweater. So, you know, it's good to know that even the animated version of myself doesn't set his sights much higher than H&M, too.

Crashvivor

It's official. Here comes Survivor riding the coattails of success of The Best Picture Of The Year. Because the only thing hotter than reptiles on aircraft right now is racial tension, the tribes on the upcoming season of Survivor will be segregated separated by race. Host Jeff Probst says that the move is in response to criticisms that the cast is not racially diverse enough. So why not just cast more people of color and have them assigned to tribes in other equally arbitrary but less offensive ways? Ah, because that's not enough of a "twist".

The whole thing just feels kind of icky. The cast members cannot really avoid feeling like they're representing their whole race on national television. And while there will certainly be opportunities for education on racial intra- and intergroup relations, Survivor doesn't really pack the educational punch that a show like Black. White. does. I guess it's not even that important since I haven't watched Survivor since that season where the Mormon girl didn't win, and Brian is the only person I know who still watches regularly. But it's because of these sorts of production ploys that, out of all the long-running reality shows, Survivor always will feel the most gimmicky. Feh.

Summer Movie Bonanza: An Addendum

I thought last week's Snakes on a Plane premiere would be my final film viewing of the summer, foolishly, as I did not account for the next week I would be spending in PA. Another week, that is, of the kind of hometown ennui that one can only experience a week before the start of an academic semester. Unfortunately, this led me to seeing Accepted out of sheer nothing-better-to-doedness. Despite the occasional funny line and the supporting role of Strangers With Candy's Tammi Littlenut, the less said about the movie the better.

Fortunately, the next day I cleansed my gray matter with a late-night viewing of Little Miss Sunshine. (And all by myself, might I add, being the trudependent single gal that I am. Holla!) (God, I need to get some.) Little Miss delivered on all accounts, mostly because I don't remember the last movie, especially the last comedy I saw in which I cared so much about all of the characters. None of the characters are remotely perfect, though I should mention that Toni Collette always looks supercute and Steve Carell had a subtle foxiness I've never noticed before. (Anyone agree? No?) Everyone just does such a good job. Admittedly, I felt like it was going into mawkish land, but the bits of darkness and characters prevent a total mushfest. One of the best this year. Suck on that lemon, Accepted.

To Every Season

Back to school displays assault the eyes at Target. Vanity Fair's Style Issue is out in all its twenty-seven pound (but mercifully Tom Ford-less) glory. These are the official signs of the end of summer. And I am considering my viewing of Snakes on a Plane last night the end of my summer movie viewing bonanza.

It's been a summer of good movies (A Prairie Home Companion), bad movies (Poseidon, Stick It), middling movies (The Devil Wears Prada), and those all-too-forgettable movies (Mission: Impossible 3? A Scanner Darkly? Wuh? Did I actually see these?) I, for one, am glad that we can all move into the Fall and Winter seasons that usually offer more interesting fare.

Which I guess brings us to Snakes on a Plane. First of all, I don't know why I was there on opening night, since I never, ever go to movies on their opening nights. But there I was. I have never seen so many scenesters gathered together in York County, Pennsylvania in my life. If a meteor hurled into the theater, there would officially be no "scene" left in all of central PA, which would also have unforseen economic effects on the 24-hour diner and Salvation Army branches. But anyway, Snakes. It was what it was. There is a plane. There are snakes. Snakes biting eyeballs and genitals. Snakes constricting. Snakes [Spoiler!] eating tiny dogs. Snakes delivering comeuppance. The ridiculous factor is high, which, being a vehement snakeophobe, I appreciated greatly. I don't think I'd ever see it again, but it's an experience. It's also nice to see a film live up to its hype. I guess.

TG + MW 4 Evah

Tim Gunn on Kayne's dress from last night's PR: "...it was still a hot mess. Frankly, it looked like it was going to Pattycake’s birthday party at Angela’s art camp. Oh my. Maybe we should inaugurate a Jubilee Jumbles award?"

This? Is why I love this man. He also mentioned his disapproval over the judges' decision. I hate how the producers have to throw in at least one mid-season, WTF elimination. (Season One: Alexandra elimmed over Wendy; Season Two: Emmett over Santino.) Now we've jettisoned lovely Alison over godawful Vincent. Le sigh.

Vacay All I Ever Wanted

I'm heading home to PA for a few weeks to see the fam/friends and celebrate the birthday (Eeee!). Hopefully I'll be posting from there unless I'm absolutely ravaged by laziness. Which, you know, good possibility and all.

Rock of MySpace

Vote for James or die! Vote vote now!

Heeeee. I nominated James for this Queerty Men of MySpace Award awhile ago and totally forgot about it. You have to vote so he can get the title. Go now! On with you!

Game Show Marathon

Having recently moved into an apartment that boasts, in addition to an empty keg and a nasty ant problem, the beautiful world of digital cable, I have found myself watching Game Show Network for hours and hours on end. Game shows always have had a special place in my heart, since from the ages of about four to eight, I told everyone that I was going to be a game show host when I grew up, to proudly join the ranks of the Martindales and Cullens and Dawsons. But enough about my shattered aspirations. Here is what Game Show Network appears to be offering nowadays.

Match Game
Always a classic. It really makes you long for the seventies, when it was okay to smoke cigarettes, drink G&Ts, and talk with racist accents on game shows. Between Gene Rayburn’s all-around creepiness and Brett Somers’s inability to comprehend her surroundings, the show makes for more than a little hilarity. I would be interested in any good Match Game drinking games, if anyone knows of any.

Starface
One of those unessential, celebrity-themed game shows where all of the contestants seem like they were referred by their agents. Danny Bonaduce's performance as host unsurprisingly falls somewhere between “awkward” and “gravelly”.

Chain Reaction
This is GSN’s heavily advertised update of the ‘80s game show. It’s wordy, so naturally I like it; plus, the theme song consists of detached lyrics and a synthpop beat that has kind of become my jam. It’s an entertaining and stylish little game show without too much gimmick (Russian Roulette much?). Great bonus round, too.

Lingo
Sush and I have a better time playing this game online than we do actually watching it. Those lingo balls still look fun to play with, though. Also, shut up, Woolery.

Password Plus
I have said it before and I’ll say it again: Password is the most boring game show ever to be conceived. The best thing to come out of this show is the Family Guy where Peter goes on the show and tries to describe the word flaming to Tony Randall.

Press Your Luck
And we’re talking the original here, before the whammies were updated to look like cats. My opinion remains the same from when I was seven and used to watch the reruns on USA: this the best game show in the history of the genre.

Family Feud
I have a theory that there is a huge game show contestant pool somewhere in southern California where contestants are screened based on what show is best for them. The stupidest people get sent to Family Feud, avec relatives.

PR, You Are An Obsession. You're My Obsession.

I'm sitting here thinking of something to post and, as it has become normal for Wednesday afternoons, all that is running through my head is "PR PR PR PR PR PR PR".

What is it about this show that is so all-consuming. Why cannot I focus on Mel or Lance or Suri for three seconds on a Wednesday without my thoughts switching over to Tim, Nina and even farty old Michael Kors? Even right now I'm supposed to be preparing for a job interview and my train of thought keeps slipping from "Hmm, how can I compensate for my lack of experience in this field?" to "I wonder who breaks the rules. Maybe someone cheats somehow. Or maybe there's a sabotage move. Or maybe a fight breaks out. That'd be sweet. I hope they show more of Michael tonight because his stuff sure is pretty..." and so on and so on and you get it.

The point is, Bravo has managed to craft television crack. And the crackness can only be applied to this show. It's not like I sit around spending my precious hours wondering if Joanie can overcome her snaggletooth or if the hippies will ever stop mugging. It certainly doesn't help that I have watched every episode of PR3 around an average of 2.4 times.

In my mind, Project Runway is the closest we've come to perfection in a reality show since the first seasons of The Amazing Race and Survivor. My hopes at this point are that Bravo (a) doesn't overexpose us à la The Apprentice what with the new season starting every fortnight or so and (b) doesn't tamper too much with the formula à la The Amazing Race. And please, PLEASE, never do an "all-stars" season. The thought of Santino and La Pepper in the same room is terrifying.

A City of Justice, A City of Love

Whew. I'm back from an AMAZING trip to New York City. Waking up for work this morning has rendered me comatose and largely unable to string a sentence together, but here are a few highlights:

1) If you are at all a fan of the show, go see Strangers With Candy. It's no grand work of comedic art, but it's consistently funny with a few fall-over-laughing moments. Definitely better than any comedy a Wilson brother is throwing at you this summer.

2) Vintage store workers in SoHo are the nicest people ever. Well, not really. But compared to the affectations of bitchiness that most vintagey clerks give off, it was very delightful.

3) Wow for art. Those museums are incredible.

4) The weather? She is HOT. So very hot. And I'm not feeling much relief back in Michigan either.

5) Mmm, cannoli.

6) Sushi restaurants are still good even when only ordering drinks and no sushi.

7) Mmm, bellinis.

8) Seriously, I leave my computer and internets for four days and come back only to find I missed the awesomest Mel G. act of atrocity EVER.

There's lots of other good times to mention, but I think part of me just melted, so I should attend to that.

My List Of Project Runway Contestants In Order Of Their Likelihood of Getting Eliminated Next Week Due To Cheating

1. Keith
2. Vincent
3. Jeffrey
4. Angela
5. Kayne
6. Bradley
7. Bonnie
8. Laura
9. Alison
10. Michael

11. Uli

12. Robert

I will be very surprised if anyone below number 4 ends up being the culprit. I guess we'll see.

The Devil Drinks Diet Coke and Plans Parties Now, Evidently

Having had a decently enjoyable time seeing The Devil Wears Prada, I decided to embark into the seamy world of chick-lit. Since the library was fresh out of Devil copies, I opted for Lauren Weisberger's recent sophomore release Everyone Worth Knowing, deciding that it would be fun and fluffy and perfect during the rare spots of downtime that occur in my high-pressure, overachieving, always-on-the-go life.

Everyone bears a lot of similarities to the movie version of Devil, with a young twentysomething post-grad in Manhattan dealing with a conflict between personal, kind of unfulfilling success and snarky coworkers versus friends and integrity. Now just substitute "trendy fashion mag" with "trendy PR firm". Our protagonist is Bette, a imperfect but likeable and relatable single banker who quits her job only to land, with the help of her gay socialite uncle, at the aforementioned trendy PR firm. She spends her days planning parties and contacting celebs and promoters and her nights doing business at Bungalow 8 and the like with her hot but mostly drug-addled and morally contemptible coworkers. Bette rapidly finds herself in the NYC gossip columns due to her persistent, but nonsexual, relations with British it-boy Philip Weston. Throw in the requisite disappointment from friends and family, plus a dashing love interest, and you've got a story.

I definitely got what I wanted, namely an entertaining ride full of interesting characters and unrealistic plot twists. Weisberger has received a large amount of criticism, for this book in particular, but I'm convinced that she can write a snappy and compelling story that, yes, ties up neatly at the end to an absurd level, but is still well worth the ride. The whole chicklit critical backlash seems kind of unfortunate, really, and I hope that some of the stigma associated with reading chick-lit has, at least, partially transferred to other sorts of books.

I'd recommend it though, and as cliched it sounds, it really is great for reading in an air conditioned coffee shop on a sunny summer day with some iced caffeine and a lemon bar or five. I don't really feel like I gained any insight into the PR world outside of what I could glean from a Samantha-centric episode of SATC, but I had a good time and I'm even more psyched now to live in NYC. Ah, some day.

FopOn

Kudos bars to Brian for sending me this well-researched review from Slate on the HeadOn ads. There is also a video of the ad in all its full-length, mind-assaulting glory.

Call me a lemming, but I am fully on this HeadOn bandwagon. The ad is just a beautiful thing. It's like what I always imagined commercials to be like in some sort of dystopian, Fahrenheit 451-ian, not-too-distant future. HeadOn is essentially opening the doors for other cold, repetitive ad campaigns to strip humanity of its rational thought. The way I see it, we're really not that far off from moving sidewalks and personal jetpacks and soma vacations.

Of course, despite my curiosity toward HeadOn, I have absolutely no interest in rubbing an herbal Push Pop on my forehead, directly or not. And five-plus dollars seems like an awful lot when you can just get some Excedrin for less and call it a day. If there is a way for the HeadOn people to brainwash me to the point where slathering up my forehead (directly) seems like a good idea, then they'd really be set. Perhaps a money-back guarantee that it'll make me as vacantly complacent as the model in the commercial. Until then, I'm holding onto my five dollars and my achy, unmoistened forehead.

The Freshmaker: Accessories, Adorabale Amys, and Animal Rights Activism

Fresh: Summer ascots
Fresh Last Week: Grecian sandals
Stale: Leopard-print sunglasses

Fresh: Amy Sedaris
FLW: Amy Poehler
Stale: Amy Adams

Fresh: Aiding animals in Lebanon
FLW: Committing to faux fur
Stale: Eschewing veal

We TAR The World

Evidently, the casting directors over at The Amazing Race heard my complaints about the lily-whiteness of the casts for the past couple of seasons, ones that often featured two to four people of color out of about twenty-two total racers. IGN has pictures and stats on the new TAR10 teams who look comparatively pretty diverse.

It seems that we have at least four teams that are ethnically non-white, plus a disabled racer, a pair of gays, and a freaking lesbian. Yeah that's right. A lesbian. Fortunately for the other racers, there's just one and she's on a team with her dad. She looks pretty femme, too, not that there's anything wrong with that of course. They clearly know that a team of two lesbians would finish the whole race in about a week, tops. Let's hope her and the gays represent. We got slammed last season in the first leg. And who was before that? Lynn and Alex? Bleeck. It seems like so long since we've had good gays. It makes one long for the halcyon days of Oswald, Danny, Ken, Andrew, and hell, even the Guidos. (But never Aaron and Arianne. NEVER.)

Save for the male models and the pageant winners, it looks like we have a suspiciously normal looking group of racers. My hopes are high. Don't disappoint me, Bruckheimer.

The Amazing Race 10 is sans airdate at the moment, but it will be on a new night and time: Sundays at 8 PM starting in the fall.

World Series of Fop Culture

This past Saturday while enduring the worst. Hangover. Ever. I happened across VH1's World Series of Pop Culture. I've been sort of meaning to watch it since its inception, but truthfully the format looked boring and almost reminiscent of an adult spelling bee. So, unsurprisingly, I was hooked after five minutes, rooting for certain teams and guessing along with the contestants.

The competition is a tournament format comprised of teams of three. Two teams enter each round, one gets to move on to the next round. The objective is to eliminate the other team's members by doing better than them in a one-on-one round of six open-ended questions. The team that does best out of five rounds and eliminates all of the opposition wins. The greatness of the show is really in its simplicity.

So how did I fare? Eh. Not as well as I'd hope. I was maybe getting 70% right at best, around 50% right at worst. Some of the categories I was easily able to run with (After Reality: Questions Pertaining to Reality Celebs After-show Career Moves), some I knew one or none of the six answers (Sports Movies), and some I thought I would rock but ended up suuucking (Game Shows?!? That should have been my best category. I honestly would have sworn on the lives of my nonexistent children that the final round of American Gladiators was always called The Gauntlet. Even the contestant said that. Not so. It's called the freaking Eliminator. [And of course James knew that.] I'm not bitter.)

Aside from the trivia, it's just fun to see the teams engage in popcult fisticuffs. You get the feeling that the cooler teams go out after the show and talk about their favorite episodes of The Facts of Life over a few pitchers. The coolest team by far is Almost Perfect Strangers. They're so cute! And they seem to know their stuff. Hopefully they'll go far.

If there are auditions going on at any point in the near future, I'm so there.

Einundzwanzig

ONEMONTH.ONEMONTH.ONEMONTH.

One.


More.


Month.


YES.




Any suggestions for the first legal boisson alcoolique?

Project RunYAY

The premiere is less than ten hours away. I caved and watched the casting special last night and I. Am. PSYCHED.

And a premature boo on you, Off-the-grid Ohio Angela.

Fop Rave: Sia

I am utterly in love with Sia's music video for the song "Sunday". It's hilarious and heartbreaking and completely suspended in this crazy dreamworld. I've loved her as Zero 7's go-to chanteuse, and she seems to be getting a lot of play since she was featured on Six Feet Under. Her solo stuff sounds amazing too--definitely on my to-purchase list along with the new, and evidently rather upbeat, Zero 7 album.

Watch the video. Funniest/saddest part is around 00:40 when the guy unexpectedly slaps her. I can't help but make a "biff!"sound every time I see it. The impromptu waxing looks pretty ouch, too.

Sia's "Sunday" via YouTube.