Inside My Head: Glee

Mr. Scheuster: Okay, kids, listen up. Today we have a special guest artist. I had a crush on her our senior year of high school, but she never gave me the time of day.

Puck: Bitter much?

Finn: Come on, you guys, we have to work together to make Glee a part of our lives and my girlfriend Quinn is pregnant!

Rachel: Oh, Finn...I love you.

Mr. Scheuster: Quiet, guys. This is serious. Our guest artist this week is here to teach you what Glee is really about. Please welcome Deb.

Deb: Whaddup.

Kurt: What can she teach us? She's a natural brunette.

Deb: Shut your pie-hole, you.

Kurt: Yes, Ma'am.

Sue: I think I love you.

Deb: (to Sue) You too, Windbreaker. (to the kids) Glee isn't about lip-syncing to awesomely crafted arrangements of utterly inappropriate material. Glee is about finding your inner Broadway star.

Quinn: Broadway? Please, so lame.

Deb: No, what's lame is using the word "lame" when no one has ever seen you wear anything other than a cheerleading outfit. (to Mr. Scheuster:) Your wife isn't really pregnant. There, I've said it. Go marry the counselor, please, so we can get on with rehearsal.

Mr. Scheuster: Okie dokie. (exits)

Deb: Now let's get down to it. This is real Glee club, everyone: hats and canes, get in formation for "One" from A Chorus Line.

Kurt: Yes!

Deb: Another word out of you, and we're doing Cats next.

Kurt: (silent but adoring)

Fin.

In My Head: Top Chef

Padma: Chefs, today's Elimination Challenge was to create a sophisticated entree that could also be served as an amuse-bouche. You were told to bring your entree to an undisclosed location that we frankly discussed as though it was a secret bomb shelter type bunker, but was actually some lame pseudo celebrity hosted dinner party. You know your judges. You had our least favorite dishes. Deb, let's start with you.

Deb: Okie-dokie.

Tom: Deb, can you describe the dish?

Deb: I started with a really delicate white tuna that I marinated in spring water, then added green peas and mushrooms, a mushroom sauce, and hearty pasta.

Tom: It was tuna fish casserole.

Deb: Yep.

Padma: Are you aware, Deb, that I found an eggshell in my portion?

Deb: Then you win the prize!

Padma: (Looks severely beautiful and unamused)

Tom: Deb, I get that you do comfort food, but this is the eighth time you've been on the bottom. Frankly, I thought we should have sent you home last week for the Chef Boy-ar-Dee ravioli dish.

Deb: I know, right?

Gail: Since you've been here, you've made a ham sandwich, macaroni and cheese, and a Stouffer's lasagne that was still frozen in the middle. I'm starting to doubt that you're Top Chef Material.

Tom: Though you really shined in the Cheez-Whiz challenge, I'm afraid your time has come.

(Dramatic pause while music plays.)

Padma: Deb, please pack your knives and go.

Deb: Knives?

Fin.

The Perfect Cliche

I want to construct a movie that is a complete and total cliche. One in which every scene is so trite and overdone that it elevates it beyond cliche into Cliche, as it were, so banal that its very banality lends it meaning...

(Cue dream sequence music and squiggle blurs)

Cast: Handsome Man, Pretty Woman, Male Bully, Quirky Friend, Benevolent Mentor, Cute Kid

Scene: A tropical island

Pretty Woman: I'm so happy that we're in love and getting married, Male Bully! Because you're so handsome, and I'm so shallow, we're the perfect pair.

Male Bully: Agreed. But we need to watch out for the alien attack that's going to come. I may need to kiss you intensely then run off to my plane or boat or whatever to attack something.

Pretty Woman: Kiss me!

Handsome Man: Ahem.

Pretty Woman: Oh, it's you, Handsome Man who is my platonic friend and nothing else!

Handsome Man: Hey.

Pretty Woman: You're coming to the wedding, right? My wedding, in which I marry Male Bully, whom I love deeply and honestly?

Handsome Man: Whatever.

(Scene 2: Pretty Woman's Kitchen)

Pretty Woman: I know I love Male Bully honestly and deeply, but I can't stop thinking about Handsome Man.

Quirky Friend: Girl, you know you love him!

Pretty Woman: No, he's just my perfect and everlasting friend!

Quirky Friend: Let's dance! (They begin to dance around the table, whirling dishcloths.)

Scene 3: A bar

Handsome Man: How do I do it, Benevolent Mentor? How do I let her know I'm the one?

Benevolent Mentor: Tell her how you feel.

Handsome Man: But what if she rejects me? I can't take that kind of rejection.

Benevolent Mentor: Another beer, please, I can't take much more of this.

Male Bully: Hey, bro! You're my fiancee's best friend, but I'm confiding in you that I cheat on her. Now I'm going to punch you.

Handsome Man: Ow.

Killer Cheerleader: I'LL GET YOU!

Benevolent Mentor: Wrong set, Lifetime is next door.

Killer Cheerleader: Oh.

Male Bully: How YOU doin?

Scene 4: The Wedding

Generic Cleric: And do you, Male Bully, take Pretty Woman to be your wedded wife?

Male Bully: Oh yeah.

Best Man: You know it! (High five.)

Generic Cleric: And do you, Pretty Woman, take-

Handsome Man: STOP!

Pretty Woman: Handsome Man, what are you doing?

Handsome Man: You can't marry him. I love you. Marry me.

Male Bully: Oh, you are TOAST!

Best Man: You know it! (High five)

Pretty Woman: (Punch)

Male Bully: Ow.

Handsome Man: Can you marry us, Father?

Generic Cleric: Whatever.

Cute Kid: Here we go again!

Congregation: Aw.

(Soundtrack plays "I Feel Good" by James Brown as credits roll.)

The End.

SuBo, MiWa, and Aala

I love the semi-current trend of assigning every celebrity a "short" nickname compiled of some of the consonants and vowels in their names!

It started with J-Lo, who, to be fair, was using her real, long-time nickname. Then, when "Monster-In-Law" came out, Jane Fonda was being called "J-Fo," as in, "J-Lo and J-Fo together, on the big screen!"

(For the record, the above statement only sounded appealing to me if it was guaranteed that one would be killing and consuming the other, onscreen, for the majority of the movie.)

I think, though, what started as a good, benevolent, J-Lo approved trend has gotten out of hand.

How hard is it to say Susan Boyle? Yet now, in the gossip columns, she is officially "SuBo." Hasn't this poor lady suffered enough?

Still, I love me some SuBo. Her new album, which has not been released, is selling more quickly than Whitney Houston's new album, which has not been released. Ah, pre-orders.

Someone else I love is Michaela Watkins.

Michaela Watkins (or MiWa, as I shall now dub her) was a feature player on last year's SNL cast, brought in after the presidential election to help replace the magnificent Amy Poehler. Feature players rarely get enough airtime to develop a following, let alone create recurring characters, but MiWa did both. How fortunate that they had such a breakout star so early in the game!

Until Lorne Michaels fired her.

Yes, Lorne Michales (pictured above) fired two feature players, MiWa and Casey Wilson, so he could bring on two new female cast members. MiWa didn't see it coming, but she's being a professional. In interviews, she insists that she likes Lorne, respects him, and has this explanation for why he fired her:

"He said he felt like I should have my own show."

I agree.

I haven't discussed my other fairly recent minor fixation, Adam Lambert, whom the media dubbed "Glambert."

I find this offensive. "GLAM-bert?" I get it. Just because he wears makeup, he's gay? Just because he admits he's gay, I'm supposed to believe it? No, my Aala (said with a slight gargling sound in the back of the throat) as as straight as an arrow, baby. Just listen to his version of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and you will also be convinced:

Adam Lambert - Ring of fire
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If you watched that, wasn't Randy Travis a befuddled good sport?

Anyhoo, I stick to my guns. Aala is on my radar.

But RPattz has still got my heart.

Sigh.

Doin' it Kanye Style

I'm watching the VMA's, and with the first award of the night came the first jaw-dropping train wreck of the night.

No, I'm not counting the Michael Jackson tribute as a train wreck. The performance part was cool, Janet Jackson did well. The bizarre intro by Madonna, in which we were essentially told everything Madonna and Michael had in common, wasn't a train wreck, it was just weird and self-serving, and since it's Madonna, what can we expect?

No, the train wreck occurred when Kanye West decided that the wrong person won the first award.

To recap, when Taylor Swift won the first award, beating out favorites Beyonce and Lady Gaga, she was endearingly stunned and humble, earning approving applause and reaction from the crowd.

Enter Kanye.

Mr. West leaped onstage, took the microphone, and, pointing to Beyonce in the audience, said "Beyonce had the best video of the year." Beyonce was stunned, Miss Swift just stood there, and the audience gave their opinion of the whole thing with resounding boos. By the time Miss Swift had recovered the mike, the no doubt frantic production team had switched to a video short, cutting off the rest of her speech.

My adoration for Beyonce's video has been well documented on this blog. Dexy adores "Put a Ring on It" and still watches it on occasion, grinning like a man in love.

I also really liked "Poker Face," the video from Lady Gaga that was up for the award.

I don't care for Taylor Swift. Had she simply gone up and accepted the award, my reaction would have been, "Huh. Didn't see that coming."

But because of Mr. West's comments, my reaction was, "Poor thing! She got the award, let her say thank you! Get out of it! Who are you to interrupt the whole award ceremony?"

Not only that, but when Taylor Swift performed just a few minutes later, I thought, "Maybe I was too hard on her. That wasn't bad." I felt that way mostly because she was able to shake everything off and deliver a poised, fun performance.

So, Kanye West, job well done. You just earned Taylor Swift a potential new fan. And you've inspired me. From now on, I'm going to be like Kanye.

When I'm at a faculty meeting and the principal starts talking about testing, I'm going to get up and say, "All y'all listen up, this testing is bad for our kids and bad for our schools, know what I'm sayin'?" I'm sure my new attitude will earn both respect and awe.

Oh, and school board meetings...that's going to be awesome. They will love to see me come in the door.

I wonder when our next Home Owner's Association meeting is?

I can't even imagine all of the ways I can use this newfound self-confidence at church. My mind literally boggles. I'm sure they won't mind, I'm just keeping it real.

So do yourself a favor. Be like Kanye. Then, you too can become a once-beloved-now-despised celebrity who actually gets escorted out of the rowdiest, least regulated event in entertainment.

80-fication

I have blogged before about my disgust for so-called "educational" television. What does this dreck really teach our kids? That the world is:

• Full of caring anthropomorphic creatures that will instruct them on how to use shapes to build a rocket to Mars so they can save a kitten, and
• Completely tolerant and accepting of everyone, to the point that multi-ethnic groups of people will break into a dance of friendship after successfully reading the word "wiener."

This, of course, is poppycock. Where are the real lessons kids need to learn? You know, lessons like:

• The universe is full of evil half-human supervillains with comical names like "Stinkor."
• Appropriate attire for any occasion includes leg warmers and a hi-leg leotard
• Mr. T can do anything
• For it to count, your primary talent should be emblazoned on your stomach

These lessons are where we all belong: back in the 1980's.

To further my children's education and halt the alarming encroachments Dora the Explorer ("Blinking At You In Many Languages! *blink* *blink* Bueno!!") is making in our household, I recently purchased the following DVD's:

• Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer
• The Care Bears Movie
• The My Little Pony Movie
• She-Ra, Season 1, Part 1 (the first 32 episodes of this landmark series)

Each of these films sensitively conveys ideas that have been lost to today's generation due to the "misguidedness" of "political correctness" and "sensitivity."

WARNING: SPOILERS OF 25-YEAR-OLD MEDIA AHEAD

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer takes a very simple story and conveys it with a depth and maturity not often seen in animation. To summarize: there's a princess who loves shiny things who decides she wants Spectra, the diamond planet, which creates all light in the universe. Shockingly, she is not the heroine. Our heroine is Rainbow Brite, who, after being awakened by her commune of coeducational and multi-ethnic "roommates," sets off to recover Spectra so she can bring spring to Earth. (She knows about the situation because the robot horse told her. Don't question me.) Rainbow Brite takes her horse, Starlight (who speaks in a British accent but sings like Tom Petty) to Spectra, but she is followed by Murky and Lurky, who are her usual enemies because they hate color. Long story short (quiet!): Rainbow Brite saves Spectra and the magic key glows again and spring comes back to earth and the sprites rejoice. (Of course there are sprites. They work in the color mines, which are happy, fanciful mines that produce colored gems and, apparently, marijuana, judging by the sprites' facial expressions.)

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer teaches us that greed is very, very bad. A courageous message for a movie based on a collectible toy series that constantly invented new colors just to have new dolls to market.

****

The Care Bears Movie follows three orphans whose names I can't recall. Two of the orphans are brother and sister, and they get sucked up to Care-a-Lot by the Care Bears, who teach them to love again. On earth, Nicholas (okay, I remembered one) finds a magic book that sucks the caring out of him and everyone else. The Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins must leave Care-A-Lot and the Forest of Feelings to defeat the evil book and make Nicholas care again. Starring Mickey Rooney.

The Care Bears Movie teaches us that books are evil. Well played, evil corporate toy merchants.

***

The My Little Pony Movie is so amazing that I couldn't even watch it. It also stars Mickey Rooney.

****

She-Ra, Princess of Power is the most amazing thing in the history of ever. It is a spin-off of the He-Man cartoon series. Those of you who think you remember the 80's, go to Youtube and watch some He-Man and then come back. I'll wait.

{wait}

So He-Man really "transforms," right? He goes from a pageboy-haircut, pink stretch pants-wearing "regular guy" to an oiled-up bodybuilder? Very butch. And did you notice that He-Man's hair and face don't change at all? He just changes his clothes to become He-Man. His own parents don't know him. Here's how that would really work:

**********

Momz: Hey, who are you and what are you doing here?

Deb: Mom, it's me.

Momz: Oh, I didn't recognize you. You look like a completely different person.

Deb: I took off my jacket.

Momz: That's it.

**********

He-Man's parents must have either been unimaginably stupid (which some episodes suggest) or just playing along:

*******

Dad: Where's Adam?

Mom: I don't know, he's out playing with his sword.

Adam: (from outside, faintly): I....Have....the POWER!!

Dad: Great. Here he comes.

Mom: Shut up, shut up, get into character...

He-Man (entering): Skeletor is coming!

Dad: Oh, no! Whatever shall we do? It's a good thing you're here, He-Man, instead of someone else who just looks like you but dresses like a female ice skater. (Winces as Mom elbows him)

Mom: But where is my son Adam? Not in front of me half-naked, that's for sure.

He-Man: There's no time, you have to leave before Skeletor gets here!

Mom: All right. There are cookies on the table, dear.

******

She-Ra's friends are even dumber, because Adora, She-Ra's alter-ego, used to be a Horde commander or something, and she showed up to join the rebellion at the same time She-Ra appeared. Coincidence? I think so!

What doesn't She-Ra teach us? Don't trust whisper-voiced shadow demon sorceress ladies? Check. People with metal bones for faces are bad? Check. If an organization voluntarily calls itself "The Horde," it's probably not good? Checkity check.

All still vital lessons for today.

I have the power.

Hixploitation

It is with sadness that I reveal a shocking truth of which I had, heretofore, been unaware:

The History Channel has sold out.

Yes, my friends, that last bastion of wholesome, educational, boring television has gone the way of the sexy, go-go hipness of Discovery and The Learning Channel.

A few days ago, I was staying at the quaint Sky Harbor Bavarian Inn in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Really. Our room was nestled into the side of the mountain, with a balcony that extended into the cradling arms of the surrounding trees. As I lay on my side, the eastern window that looked out onto the balcony gave me a gorgeous view of a mountain sunrise.

That was the first day.

On the second day, clouds obscured the sunrise, Dexy was fussy, and Sven lost the remote control sometime during the night. The last thing he had been watching was The History Channel, so I was stuck. After two infomercials (Your Baby Can Read! and something about how to trick the government out of money) I watched a riveting documentary about the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel System. (Get it? "Riveting?" Because it's about road construction? And they use rivets? Never mind.)

By the time this documentary ended, we were all awake. The remote control was still nowhere to be found. Since the hotel used digital cable, we couldn't change the channel manually. Fortunately, the next thing to come on looked like something the kids would like: Uncovering the World of the Paleo-Indians. Computer animated Columbia Mammoths? Cool. Computer animated saber-toothed cats? Cooler.

Computer animated saber-toothed cats ripping the face off of a mother while her child stands there and watches? Not so much.

"Mommy?" Princess' anxious voice sounded as I ripped apart the bed in attempts to find the remote. "Mommy, what happened to that mommy? Did the bad tiger kill the mommy?"

"He bite! He bite!" exclaimed Dexy, looking concerned.

"Look! Handy Manny!" I bellowed, finally discovering the remote on the floor behind the headboard. And all was well. But it got me thinking: since when did The History Channel show such shlocky, over-dramatized pseudo-historical fare like this?

I don't know. But I'm not pleased.

And speaking of not pleased, I have something to say about remote control manners. If you and your partner go to sleep and wake at different times, it behooves the later-retiring partner to make sure the remote control is in a secure, easily accessible location for the earlier-rising partner. If it is not, the early riser is permitted to search the area around the sleeper, including ripping covers off and shoving the sleeper off the bed, if necessary.

That is all.

Here's To The Hangers-On

Where, I ask you, would celebrity news be without the most important gear in the wheel?

The close, personal pal.

The "insider."

The "source."

These "regular folk" who sometimes manage to snag a bit of the spotlight simply by virtue of knowing someone famous.

It's why people actually compete on a reality show for the chance to be friends with Paris Hilton. They don't really want to be friends with her, they want to be able to give an "exclusive" interview to several different media outlets the next time she punches someone at a club. Then get a movie deal and be rich and famous and happy forever! That's how it works, right?

My current favorite hanger-on? Miko Brando.

Miko is the son of famous actor Marlon Brando, best known for his role as Vito Corleone in "The Godfather." Miko is best known as Michael Jackson's friend and bodyguard, and in the last two weeks it has been impossible for anyone who has followed the Michael Jackson story even at a distance to miss this Close, Personal Friend Giving His Account of the Final Days of this Fallen Superstar.

I'll be honest: I hardly ever, ever watch the news. I don't check internet news sites, except Entertainment Weekly, and even then it's just to see if there are any new pictures of Rob Pattinson from the set of New Moon. (Yummy!) I learned about the death of Michael Jackson on Twitter. Even I have seen Miko Brandon no less than four times in the last two weeks. He was on Good Morning America this morning to comment on the "newly discovered" video of Mr. Jackson's accident when filming that Pepsi commercial in 1984. (Comment? Really? Beyond, "Yes, his head is on fire," what could you say?)

I believe Miko Brando was Michael Jackson's friend. But, if he doesn't stop making the media rounds, he's going to end up beating out the ultimate Hanger-On for the Uselessness Prize:

Kato Kaelin, anyone?

As quasi-obsessed as I am with pop culture, I admit this is something I couldn't do. I couldn't be a hanger-on. I would become too genuinely concerned with my friend and try to get him or her to change whatever crazy ways were causing him or her to careen toward destruction, thereby nixing my opportunity to give my Tearful Account to Star Magazine.

Here's what I mean:

Lindsey Lohan: once talented actress is now a punchline. Most recent kerfuffle: accused of stealing a spray-tan formula to market herself.

Hanger-On says: "Hey, it's okay, Linds! You're young! Who cares if you party sometimes and look like a Cheeto? Let's hit the club!"

Friend says: "You need some sleep. Look at you. You're what, 23? You look 47. Take a break, accept a cameo role in an important indie film, and get your artistic integrity back. You've still got a good shot at a decent life. Don't blow it."

See what I mean? The Friend ruins everything. The Hanger-On just enjoys the ride.

Then gets on the next one.

Cereal Killer

I had a startling realization (i.e. "antiphony") at Sam's club a few weeks ago.

We were in the cereal aisle. In front of us was an array of well-known breakfast cereals packaged in truly offensive quantities. This was a serious decision. Whichever cereal we chose to buy would be with us for a while. I scanned the aisle, and saw it:

Frosted Mini-Wheats. My favorite cereal.

"Let's get the Frosted Mini-Wheats," I said to Sven.

"Frosted Mini-Wheats?" he asked, the expression on his face indicating I had actually suggested Crunchy Grit -n- Paste. "What about Froot Loops?"

You see, Sven and I have very different attitudes about cereal. As children of the '70's (and in my case, '80's), we understand that, after our choice of Saturday morning television, nothing says more about a person than the brand of breakfast cereal they endorse. You could be Wheaties (Bruce Jenner, Mary Lou Retton), or you could be Trix (Silly Rabbit). These were important decisions, in those days.

My cereal identity was determined by my mother. A child of the '50's, my mother took the 1970's and '80's health revolution very seriously. (From everything I understand, in the 1950's a fistful of Oreos crumbled into heavy cream was an acceptable "breakfast." They didn't really start to figure out that might not be good for you until my childhood. Thanks, science.)

Our pantry contained an assortment of rock-and-twig cereals such as Shredded Wheat and Grape Nuts. When she was feeling "kooky" we'd get Corn Flakes, Rice Krispies, or Cheerios. (Rice Krispies were our favorite because the commercials featured Snap, Crackle, and Pop, the Keebler Elf's ne'er-do-well nephews.) Our "treat" cereal was Raisin Bran. My mom wouldn't buy anything containing artificial colors or flavors, or any added sugar. She did, however, allow us to add our own sugar, so when she wasn't looking we would heap sugar on our bowl of Shredded Wheat until the cereal was no longer visible. I think she knew.

Eventually, Mom softened her stance on cereals enough to allow Honey-Nut Cheerios and Frosted Flakes. There was much rejoicing.

My point is not to point out how my mother deprived me of a childhood by refusing to buy Cookie Crisp, it is to explain why I never developed a taste for "kid" cereals. I didn't taste Froot Loops until I was married, as I'm sure the Lord inended. I have never eaten a Coco Puff. I have only ever eaten one freeze-dried marshmallow, and I only did that after I learned Sven's passionate feelings toward them.

Sven's cereal background is vastly different from mine. His father worked in the food service industry, helping to develop new recipes and foods to market. He was instrumental in the creation of "Chex Mix." He also developed the freeze-dried marshmallow, which led to Lucky Charms cereal, Sven's favorite cereal. Sven vastly prefers kid cereals to any of the grown-up varieties. Some of his favorites are Froot Loops, Count Chocula, Fruity Pebbles, and Hershey's Bowl of Miniature Candy Bars That You Just Eat.

The early days of our marriage Sven bought his and I bought mine. That meant Sven bought a box of Lucky Charms and I bought a box each of Raisin Bran, Grape Nuts, Shredded Wheat, and Honey-Nut Cheerios. I would eat a bowl of each, then wait the required 12 months to throw the opened boxes away before I bought more.

Is it any wonder that I'm not allowed to pick the cereal anymore?

Still, I couldn't have the only cereal in our house to be Froot Loops.

"What about Rice Krispies?" I offered to Sven.

"That's not a food, it's an ingredient," he snapped. What about Cookie Crunch?"

We got Cheerios. To date, I am the only person in the house who has eaten any cereal.

Good thing we didn't get something no one else likes...

Reflections on Michael Jackson's Memorial Service

I watched the service yesterday, and I have some observations:

1. The opening of the service bordered on the sacrilegious. (For those who didn't watch, Michael's golden casket was brought into the Staples Center as a choir sang, "Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King." It was unclear whether they meant God or the King of Pop.)

2. I enjoyed the performances, particularly John Mayer, which surprised me, as he is generally the sort of behatted hipster I avoid. However, his guitar-solo rendition of Human Nature was tasteful and beautiful. Jennifer Hudson's performance was also stellar. Lionel Richie, Mariah Carey, Stevie Wonder, and Usher also performed.

3. Of the speakers, most struck me as self-serving and sycophantic. Being from where I'm from, I'm accustomed to Sheila Jackson Lee's style of rhetoric, but I thought it was inappropriate. Al Sharpton and Martin Luther King III's speeches seemed out of place, somehow- they seemed more suited to a political rally than a remembrance.

4. Brooke Shields, by contrast, told of the personal, human side of Michael Jackson. The stories about their exploits as children and her sincere emotion was very moving.

5. Paris Jackson, in my opinion, provided the true memorial. She was in the spotlight for a few seconds, but it wasn't until she spoke that Michael Jackson was really, truly human. She didn't say anything about his fame, or the controversy, or his music...she just talked about her daddy. Despite myself, I cried. Also, despite myself, as I watched her being cradled by her aunt and her brother, I hoped that the kids will be allowed to stay with the only family they know.

So, really, for me the whole memorial could have been 30 seconds long. Just a little girl saying that she loved her daddy. There is some controversy today: some people saying it was staged, others insisting that it was bad for Paris to allow her to speak. That will be hashed out, I suppose, as people try to squeeze another couple of days' worth of headlines out of this.

I'm just going to listen to some music.

Jon & Kate: Not My Type

It has recently come to my attention that there is a show on TV called "Jon & Kate Plus 8." This show centers around the family of Jon and Kate Gosselin. Jon and Kate had fertility problems, but they a successful pregnancy which resulted in twins, then decided they wanted more children, so they had another try and had sextuplets. Someone thought it would be interesting to watch these "regular people" try to make such an unconventional family work.

Who? Why, the good people at TLC. No, not Tender Loving Care: The Learning Channel. Yes, my friends, there is a channel on TV that claims to be teaching us something! Dreadful. As though I watch television to be edified. In the past, though, TLC stuck to obviously educational fare with programming such as "Salt Water Taffy: The Mystery Revealed" and the landmark 10-part series "All About Glue."

TLC, in their crafty way, realized that no one really cared about salt water taffy's mysteries, so they decided to add "reality" programming to their lineup. This "reality" programming invariably focused on people who are just like "you and me" except for some crucial difference. Perhaps, like Jon and Kate, they have a huge number of children. Perhaps they are struggling with a genetic condition, such as dwarfism (The Little Couple). The point of these shows seems to be, "Look at these ordinary people, dealing with their extraordinary situations in completely ordinary ways."

Except they can't. They can't deal with their problems in ordinary ways, because there are cameras in their homes and faces 24 hours a day. They have producers. They have handlers. They have bodyguards and press agents and hairdressers and makeup artists. But, most of all, they have sponsors. These folks, no matter how "real" they are in the beginning, eventually devolve into the same tired "celebrity" that most successful reality shows produce. Omorosa. Adrienne Curry. Sanjaya. Tiffany "New York" Pollard. If you don't know who any of these people are, you clearly need a refresher course on what makes REAL "reality" TV.

If you are watching a show that contains the following, you are watching REAL "reality" TV:

1. People eating bugs for money.

2. Women fighting each other for the chance to "date" a has-been/never-was celebrity.

3. Attractive yet stupid people sipping champagne in a hot tub and/or chewing at a trendy restaurant, making conversation so boring you want to leap into the TV and take someone's pulse.

4. Accomplished chefs forced to make gourmet cuisine out of cigarette butts and Spam.

5. Donald Trump.

6. A homosexual fashion designer so flaming one can't look at him directly openly weeping because the skirt he designed was to be cut on the bias and he didn't buy enough fabric. If Tim Gunn is holding him gently and murmuring words like "consternation" or "egregious," count it twice.

7. Dancing, with or without celebrities.

8. Singing, with or without talent.

9. People who have no obvious source of income but spend thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars on hats.

10. Tyra Banks demonstrating how to look happy/sad/playful/sexy/constipated using only your eyes.

What do all of the above shows have in common? They may be unscripted, they may star "real" people as opposed to professional actors, but there is nothing "real" about them. They are as contrived and fake as any scripted television. You can cheerfully root for your hero or root against your villain with a happy heart and clear conscience: this is all in good fun.

Jon and Kate, and other shows of that ilk, are outside what I consider "fun." It came out very recently that Jon allegedly had an affair. Then, Kate allegedly had an affair. Now, they are getting a divorce. They seem to have forgotten that we don't like them because they're celebrities; in fact, most of us don't even like them. People who were following their story were doing it for the kids, rooting for their family. Now, instead of turning off the cameras and attempting to return to some sort of normal life, their family is broken, and every moment is documented so those kids can see it someday.

I wonder what they'll think? I bet they change the channel.

Confession: I'm Not That Shallow

Throughout my bloggy adventure through blogland, I have repeatedly referenced several points:

• How much I enjoy being a HOB



• How much I enjoy looking at beautiful young men



• How much I enjoy pitting those beautiful young men against each other in a winner-take-me cage match



• Twilight

What could be more shallow, I ask you, than a 34-year-old mom of two who has crushes on Zac Efron AND Rob Pattinson? And I'm okay with that, really. I wouldn't mind being so shallow that I would sigh over the dreamy blue eyes of Orlando Bloom in Return of the King, even knowing that they are contacts and his eyes are really a deep, chocolate brown.

The problem: I'm really not that shallow. I genuinely think these people are talented.

This is why I haven't jumped on the following bandwagons:

-OR-

So, here's the truth:

I think the Twilight books are good. Not "guilty pleasures," or "fun if you can stand the bad writing," or any other qualifiers: I think they are good books. I THINK TWILIGHT IS AS GOOD AS HARRY POTTER. There, I said it.

I think Rob Pattinson is a really good actor and a great musician. I think he is very handsome, but that really is secondary. My crush on him is totally artistic. I don't want him to kiss me, or bite me: I want to sit with him at a piano and write a song together. [hangs head in geeky shame.]

I think Zac Efron is also very talented. I think he's funny. Just naturally, effortlessly, very funny. I want to write a movie for him. Or, failing that, a Funny or Die sketch.

But Deb, you may ask, if you are so "not-shallow," why are all of your artistic crushes beautiful young men?

Answer: they aren't. These are just the ones I admit to so that the blogoverse will take me seriously as a shallow commentator on pop culture. Here are some of my non-bloglitically-correct artistic crushes:

1. Steve Martin

2. Joel McHale (okay, borderline)

3. Jim Gaffigan

4. Jon Hodgman

5. Will Ferrell

What do the five men listed above have in common? They are all very funny, very witty, good writers, and (except Joel) not sexy-cute at ALL. Number six would have been Paul F. Tompkins, number seven would have been Phillip Seymour Hoffman, number eight would have been Tilda Swinton (prove to me that she's really a woman!)...you get the idea.

So when I say I love George Clooney, don't misunderstand me. I would love to work with George someday, give him pointers on his love life, cook a meal, write a movie, win an Oscar...whatever. Just so you know it's not a shallow, pointless crush based only on George's good looks, which I hardly ever notice.

Of course, whatever we'd be doing, George would be shirtless. I hear he works best that way.

Great Literature

I just finished what may possibly the best book ever written.

Yes, the classic British novel of the husband-hungry Bennet sisters has been infused with zombie mayhem.

You may not know it, but I love Pride and Prejudice. I didn't read it until I saw the BBC miniseries version, but I've been hooked ever since. I love the language, the characters, the way everyone seems to fit so neatly into his or her own little mold. One thing that I always felt was lacking, though, was martial arts action and grisly scenes of undead slaughter. I'm so happy to see what these additions have brought to this Austen classic.

The key to its success, of course, lies in the writing. Austen's original is there, "spiced" with the additional details that blend seamlessly in with the text we know and love. In fact, I can no longer remember whether Mr. Darcy was initially attracted to Elizabeth because of her "fine eyes" or her skill with the Chinese throwing star.

Of course, this has me thinking. To which of the books I've previously laughed, cried, or even snored my way through could zombies be added? The possibilities are limitless:

• To Kill a Zombie: Harper Lee's classic novel, with the rabid dog scene replaced with a zombie.
• Of Mice and Men and Zombies: I confess, in my version the zombies eat everyone on page 14. I hate this book.
• Ethan Frome: No changes needed.
• A Scarlett Letter (With Zombies!): Wouldn't Hester Prynne as a pre-feminist zombie hunter have played better?

If adding zombies to classic literature is popcorn, adulterating Pride and Prejudice with modern pop culture themes is the chemically generated "butter." I have a few ideas, based on my childhood loves...

• Pride and Prejudice and Mrs. King: Elizabeth teams up with a 40-ish divorcee to catch the bad guys...and maybe a husband! (Special guest star: Gary Coleman)
• Darcy & Hutch: When a drug dealer takes Starsky out of commission, Hutch finds his new partner, a stuffy Etonian with an overblown sense of social class. (Special guest star: Charo)
• Gimme a Mate: The Bennets welcome their sassy new housekeeper, who teaches them a few things about life...and love! (Special guest star: Ray Parker, Jr.)
• Longbourn: Things are quiet in this sleepy British village, until a Texas oilman with a large fortune and a love for the ladies makes an appearance. (Special guest star: Linda Evans)
• The Bennet Bunch: After Mrs. Bennet's untimely demise, Mr. Bennet forms an alliance with a new widow named Carol with six children of her own! Fortunately, Alice helps keep them all in line. (Special guest star: Davy Jones)

It's gold, I tell you. Gold.

Get Lost!

I am a Lost-phile.

• Lost-phile, n. One who watches the television show Lost and obsesses over the meaning of each frame, hoping to unlock the secrets of the show, but also knows that successfully guessing would ruin everything, so secretly hopes that he/she doesn't actually know anything. (Source: Sir Mix-A-Lot's Guide To Future Irrelevance)

If you're not a Lostie, never fear. I won't bore you with a recap of anything. I just thought I'd take some space and explain what I find so fascinating about the show.

Although, since the season 5 finale (which aired last night) concluded with the words "Lost: 2010," should you want to catch up and get on board for the final season, you've got a chance now.

Things I love about Lost:

1. Impossible to Follow Plotlines: Nothing ruins a drama faster than predictability. The challenge in a show like Lost, though, is answering one question while asking five new ones, all without making the audience hurl a brick through the TV. The X-Files managed to do this for a while, until Scully became exposed to some alien form of Lifetime: Television for Women and began suffering from cancer, spontaneous pregnancy, acne, vertigo, Epstein-Barr, and cheerleader murders. Lost is still doing it, and it is awesome.

2. Delicious Eye Candy -or- Superb Characters, whichever makes me classier: Lost has some truly yummy examples of good acting. The example I'll use is bad boy Sawyer, whom I would have cheerfully dismembered in Season 1, but now would clasp to my bosom and hum gently. It is a credit to writers and actors that this transformation made perfect sense, and my feelings (minus the bosom humming, probably) are shared by many Lost fans.

3. Sven likes it. It is rare indeed when we share the same taste in TV fare. Lost became a Wednesday night ritual in our house, one of the few rituals to survive the birth of our children.

4. References. Lost is a candy store of "Easter egg" references. ("Easter eggs" are small details that are later revealed to be very significant.) For example, the books characters are reading could be clues to the secrets of the island. The books won't be mentioned, or even shown 100% clearly, but we Lost-philes are all over Wikipedia the next day, trying to figure out what Paradise Lost, Star Trek, Star Wars, Stephen King, Faulkner, Egyptian mythology, and Volkswagen mini-vans have to do with each other.

I love this show. I think the smartest thing they did was set and end date seasons in advance, so it will play out like an extended miniseries. We don't know where they're going, but we know the end is in sight.

Who is the man in black? What does Jacob's touch do to those he touches? Is John Locke really dead? Did Ben tell the truth? Was the ship on the horizon the Black Rock? Is that how Richard got to the island, or was he already there? Is the statue of Anubis, or someone more obscure? Did they change history?

2010.

Kerfuffle No. 1

I love the word "kerfuffle." It's fun to say, it's fun to write, and it means something fun to contemplate.

Kerfuffle, basically, is a commotion, a disturbance, or some other form of mild chaos.

My favorite current kerfuffles, in no particular order:

1. Miss California 2009 vs. the Gay Media Elite

The players:

Carrie Prejean, Miss California 2009, pictured below in less complicated times.

Perez Hilton, gossip columnist and member of the Gay Media Elite:

And Donald Trump, celebrity mogul and owner of the Miss USA pageant contestants:

(Boy, looking over those pictures, I'm glad I thought to add captions. Otherwise, you might not be able to tell them apart!)

The kerfuffle in this case began at this year's widely viewed Miss USA pageant. Miss California drew Perez Hilton, one of the "celebrity" judges, as her questioner for the infamous "interview" portion, in which the contestants must prove that they are carbon-based life forms that can blink more than once per minute. Hilton asked Miss California if she felt other states should follow the four states who (at that time) currently allowed same-sex marriage.

Prejean: I think it's great that Americans are able to choose one or the other. We live in a land that you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage and, you know what, in my country and my family I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anyone out there but that's how I was raised and that's how I think it should be between a man and a woman.

Perez Hilton: You dumb -----. That's why I voted against you and you lost, ha ha.

Fox News: No! The Gay Media Elite robbed us of our rightful Miss USA!

Prejean: [becomes a celebrity spokesmodel for traditional marriage]

Gay Media Elite: No! A beauty queen is speaking out against us! That can't be allowed!

Prejean: [appears on several news programs]

Fox News: Yay! A conservative beauty queen who likes traditional marriage!

Prejean: [courageously makes more appearances]

Gay Media Elite: Yay! She posed in naked pictures!

Prejean: No, they were modeling shots. And I was 17. And it was only one picture.

Gay Media Elite: What about these?

Topless Photos: Hello!

Prejean: The wind blew my top off. (she really said this)

Fox News: [facepalm]

Trump: It's my decision whether or not this woman should remain Miss California.

Pageant Folk: Well, she lied on her application about nude/semi-nude photos, she's been ignoring her duties as Miss California to do work for this political organization, we've had to create a title for her runner-up so she can make the appearances instead...

Trump: You had me at nude photos. She stays.

Gay Media Elite: No!

Fox News: Yay?

Prejean: [signs more deals]

Miss California First Runner Up: Hey!

Now that's good kerfuffle.

Who Is Daisy?

I've alluded in a few of my recent posts to my love/hate relationship with reality programming, specifically the shows aired on VH-1 (Slogan: "We Still Play More Videos Than MTV"). These shows have, at different times, fascintated me, repelled me, disgusted me, amused me, and made me think, sometimes all at once. In a comment on one post discussing the premiere of "Daisy of Love," one adorable reader left this comment:

"Who is Daisy?" (Hi, Mom!)

To answer this question, I must delve into the history of Celebreality, the reality-show genre specific to VH-1. (Okay, maybe it's not an issue of "must," but "I want to." I'm a nerd who will take literally any opportunity to do research.)

VH-1 got in to the reality show "game" by taking over another network's show, "The Surreal Life." This show was essentially "Big Brother" with the cast made up of former A- and B- list celebrities and current C- and D- list celebrities. Cast members have included such '80's faves as Cory Feldman and Bronson Pinchot; beloved sitcom stars like Christopher Knight (Peter Brady) and Dave Coulier (Joey from "Full House"); musicians Vince Neill, "Pepa," CC DeVille, and various New Kids On the Block; perennial celebrity Charo, porn star Ron Jeremy, reality-tv "stars" Adrienne Curry (America's Next Top Model) and Omorosa (The Apprentice); and perennial "The Soup" punchline Janice Dickinson.

The premise of "The Surreal Life" initially was to observe celebrities interacting with each other. It became more of an exercise in humiliation the year Verne Troyer (Mini-Me) got so drunk he rode his Rascal-type scooter naked and urinated in the corner of the room. Though Verne claims the incident was his wake-up call that led to his current sobriety, it is hard to find any other silver lining in that cloud.

I only mention "The Surreal Life" because it was the progenitor of one of the most prolific Celebreality family trees. There were two spinoffs from "The Surreal Life" that traced the relationships of couples that "hooked up" on the show: "My Fair Brady," a horrible, horrible exercise in passive-aggressiveness which taught all women why your husband/fiancee DOESN'T appreciate you giving him pictures of you being intimate with another woman for Valentine's Day; and "Strange Love," the aptly named chronicle of Brigitte Nielsen's affair with Public Enemy hype man Flava Flav.

To the shock of every right-thinking audience member, "Strange Love" ended with Flav and Brigitte calling it quits, but remaining "the best of friends." (Possibly the fact that Brigitte was dating someone else had something to do with it.) Flav, bereft, went on to his very successful spinoff, "Flavor Of Love," which aired for three seasons.

Enter Deb. I began watching the first season of "Flavor of Love," fascinated by Flav's sensitivity and understanding of women. He began each season by announcing that he couldn't be expected to remember the actual names of the women present, so he would assign each a nickname to be determined by him after 15-20 seconds of "conversation." So, the cast members have included New York, Hoopz, Goldie, Pumkin, Delishus, Buckey, Buckwild, Toastee, Serious, Crazy, Thing 1, Thing 2, Bootz, and Sapphyri (her real name).

By the end of season 1, I desperately wanted Flav to be happy. When Hottie decided to microwave the chicken to feed Flav's mother, I yelled at the TV, "Send her home, Flav! The girl can't fry a chicken!" Then I had to lay back with a moist towel on my head and call for peeled grapes.

Happily, Flav proposed to Liz, the mother of his youngest child, on the season 3 reunion. I hope he has found true happiness.

Do not despair! After seeing the show, comedienne and etiquette expert Mo'Nique decided to educate these women with "Flavor Of Love: Charm School." This show filled me with such delight, I can't even express it. Both seasons were magic.

New York, who had been rejected by Flav on season 1 and 2, got her own shows as well: I Love New York, I Love New York 2, New York Goes to Hollywood, and the upcoming New York Has Fleas. (No, it's really something about her getting a day job, but I think the flea idea is better.)

Two of New York's cast-offs, brothers Real and Chance, got their own show, Real Chance of Love.

And now, we come to where Daisy enters the picture: Rock of Love.

Apparently, after seeing the success that was Flavor of Love, Bret Michaels (front man of "Poison" and Pamela Anderson-Lee-Rock-Solomon castoff) decided he should find love the same way. Rock of Love led to three seasons: Rock of Love, Rock of Love 2: Burning Sensations, and Rock of Love 3: Antibiotic Ointment. No, the third season was really called Rock of Love: Bus and featured all of the girls on tour with Bret. Sensibly, after this season Bret chose the woman most agree will bring the most stability into his life: a Penthouse Pet who wants a singing career. What were we all to do? Now that Bret has found deep and lasting happiness, how are we, his adoring and incredulous public, to get deeper understanding of interpersonal relationships and dynamite waxing tips?

Enter Daisy. Daisy was the runner-up on "Rock of Love: 2," which apparently entitles her to her own show. Don't let the photo above fool you; Daisy is a total class act who actually can walk a straight line, when motivated. She spent the premiere of her show in a two-piece bathing suit with a skirt, effectively showing the men present that she was a strong, sophisticated, liberated woman with visible tattoos and a dynamite spray-tan. When presented with The Triplets, a group of Swedish brothers who apparently all wanted to date Daisy at once, she classily expressed her opinion of such an arrangement thusly:

"Ew."

You can't teach class like that.

So, I am really looking forward to this season's guily pleasure, "Daisy Of Love."

Just to round out the family tree, "I Love Money," now in its second season, features contestants from all of the above shows competing for $250,000 (but trade in any dignity they had before), "For the Love of Ray-J" just finished its first season, and I wish Ray-J and Cocktail all the happiness in the world. Rock of Love Girls: Charm School is about to enter its second season with Ricki Lake replacing Sharon Osborne as hostess.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cold towel waiting. This much intellectual effort is exhausting.

Reality Show

I've been thinking that my life would make a great reality show.

Not one of those competition-style shows, though in general I think those are superior to the other kind. No, mine would be a "Hills"-style reality show, just following my pals and me through our glamorous lives using totally unscripted moments.

Pilot Episode

Cast:

Deb: A glamorous single mom

Princess: Deb's precocious 3-year-old daughter

Dexy: Deb's adorable precocious 18-month-old son

Edie: Deb's sexy neighbor

Brandody: Deb's sexy mysterious co-worker

Scene 1: Deb at work. She and Brandody are eating lunch

Deb: I'm so glad it's Friday. (She takes a bite and chews for what seems like 10 minutes.)

Brandody: Ummm. (Also chews.)

Deb: (raises eyebrows)

Brandody: (clears throat)

Deb: So what are you doing this weekend?

Brandody: Uh. Stuff. Chillin'.

Deb: What do you teach, again?

Scene 2: Deb's house

Princess: Mommy, Dexy hit me!

Deb: Come here, children. (Something trendy and contemplative begins playing in the background.) We have to love each other. We're all we have. If you don't love each other, what will we have? Nothing. Because we're all we have.

Sven: (coming through the door) I'm home!

Deb: Filming!

Sven: Oops. (Door shuts)

Dexy: Ooh ga ba. Dog.

Deb: I love you too, my baby.

Edie: (Pokes head in through the door) Is anyone home?

Deb: Come in! That's not strange at all, that you would just open the door to my house and come in!

Edie: So what happened with you and Brandody today?

Deb: Nothing. He's actually very stupid.

Edie: I don't think you mean that.

Producer: (off camera) Deb, we talked about this.

Deb: (sighs) Fine. He's very... clean.

Producer: (off camera, warningly): Deb?

Deb: All right! He's 'super hot and I hope he asks me out.' I can't do this! I thought this was going to be a reality show about my life! Why can't I have my own husband here?

Producer: (off camera) Deb, we talked about this. Husbands are only sexy if they're cheating or being cheated on. Do you want him to have an affair with Edie?

Edie: Okay!

Deb: No! Why can't there be a show on television that just shows a normal, happy family? One with a normal number of kids, and parents that just try to hold things together but really love each other? People who can't keep their house clean because they'd rather play with their kids? People who have to save for years to go to Disneyworld because they pay their bills and don't use credit cards? Why can't that be on TV? That's me!

Producer: (off camera) You're fired. Edie, I'll meet you in your trailer.

Edie: Yes, sir.

*******

So, that didn't go too well. Maybe I should have gone the other way, with the competition show.

"Project Runway XXL": Young fashion designers compete to create flattering clothes for dumpling-shaped women

I'll be Heidi.

What Is Your Good Name Worth?

Recently, I was reading through the online news, and a story caught my eye.

Woody Allen is suing American Apparel for $10 million, saying they used his image in advertising without his permission. Mr. Allen, who does not do any sort of product endorsement in the U.S., claims that the unauthorized use of his image damaged his "good name."

American Apparel has decided to fight the suit, using some very interesting, even novel arguments:

1. The billboards were up and down in less than a week in only a couple of locations (New York and L.A.) so $10 million is excessive, and...

2. It is impossible for anything American Apparel did cause Mr. Allen's name/character to be defamed, because Mr. Allen defamed his own name/character so much that further defamation is simply impossible.

My first thought: Huh?

Remember back in the early '90's, when Woody Allen cheated on his long-time girlfriend/mother of his child Mia Farrow with Ms. Farrow's adopted daughter, Soon Yi Previn? Who was still in her teens at the time?

Then, remember the custody fight over Farrow and Allen's child? When Farrow accused Allen of molesting the kids? And Allen denied it, but the judge granted Farrow full custody? Then Allen married Soon Yi?

That's what American Apparel is referring to: they're saying Allen's reputation has been worthless since that time, so nothing anyone could do could diminish it any further.

To bolster this argument, American Apparel has subpoenaed tons of documents from the Allen/Farrow custody battle and plans to call witnesses to discuss the early relationship between Previn and Allen.

My second reaction: clever, but sleazy.

If repeated viewings of legal shows (Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU, The Practice, Law & Order: Traffic Court, Boston Legal, Law & Order: Mobile K-9 DARE Unit, The Soup) have taught me anything, it is this: clever and smarmy never win. I think American Apparel has overplayed its hand here.

I think Woody Allen is a talented filmmaker whose personal life certainly would have trouble being judged under scrutiny. I think Allen ought to fight it this way: they didn't use an image of him from his personal life, they used an image of him from the movie Annie Hall, in which he was dressed as a Rabbi. While his personal reputation may indeed be quite low with many of us, his professional reputation is still strong and respected, and by using an image of him from his films, they were obviously banking on his professional reputation, not his personal one. But I'm not a lawyer, so what do I know?

This American Apparel thing also scares me because of possible precedent:

Deb: Your honor, while I enjoy the chocolate, cream-filled goodness of Mostest's Hoo-Ha's, I clearly didn't give the company permission to put my picture on the box with the caption "Mrs. Hoo-Ha." I feel this disparages my character and intelligence.

Smarmy Attorney: Your honor, I have here photographic evidence that this woman, on several occasions, dressed as a duck and threw candy at children. Voluntarily. How could anything we do make her appear any more stupid than she already did?

Judge: Really? A duck?

Deb: (whispering) It was a gander.

Judge: Case dismissed.

So we need to keep this in mind. Who knows where this could lead? Imagine the world if just anyone could use anyone's name or image for free to promote anything? We might have Ryan Seacrest on the bottle of Gold Bond Medicated Powder, or Paris Hilton on the boxes of various hygiene/contraceptive products.

Or some bad ones might happen, too.

My Resume: Life Coach

Name: Deb

Age: 34

Weight: Undeterminable by human technology

Sign: Dip

Is seeking a position as a life coach to anyone whose picture has appeared on the cover of a major publication in the past 12 months.

Qualifications:

1. Discretion. I am the very definition of the word. On my blog, everyone except myself is referred to a pseudonym that is virtually undetectable, except by the person I'm referencing and anyone who actually knows that person. Right, Calliope?

2. Past Experience: While I personally have never been a cocaine-addicted former actress whose latest movie was released on ABC Family to avoid the ingominity of the direct-to-DVD movie release, I did once kill a scorpion that was in my shoe and have manually unclogged several toilets. I think the parallels are obvious.

3. Knowledge: I personally viewed "Beverly Hills, 90210" in its first incarnation as well as "Melrose Place." Furthermore, I have the movie "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" memorized. What problem is there that can't be solved by one of those masterpieces?



4. Education: I dressed up like a giant duck in high school**. What wouldn't I do for a job?

5. What you should know about me: I am a people person, a dynamic, proactive go-getter who can synergize the matrix and make everything happen for you. I even know what that sentence means, in theory. Even if I don't know, I said it, which means I can sound like I know anything.

6. My specialty: Saying "no." I would say no better than anyone else, because I would insist on an ironclad 10-year contract at a fixed salary. Even if you fire me, you'd have to pay me, so it would be in your interest to listen to my advice. Here are some examples that is totally made up and are not at all true*: Let's say Playboy calls with an offer for you to pose. You are concerned that, if you do so, you may become known simply for exploiting your body. A fair concern, given that up to this point you are mainly known for the size of your behind and your "unauthorized" sex tape.



In this case, after your mother/manager advised you to do Playboy, promising you that you wouldn't have to be *completely* naked (and pointing out how much money she, I mean you, would make), you would come to me.

"No," I would say. "You're instincts are correct. You should not do Playboy."

"But my mom said I wouldn't have to be naked," you would say.

"Really?" I would say. "Seriously? It's Playboy. You will be naked. In Playboy language, a glass of champagne is considered modest attire."

"I don't want to pass up a good opportunity..." you would say.

"No," I would say.

"But-"

"No."

"If maybe I-"

"Just no. Really. Now leave me alone, your behind is interfering with my ability to hear low frequencies."

So you can see what an impact I would make on the lives of these celebrities. I haven't even gotten into the example where a client asks whether she should marry her engaged back-up dancer, or get pregnant by her married co-star.

I am available to begin immediately, as long as you are willing to hold our meetings in my house. I have to get caught up on the laundry.

*My example is totally made up, unless you believe that Reality Shows are actually reality. If, like me, you believe them to be carefully crafted and scripted scenarios imitating real life, then that scenario is completely made up. Just not by me.
**Our mascot was the gander. I was the mascot for three or four pivotal football games and pep rallies, so I donned the giant gander suit many times. I did have to provide my own tights.