Those Palin Kids Say the Darnedest Things

There is so much I could say about this week's Bristol Palin: Life's a Tripp, but I will simply remind you of Bristol's own words. "My mom is so wise, and I only hope that I can pass down to Tripp the same wisdom that she's given to me."

Mission accomplished, Bristol. Mission accomplished. 

She's Got Legs!

So, this week's RHONY...what a craptacular train wreck, amirite? The Dowager Countess (because you just know she offed him) doing a British accent that would make Anne Hathaway cringe, poor sex-starved Sonja trying to mount the clock tower formerly known as Big Ben, Carole, clearly over these bitches, calling her agent to get her off of this god-damned show...there was something for everyone, and if you want all the details, read Sandy's full recap here. While I wouldn't normally tread on her turf, something happened this episode that was so amazing, so awesome, so stupefying, that it really does deserve its own post. And that something is LegGate.

See, born and bred Manhattanite Aviva, who you must never underestimate, lost her leg in a tragic farm accident when she was six, a fact that she mentions so often that Sandy and I have created a drinking game out of it. Leg. Drink! Anyway, while the Plastics are living it up in London (with Sonja playing the part of Karen Smith, obvs), poor Aviva is left to entertain Ramona, so they decide to go shoe shopping. Oh man, you guys. This scene. 

The scene begins in "confessional," where we know we're in for a treat, because Ramona (who "notices everything!") doesn't seem to be notice that Aviva wears shoes, and is awestruck that she needs to buy shoes. As is always the case with Ramona, a picture is worth a thousand words, so here goes...

Ramona and Aviva enter the store, just like people with all of their limbs and all of their brain cells would do.

Browsing around, Aviva picks up a pair of slingbacks that look as if they have been vomited upon by the rhinestone fairy.

While looking at this monstrosity, she mentions that she could never wear them, because slingbacks make her prosthetic slip (and she has taste). 

This brings out the owl eyes in Ramona.

Ramona immediately starts grilling her on what she can wear. "Can you wear an open-toed shoe? Can you wear a sandal? Mukluks? Moccasins? Mary Janes? Is that why you never wear those giant clown shoes that are all the rage? DO YOU HAVE FAKE TOES?" That's right, y'all, fake toes. Aviva explains that, yes, she has toes and moles and veins.

Uncharacteristically, Ramona does not let the subject drop, so Aviva offers to show her the leg. 

Ramona is dumbfounded.

Seeing Aviva's leg gives Ramona the "shivers," although that might just be the pinot withdrawal talking.

Ramona comes up with the great idea of having Aviva model her leg while Ramona pretends that she doesn't know anything (way to stretch, Singer).

Ramona, what do you think?

"I am telling you I would never ever know that that was a 'not your leg.' It looks like your leg."

Aviva mentions that she can wear it everywhere, even to the beach. "You go to the beach? Like in a bathing suit?" Yes, Ramona, she can even wear a bathing suit.

Aviva assures Ramona that, yes, she can swim wearing it, that she can do anything in it. I am going to go out on a limb and say she could even model in it.

In confessional, Ramona shares the lesson she has learned on this leg of her journey.

 "She has a limb prosthetic for high heeled shoes, one for flat shoes and - guess what! - a leg for swimming!"

Hey Ramona, you learned something new today! What are you going to do next?

Yeah, thought so.

Where the Cool Girls Are

This week, the "cool girls" (who are neither cool nor girls) go to London sans Aviva (who lacks, in addition to one leg, the intestinal fortitude to go in a plane) and Ramona (who is just having SO MUCH FUN in New York, MORE FUN THAN THEY'RE HAVING IN LONDON!).  David incorrectly disagrees with me and says Ramona is not, in fact, losing her crazy-eyed head, but she is playing the Jill Zarin card.  I'll let the imaginary readers of this blog debate that while I remain confident that I am correct.

One thing I learned this episode is that I love British television, because during Heather's interview on a morning show, they only let her say (ugh) "Yummie Tummie" once.  If they take that down to zero times, I'll consider a marriage proposal to the entire BBC.  I would do that.  Luann strikes fear in my heart when she declares that Heather's "gangsta chic" way of talking (which involves disingenuous sprinklings of "yo" as punctuation and the always-embarrassing "holla!") has inspired her to write a new song.  

Where is the Luann I used to know who was above it all?  She was a COUNTESS, for crying out loud, and that MEANT something, even if that something was only that she was a snooty rag with a hard-on for manners!  I mean, now she openly discusses sexual intercourse and takes a bite of food before everyone is seated.  I mean, I'm from the Midwest, where we begin stuffing food into our maws even if no one else's food has arrived, so I can't throw shade, but I loved that she was better than me!  She's not better than me anymore.  She's not even better than Ramona, despite her own opinion to the contrary.

Sonja was really a non-entity this episode, except when she asked if Carole's calculations of Luann's hip-to-waist ratio were going to come about by "mathematics."  Oh, Sonja.  Sometimes I don't know if she's faking it, but this time I think she was really genuine in her mystification at the prospect of numbers and squiggly lines and x's and whatnot.  It's a terrifying world when you're Sonja Morgan.  

Carole became my BFF when she called Luann out in talking heads about a) her fake British accent and b) Luann's status as a one-upper.  I have a dear dear friend who had a bad habit of one-upping when we were younger, and the tactic my other friends and I took with her was to just respond, "you win."  That worked for us, but I don't know if Luann can handle that level of subtlety.  She took a minute to get Heather's "joke" about the egg toilets giving new meaning to "egg drop" and Carole's mention of that old Newlywed Game trope about the housewife saying that the strangest place she and her husband had made whoopie was in the ass.  She doesn't seem to ... get... things.  According to the previews, the one-upping issue will continue into next week and I, for one, am thrilled.  Real Housewives:  They're just like us!

Ramona has this storyline of speaking at the Learning Annex, but it kind of goes nowhere beyond her having a shit-fit about the height of a table.  Big whoo.  Oh, and she also goes bug-eye nuts about Aviva's prosthesis, and cannot - cannot! - believe that Aviva goes to the beach with her fake leg.  She even feels the leg up a little, which grosses me out.  I know there's porn for everything, but I don't need to be reminded of that.

I'll still write about RHONJ, but it's more difficult because these people have serious psychological problems, not like the ones I mock Ramona for, like alcoholism and nervous breakdowns.

Ramona v. Tyra, the Landmark Supreme Court Competency Hearing

For the last three or so years, I've been threatening to stop watching America's Next Top Model, because I believe Tyra Banks is slowly losing her mind, and I don't want to be a party to that.  In the case of almost any other television show ever broadcast, I would just say that the show had jumped the shark and was no longer worth watching.

America! Patriots! Lady Gaga! 'Bristol Palin: Life's a Tripp'

Tonight, for reasons that I cannot even explain, I found myself watching best-selling author and star dancer Bristol Palin's new "docu-drama" Bristol Palin: Life's a Tripp (Get it? Because her name is Bristol Palin and she can't spell?). Ooof, I don't even know where to start with this one. After a generic Lilith Fair-ian theme song about setting a new direction and life not getting you down (think the theme to Alice, as performed by Heather Nova's less talented younger sister), Bristol waxes poetically about life in Alaska. Did you know that in Alaska, they don't even have television shows? It's true! Everyone just sits around in their igloos, huddled together for warmth, and stares at static-filled television sets. Good thing they have that amazing view of Russia.


With nothing to watch on TV, Bristol and Willow occupy their time with discussing Mama Grizzly herself, the OG Sarah P. You guys, we were totally wrong about Sarah. According to Willow and Bristol, she's every woman; it's all in her. Every thing that Bristol knows about being a mother, she learned from Sarah, which...yeah. She is an America-lovin', all-knowin', and-get this-articulate superwoman. She's so amazing that she can even "write an op-ed piece while she cleans the house." Maybe she should have included that skill in her campaign literature to wrap up the opinionated housekeeper vote. Hindsight and all of that.


SuperSarah has a big fancy speech to give in D.C., where Bristol is conveniently holding a book signing for her National Book Award-winner "Not Afraid of Life." The girls are concerned about the "Occupy" protests going on outside of their hotel, but Bristol has a plan; she's gonna "whoop their asses." Willow wants to cut them all with her pocketknife, but then decides that karma will get them. Bristol, however is unstoppable, because "when I see protesters, it makes me sick. Why aren't you at work? Why aren't you out doing something?" Good point, Bristol. Maybe they could  "write" a memoir about their teenage pregnancy, dance for a mirror ball trophy, or star on a reality show that nobody watches but me.


Bristol fears for her life in the big city, because she and her mother receive "thousands and thousands of death threats" every year. A woman introduced only as "Nancy" (who turns out to be the author of Bristol's "autobiography") comes into the girls' hotel room wearing a button down and a string of pearls (because of course she is) and tells the Palin girls that she will protect them from the big, bad protesters. How she is going to do that is anyone's guess. Maybe she is SuperSarah's secret sidekick?


Bristol and Nancy head off to their book signing and man, oh man, is it bad. Guys, I worked in a bookstore for over a decade, and I know a bad signing when I see one. I've seen local authors on their first book pull a bigger crowd than Bristol did. It was "make your employees pretend to be customers" bad. Seriously, just awful. Just to emphasize the point, the final shot of the signing scene is that of a giant stack of unsold books. Did I mention it was bad?


Leaving the signing, Bristol and Nancy are spontaneously, coincidentally, not at all planned-by-producers-ly approached by a Sarah Palin impersonator. She starts "ya know"-ing and "hey ya"-ing in a three pack-a-day rasp when she is spontaneously, coincidentally, not at all planned-by-producers-ly interrupted by a random passerby who starts ranting to her about health care mandates, and the poor state of the nation, and how he voted for "her' and not McCain. Guys, what are the chances? A serendipitous moment, indeed. 


Off to Sarah's speech they go, allowing Bristol to again remind us of her mother's many virtues in voice-over, as she watches rapturously from the crowd. She's funny, she's a true patriot, she wants to set America back on the right course, and best of all, "she's a rock star, like Lady Gaga." You guys, this is one of those moments when I really wish I had Photoshop, because Sarah Palin in a meat dress. A meat dress she shot herself, of course.


The girls return to the hotel, because they have a little surprise up their sleeves. Seems it is Mama Grizzly's birthday, and they are throwing her a party. They toss up some banners, bake her a cake in their easy-bake oven, and wait with bated breath. Sarah, completely not anticipating this extraordinary display of love, enters the hotel room AND YELLS SURPRISE TO HERSELF!! You read that right. She follows that up with this line from a Smiths song: "All my friends! My two friends." Poor, sad Mama Grizzly. 


After under-cooked flour patties (Seriously, has an easy-bake oven ever cooked anything?), the  Mama and her cubs decide to have some "girl talk," which doubles, of course, as a commercial for the Teabag Movement. Willow announces that she never wants to live on the East Coast. When questioned why, she responds, in the most petulant teenager voice possible, "Duh! Liberals!" Bristol totally understands this position and adds, incoherently, "I feel like if you're not going to Harvard, if you're not going to doctorate school or whatever..." Sarah, ever the uniter, tries to personalize Harvard for the girls by stating, "So, if Willow gets accepted to hair school there..." Harvard, the top-ranked hair school in the nation, according to people with no television shows. Sarah wraps up girl time by asking the girls if they have any advice for her on Syria, to which Willow responds "I don't even know where Syria is." Well, of course not, Willow, because you cannot see it from your house.


And, this my friends, is how we leave the Palin women, clueless and friendless in a heartless television-filled city, surrounded by people that want to kill them or impersonate them, but not buy their books. Bristol, what have you learned from this harrowing adventure? "My mom is so wise, and I only hope that I can pass down to Tripp the same wisdom that she's given to me." As do we, Bristol, as do we.

Theh-rapy

I can't quite figure out how to represent in writing the way the RHs of NJ pronounce "therapy."  The only other way I've ever heard it pronounced is, "Thair-apy," but they pronounce that 'e' as 'eh,' and it really throws the whole thing off for me.

True story: That's almost the most interesting thing to happen in tonight's episode.  Last week got a little exciting because Teresa ran back to her family after her friends dropped her like a hot rock, and I thought maybe her family would be like, "Well, screw you too!" and drama would ensue.  Unfortunately, that was not the case (on the surface at least).

Shit got real, though, when Kathy and Rosie's mom told a story of how her father gave her up to his childless sister to fulfill a promise to his dying father.  What. The. Hell.  I got super teary-eyed, which was a departure from the boredom from the rest of the episode.  Teresa's aunt needs "theh-rapy," for realz!  That lady's been through the mill!

So basically, if you missed it, Teresa and Joe Gorga missed the point of theh-rapy entirely (shocker!), Caroline and Jacqueline made sour face about Teresa (wha?), Rosie is a lesbian whose sister is hellbent on pimping her out (seriously, what?), Rosie/Kathy's mom was part of some weird trade-off, and Albie has a new beard.  I mean girlfriend.  I mean beard.  I think my favorite moment on this show has become when the cameramen show Gregg (Albie and Chris's "roommate") for no apparent reason.  He does absolutely zero on this show but look glum and eat, and I think we already have Lauren to cover that.  (That's not a fat hate joke.  I'm a fat girl.  That's an "I've heard so much about Lauren's body I want to scream" joke.)  In other news, I don't like the name Gregg when there are three g's involved.  Let's pronounce it "Greg-guh-guh."

The Evil Eye

With so much hubbub about the bow ("Who does that?!"), I didn't even get to talk about the hilarious falling-out between Tamra "Close Eyes" Barney and Vicki "Angry Terrier" Gunvalson.  There is tons and tons of speculation in every corner of the Internet about what level of interference Andy Cohen and his team of BRAVO producers have in the daily happenings of these women's lives - few people, if any, think that any of the relationships on the show are as organic as they are portrayed.  Prevailing wisdom says that any number of RH's may have started their respective shows as friends, but their hunger for fame (or fondant) and their general delusion have contributed to their interactions becoming as fakey as their introductions (you know, the ones with oddly emphasized words: "My tank is full and I'm driving into my future").  You guys are certainly welcome to delve into these issues in the comments, but I'm going to stick with the women and their interactions as they are presented to me on my TV screen, because I've already typed myself into cramps with one recap of a half an episode - I don't need more crap to talk about.  


As you're probably aware if you're reading this (because I certainly can't imagine this being interesting to any "civilians" who don't watch the RH franchise), Vicki's been "dating" a grifter named Brooks this season, and everyone in the whole wide world can see that he's a shady operator except for Vicki.  That's how these things play out though, on TV, in real life, and in R&B songs (specifically Akon's "Don't Matter"):  A no-good fella picks you up and your friends see what's about to go down, but you interpret their concern as jealousy/nosiness/hateration (pick one) because you, my friend, are dickmatized.  Vicki doesn't like to talk about her "pink parts" (the phrase "pink parts" makes me visibly shudder - if she just said "vagina" or "nips" I wouldn't think a thing of it), though, so she would never cop to being dickmatized.  But we all know what "My love tank is full" means (it means "I'm dickmatized").  One way you can tell if this is happening to you, friends, is if you find yourself barking at people all the time.  "THIS IS THE HAPPIEST I'VE EVER BEEN!"  "I'M HAPPY!"  "HAPPY!"  Happy is like cool; if you have to announce it, you're not.


Also: Vicki bought Brooks new teeth.  This is apropos of nothing in this post, I just need to announce it because it's one of those reality moments that brings me inner peace.  Let's just chant that as our mantra for a moment, shall we?  Vicki bought Brooks new teeth.  


Back to the action at hand.  After Big Jim shows up to the party only to flounce off because Tamra is hateful (I need a macro for that phrase) and Alexis chases him, her boobs unnervingly unmoving, Vicki proposes a toast (or a "cheers" as these people call it.  When did grown adults start saying "Lets cheers!"?) to Alexis.  Tamra makes a face, or rolls her eyes, or narrows them, or whatever.  I mean, before I got past Brooks starting shit with her, I rewound like five times because I had no idea what was going on.  It seems that, out of nowhere, Brooks says "You wanna go there?"  It truly appears that he is just getting it going about literally nothing.  But it turns out that he's coming to Vicki's defense because...


Because Tamra gave Vicki "the evil eye."  At which Vicki completely loses her shit in a most spectacular manner.  One time, I babysat a big black dog for a day while his apartment was being fumigated (the dog did not live alone in an apartment, as adorable as that cartoon would be).  My dog, a little terrier mix, appeared completely uninterested until occasionally, out of nowhere, she would lunge at him, teeth bared, doing that high-pitched, shrill terrier bark that's really more a scream.  And when Vicki starts shrieking at Tamra here, she bears more than a passing resemblance to my dog in those insane moments.  


Yes, it was rude of Tamra to perform what becomes known as "evil eye."  But she hates Alexis, and really, if you can't be rude with your bestie, what's even the point of having that person in your life?  One time I farted so hard in a car with my best friend that he said it felt like it slapped him in the face.  It was rude, I shouldn't have done it, but he sure as hell didn't start sobbing and barking and talking about how we were supposed to be soul sisters.  He unleashed a string of expletives upon me, as you do with your best friend.  And an "evil eye"?  Girl, please.  That's not even worth a mention between real best friends.  And if your boyfriend calls your BFF out on it?  The proper response is, "You haven't been around long, you don't know how we are with each other.  You'll figure it out."  Not wailing and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments and declarations of the end of the friendship, especially not if you're an adult well past the age of majority.


I'm not even naive enough to accuse these women of being dramatic.  Of course they are, or they wouldn't have signed contracts with BRAVO.  I'm dramatic, too.  I once chased said BFF out of my house with a snowball in my hand; he once lay down behind my back tires on a parking lot to keep me from leaving; we hung up on each other countless times; the evil eye was practically shorthand.  But we loved each other fiercely, and never gave a thought to ending our friendship over any of that stuff.


In Vicki's wrap-up graphic, it says she broke up with Brooks, and that they got back together again.  In my opinion, Brooks needs to take his teeth (you guys, she bought him new teeth!), say "Thank you," and get gone back to the hillbilly road market he crawled out from behind.  Because if he can't stand Tamra's evil eye, what's he gonna do when he notices how close together her eyes are?  It's not gonna be pretty.

So You Think You Can Duh!

America's favorite dancetravaganza kicked into full gear tonight as the "jidges" unveiled the 20 hot-steppers that would be competing for our votes and the title of "America's Favorite Dancer." The resplendent Cat Deeley ascended from the Heavens onto the stage to inform us that not only would we discover the dancetestants' fates tonight, but they would be performing their little hearts out for the very first time. But first, let's meet tonight's judges: head judge and skeevy uncle Nigel Lithgoe, drunk cougar and train conductor, Mary Murphy, and living room dancer and tomato soup aficionado Zooey Deschanel. You guys, if there is one person who knows dance, it is Zooey "Shake, Rattle and Roll" Deschanel. This should be good.


Uncle Nigel takes a quick break from looking down Zooey's beautiful (get used to it now; you'll be hearing it a lot) '50s retro dress to explain a surprise twist; since So You Think You Can Dance is only airing one night a week instead of the usual two, the producers have decided to have two winners: one boy, one girl. Double your pleasure, double your fun. Wouldn't the logical twist be that we have half a winner? Like David Blaine shows up and makes the victor's bottom-half mysteriously disappear? "Congratulations! You're America's Favorite Dancer! Too bad you'll never dance again!" But I digress.


First down the Tunnel of Doom is contemporary dancer Alexa Anderson, she of the stunning technique and face of stone. Throughout "Vegas Week," the judges consistently criticized Alexa for her lack of emotion, the same lack of emotion that caused her to narrowly lose out to Ryan Ramirez (what is it with dancers and alliterative names, anyway?) for the final spot in the Top 20. In her final solo, Alexa set out to prove that she was not undemonstrative femme-bot, and raised an eyebrow. Good enough, Top 20 for you!


The AlexaBot 3000 was followed closely by contemporary dancers George Lawrence, Jr., Will Thomas and Amber 'I'm never trying out again (although I try out every year)" Jackson. Guess what, Amber? You're never trying out again! Dreams really do come true! Just not for Colin Fuller or Megan Branch, who are both sent home. Hey guys, there's always next year; just ask Amber.


The four are grouped for a...drum-roll...contemporary piece. There is something about a bench, and lots of lifts and some thrusting and Alexa moved both eyebrows. It was very emotional. Judges?


Nigel blathered on about "strong start, good lines, hot girls," typical creepy uncle stuff. Mary asked for a refill on her Bloody Mary. Alvin Ailey alumni Zooey Deschanel said it best when she said, "You were, uh, great. Yeah. That was great. Really beautiful." Oh Zooey, what a wordsmith you are.


Next up we have the ballroom dancers. Nick Bloxsom-Carter is obviously in, because he is the only male ballroom dancer, but he still breaks into ugly tears the likes of which we have not seen since Miss Tammy Faye Bakker-Messner left this world a less glamorous place. Nick Possum-Dixon is followed by Whitney Carson and Lindsay Arnold, who inform us (again) that they have been "friend-petitors" since the age of 9. So that's like, what, 3 years? Anyway, they're both in. I am not even going to pretend to try to tell them apart, spray-tanned Stepford blonds that they are, so they shall be known as Thing 1 and Thing 2 from here on out.


Nick Mason-Dixon, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are grouped together for a ballroom number to J. Lo's "Dance Again."Thing 1 and Thing 2 are wearing orange and lie on the floor a lot, while Nick Flotsam-Jetsam does that hip swivel thing that male ballroom dancers always do. Mary proclaims them to be "pulling in to Sizzle Station." Zooey thinks it was "beautiful." I warned you!


Next up: the ballet dancers. Eliana Girard, who I keep calling Illeana Douglas in my head, is donning some blue suede shoes, prompting Debbie Allen to inform her that "those shoes are made for walkin' into our Top 20." (So what if she mixes her musical metaphors? She's Lydia Freakin' Grant, damnit!) Daniel Baker and Chehon Wespi-Tschopp (try saying that one time fast) walk the Tunnel of Doom. Daniel is praised for his consistency in Vegas, but his final solo was "disappointing". Chehon struggled throughout, but his his solo was "brilliance." Who will it be? We all know; they're both in.


The three dancers take the stage in a piece that can only be called "Barbarella: the Ballet." Both men are dressed in silver metallic pants, while Illeana Douglas is wearing a silver bustier and tutu made of metal. There is some lifting and jumping and toe pointing, and it is all quite technically stunning, but I am honestly too distracted by Chehon's abs to follow along. Mary calls Illeana a "ballet warrior" and gives the boys her scream of approval. Rhodes scholar Zooey Deschanel says it all when she says "That dress looks sharp." Yes, Zooey. Yes, it does.


Tiffany "Who?" Mayer and Audrey "Neck Fart" Case are up next. Debbie informs Tiffany that she was completely invisible in Vegas Week; "You're in!" I think we have just found our first piece of cannon fodder here. Audrey Case is also in, because, come on, she can make her neck fart! They are soon joined by belly dancer Janelle Issis, who is so excited to make it into the Top 20 that she promptly turns and walks into a door frame. Graceful, this one.


The three are scheduled to perform a jazz routine together, but Cat informs that Janelle has taken ill (a fact that seems to surprise Janelle, sitting in the audience), so Audrey and Tiffany must go it alone. They are dressed in matching blue sports bras, and tumble around a lot, which reminds me, Olympics in less than a month, y'all! Mmmmm, Ryan Lochte. Anyway, tumble, tumble, leg point, and they're through. Cat Deeley saves the day by referring to herself as "the BFG" while standing next to the tiny dancers. Roald Dahl shout-out FTW! Nigel tells them that they have "great, strong bodies" and that they look like "dancing Pebbles (Flinstone)." I think someone has been hitting Mary's martini. Zooey, now wearing Illeana Douglas' tutu on her head, because she's just so quirky, quips, "You're amazing. I love seeing ladies supporting one another. Tiffany, you're so powerful. Audrey, so graceful. You really embody each other." You're so right, Zooey, whatever that means.


Next into the Top 20 is some contemporary dancer named Matthew Kazmierczak, who we have never seen before, but who bears a passing resemblance to Ryan Gosling. I wonder if he 'Hey Girl"-ed the "New Girl"? We may never know. He is joined by fellow contemporary Dareian Kujawa, who the judges let slide through despite his "terrible feet."


Now is where the real drama kicks in. There are three girls left, but only two spots. Who will it be? Contemporary dancer Janaya French; walking silent picture Amelia "Amelie" Lowe; or Jill Johnson, who we have not seen since the audition rounds? I think you know the answer.


Amelia and Janaya join Matthew and Darien in another contemporary piece, but this time, there are no benches. Amelia is wearing a flapper dress, because of course she is. Zooey?


"That was really beautiful. It felt like watching a painting move." Or, you know, watching people move on a stage?


Mary babbles something about midgets and radars. Someone bring her a shot.


With the women finished out, we turn our attention to the men. There are 7 men left, but only 3 spots open. Cole Horibe, who gives new meaning to the term ":mixed martial-arts", is in, as is stepper Brandon Mitchell. With one spot left, only two men remain: hip-hop dancer Feliciano Turk and Cyrus "Glitch" Spencer, who does things with his body no man should ever be allowed to do. Glitch is in.


Cole, Brandon and Glitch are grouped together in a baseball-themed piece that highlights each of their unique styles while managing to look coherent. The piece is marred only by the fact that it is used to plug the All-Star Game, coming July 10th on Fox! Mary: "You really hit that out of the ballpark!" Zooey: "That was astounding! Each dance was my favorite!" Nigel: "Watch the All-Star Game, coming July 10th on Fox!"


Now that we have our Top 20 in place, it is time to bring for the sparkle motion to really begin. The Top 10 girls (minus poor sickly matchstick girl Janelle) are grouped into a Travis Wall-choreographed piece about the afterlife. The piece is typical Travis Wall, which is to say that it is stunning, intricate and thought-provoking. Cat sums it up when she simply says, "Ethereal." Uncle Nigel says it reminded him of a Greek vase come to life, like the muses, which, yes, that is exactly what it is like. Zooey gets the last word, and man, is it a good one. "That was a beautiful routine for beautiful girls.You're all just beautiful. So, yeah. And yeah." M. Ward does write all their lyrics, doesn't he?


Our Top 10 boys follow the girls with a Sonya Tayeh number that can only be described as "fierce." In rehearsals, Sonya reveled in choreographing the boys, comparing them to a "pack of wolves." She immediately ordered them to take their shirts off, an order no one but poor Will Thomas, who has a case of the man-boobs, seemed to mind. Brandon Mitchell, however, did have a problem with all of the man-on-man partnering, because he is "all about the ladies." Oh Brandon, as Shakespeare once said, "Whoever smelled it, dealt it." Or something like that.


Anyway, the piece involves lots of lifting, including a pretty stupendous one involving all of the men lifting and tossing Darien across the length of the stage. The judges love the piece as much as I do. Mary calls it unbelievable, but she could be talking about the pina colada in her hand. Prima ballerina Zooey Deschanel unleashes her most erudite observation of the night when she says, "that lift thing is hard, right?"


The night closes with a Mia Michael routine to Kaskade's "Eyes", danced by the Top 20. Michaels, looking like what we would get if Carrie Fisher swallowed Lisa Rinna, looks just thrilled to be back. The number is very Mia Michaels, involving intricate kick lines and prop play. Not her "Bench Dance," but an enjoyable piece. "Welcome home, Mama. You've been missed," exclaims Nigel. As long as Travis still gets to choreograph his little heart out, I agree. 


So that's it, America, our Top 20 dancers, a diverse and motley crew of ne'er-do-wells and hooligans if ever there was one. What do you think? Will Glitch be able to keep up with the trained dancers? Will poor Will Thomas ever go shirtless again? Will I ever be able to tell Thing 1 and Thing 2 apart? I would tell you to tune in next week to see, but our dancetestants are taking the week off. SYTYCD's loss is America's gain because, in its place, we get two full hours of astrophysicist Zooey Deschanel's New Girl! Honestly you guys, can you think of anything more beautiful?

"You ate the bow?"

I come and go on the Real Housewives shows.  Sometimes they fill me with glee, and sometimes I feel like I've sold my soul to the devil for what, at the moment, is three hours (minus commercials) per week of being what might be the only thing worse than a vapid, self-interested famewhore: Someone who watches the vapid, self-interested famewhores.  I mean, without me (and the rest of all y'all out there watching), there's nothing for them to whore themselves out for.  For some reason I feel like I'm taking the high road by sticking with Tyra and her ever more bizarre journey far from the Land of Sanity.

But I've got nothing going on right now.  No real job, no classes until August, and who can say "no" to three nights a week of these women plus the bonus of Kathy Griffin on Thursdays? Not me, that's for sure.  And at the end of last week's episode and the first half of this week, something happened that brought to me what I can only describe as true happiness: Sarah "ate the bow" off Heather's ridiculous cake.

I am not a religious person, and I would be entirely despicable if I claimed reality TV as my god, but there is something deeply satisfying to me about schadenfreude.  I get a feeling of deep completeness when I see people behaving in spectacularly unbecoming ways.  When Tyra pronounces the word "photos" as "phow-tows," I revel in it.  When Teresa Giudice attempts to turn a table over in a fit of rage, I laugh until I cry.  When Heather flips her switch with her back-up army of Mean Girls because a drunken moron with a misplaced sense of social justice steals a pinch of fondant due to a vague diabeetus-like ailment, I feel like the classiest person ever to grace the surface of the earth.  I may not be able to find a job in my chosen field.  I may not have a boyfriend.  I may be selling peaches to the old and crabby, but by god, I have never, not even once, done any of this shit, let alone in front of a gaggle of camera guys.  Not even once.  

Let's parse this, guys.  Sarah had dinner with Alexis, who seems to have an overdeveloped hyperbole muscle (ironic, that, considering the only parts of Alexis that are overdeveloped have become so surgically, and she probably doesn't know the word "hyperbole").  Alexis speaks in such a way that may lead someone who hadn't seen the "intervention" in Costa Rica (that's "Costa Rica, Mexico," geography majors) to think that she had actually been beaten to a pulp.  Nope, she just got pointlessly nailed by people she thought were her friends, all over the fact that she's phony.  Which she is.  She's a braggart of the worst sort, but so what?  If you don't like it, quit hanging around her so much.  I think most of us have learned that strategy by the time we get to our early twenties.  That's not good for the cameras, though, and Alexis poured the whole tale to Sarah, who promised to start shit at Heather's party.  Alexis vaguely talked her down, but brought her to the party anyway.  This was probably half wanting an ally (since Big Jim wasn't going to go), and half producer-prompted.

So then Sarah "eats the bow."  Which she totally didn't.  She took the teeniest, tiniest pinch off the end of the fondant bow (which was perched atop a cake that totally matches a sweatshirt I had in eighth grade, let the record show) and ate it.  I'm not defending this action, especially in light of the fact that she did it to antagonize and not, as she stated, because she has "a sugar problem."  It was a stupid thing to do, and as ugly as that cake was, it's just not good manners to gank bits and pieces off someone's ... "renaming" cake (this is already way too long, so I'm not getting into that whole issue).  Heather's choices at this point are as follows:  1) Ask Drinking-Problem Sarah to leave (which, as she had not been invited to the party and Heather had apparently hired security, should be relatively easy), or 2) Ignore it.  Just let it go. Rise above.  That's what Rory's grandmother Emily on Gilmore Girls would have done, and I defer to her in all issues of etiquette.

Of course, Heather chose 3) Lose her shit in a very condescending manner and call over Tamra, Gretchen, and Vicki to join her in a rousing chorus of "Did you eat the bow?" and "Who does that?!"  (I am soooo sick of hearing those three words together in that order.)  Drinking-Problem Sarah's response is as delightful as it is insipid: She has "a sugar problem."  Everyone knows if you have the sugar diabeetus, you're supposed to grab hold of the nearest piece of fondant sculpture!  I mean, that's basic shit they teach you at the YMCA CPR class you take before you start babysitting.  

Finally, after a sneering offer of an Oreo (brilliant!) to cure Sarah's diabetes, Slade Smiley (supposed Tour de France cyclist and avid turtleneck-wearer) escorted Sarah out.  On the way to her waiting car, she sobbed, "Is this the world we live in?"  A world where one is asked, on-camera, to leave a party for eating part of a showpiece cake?  I'm afraid so, Sarah.  I'm afraid so.