Oh my God, the grannies are back, the two most artificial young women on television, which is going some when you consider what’s on TV nowadays.
Plastic surgery mama and her lofty cohort – their combined age is barely sixty – and not ten minutes into the show and there she is, Tracey Tre, mimicking the #1 Ladies’ Detective Agency with her ridiculous, condescending “Mma” and the “love you baby girl” and the “mad flavour” and the “sick” and on and on and on. Somebody bring me a gun so I can shoot myself. Tonight she actually pronounced, “I may be queen of urban dance here...” and no one batted an eye. Self-congratulations seem to go a long way in modern dance.
It also seems that as soon as a wide-screen (even my narrow screen feels too wide tonight) personality realizes she is under scrutiny all she has to do is fund a charity (big or small) and clasp her hands in a wisely, ministerial manner and all is dandy on the dance floor.
And I say this knowing how patently pretentious much of the on- and off-camera dance world seems to be.
Cheese.
Only in Canada.
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In other news, Roger Ebert continues to attract attention because of his comment about Ryan Dunn. Although it feels too soon to so many, I wonder if I might have stopped hopping into Danny Bernard’s car sooner if someone like Ebert had called me up short.
If I could even count as high as the number of PEI graduates who lost their lives in late May...
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Kirstie Alley was on The View this morning looking fabulous at sixty. SIXTY. All on her own. While not even once throughout her stint on DWTS did she utter Mma or mad flavour, she did give/return a steamy Max kiss, which seemed to make her blush in hindsight today. [Awkward phrasing, but you know what I mean...I think.]
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Also on The View this morning, a soft-spoken, leggy Liv Tyler waxed sweetly on her father, Steven Tyler, who seems to have won the hearts of millions of American Idol viewers with his humour, quietly direct commentary and sex appeal. Count me among his fans.
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Finally in today’s [albeit brief] news, I am making headlines because I have actual plans to haul myself up and DO something. I am headed out to the grocery store after I shower – they were so nice last week at the Gerrard/Victoria Park Loblaws, and they have everything (the Leslieville Loblaws is deplorable, no fewer than a dozen staff members whispering the same thing to me in past months) – and then I am going to clean (at least part of) this house in preparation for dinner with the book club women tomorrow evening, most of whom – maybe all of whom – couldn’t give a rat’s bum about the state of this house or really anyone’s house, or so it seems to me.
No matter, my mother would be spinning around in voodoo circles if she knew I had not prepared properly. Maybe I’ll throw on a few dance tunes while I’m at it and imagine my mum calling out to me in approval – “I love you baby girl!”
“Run, run, run as fast as you can – you can’t catch me, I’m the stinky cheese man!” Jon Scieszka
