I Can't Tell Yet If I'm Grateful for the Gratitude Challenge

As a means of kick-starting my path back to happiness, I've decided to embark on my own (scaled down) version of the infamous Gratitude Challenge. Despite the recent batch of cheating-boyfriend- lemons handed to me by Life, my spirit will not be broken! I will cheer up by recounting things I am grateful for! Over the course of 21 days!

Wait, 21 days, for real? That is a big commitment. I thought this was like a 4-day Facebook thing. I don't know I can stick with the full three-week regimen. But I guess there's no harm in starting....

One of the first activities suggested, after taking The Pledge, which I'm not taking because I'm not sure I want to do this for 21 days, is to use the alphabet to make a list of things I'm grateful for. Way to start off easy, Gratitude Challenge. 26 letters in the alphabet and I have to come up with something for each one that I'm grateful for? Well, here goes nothing and no worries if you get bored around letter N.

A - Antidepressants because they keep me sane and arguably saved my life.

B -  Boston. I'm grateful for having gotten to live there for four years and for my friends there.

C- Cats, specifically this one:

D- (my) Dad. He's pretty swell.

E- Emotions and being in touch with them. Yes, sometimes I wish I could turn off my Big Feelings...but then I wouldn't be me.

F- Feminism. Duh.

G- Gonzo, my favorite Muppet. He's deeply in love with a chicken. Stay chaotic, my friend.

H- (my) hair, which is pretty easy to deal with. A lot of people hate their hair, or fret about losing it. Mine never really stresses me out. Anything that doesn't cause me anxiety = something I'm grateful for.

I- the Internet. Are you familiar? It's great! My friend Noah was once recounting to his mother his attempts to find a picture of matzo brei on the Web and she said, "There are pictures of matzo brei online?" And Noah said, "Mom, there are probably pictures of people having sex on matzo brei online." (note: a brief Google image search yielded no results, but that doesn't mean it's not out there somewhere. Different folks et al.)

J- Job, as in the fact that I have one (a lot of folks don't) and one that I actually like most of the time and pays me enough to live on.

K- Karaoke. Seriously, if I could be a professional karaoke singer....

L- Laughter. Few things feel better than a good belly laugh. I crack myself up fairly regularly, either because I'm a narcissist or because I'm funny. Jury still out.

M- the Master Singers, the choir I recently joined. My heart is happy when I am singing. Corny, but true. And my Mom, because she reads this blog and if I say I'm grateful for my Dad and not her, I will get an angry phone call. Also, she is a wonderful person.

N- Netflix.

O- Oprah gifs.

P- Poetry. Here's a poem written by a friend's four-year-old that pretty much sums it up:

Poetry, poetry
I like poetry
It can be about ice cream
It can be about anything
I like poetry


Q- Quiche. It's one of my favorite comfort foods, far superior to omelets and much less appreciated.

R- RuPaul's Drag Race, aka the best show on television of all time, hunty!


S- Sleep. I take my sleep seriously.

T- Tough love. It's not always what you want, but it's sometimes what you need.

U- Ursula the Sea Witch, because she's the best Disney villain. So sassy! 

V- Vaginas. They're neat, no? If everyone had a penis, well, that would be...problematic.

W- Wine. Duh.

X- X-rays, I guess, because yay science? Xerox machines also make my life as a teacher easier.

Y- You, dear reader!

Z- ....zebra stripes? Because they're fashionable?

My girly factor

I've done a fair amount of soul-searching on this blog, contemplating big questions like "am I a snob?" and why I thought I'd be married by now. But last week, as I sat in a vibrating massage chair watching Sex and the City and sipping prosecco while someone painted my toenails, I was struck by how behaving so girly felt unnatural to me. As Carrie Bradshaw would say in voice-over: "I got to thinking: how girly is too girly?"

I think it depends on the girl. Or woman, rather. I have recently started thinking of myself as a grown-up woman. Which brings me to an interesting point re: nomenclature. When I have asked men my age if they self-identify as "men," usually they tell me they prefer to think of themselves as "guys." "Man" seems too somber, too cowboy. Girls, unless they want to associate themselves with 1940s gun molls ("gals"), don't really have an in-between label like that. You're a girl until magically poof! you're a woman. (Except for a brief, confusing period of time articulated best by Britney Spears when you are "not a girl, not yet a woman" - thanks, Brit!).

In terms of my own gender and how it manifests itself in performative behavior (did I mention I taught a class called "Gender: Myths and Truths" at Emerson?), I have never considered myself that girly by traditional markers. I wear little make-up and often forget to wear jewelry (though I do like receiving it, future boyfriends!). I have always had more male friends than female and better roommate experiences with men, I mean, guys. I own very little pink. So when my last boyfriend told me I was the girliest girl he'd ever dated, I wondered if he had been dating, uh, mannish types. And it turns out, yes, many of his exes are androgynous in appearance and are now in relationships with women. So in comparison, I was a delicate lady flower.

I do own one very "girly" thing -- my phone, the HTC Rhyme. When this phone was introduced, it got a lot of press due to the fact that it was ostensibly marketed to women (despite HTC's claims to the contrary). It's slim and purple and came with a bunch of silly purple accessories (like a light-up charm to help you find it quickly in your giant Kate Spade tote).

Why did I buy the Rhyme? Because I'm a poet and I couldn't resist a phone called "rhyme." And also, I like purple (though not as much as Marie on Breaking Bad). In hindsight, I probably should have read some product reviews and bought a better Android, or just sucked it up and gotten an iPhone. The Rhyme did not sell well and HTC is not making any software updates for it. And my tech blogger friends tell me I'm the only person they have ever met that actually bought one. I do love to be unique!

The bottom line: I love being female and take great pride in my femininity - I just don't typically wear it on my sleeve. And sometimes I wish I felt more camaraderie with my sex. Like when I'm invited to bachelorette parties and baby showers and feel a little awkward and out of place. There's just something so parodic about certain female rituals. While harmless, they reduce being a woman to its worst stereotypes and celebrate the most normative of female roles (wife and mother). Don't get me wrong, I someday hope to be a wife and mother...in addition to being a poet and teacher. But I want all those labels on the same level of importance; why do I only get thrown a party with tiaras and penis balloons once I decide to get married?

Oh, and FYI hypothetical future bridesmaids in my wedding: No penis paraphernalia at my bachelorette, please. Let's just go somewhere with a good wine list and shoot the shit.

Why I Don't Watch Jersey Shore

I went shopping for my Halloween costume today and was, as always, blown away by how costumes are marketed to women. I always intend to have a funny, conceptual costume (freshman year of college, I dressed up as Static Cling) and yet, when I gaze on the multitudes of slutty outfits, I feel the pull. Maybe, a small voice in me says, I should just try to look hot. But then I come to my senses and stick to my original plan. This year, my costume will actually comment upon the slutty-girl costume phenomenon, as I am wearing a hybrid of all the cliched costumes that otherwise intelligent women decide to debase themselves in every October. I'm dressing up as a naughty nurse/French maid/cowgirl/she-devil/cat. Judith Butler would be proud.

It shouldn't have surprised me to see a large portion of the store devoted to Jersey Shore costumes -- this year, the streets will be overflowing with Pauly Ds, the Situations and Snookis.


And I, for one, am not pleased.

Have I seen the show? Of course. I haven't been living under a rock. And many people whom I respect watch it regularly. I tried to get on board, I really did. But at the end of the day, I just find it utterly sad that we as a culture are celebrating idiocy, no matter how entertaining it may be. There's also an undeniable self-congratulatory, Schadenfreudic appeal: while we laugh at Snooki falling over drunk at the club, we pat ourselves on the back for being more self-aware than she is, or at the very least, more competent at holding our liquor.

But what disturbs me the most is the fact that the Jersey Shore "cast members" make, according to The Hollywood Reporter, $30,000 an episode. That's more than some public school teachers make in a year. And Vinnie and Sammi earn it by living rent-free in a beach house and picking fights with their roommates. And if you want Snooki to make an appearance at your birthday party? That'll cost you $50,000. Just for her to show up.

I used to take issue with celebrities like Paris Hilton, who were famous just for being famous. But Paris seems downright hard-working in comparison -- at least she pretends to design handbags or something. All the Jersey Shore cast members have contributed are some handy acronyms, such as "DTF" (Down to Fuck), and the inspiration for unnecessary iPhone apps that locate gyms, tanning salons, and laundromats. As if the Situation is still doing his own laundry these days.

Anyway, I'm not trying to be a sourpuss -- I'll admit that the few episodes I've seen have had their amusing moments. But I'm simultaneously appalled. I'm not against reality TV in general and I certainly have my guilty pleasures (I subscribe to People Magazine!). But something about Jersey Shore just rubs me the wrong way. The Real World is boring, but somehow less offensive to me. When it comes to reality television, I guess I'd rather watch people with actual skills compete for something, whether it's a record deal, a chance to show a collection at New York fashion week, or even just a shit-ton of money. Call me old-fashioned, but that's how I feel.

Now, if someone wants to pay me to get drunk on national television, maybe I'll change my tune....America's Next Top Grad Student, anyone?

Heaven and Hell

After a month-long unannounced hiatus and severe site-traffic atrophy, the Vagnino Monologues is back!


I have an epic post planned about my week-long trip to the Low Countries (Holland and Belgium), but first, a little theosophical musing. About death and what happens after it. Because while it's fun to blog about pet owls and bikini waxes, sometimes I feel the urge to think about things of substance, things with gravitas.

Before embarking to Europe, I wrote a lengthy paper about Don DeLillo's postmodern masterpiece White Noise. All of the characters in the novel are obsessed with death -- one character even takes a risky experimental drug that is designed to alleviate the fear of death. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it -- aside from its philosophical headiness, it's very funny and a fast read.

So yeah, death. Truthfully? I think I think about it less than most folks. Of course I wonder what it will be like and am as shocked as anyone when someone unexpectedly dies and is just....not around anymore. I am more afraid of scenarios in which I know that I am going to die right before it happens. Not like with a terminal illness, but like in a plane crash or car accident or with a gun pointed at your head, where you are conscious and alert, but have to try to rationally process/reconcile your impending non-existence. That is terrifying.

Of course, I hope there is an afterlife. I like to think that heaven is a chic cocktail party with an open bar, great live music and neverending passed appetizers.

Or heaven might look like this:

(This was my favorite shoe store in Amsterdam. I almost wept when I walked in.)

Or if heaven isn't a shoe store or a fabulous cocktail party filled with friends and handsome strangers, I think it should be some sort of virtual reality-type situation where you get to relive all your favorite life moments. That would be pretty neat.

I'm a firm believer that hell involves travel gone awry. Some possibilities:

1) Hell is an airport (and not one with good duty-free shops and a Wolfgang Puck restaurant). Your flight never arrives and also you cannot leave. Your bags are lost. There is nothing to read except Women's Health and Golf Digest. The drinking fountains are all broken and bottled water costs $3.25. You are forced to eat stale slices of sbarro and watch Today Show reruns with the sound turned off.

2) Hell is the Amtrak Waiting Area at Penn Station. The A/C is broken. The smell of urine is omnipresent. Your train is continually delayed. Bathroom is out of order and covered in yellow crime scene tape.

3) Hell is the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Fill in your own horrifying specifics.

Or maybe Sartre had it right, that hell is other people. But not all other people -- just the most annoying, obnoxious contestants/personalities from reality television. How would you like to spend eternity making conversation with the cast of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila?


I rest my case. (Also, does Tila Tequila look like a Bratz doll in that photo, or what?)

I guess the ultimate irony would be if heaven and hell are precisely the cliched stereotypes we associate with them -- angels and harps vs. fire and demons. So when you arrive, you're like, "Seriously? For reals? Ugh. I'd rather be in Port Authority with a man who sleeps next to a bag of his own trash. At least that's ORIGINAL."

What a drag

Allow me to introduce my drag persona, just created with the Dragulator. Her name? Vagnino Dentata.

As you can see, she's totally fierce, not to mention well-accessorized with a hotdog and a dove. I have to admit, I'm a bit obsessed with drag queens. This obsession developed when I was cast in play alongside several of them: The Jack of Tarts, which played at La Mama in New York in February of 2008. In one scene, I had the pleasure of tap dancing with Lance Cruce, a veteran Village performer/queen. Check it out:

That's me on my knees on the right. Damn, my tits look great from that angle. But I digress.

I met a number of fabulous, fabulous people in that show. And it was easy to get friends to come see it because I'm fairly sure there won't be another opportunity to see me tap dance, much less with a drag queen.

I myself have technically been in drag on stage a number of times. Since I went to an all-girls camp as a kid, I played a number of men, such as the Butler in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Kurt Von Trapp in The Sound of Music. I have also played male animals in children's shows (Mr. Tumnus in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; Mole in The Wind and the Willows). I was cast in these roles because I had short hair and no breasts. One of these is still true.

I think my affinity for drag queens can be partly explained by the fact that when I talk to myself, the inner voice that responds is that of a sassy gay man (Katie: "I'm so sad about my break-up"; Inner Voice: "Grrrrl, you know he couldn't find your clit with a map and a flashlight.") I'm not sure how normal this is -- I mean, everyone talks to themselves from time to time, but does everyone have an inner drag queen talking back?

Of course it follows that I LOVE the reality competition on Logo, RuPaul's Drag Race. It's "the search for the next drag superstar" and subtly satirizes both America's Next Top Model and Project Runway while also being wholly original and laugh-out-loud funny. Season 2 is down to the Final Four: Raven, Jujubee, Tatianna, and Tyra Sanchez (a.k.a. "The other Tyra"). I was devastated when my favorite, Pandora Boxx, was eliminated after having to Lip-Synch for her Life:

Sigh. I love you, Pandora. You were robbed. Call me, ok? We'll talk shit about Santino.

So now I'm rooting for Raven and Jujubee (who's from Boston!). Tyra is too much of a bitch and Tatianna's drag persona is not developed enough -- as one of my friends pointed out, she's more of a transvestite than a true queen. She makes a pretty girl, but doesn't really transform into her female character the same way the more experienced queens do.

Well, now that I've completely lost/alienated my straight male readership, I'll wrap this up with the same wise words RuPaul uses to close out every episode: "If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?"

Can I get an amen, sister?

It's funny 'cuz it's true

Sometimes I feel good about my decision to go to grad school. And sometimes I feel, like Arrested Development's Gob, that I've made a terrible mistake. This clip from The Simpsons hits a little too close to home....

Golden Globes

Instead of blogging about how terrified I am about the special Senate election happening today in Massachusetts, I'm choosing to focus on something much more inconsequential: Sunday night's Golden Globes telecast, which I finally got around to watching today.

It turns out, I saw a lot of movies in 2009 and actually had seen most of the nominated films. Television-wise, I watched less, but still was pleased to see Mad Men take home the top award for drama, and Glee for comedy (which despite my initial hesitation to jump on the Glee bandwagon, won me over by the end of the season). Also, Chloe Sevigny totally deserved to win for Big Love, though I think it was unexpected (the show only got 3 nominations total and is less hyped than HBO's other shows).

Also good: Meryl (a.k.a. T-Bone) Streep's acceptance speech. The woman has won a bajillion times and still always manages to deliver a poised, seemingly unscripted and heartfelt speech of the perfect length. Bravo, T-Bone!



Robert Downey, Jr.'s speech was also clever and I'm always happy to see him win, even though Sherlock Holmes was a tad disappointing. However, he was one of three offenders in terms of what I consider to be an awards ceremony faux pas: saying in your acceptance speech whom you thought would win as an excuse to not have prepared anything to say.

It's one thing to act surprised and humble; it's another to state specifically which of the nominees you thought would beat you. Because let's face it, they didn't win -- you did -- and it's supposed to be your moment. Also, it's kind of insulting to the other 3 nominees -- did you not think they deserved to win? We already get loser reaction close-ups; a brief acknowledgment of fellow nominees suffices.

RDJ said he thought Matt Damon (The Informant!) would win, screenwriter/director Jason Reitman (Up in the Air) said he thought Quentin Tarantino (Inglorious Basterds) would win, and James Cameron (Avatar) said he thought Kathryn Bigelow (The Hurt Locker) would win. You know what? Probably some other people, including the nominees themselves, might have thought they were going to win too and are bummed out. There's no need to rub it in. We get it, you're surprised. Get on with your speech.

I guess what increasingly bothers me about the Globes is how blatantly it's used as a marketing tool for upcoming movies. All the presenters have films coming out in the next month and many find cutesy ways to promote them. And while I enjoyed Martin Scorsese's tribute, the last few minutes of it was just the trailer for Shutter Island, which no one has seen yet. It could be terrible and it isn't out yet, so why include it in his montage? Given the fact that the release of the film was pushed back, from October to February, and the buzz is mixed, including it in the montage seemed like a desperate move on behalf of the studio releasing it.

In summary, Ricky Gervais was decently funny, Angie and Brad (and Best Supporting Actor winner Alec Baldwin) couldn't be troubled to attend, and per usual, Jennifer Aniston wore a pretty but forgettable black dress. Would it kill her to wear something with color or texture?

But I digress. Time to go back to praying for a Coakley victory in MA.

To Catch a Predator, with Predator

Dateline NBC's "To Catch a Predator" is a creepy, guilty pleasure. It's very controversial, due to its obvious trial-by-public-opinion approach; I would wager that most men "caught" on the show soliciting sex from minors lose their jobs and/or wives, partners, girlfriends, friends, whatever dignity they might have had. However, a lot of the men featured on the show have successfully gotten their charges dropped and/or sued NBC.

I have mixed feelings about the show. Is it a trashy but effective deterrent for would-be sex offenders? Or just trashy and socially irresponsible? On the one hand, Chris Hansen and the camera crew intervene before anything super illegal happens, but the guys do show up expecting to meet a 13-year-old and usually arrive armed with beer and condoms. GROSS.

The format of the show is simple. First, we are shown excerpts from the online chat between the suspected predator and a decoy.


Huh, I never thought of Family Guy + weed as foreplay....thanks, icetruckkiller103!

Next, the decoy arranges a meeting. The guy shows up and is greeted not by the Taylor Swift-esque hottie he thought he was chatting with, but by Chris Hansen. Typically, the dialogue between Hansen and the suspected pedophile goes something like this:

Chris Hansen: Who did you think you were going to meet here?

Suspected Pedophile: Um...this girl Kristy that I met online.

CH: And how old is Kristy?

SP: Uh, I don't know. 17? 18?

CH: She told you she was 13. I have the transcript from your online chat.

SP: (color draining from his face) Well, I was just coming to hang out with her and, you know, talk...about stuff.

CH: You didn't come here to have sex?

SP: No.

CH: But you asked Kristy if she was a virgin and said you could (reading from the transcript) "sex her all night long." Isn't that right?

SP: (looking for the exit)....I don't remember?

Then the poor dude (again, I'm not excusing guys who try to pick up underage girls online, but you have to feel somewhat sorry for their televised humiliation) usually tries to leave, only to be cuffed and led to the police station.

It's a very formulaic show and after watching this happen to a few guys, it gets old. The show needs an update, a makeover, something to spice things up. Which is why I think they should replace Chris Hansen with Predator:


No offense, Chris, but I suspect that Predator's interview style would be more direct. He would just rip the guys' arms off and that would be the end of it. I mean, these guys' lives are basically ruined anyway so they might as well get a violent, memorable send-off. And the merchandising possibilities? Endless. Just look at what happened when Predator and Alien teamed up -- it was all kinds of awesome.

You're welcome, NBC.

"Glee" does not fill me with glee

I'm really trying to like you, Glee, seriously I am. But something isn't quite right. Which is odd, considering I'm pretty much the target audience: a hip twentysomething with an a cappella past.

Watching Glee for me is like going on a date with a guy whom you think is going to be your soulmate. And then halfway through the salad course, you realize he's not as interesting as you thought. Everything looks right, but for some reason, there's no chemistry.

Glee is very slick -- Fox obviously put a lot of money into it and releasing the premiere at the end of last season was a genius move. I was convinced I loved the show before I'd ever seen it. The cast is good and some of the writing is clever. But there's something smug about the whole presentation -- the show thinks it's a hit but it hasn't really earned it yet, in my opinion. The episodes I've seen have all been just ok. Which is fine -- it usually takes a show about half a season to really find its rhythm. I just think it's annoying that Fox is pretending like it's perfect already and the BEST SHOW EVER.

I detect a bit of an identity crisis: Glee can't quite decide how over-the-top/campy/surreal it wants to be. Some of the characters seem real and some are complete caricatures. And I don't see yet how they are going to keep the premise going for more than one season. Clearly, this season is all about Glee Club getting to, and presumably winning, the oft-mentioned regional championships. But what about next season? And the focus is so split between the adult characters and the high schoolers that I'm not sure whom I'm supposed to be rooting for, other than not arch villain Sue Sylvester, played by the admittedly hilarious Jane Lynch.


I'm not giving up on Glee yet...but I do want it to start living up to its hype. Also, I'd really like it if they would stop making all the songs sound so produced and professional. I know we're not supposed to be in the world of realism, but since all of the actors are doing their own singing, it would be nice to be able to hear what they would sound like, were they actually in a vocal group together (as opposed to a recording studio).

As a little bonus, I'm including a video here of the kind of show choir that possibly inspired the creators of Glee. Behold the crazy intensity of Attaché, from Clinton, MS. These kids are in it to win it! If you enjoy this video, I highly recommend you check out some of the others posted on YouTube. The "Dream On/I Dreamed A Dream" medley is particularly inspiring.

Grey's Anatomy Face

First, let me start off by saying that I regularly watch Grey's Anatomy, despite the fact that it's a ridiculous, wildly unrealistic and emotionally manipulative soap opera. To quote Bill Murray from Tootsie, "That is one nutty hospital," that Seattle Grace.

Still, I've come up with a fun new game relating to what I consider to be one of the more absurd elements of the show: its soundtrack of treacly, twee indie-hipster rock. To see what I mean, check out this list. Now, not all of the songs/bands featured on Grey's suck -- I'm very fond of Tegan & Sara, whose music has apparently been featured in numerous episodes. But Grey's Anatomy also ruined the band Keane for me -- between Grey's and that sappy trailer for The Lake House, I just can't listen to them anymore.

But I digress. The game is simple. Whenever you're out and about with friends and you hear a song that qualifies as Grey's Anatomy music, you have to make your best Grey's Anatomy Face. What is a Grey's Anatomy Face? Let me give you some guidance:

You have to look intense but also sort of vacant. Like you're thinking about something really important, but also maybe about what you had for breakfast. Like this:

You can look a little surprised and trepidatious, like you've just been asked to perform an extremely risky surgery involving adult conjoined twins who share a heart and are in love with each other's spouses. Or you can look a bit forlorn and vulnerable:

See what I mean?

I hit the Grey's Anatomy Face jackpot with this rejected headshot:

My friend Monte describes my expression here as "surprised-yet-confused-yet-curious," as if I were starring in a musical entitled "I'm Sorry But I Don't Believe You're Who I Think I Am."

Anyway, I find this game highly amusing, especially after a few glasses of wine. Feel free to e-mail me (katievagnino@gmail.com) your best Grey's Faces and I'll post them on the blog!

Puppets + pot

This weekend, I was watching a cable access channel in the wee hours of the morning and happened to catch an episode of a show called Pothedz Couch. It's a puppet show chronicling the adventures of Pothed (a flower pot), Mr. Bongo (A waterpipe) and Nic (a pack of Marlboros). The show was clearly conceived and created under the influence of a ton of marijuana, and the production values are, unsurprisingly, low. And yet, at 2:00 a.m. when you're chilling on your couch, listening to a little Al Green*, it really hits the spot.

Here are some choice clips:

The Weed Fairy




The Bong of Eternal Stench




*euphemism for smoking bud

Networks, take note

I'm in NYC for the next few days and don't have much time to blog contemplatively...also, I just officially completed my first year of graduate school (!) and my brain is a little fried. So when I received a hilarious e-mail this morning from my friend Timothy Cooper, writer-comedian extraordinaire, I decided it would be a good idea to plagiarize him for today's post. Except I guess since I'm giving him credit, it might not count as plagiarism...regardless, he's a funny mofo and if you live in NYC, you should totally check out his improv group, Gluttony.

Since fall pilot season is right around the corner, Tim put together this list of show concepts to pitch to the networks.

POLTERDORK (ABC Family)
Jeroboam Sneed was already the biggest nerd in school...THEN he died.

HOLOCLAUSTROPHOBIA (HBO)
(No logline available)

F-TRAIN (Fox)
Jamie Foxx stars in the true story of a man who was born, lived, and died on the F-train.

OUCH (Food Network)
Foods that poke holes in your stomach.

THE SEXTH SENSE (Cinemax)
Between the sixth sense (dead people) and the seventh sense (smell again) lies the sexth sense, which allows you to see desperation. Parental guidance suggested, for brief nudity and light counting.

FARKLEHEIMER! (The History Channel)
The honest life and heroic death of Edward "Tibberton" Farkleheimer!, the first man with an exclamation point in his name.

THE SOLIPSIST (Showtime)
A mind-bending series cowritten by Charlie Kaufman, about a janitor named Charley who wants to kill his writer twin, Charlee, before she can finish her masterwork, "Kaufka," which is about their stepmom, Charlé, and her husband, Charlo, and their adopted daughter, Charlequa, who forgot why this was supposed to be interesting or clever.

GOOD ENOUGH FOR NOW (Lifetime)
Jack's a well-to-do banker and wife-beater, but Tonya really likes new shoes. Will they EVER make this marriage work?

JIGGAWATT? (The CW)
Black Edison.

EVERYBODY DIES (Nickelodeon)
Every dead mom of every lead character in every Disney movie discusses different ways your parents might die soon.

STAR TRUCK (Sci-Fi)
Will a modified '93 Chevy pickup be able to keep its cabin—and William Shatner—pressurized at an even 14 lbs/sq. in. while orbiting the earth at 1,320,000 feet?

SQUID! (National Geographic)
Squid.

And I'd like to add two of my own to this list, which I devised with the help of my bf, Noah Tarnow (host of The Big Quiz Thing):

TOM HANKS ASLEEP (E!)
See the Angels and Demons star in his home, sleeping.

SLUT CRUISE (Fox Reality Network)
A cruise ship sets sail with $100,000 and dozens of men trying to figure out the one thing they have in common: that they've all slept with the same, slutty girl.

Rock of Love Bus: Finale!

Friends and Poison fans! It's Easter Sunday, which was clearly a big day for Jesus. It's also a big day for Bret Michaels-- tonight we learn which of his two remaining "beauties" has won his heart and will be his (third) Rock of Love. Will he choose buck-toothed Mindy or Penthouse Pet "Taya" (her real name is Laurie)?


I'm live-blogging my observations on the final episode, which is a first, so I guess it's a big day for me too. Here we go!

8:50 pm: My pre-finale thoughts
I kind of hate both "Taya" and Mindy....but in my gut, I think he's going to pick Mindy. "Taya" is hotter, but so fake and vapid. Truthfully, I'm hoping for a crazy, unpredictable outcome, such as:

1) Bret chooses neither and dramatically says "I choose ME!" while the girls sob in disbelief.
2) Bret chooses Heather, like he should have two seasons ago. They get married on the Reunion Special, with Ashley and Farrah as bridesmaids. Big John officiates.

9:01 pm: Season recap
We see all the moments that made the past few months so sleazy and entertaining. Mindy's victory at MudBowl, "Taya" announcing to everyone that she's Pet of the Year. And some choice quotations that illustrate just how much brains matter to Bret:

"In a game of love, I always lose" -- Mindy
"When this is over, it's going to be he and I" -- "Taya"

(Wait, is Taya's sentence grammatically correct? It might be. I should know, but I'm too lazy to look it up. Regardless, I think it sounds awkward and would have said instead "when this is over, it's going to be the two of us." Or maybe just "This bitch is toast" to be concise.)

9:04 pm: Breakfast in Florida
Bret looks especially lame this morning (his wig needs some maintenance) and is inexplicably wearing sunglasses inside. He tells the girls that they are hopping on a private jet to the Dominican Republic and that "bikinis are not optional. They are mandatory."

9:12 pm: Arrival at the hotel in the DR
In preparation for their evening one-on-one date, Mindy jots down some notes about things she wants to be sure to talk about with Bret. I wish the camera would zoom in closer so we could see Mindy's thoughts on paper. I'm betting she's as eloquent on the page as she is in person.

9:22 pm: Mindy's date
Mindy is totally tongue-tied at dinner and can't seem to find the right moment to whip her notes out of her purse. This is probably because it's actually NEVER appropriate to take out notes on what you want to say on a date. I'm starting to think my prediction of Mindy winning is wrong. This girl can't hold up her end of a conversation with Bret motherfucking Michaels. Nevertheless, Bret seems determined to loosen her up and insists she take her glass of wine with her when they leave dinner. Usually restaurants don't like it when you steal glassware, Bret.

Bret and Mindy get a tango lesson and dance awkwardly. Then they sit on the beach and Mindy is finally drunk enough to think taking out her notes is a good idea. They make out a little bit and then retire back to Bret's room. The camera pans wide to show us that Bret is staying in one of two "Ambassador Suites" at the resort.

9:25 pm: Commercial break
Wow, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past looks really bad. Jennifer Garner needs a new agent.

9:32 pm: Bret's date with "Taya"
It seems that Bret has planned an all-day date with "Taya," implying he wants to spend more time with her than Mindy. Not looking good for Team Bucktooth. Bret and "Taya" go ziplining through the jungle, which I have always wanted to do. I am momentarily envious of "Taya."

Bret interviews that he's really into "Taya," but is still concerned about her Penthouse connections. This is probably to set up the "Coming Up..." montage, which includes an obvious fake-out wherein "Taya" confesses to being full of shit and only on the show to promote her career. But even out of context, it's 100% clear she's being sarcastic. Give your viewers a little more credit, VH1!

9:40 pm: "Taya" is a lady (!)
Bret leads "Taya" back to his Ambassador Suite, presumably to get her to touch his backstage pass, as the theme song used to say (sidenote: anyone else prefer the old theme?). BUT, after some light cuddling, "Taya" decides to leave! She will not spend the night with Bret like the whorish Mindy. This strikes me as a smart strategic move. Bret has already slept with Mindy, but he can't get into "Taya" 's pants unless she wins. Clever!

9:43 pm: Day of elimination
Bret treats the girls to a day at the spa. There is extensive footage of Mindy getting her upper lip waxed. She rambles on about love being painful, love in this case meaning waxing. This is not the edit of a Rock of Love winner. Uh-oh.

"Taya," who as a Penthouse Pet presumably had fewer waxing needs, returns to the hotel room first. Inside, there are two representatives from some jewelry store with diamond rings! They tell "Taya" to pick out her favorite; same drill with Mindy when she comes home. Both girls are shocked, but pleased at this turn of events.

9:50 pm: Elimination
We see the girls donning long, shiny, backless low-cut gowns. They walk to the beach and wait for their Bandana'd Beau. Bret arrives, looking surprisingly casual. Last season, he wore a gold suit to the last elimination; tonight, he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe my "I choose me" scenario isn't off-base after all!

Mindy and "Taya" both think they have this in the bag. "Taya" uses the adjective "brilliant" to describe Bret. Both girls actually look pretty hot. Bret claims this is "the last time" he's going to do this...at least until the Season 4 contract negotiations are over.

9:53 pm: Commercial break.
I'm ashamed to admit that this is kind of a nailbiter....

9:57 pm: Rock of Love
Bret calls Mindy forward first. Though she interviews that she's excited when she's called, her crestfallen face gives away the fact that like most viewers, she's watched the previous two seasons of this show and knows that Bret calls the girl he's eliminating first. As expected, Bret tells Mindy her tour ends here. Mindy seems weirdly calm and in her exit voiceover, says that Bret is not who she thought he was and he's just an asshole in a rockstar costume or something.

While Bret is talking to Mindy, "Taya" does her best impression of someone who does not know she has just won a reality show competition. Finally, Mindy wanders off on the beach alone. Bret calls "Taya" forward and says he's in love with her and the ring is for her...but not right now. Once they are sure they are right for each other, he'll give her the ring. Blah blah blah they kiss. The end. I wonder if now that they're a couple, he'll call her by her actual name. "Laurie" doesn't quite have the same ring as "Taya."

Final thought: It was somewhat suspenseful, but "Taya" was such a twit from the get-go that I found it hard to care. If Ashley had made it to the finale, it would have been so amazing....frozen dinners would have been thrown and there most likely would have been a not insignificant amount of puke. Oh well.

Millionaire Matchmaker: A Cultural Low Point

I don't watch television that often lately, mainly because my TV got damaged in the truck when I moved from NYC to Boston and the picture is crappy. But this has turned out to be a blessing in disguise, since unsurprisingly watching the boob tube numbs the creative juices I need to write.

Occasionally, however, I give in to temptation and watch some out-of-focus Rock of Love (the girls actually look more appealing NOT in HD clarity). And then the other day, I accidentally stumbled upon Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo.


Watching this show made me feel icky inside for a number of reasons. And yet, like a 5-car pile-up on the freeway, I found it hard to turn away and subsequently ended up watching 3 episodes in a row. And then felt like I needed a scalding hot shower.

First of all, I find the matchmaker, Patti Stanger, to be fascinatingly devoid of charm. She's abrasive and rude and her opinions about courtship and male-female roles in relationships would make any self-respecting feminist's jaw drop. This woman needs to be bitch-slapped by Gloria Steinem stat. She's also weirdly insecure and especially catty when dealing with female clients, i.e. successful women who've made millions actually DOING something constructive with their lives.

The men on the show are, for the most part, grotesque. On a recent episode, the world was introduced to Jimmy D'Ambrosio, an egomaniacal club owner from Chicago who always refers to himself in the 3rd person as "Jimmy D." Alex Edelstein is a big fan of blingy cufflinks and Sammy Hagar-style hair:

Money is the only thing these guys have going for them. So it's stomach-churning to then watch scores of women at Patti's "mixers" throw themselves at them. Each episode follows the millionaires on dates, which usually go poorly due to the blatant superficiality of both parties. The men feel entitled to only date hot women and choose usually based on looks, and the women unapologetically are only there because of the guy's money (and feel entitled to only date rich men because they are beautiful).

It's all very depressing. You would think millionaires would want to find someone not interested in them just for their money, but the men who seek out Patti's services are so lacking in social skills and charisma that their millions are their only selling point. They literally have nothing beyond the promise of a comfortable lifestyle to offer. And the women have become so jaded that they've decided to settle for rich, boorish and unattractive.

Patti claims to have a "99% success rate," but I'd like to see how she tabulated that. She doesn't help people find love -- she helps shallow men and women find trophy wives and sugar daddies, respectively.

Personally? I'd take Bret Michaels over these dudes in a heartbeat, hair extensions and all. At least he seems to have a sense of humor about himself and a refreshing awareness of his show's absurdity.

I couldn't care less about....

In college, my friends and I used to play a game where we would take turns stating issues/events/people that we couldn't care less about. The more controversial (i.e. "global warming," "who killed JonBenet"), the better. Behold my current list of things that people around me seem to give a shit about, much to my disbelief.

1. March Madness

Is it over yet? I'm so tired of hearing about brackets and seeds and how [insert college] got robbed. For some reason, the NCAA championship irks me more any other major sports tournament. I like watching the Superbowl and I always sort of follow the World Series. I didn't go to a school where basketball was at all important, so maybe that's the issue? I don't know.


2. Who wins this season of American Idol

I usually watch AI, but this season I can't seem to muster up the energy. Recent winners have been lackluster (Jordin Sparks? Seriously?) and I just can't pretend anymore that these people deserve fame and record deals. Even Paula's insanity has lost its charm. I wish we could just fast-forward to May and So You Think You Can Dance!

3. How wasted you were last night

So, BU kids on the B line? SHUT THE FUCK UP.

4. Failing banks

Clearly I should care about this. But I just keep thinking about the awesome scene in It's a Wonderful Life when there's a run on the bank and everyone wants their money back from Bailey Building & Loan. Check it out:




Maybe if Citibank fails, Obama would make us all sandwiches or something. I don't keep much money in the bank, so I'm not too concerned. Now, if there was a possibility that the shoebox under my bed might fail, then I'd be worried.

(Note to would-be burglars: I do not actually keep money in a shoebox under my bed.)

5. The fictional Angelina Jolie/Jennifer Aniston feud

Obviously, there is no feud. But if there were....Team Aniston all the way!

The Backyardigans: A Social Study

Today I spent 9.5 hours babysitting my boyfriend's nephews (twin boys who are turning five in February). While most of the day was spent running outside, doing sticker puzzles and playing games like Go Fish, we managed to fit in a few episodes of their favorite Nick Jr. show, The Backyardigans. As far as kids' television programming goes, this show is pretty innocuous. And apparently, many many children are OBSESSED with it. YouTube is filled with videos of adorable little kids singing the theme song and dancing around like maniacs.

However, for the analytical and culturally-sensitive viewer (or blogger with too much time on her hands), it's impossible to ignore some of the subliminal messages. The basic premise is that five "animals" hang out in a backyard and via their imaginations are transported across time and space to a number of adventurous locales including ancient Greece and the Paleolithic Age.

The main characters (pictured from left to right):


Tasha: a bossy hippo (fun fact: the only Backyardigan that always wears shoes!)

Tyrone: a sweater-clad moose with a laid-back stoner vibe

Pablo: a cross between a bluebird and a penguin

Uniqua: a sassy pink alien-looking thing with antennae

Austin: allegedly a kangaroo, according to Wikipedia, but you could have fooled me

My first question is, why not use all real animals? I'm all for encouraging tolerance towards those who are "unique," but do we really need a fake animal named Uniqua to get that point across? It's also a *little* troublesome that Uniqua is voiced by a sassy little girl named LaShawn Jeffries:
I would get it if all the characters were hybrid animals or fictional creations, but it's very easy to tell what Tyrone, Pablo, and Tasha are supposed to be (and realize that they don't belong in anyone's backyard.)

Then there are some loaded multicultural storylines. In an episode I watched today, Pablo and Uniqua sang a rousing song called "Will Work for Pancakes" and then proceeded to do farm work and manual labor for Tasha. I couldn't help but wonder, is this meant to be a metaphor for the exploitation of migrant workers, the perpetual enslavement of the underclass? Will future episodes feature the Backyardigans traveling to the antebellum south or hiking along the Trail of Tears?

I mean, probably not.

Every episode ends with someone's stomach growling and the gang deciding to break for food. Let's just hope they steer clear of this fellow:



Now that's the kind of cracked-out children's show I can really get behind.

P'scuse me?

I was all prepared today to blog about something else entirely, but after finally getting a chance to catch up on my Olympics viewing, I have to just say:

<----- That girl is NOT 16.












Now, hear me out. I understand what it's like to look younger than you actually are. People regularly mistake me for being a high school student when in truth, I'm pushing 30. Well, not pushing maybe, but getting pretty close.

The Chinese government has provided documents that allegedly prove that all their gymnasts are 16, the legal age to compete in the Olympics. Which makes me wonder if the people vetting these documents are bouncers from the same NYC bars who accepted my terrible fake ID in the summer of 2001, when I was 20.

I'll never forget nervously handing my Colorado non-driver ID to a man blocking the entrance to Bohemian Hall, the storied beer garden in Astoria, only to hear him chuckle and say, "I coulda made this in my basement." He then took my friend Kim's ID, studied it, and asked her, "Are you 21 or 22?" Kim blanked, and couldn't remember the birthdate on her fake ID and just grinned and said, "...yes." Yet the bouncer still let us in, offering only these words of advice: "Don't drink too much."

I'm not saying China didn't deserve to win the gold, but come on, they should at least be expected to play by the rules. I may not be qualified to judge the validity of Deng Linlin's passport, but I'm also NOT A BLIND PERSON.

Say what you want about Fox....

but it has provided us with some amazing cultural gems. As a news network, obviously, it is a complete joke, but from an entertainment perspective it's hard to deny their uniquely lowbrow contributions.

Take the Fox Reality Network, for example: an entire cable station that just plays reality television, 24-7. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't like watching reruns of "When Animals Attack" after a few dozen beers. A network that shows you this has got some balls:

But my favorite program on Fox, which according to my DVR might no longer be recording new episodes (sniffle) is "Battle of the Bods," a show where you can actually feel the Woman's Movement receding as you watch. The premise? Five scantily clad women parade around a stage and a panel of men in a soundproof room rate their bodies. The girls try to guess the men's rankings in a few different categories, such as "Face" and "Breasts." If they guess right, they win a small amount of money. But first, they cattily argue over who has the best ass and the straighter teeth. On national television. What would Gertrude Stein say?

The host, Olivia Lee, is like a D-grade version Cat Deeley of Fox's "So You Think You Can Dance." They are both tall, blond, and have over-the-top Brit accents.

Cat Deeley



















Olivia Lee



Is Olivia's dress from Forever 21? It wouldn't surprise me, given that "Battle of the Bods" appears to have a production budget of about $.48.










Seriously, the set looks like a sleazy hotel lobby:


Yes, in that photo you are actually seeing adult women in the 21st century comparing ass-cheek cellulite. I have to agree with Slate's Troy Patterson that the show is "innovatively vile." I can't begin to imagine what would motivate anyone to go on this show. It's like negative minutes of fame. Still, perhaps out of my incomprehension over how such a show exists, I have watched many an episode, slack-jawed.

On the other hand, "So You Think You Can Dance" is a great piece of reality television. I love its vaguely Eastern-European vibe -- there's something distinctly foreign about the show's aesthetic.

And who wouldn't want to be drunk at a wedding with Nigel and Mia Michaels? Nigel would be the sleazy uncle who makes inappropriate comments about how nicely the bride has developed, and Mia would wear a crazy miniature hat and hoard passed appetizers in her purse.

Personally, I'd like Fox to develop a show hosted by these two:















Rainbows would melt.









The best part about being on a reality show, though, has to be the exit montage. It must be so great to watch a video chronicling how awesome you are. I wish at the end of every week, Ryan Seacrest and Cat Deeley would show up in my bedroom and say, "Well, Katie, it's the end of the week for you, but let's a take a last look at some of your best moments."

A song by Chris Daughtry would play and highlights from my week would flash across a spontaneously-materialized gigantic plasma screen: me getting coffee from my local guy in Greenpoint, arguing with a cab driver when I try to pay with a credit card, looking winsome as I play my next Scrabulous move on Facebook.

So in conclusion, I'm glad that Fox exists, despite the misinformation they spread about Iraq Hussein Osama. As long as you've seen "Outfoxed" (and if you haven't, Netflix it now), you can feel fine about watching the upcoming "Real Stories of the Highway Patrol" marathon (check your local listings for exact times).