So You Think You Can Dance Auditions: Charleston

We’re traveling… we’re traveling. Welcome to Charleston, SC, my home state. Join me, won’t you, as my people embarrass me on national television... again.



Cat Deeley looks frightened, but not nearly frightened enough…



Sheila is a biological engineering student from Georgia whose father is an unsupportive prick. She doesn’t say that exactly, but the tears in her eyes betray years worth of LifeTime moments about “getting an education” and “building a competitive resume” rather than pursuing her dreams of high-kickin’ it at the Roxy. Her contemporary routine is one of my favorites so far; excellent lines, great choreography, and it seems truly honest (Good Lord, I sound just like a judge). Nigel tells Sheila’s dad to SHOVE IT, because his little girl is going straight to Vegas. Mary Murphy bellows shrilly (she’s the only person capable of such an oxymoronic thing as bellowing shrilly), and Sheila cries. I’m really pulling for this girl to win because she’ll need that prize money for all the therapy coming her way.



Erin has only been teaching dance for eight hours, but that doesn’t stop her from putting “dance teacher” on her fact sheet. The bad news is she’s awful, and so is her (supposedly much more proficient) partner. The good news is she graces us with such old school staples as the cabbage patch and the running man. The only problem is she performs those moves in a ballroom dress, so the results are incongruous. Needless to say, the judges do not respond warmly, going so far as to say, “That was truly an embarrassment.” Why can’t these judges just look on the bright side: it was frikkin’ HILARIOUS!



Following in the sexy foot-steps of Jonathan Anzalone is no easy task, but Jeremiah is here to give it a shot. The thing about Jonathan: he was incredibly hot, but also incredibly dense, especially when he talked. Can Jeremiah outdo him? Before taking the stage, he lays some wisdom on us.



“Getting prepared for So You Think You Can Dance was… uh… a little scary. Because you see everybody go through and people say you’re good, but you never know if you’re… like… living in an ignorant society.”

[Those people, Jeremiah, are not ignorant. They’re just lying straight to your face. Or, more likely, they’re kissing up to you so you’ll sleep with them.]

“I’m just one of those guys who’s just extremely lucky, so when I’m on stage, my most negative feature should be that I happen to be human. So you’re seeing someone who has the flaws of every human being but with the spiritual… divinity… as high as you can get for an art.”

[Um… what?]

“I ask myself every once in a while, like, why am I dancing? And if I don’t have an explanation at the time, then… I won’t dance.”

[I wish he felt the same way about talking]



He dances better than he talks, that’s for sure, but just like his sentences, his routine lacks polish, content, and control. After calling him out for his bad improvisations and his lack of dynamics, the judges unanimously praise his technique and his potential (and I assume his hot bod, they just don’t say it out loud). Anyway, he’s going to Vegas.



Syiddah, the Black Shirley Temple, proudly proclaims, “I’m just me,” after she is universally panned by the judges. Someone should tell her, though, that her fierce individualism means nothing if everything she just did was copied straight out of Ciara’s videos.



TWINS! Anthony and Antwain are from somewhere in North Carolina and they are instantly (and doubly) fabulous, in my opinion. Anthony goes first, and while he isn’t outstanding by any means, I think he shows an obvious adeptness for street dancing, and his tricks are athletic enough to assume he could do the stuff required by the show. The judges, however, find him rather one-dimensional and in need of training and pass on him. Next up is his brother, Antwain. Before he performs, though, Cat Deeley talks to Anthony outside, and Anthony is very sweet about hoping his brother makes it through even though he didn’t. Antwain, meanwhile, is having a much better audition. His leaps are bigger, his moves are sharper, and the audition is far more dynamic and impressive than Anthony’s. Afterwards, the judges are confused, because how could it be possible that one twin would be good and the other one bad? Twins share talent and motor skills, right? Anyway, Antwain tries to explain that his brother was just nervous and didn’t show them the right stuff. So Nigel invites both brothers to perform together, and in a very sweet, very Awwwww moment, both brothers are invited back to the choreography round, and brilliantly, they both make it to Vegas!



I want to be Abigail’s friend because she knows she sucks but she wants to try out anyway. After a painful performance, she self-deprecates all over the stage so much that Nigel and Co. can’t help but love her. That doesn’t mean she’s getting through, though.



B.J. is from New York, and his performing arts high school had a fund raiser to send him down to Charleston to Audition. As an aside, this was the point of this whole process when I realized that there wouldn’t be any auditions in New York. What’s up with that? I mean, I support the idea of going to less obvious cities to find talent, but why would you skip New York? If the point of this show is to discover talent than why wouldn’t they go to the one city where the vast majority of undiscovered talent washes up? Leaving off New York seems counter-intuitive, counter-productive, counter-everything. Ok, I’m finished. B.J. is obviously very talented as a breaker. His tricks are impressive and unique, and he’s got the stage presence to back it up. He’s really fun to watch. All of the judges agree with that assessment, but they need to make sure he can do everything else, so B.J. will do the choreography. Sadly, he crumbles during the routine and doesn’t make it through to Vegas.



And then there’s Claire. She gets the award for the most undeserved screen-time for this episode. Long story short: she made it to Vegas (it was Hollywood then) two seasons ago, but got injured early on and had to leave the competition. She was going to try out the next year, but found herself with child. She has returned to audition with baby in tow, and for some reason, we’re supposed to love her. Her audition is underwhelming – she doesn’t do much above rudiments, and the judges admit they are disappointed. The bar has been raised significantly since she last auditioned, and this audition didn’t prove she’s going to be able to compete. So they send her to the choreography round, and after a satisfactory performance, she is passed to Vegas. She cries and cries, and she’s got the kind of cry that is hard to listen to because she’s gasping and choking on every word, but I’m not completely heartless, she’s had a rough road. But the consensus is: she has to bring it in Vegas, for real.

Finally, we have to sit through the most awkward, most outrageously uncomfortable, most unnecessarily confrontational audition I’ve ever seen on this type of show. First thing you have to know, there’s this guy that comes on stage, and he has longish hair and a beard… and he’s wearing some thick lipstick and glitter. He’s got on a sparkly black shirt and purple pants and he dances badly to Paula Abdul. Is he a hot tranny mess? Of course. But does he deserve what goes down?

Here’s my thinking. These judges probably sit through some really awful auditions. I wouldn’t be surprised if 90% of the auditions are just as bad as this one dancing-wise, if not worse. Out of that 90%, I would assume that at least half of those dancers know they stink, but are doing this to get on T.V. What I’m saying is: the person who thinks they are awesome, but clearly isn’t, is a rare person indeed. That kind of delusion doesn’t grow on trees. So this guy, Jason, isn’t being serious, I mean, he can’t be. This is all for screen-time. It isn’t particularly clever, or cute, or funny, it’s just meant to be a little goofy and maybe a little shocking.

So what was it about Jason and his performance that got under Nigel’s skin so much? We may never know. I appreciate when Nigel lays into someone for wasting his time, because even though this is a T.V. show, it’s nice that there is at least the illusion of a real dance audition. Time-wasting doesn’t fly in real life, so it shouldn’t fly here. So I have no problem with the spirit of Nigel’s reaction. My problem is with the verbal exchange that takes places. Nigel says, “You are one of the reasons why so many fathers don’t like their sons dancing.” My reaction was just like Jason’s.



I mean, whoooooaaaa… where did that come from? For the record, fathers who worry about their sons dancing are homophobic, insecure, ignorant cavemen, who will have problems with dance and music and cosmetology whether idiots like Jason exist or not. I guess I get what Nigel is saying, but it was so strongly worded that it veered close to inappropriate. Tyce’s comments made a little more sense, especially when he mentioned how disrespectful it is to show up and behave like this when there are many people in the room who actually can dance and desperately want to be on the show (nevermind that the producers were just as involved in the insult as Jason for letting him on the stage to begin with). But why be so nasty to this guy? Compared to Jason, they treated fools like Sex, or the guy in the wrestling mask, or that chick in Salt Lake who could barely keep time much less dance, with dignity and respect, even though they wasted time and stunk up the stage just as much. And if he’s so repugnant, if he’s such a disgusting stain, why let him through the screening process at all? I’ll tell you why… good T.V. If fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a shot of Nigel shaking Jason’s hand afterwards saying, “Thanks for the ratings.”

I’ve seen Nigel brush off many bad auditions with relatively good humor. This Jason character wasn’t the first person to try to grab his 10 minutes by acting idiotic, and he won’t be the last. I hope it wasn’t the fact that he put on lipstick and danced like an 80’s pop princess that offended Nigel so, because frankly, that makes Nigel very similar to those fathers of whom he spoke.

And while I’m talking about it (I know, I promise I’ll stop in a minute), did it seem to anyone else like Jason was just as taken aback by the reaction of the judges? Granted, he was in character, but in some of the reaction shots, I thought I could see something real in his eyes… like shame mixed with fear mixed with indignation.



I’m tempted to believe that Jason thought this little stunt was harmless. He probably thought the judges would tell him he was a crappy dancer, and maybe criticize his wardrobe or whatever, but I don’t think he was expecting any of what happened.

As usual, I’m over-analyzing, and after all is said and done, Jason was a time-waster and a bad dancer and maybe he was mildly offensive. But I still can’t get over the impression I got from the judges. It was like they were going to stone him or something. There was real revulsion in their words and faces, and I’m a little sensitive about it because they directed it at a guy in lipstick. At first I thought they were hating on him because they interpreted his performance as mocking transvestites or feminine men, which I can understand, but then Nigel made the fathers comment, and… I just don’t know. Ok, I’m really done.

A good many Southern folks made it to Vegas, so Charleston did me proud. But, GOD, I wish we knew how to spell it!



Where to next, Cat Deeley!?

So You Think You Can Dance Auditions: Dallas...

Aaaaaand now we’re in Dallas, where they like to line dance, and that’s fine, but it makes me wonder why this show would come here, because you know Mary Murphy doesn’t do line dancing.



Let’s start with a real winner.



Brian has bed-head, dandruff all over his black T-shirt, yellow to brown teeth, and a sour disposition. You just know he smells foul… and so does his routine. The only good thing about him is that he looks kind of like Mike Myers, if Mike Myers was a redneck. Basically, if Brian was green, he’d be the live action Shrek. He responds ever so diplomatically to the judges’ negative remarks by spewing out all of my favorite Reality T.V. rejection lines… something about “I’m a rebel with a cause,” and “I’m my own self,” and of course, the obligatory, “kiss my American ass,” as if hating on bad dancing is strictly a British pastime. YAY DALLAS! Represent!! Oh… PERIOD!



Clearly, everything’s bigger (and more deluded) in Texas. Here’s Chad: he’s an Ultimate Fighting “Champ” and a line-dancing instructor. He’s very sincere, which makes the next 10 minutes even sadder. He tears his hamstring (umm… ow)during warm-ups, but decides to perform anyway, because he doesn’t give up, or anything like that, because “anything in life that is perfect is a series of mistakes,” so I guess the mistake of performing with a serious injury is going to be so perfect that we’ll all go blind. Ignoring Nigel’s advice to sit this one out, Dave delivers a routine full of country-western stepping, ballet leaps, and contemporary affectations, resulting in the most unintentionally bad routine I’ve seen so far this season. Clearly, he’s in a lot of pain, and I admire his heart, but Mary says it best, “Even if you had your hamstring, I’m not sure I would have said yes.” Ouch! Mary is always happy to add insult to your injury.



Paige is a Pageant Princess who loves Pink. She is my nightmare. She shows up to the auditions in a hot pink rhinestone top, drawls about her straight A average, and we even get to meet her pageant coach! Her audition is as one would expect… robotic, pageaty, and very pink. Since I’m way too frightened of her to give an accurate assessment, we’ll just go with what Nigel says. He calls her a pirouetting set of teeth, which… HAHA. Next, he calls her dancing “Stepford Dancing”, which is just so perfect. Mary calls her out for her lack of emotion. And yet… they pass her through to choreography, which she breezes through. It seems this pink menace will follow us to Vegas. Be afraid.



Arielle and John both suck in all sorts of ways. She’s completely oblivious to the fact that John is obsessed with her and probably does dirty things to her gym bag when she’s not looking. John seems sweet until he stares just a few hours too long at his partner’s boobs while there is a camera RIGHT there watching him do it. Their routine is all lifts and no dancing, except for that part where John sort of slips and almost drops the poor girl on her face. It’s too bad, though, because that, at least, would have been interesting. Anyway, since she is very pretty (I believe the phrase ‘cutie patootie’ is used), Arielle is sent straight to Vegas, leaving John to fend for himself in the choreography round, in which he, of course, blows it big time, but it’s cool, because he only showed up so he could score points with Arielle anyway.



We can’t forget Cassidy, who thought she was awesome until Nigel informed her otherwise, and now she’ll NEVER DANCE AGAIN!



And then there was Joshua, who put on the best breaker/popper audition ever, and still had to suffer through choreography…



And finally, Steven, who was so bad and so nasty about it that he made Mary swear on T.V. Frankly, all I could think about as I watched him was one of my favorite songs from the early 90’s. Maybe you remember it.

So You Think You Can Dance Auditions: Salt Lake City...

The auditions for Season 4 of So You Think You Can Dance are finally over, and what did we learn? Some people are good movers, but not good dancers. Some people are good dancers, but not good enough for the show. Some people make Mary Murphy scream/cry/rant, or make Nigel Lythgoe irrationally angry for no apparent reason, all of which is fine because at least they can say they got on T.V. But most importantly, this show seems to understand that six hours of this crap is all any viewer should have to endure, no matter how many “good” or “bad” or “ugly” or “mentally unstable” characters show up to audition.



After the L.A. auditions (remember: that was where we met Jonathan Anzalone, and our world was changed forever), Show traveled to Salt Lake City, Utah, home of David Archuleta, Donny and Marie, and a whole mess of Mormons. Big, smothering, resource-consuming families abounded, including that of our first contestant, who has 58 brothers (Ok, five).



Her name is Chelsie and she has a sad story to tell about foreclosed homes and repossessed cars, which is sad, yes, but massive families with financial woes isn’t a new thing by any stretch of the imagination. She’s bubbly, blonde, and has a killer set of stems - and she’s a decent ballroom dancer to boot. She even choreographed her eyebrows, whatever the hell that means. (Actually, what it is… is a free compliment that doesn’t mean anything – like when you get an A in gym class)



The next shining star is Gev, who calls himself an ice-breaker, so-called because he performs break-dancing tricks on ice. Not only can he dance but he’s really useful to have around at dinner parties. Get it?



Because he’s an Ice Breaker? Aaaaaaaaannyway…



Lindsey made it straight to Vegas, despite the fact that she dances just like every high school dance team captain you’ve ever known, complete with alternately crazy and vacant eyes. I thought she was a mess, but the judges called it right by sending her straight through because she wouldn’t be challenged by the choreography. This will happen several more times in these audition episodes, which is frustrating, but I guess that’s just how it is.



Kelli has a good story. Her mom is an Emmy-winning choreographer, but that hasn’t always been an advantage. I can tell by the way she talks about it that she’s been surrounded her whole life by hateful bitches who accuse her of getting ahead because of her mommy. Well, that actually does happen, I’m sure, but Kelli definitely has the goods. Her contemporary routine is flawless. She’ll be one to watch.



Matt will gladly clear out the cob-webs on your ceiling with that hair of his, but only after he performs a technically perfect, if not a little predictable contemporary routine. Nigel hates the shorts, supposedly because it messes with Matt’s lines, but I like to think Nigel just couldn’t think of anything bad to say and that was the first thing he thought of.



Kortney and Michelle are best friends, and since they share everything, including life stories, I’ll describe them together. They are pretty, sad, pretty sad, co-dependant fitness trainers who’ve come – together – to continue being exactly the same at the same time. Long story short, the judges play along, and both girls manage to get through to Vegas after proving themselves in the choreography round.



And then there was Ryan, who works at a strip club. When Ryan informs the judges of his less than savory career, Nigel says, “Fantastic Job!,” like he means it, and you just know he does, which proves to me that Nigel is a dirty old man at heart, and I just can’t hate him for it. Anyway, Ryan does this weird fusion of breakin’, poppin’ and lockin’, and contemporary that is visually interesting, I suppose, but not really indicative of any real talent. I was also incredibly distracted by the giant metal balls hanging from his bottom lip, not only because it makes him look like a recently caught herring, but also because it looks like it hurts. Anyway, for some reason, all the judges love him and pass him to choreography, and somehow, he makes it through to Vegas. And then he cries… sweetly, and (hopefully) carefully, because you know those lip studs will rust. Ok… ok… I like the guy, but I’m not going to get attached because we all know he won’t make it to the Top 20.

Rounding out the rest of the auditions in Salt Lake were Nicole, who managed to drop her youngest of four children on its head in front of the cameras (complete with a very helpful *bomp* sound courtesy of the producers), and Brett, a lovely young gentleman with disabilities who clearly has more passion and ambition in his little finger than everyone else there combined. And let’s not forget the poor doofus who got on this show not because of his dancing, but because he couldn’t remember the names of all 146 of his kids. Good luck explaining that one to the Mrs.

MVD 6-4-08: We Break the Dawn...

Michelle Williams: We Break the Dawn, from Unexpected



I literally mourned when Destiny’s Child broke up a few years ago, and then they rubbed salt in my wounds when they kinda sorta reunited and then broke up again. A part of me blames Beyonce, because you know she just wanted to have the spotlight to herself (my anger towards her doesn’t stop me from loving her and buying her albums, though). It’s nice to see the other two girls working it out in the industry, or at least trying to. Kelly Rowland has released two albums, both of which did fairly well (her second has been a disappointment sales-wise, but trust me when I say it’s really good (and I think her success in the UK is proof – the Brits have better taste when it comes to pop music). And Michelle Williams, who we all know and love as “that other girl” who isn’t Beyonce or Kelly, has had a decent career on Broadway. She even released a gospel album shortly after the break-up. Good news: Michelle is going to give the pop scene a try, and if her first single is any indication, it’s gonna be awesome. She debuted the album’s first single a few weeks back exclusively for People Mag, with a brief write-up about her venture into pop music. I think because of her Gospel album and her role as third fiddle in the trio of Destiny’s Child, she developed a reputation for being a “good girl”, which is nice, I suppose, but totally bad for a career in pop music. That explains the name of her new album, Unexpected, slated for release in September of this year. She isn’t as innocent as we think, ya’ll. She likes to stay out late partying, she wears REALLY high heels, and enjoys the boys (don’t we all?). She’s bringing attitude, sex appeal, and some thumping club tunes for us, and if I’m reading into her new video correctly, she’s aiming for the gay demographic as well. So much for being a “good girl” huh? I love it!

Hold back the sun, Don't let it come, ain't stoppin' for no one.

MVD 6-3-08... Love Remains the Same...

Gavin Rossdale: Love Remains the Same, from Wanderlust

So Gwen Stefani’s husband has an album coming out today. Did you know?



I wasn’t a huge fan of Bush back in the day, but I think everyone liked Black Hole Sun, especially that nightmarish video with the crazy, expanding mouths. The first single off the new album, Love Remains the Same, is a great ballad. I was surprised he went with a ballad, considering his past in hard rock, grunge, and alternative music, but I’m digging the softer side. The song is a little cheesy, I’m not going to lie, but it’s got a great melody, and Gavin’s voice has always been one of my favorites. Oh, and he takes a shower in the video, which… bonus.

One day, I'll figure out how to get rid of this stupid jump page if I don't need it. 'Til then... nothing to see here. Nothing to see.

Sex and the City

Of course I saw the Sex and the City movie this weekend, because (didn’t you hear) all gay men were required to do so by law. I’m all about the rules, ya’ll.



Since this blog is a spoiler free zone, my reactions are after the jump…

I hate to be predictable, but I loved it. Since I know you’re not surprised, I’ll steer this towards the stuff I didn’t like about it. Keep in mind that all of these quibbles are just that… quibbles. I LOVED the movie and everything it is and everything it tried to be.

I thought some of the clothes were ATROCIOUS! One of the biggest cogs in the hype-machine for the movie was the costume design shenanigans of Patricia Fields, and she certainly didn’t disappoint. It was definitely a spectacle. While the fashions on display were inspired, some of the clothes were so out there, so unrealistic, so bizarre, that I couldn’t help but open my eyes wide in shock. Frankly, I got distracted from the plot. The worst offense, in my opinion, was the styling of Samantha. She always seemed to be in massive shoulder pads and garish colors. She looked like a fluorescent linebacker. A friend of mine has a theory that they put her in those dramatic, shoulder-enhancing silhouettes to distract us from her apparent weight-gain (which I didn’t notice{mission accomplished?}). Later in the movie, the plot actually draws attention to her paunch – you see, she’s eating all the time because of the sexual rut she’s in with Smith. Yeah, Ok. So maybe there was a point to the GIANT shoulders, but that doesn’t mean I liked them.



Carrie had her fair share of awesomely bad looks, including the blue-feathered monstrosity she put in her hair on the day of her wedding. Remember when those leaked photos came out and everyone was talking about how ugly it all was (not the dress, but the styling), and the PR people tried to tell everyone it was a dream sequence or something. Well, nope. Carrie Bradshaw, a character who supposedly has taste, showed up to her wedding with a giant blue bird in her veil. I know it’s a movie and all, but I KNOW Carrie Bradshaw, and she would never do this. First of all, it takes attention away from her fabulous gown (a Vivienne Westwood). Second… oh screw it, there is no second. It was just ugly. There, I said it.

Anyway, I suppose they had their reasons for that whole wedding scene. Did I mention how awful the other girls looked in it? Maybe the gowns were commentary on the whole affair. They were grotesque, over-the-top, out-of-control… all the things Big couldn’t handle represented in fabric and high heels. If that was the point, then… well played, but still… it hurt my eyes a little bit. They bled fugly, fugly tears.

Alright, alright…let’s not argue (because I know you want to). Yes, Sex and the City is supposed to be fantastic and dramatic and out of this world… an urban fairytale, so I expect the fashions to be challenging and very forward. But where’s the line? I mean, I don’t think any of these women, if they actually existed, would ever want to look goofy… and I’m sorry, sometimes they looked goofy in Pat Field’s creations. Goofy might be an understatement.

Maybe my real issue is how fashion was used in the movie. Obviously, the clothes and the shoes and the labels were hugely important to the show, and I fully supported the obsession, but I can’t recall the show ever being bogged down in it. If anything, fashion was a prop or a symbol, something used to ingratiate the audience into Carrie’s world. Even when Carrie looked, as I said, goofy, it was never so awful that I couldn’t concentrate. (Actually, that’s not true, but I didn’t seem to care. Maybe I’m more immune to hideous clothes in small, 30 minute doses). I felt like the movie was soooo wrapped up in the clothes, that for the first time, the story actually suffered. Basically, it all kind of got out of hand, and if the costumes had been less obtrusive (read: if Pat Field had done a little editing), I might not have been so bothered.

Weirdly, I had no problem when shoes,clothes, or accessories were used as plot devices: Louise’s (from St. Louis) Louis Vuitton (WE GET IT!), Carrie’s apartment-squatting Manolo’s, Samantha’s MASSIVE peeping-tom hat… that’s the stuff I like, and it seemed more in tune to the spirit of the show.

Next! I was slightly disappointed in the treatment of the secondary characters. I mean, I know we can’t really focus on Stanley, or Tony, or Harry, or Magda… but they were used so sparingly, I felt teased. Like, I would have rather not had them at all. No. I don’t really feel that way. If they hadn’t been there, I would have missed them and this would be an entirely different paragraph. And this IS about Carrie and her friends, after all. I guess it’s a huge compliment I would miss the second fiddles so much, while also recognizing the fact that they couldn’t be around because it would take the spotlight away from who really mattered. I will say that I DID NOT appreciate the implication that Stanley and Anthony were now good friends (if not lovers) because that’s… just wrong. On the other hand, if that’s the only way they were going to make it into the movie… so be it.

Can we talk about Jennifer Hudson for just a quick minute? I loved her character. I loved the idea of her story. Buuuutttt, I didn’t like her. It felt uncomfortable, like I was watching a high school drama student bomb in her first production. The acting was soooo bad. I kind of felt sorry for her. On the bright side, she looked fabulous.

Ok, briefly, the things I loved!
1. The clothes (when they were good)
2. Charlotte’s bull-dog face after Carrie assaults Big in the street
3. Charlotte (again), but this time, I’m thinking of her face while she craps her pants
4. The final scene in the closet (I cried a little bit (not gonna lie))
5. Carrie calling Miranda out on the whole forgiveness thing
6. The girls calling Samantha fat
7. The wedding dress montage
8. One word: Dante

Really, I loved every minute of it. I don’t even know why I complained before. I take it all back. So CHEERS Queers, and all the drunk, middle-aged women who got tanked on Cosmos before coming to the theatre. Can’t wait until next time (you just know there’s going to be a sequel).

MVD 6-1-08... Summertime...

Jesca Hoop, Summertime, from Kismet

VH1 is more than just bad celebrity-driven Reality TV. Every now and then, the network pushes forth a new and exciting artist who I wouldn’t have heard of otherwise, so… thanks for that. One such artist is Jesca Hoop, a quirky, dippity-do, hippy from California. There isn’t much out there about her, other than she used to be a nanny for the brood of Tom Waits, and her new album, Kismet, hasn’t received a lot of buzz. But the single, well, I love it. It’s called Summertime, and it’s so evocative, both lyrically and musically. It’s perfect for today, because today feels like the first official day of summer here in the Kackalack – the heat is suffocating, the air smells like melting black-top, and I turned on the air conditioning for the first time. I would love to be wherever she is, where summertime means playing in the rye and swimming in the lake at night. That sounds better than what I’m dealing with, which is all about the sweat making my underwear ride up. Not fun.

An "unplugged" version after the jump...

Reeva Dubois Revisited... Part 2...

This post from March of 2004 kind of sums up that entire year. March would have been, oh… 10 months after I graduated college, and I was no closer to getting into grad school. If I recall, I still had the inclination that I would somehow get there, but time and motivation, not to mention my chops, were rapidly falling away. That period was Reeva Dubois at her most bitter. Of course, I hated waiting tables, but I was so enamored with independence and self-sufficiency that I refused, I say REFUSED, to make good choices.

It’s kind of an embarrassing post to read, though. Was I really that immature? Besides the fact that I spend a lengthy paragraph whining about how my teachers and peers didn’t support me like they were supposed to (I mean, HOW DARE THEY NOT KISS MY ASS ALL THE TIME!), I sure enough wove an immense tapestry of excuses for my failures, none of which point the finger at my lazy, insecure, douche-baggy face.

At the end of the post, I wrote about hoping the regret would gradually slip away. Well, it hasn’t… really, but the feeling is somehow different. I don’t regret skipping out on grad school necessarily. What I regret is not having the cajones to just DO IT… “it” being what I loved. Now, I’m pleased with the knowledge that I no longer blame anyone for the fiesta del failure that became my life post-grad; not even myself. I’ve let it go.

Ok, so i've discovered - quite by accident - that all i do is work. Work Work Work. I have logged almost 40 hours of work in four days - last time i checked, that wasn't legal for unsalaried labor. I have Three shifts left to work, and it doesn't look like i will have to work them, which is good, because that means i will have a couple of unexpected days off. The off days will hurt my bank account, but my feet are in utter ecstasy. They scream as if to say, "Why, you fat heifer, why!?!" They don't understand that if i don't run them ragged, i don't get to do fun things like pay rent.

Today, one of the singers that i used to accompany in school came into the restaurant to surprise me. Totally unexpected. I was touched that she made a special trip just to see me. She asked when i was off - and i responded, never, she laughed, and i was like, i'm not kidding. But anyway, she asked what i was doing and blah blah, i told her, and for the first time, someone informed me that giving up on grad school was not a good decision. After i explained stuff to her, she was less opinionated on the subject, but the damage was done. I think that the people i talk to often, who have heard the whole story, have conceded to NO Grad school, just like me. But everytime i tell someone who hasn't seen me in awhile, they act all surprised and shocked, and they want to know Why Why Why - and they say the worst thing they could ever say - "Ryan, you are SOOOO talented - why are you throwing it away." Its like kryptonite! The second those poisonous words are spoken, the doubts rush in again - and of course, they were always there. Somehow, i have managed to find ways to push them sooo far back, that i don't hear them anymore. I knew that these moments would occur, but not so soon, and not soo strong. I mean, grad school is definitely not an option for next year, i've already missed the deadlines, but how does my brain cope with this double jeopardy. I feel like my brain is argueing with itself all the time.

Maybe, just maybe, i studied in an environment that wasn't supportive enough. Musicians are so screwed when it comes to self-esteem. The people that know you get tired of telling you how good you are, probably because the last thing they want to do is inflate your ego - i mean, lets face it, musicians can barely control thier ego by themselves. My parents are so unmusical, that after about 8th grade, they didn't even know if i was good. And, yes, the congrats and hugs and kisses after a performance are gratifying, but you come to realize that people are going to congratulate you whether you did well or not. What are they gonna do, come to you afterwards and say, "Congrats - you sucked." No, they wouldn't. So you begin to feel as if all those words are insincere, just sort of something people are supposed to do after a performance. I spent the last year of college playing wwwaaaayy too much, and my self-esteem actually went down! I'm not saying that perfect strangers who tell me how talented i am doesn't make me feel good, it does. But musicians need to hear that from their peers and teachers, the people that actually know! And i just never heard it enough, i guess. I heard a lot of, "Yes, that was good, but we have more work to do," or, "That was a really difficult piece - you gave it a good go." Ummm Thanks?

Anyway - i guess this decision will never rest easily in my mind. I know that i have to just suck up the regret that will inevitably come, but i'm really mad at myself for literally walking into like a spiderweb.

So You Think You Can “Dance” Highlights…

And by highlight I mean:



My favorite show (yes, it’s official now, this is my favorite show) started up again last Thursday, and even though I totally forgot about it and had to catch it the next day on YouTube, which kind of took some of the magic out of it, I’m ready to let it take over my entire life. In fact, I go willingly.

One thing this show does better than all the rest is introduce us to the contestants. I don’t know if it’s Cat Deeley’s superior interviewing skills or what, but I feel more connected to the people trying out, whether they’re good or bad, which makes the viewing so much more satisfying. I’m usually overwhelmed and exhausted after the American Idol auditions, not only because they spend too much time highlighting the atrocious people, but also because the little time they do spend with the good singers seems shallow and one-dimensional. I don’t expect perfection… after all, these shows have to edit an entire two days’ worth of auditions into two hours (more or less), but all I’m saying is this show seems to do it better.

There were many memorable characters on the premiere episode, but one in particular really touched me. Meet Jonathan Anzalone, a 21 year old “professional dancer” from Italy.



Well, obviously, he’s hot as hell. But he isn’t just a pretty face. In his brief, yet undeniably sexy, audition segment, he scandalizes Cat Deeley, teaches us important life lessons, takes off all his clothes, puts them back on again, does a bad Michael Jackson impression, forces Mia Michaels to humiliate herself, pisses off Nigel Lythgoe, and flirts rather aggressively with the camera crew. Indeed, he had a busy day.

Judging by the reactions on the blogs Friday morning, Signor Anzalone certainly made quite an impression. The consensus seemed to be, and I’m paraphrasing, “He is soooo hot. But also… jackass.” While he did come off as rather, shall we say, cocky (no Mia, that is not a Freudian slip), I think he’s being judged unfairly. There’s an old saying that goes, “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” and I think it applies here… except it would go more like, “Don’t judge an Italian Stallion by his very pronounced bulge.” In that spirit, let’s examine his misadventures to understand him a little better.

The very moment the camera finds him, he pulls out this little number from his bag of tricks.



So, we already know he’s very flexible, although… I’m not sure that’s a dance move as much as it is porn. And even though his leg is awkwardly twisted around his head, and he looks very uncomfortable… it’s kind of hot. I can’t lie about that.

Moving indoors, Cat Deeley corners him on the staircase to ask him how American men are different from Italian men. Since the question was stupid, Jonathan gives the stupid answer, “we’re hairy,” even though he proves the statement false. Cat Deeley, observant as ever, points out Jonathan’s immaculately shaved chest, which is gorgeous, by the way, to which Jonathan responds, “Oh, you noticed.” Of course, it’s impossible not to notice his chest, considering his shirt is conspicuously (deliberately) unbuttoned. I’m not sure why Cat Deeley walked right into that set-up so blindly, unless the whole thing was scripted (which it very well may have been), but the whole exchange is indicative of whom we are dealing.

In between various shots of Jonathan hip-thrusting and posturing around the building, he tells us (sexily) that, “(he) likes (him)self, and (he) likes to show that to people.” All of this we know, but that won’t stop him from showing us again and again and again.

He shows us his abs in the lobby.



He shows us his (CENSORED) in the warm-up room.



He shows us his delicious pelvic bone area backstage.



Basically, he shows us just about everything… except any dancing abilities. He doesn’t want to waste our time. That crap is reserved for the judges.

Before going into the audition, Cat Deeley finds Jonathan more reserved and quiet, and he explains that his reticence can be attributed to the fact that he’s, “thinking about something else.” Cat Deeley, still stumbling blindly into his traps, presses him further, “what are thinking about?” He reiterates, whilst looking deep into her eyes, that, “he’s thinking about something else.” After a pause, in which we can only assume that Cat Deeley finally gets it, and then fumbles in her pocket for her rape whistle, asks him, “Are you being very Italian at this precise moment?” Jonathan, not to be swayed by hurtful stereotypes, quickly responds, “no,” because being creepy, aggressive, and inappropriate on television isn’t a trait reserved solely for Italians, which everyone knows thanks to shows like The Real World. Remember when I praised Cat Deeley for her superior interviewing skills? Well, I take it back. But not for long… I’m sure it’s hard for her to concentrate while Jonathan molests her with his eyes.

As he makes his way into his audition, he leaves Cat Deeley with one more quick look at his abs and some friendly advice on how to work off the raging lust within her after sitting next to him for 10 minutes. Cat Deeley’s only response is…



I think she speaks for us all.

In the audition, he’s spectacularly bad, but in such a hot way. He even does the whole lick-the-fingertips-touch-the-nipple move, which is just so very Showgirls and… well, I’m turned on.




The judges are confused, bemused, and amused, all at the same time, but they still can’t manage to turn away.



That’s called being dickmatized, and clearly, Jonathan has the power. To be fair, Jonathan does have some moves, well… he has one, which he performs only after removing his shirt.



Afterwards, Nigel asks Mia if she thinks Jonathan will be successful as a dancer in America, and Mia, all full of serious, says, “No, I don’t think he’ll be sex… sucsex… SEX!” and the whole auditorium goes wild, because she just said what everyone was thinking.

"Yeah, you TOTALLY said it!"

Nigel feels badly for the confused-looking Jonathan, so he takes a moment to explain the ‘Freudian slip’ to our sexy friend while Mia tries to pull herself together. Eventually she does, no thanks to Mary Murphy, who is doing her usual bansheeing and crazed cackling (oh, how I missed it), and she tells him that he won’t be successful because his technique isn’t quite up to par. Of course, Jonathan isn’t really interested in what she has to say, having already achieved his goal of dazzling her with his sexy, but he accepts her criticism with good humor and a killer smile, probably because he doesn’t really understand what she’s saying anyway. Mary continues by saying that the dancing was weak indeed. There was nothing about his performance that would make people want to get on the phone for him. Then she checks herself to admit that there might be some people out there who would get on the phone for him on account of how epically sexy he is, and even though we can’t see it, I’m sure there are about 20 people raising their hands in the audience to back her up on that one. But mentioning his incredibly good looks is really the perfect thing to do because it’s equal parts criticism and compliment, very much like Paula Abdul telling someone how good they look tonight.

So after two negative reviews, Jonathan assumes he has been rejected and dismissed and turns to leave the stage, but Nigel stops him angrily because NIGEL ALWAYS HAS HIS SAY! Jonathan tries to defend his behavior by claiming that if two judges have already said no than he’s done, but what I think is happening is Nigel has no boobs or estrogen and is therefore immune to Jonathan’s powers, which means Jonathan has no desire to deal with him. Nigel berates Jonathan for assuming anything at all (especially the estrogen part), praises his psychotic level of self-confidence, and invites him back for the choreography round. Mary agrees, and so does Mia, but only to a point, because she says that she would be reluctant to work with him because he’s a nightmare, which in her world means ‘so unbelievably hot that it’s impossible to concentrate.’ I think Cat Deeley would agree.

Later on in the choreography round, we watch as Jonathan totally botches the routine by completely ignoring his partner until the poor girl is forced to improvise by throwing herself crotch-first onto his muscular, rippling body, which Mary explains is totally understandable, which is funny because it’s true.

You can’t blame her.

After the judges let him down easy (and I’ll admit now that I was really disappointed), the camera crew follows him into the street. Jonathan, undeterred by his previous rejection, invites (nay, begs) the camera crew to come home with him. Even though the crew was probably very tempted, because GOD who wouldn’t be, we watch Jonathan’s high, tight ass disappear into the hot L.A. night.

So what do we think? When I watched the show on Friday, my opinion on Jonathan was much like everyone else’s. He’s unquestionably gorgeous, but also smug, arrogant, kind of smarmy, and really full of himself. But after watching the clip a few (hundred) more times, I found my impression changing.

Here’s my theory, and I think this will clear a lot of things up… I’m pretty sure he was trying out for a different show. Hear me out. Point 1: He’s Italian, so English is obviously his second language, right? Point 2: the word “dance” is kind of broad. It can mean all sorts of things, and all different kinds of dancers call themselves dancers even if they are working in completely different industries (think: exotic dancers). Conclusion: I think Jonathan thought he was trying out to be a stripper. Ok, ok… that’s probably a giant leap. I mean, he had to have at least seen the other people trying out and figured they weren’t all strippers. And I would hope he talked to some people and asked about the show. But after watching the video with my theory in mind, I’m convinced he thought the show was So You Think You Can Strip, and in that light, he comes across perfectly, like he was made for the role. From the aggressive flirting with every female, to the outrageous displays of his body and his ego, to the moves he chose to audition with, to the way he had eye-sex with the camera… I mean, IT ALL FITS!!!

Or not. But, you know, I just can’t make myself dislike the guy. And it isn’t just because he’s the hottest guy I’ve seen on T.V. in a very long time. He IS very arrogant, but... umm… if you looked like that, wouldn’t you be? I’m not one to sympathize with pretty people often, especially when they use their looks to get anything they want, but I can understand how pretty people are often judged prematurely and how frustrating that can be. It’s clear from watching the video that he knows he’s an incredible specimen, but there’s a pandering way about him, a desperation, that makes me think he might be… I don’t know… lonely? Alright, I’ll stop reading into things, but don’t you think it’s possible, now, after reading all of this, that his whole segment might have been a giant misunderstanding? Decide for yourself: the video of the whole affair is after the jump.

Well, I hope for his sake that one day there IS a show called So You Think You Can Strip, because, honey… straight through to Vegas.

When My Obsessions Collide...

So what happens, do you think, when Betty Suarez, Madonna, and Jazz Hands are combined?

A Big. Gay. Supernova.

So get out your vision-protecting goggles and hunker down… BEHOLD!

If I could just add to the message…

Dear Madonna, while you’re at it, could you send me a signed copy too? It isn’t my birthday, but I’ve probably listened to it just as much as Justin (over and over and over and over). Kthxbye.

Let's do a final rehash, shall we?...

Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t been discussing reality T.V. too much (well, less than usual) here on the blog. I like to think the shows were just boring this time around, only because I would hate to think that my appetite for them has waned. That would be… heartbreaking.

We’ll start with the most obvious…

American Idol: Separating the men from the boys…

I’ve made no secret of the fact that this season of American Idol did absolutely nothing for me. I’m confused, though, because all the signs seemed to indicate that it was a terrific season… there were memorable moments, loads of controversy (Paula-gate), fairly decent guest mentors, a very suspenseful finale (it really could have gone either way)… and yet – I felt nothing. I didn’t LOVE anyone, or LOATHE anyone… frankly I had a hard time feeling any way in particular towards the entire cast. Sometimes I’m surprised that I even remember their names. I can’t say why I kept watching, other than wanting to be in the loop at the watercoolers, which is as good a reason as any, I suppose.



As far as the results go, I guess I’m OK with it. I’m still not a fan of David Cook (actually, if I were to pick a contestant to LOATHE, it would be he, at least at the beginning), but I think as the weeks progressed I found myself in his corner more often than David Archuleta’s. Little David A. is really one-dimensional if you think about it – he only does one thing well (namely, sappy ballads about peace, love, and homelessness) and all of his attempts to branch out were hilarious – and not in a good way. Meanwhile, David C., who started out really smug and cocky in my opinion, managed to deliver solid, original, and almost respectably creative performances. By the Top 5, I wasn’t sensing any entitlement or overconfidence in him – I’m not sure if it was sincere or if someone talked to him about it, but it doesn’t matter, he got rid of it and it worked. So considering the choice, American made the right decision. I think DC will be a more successful, more current musician than DA, which is good for the American Idol brand. DA will be fine, though: he’s as cute as a puppy sliding down a rainbow into a pool of magic, so… yeah, whatever.

Dancing with the Stars and America’s Next Top Model after the jump.

Dancing with the Stars: Girl Power…



I’m only slightly more enthusiastic about the recently completed 5th season of Dancing with the Stars. I was on Team Yamaguchi from the very beginning, so of course I was happy with the outcome. And while I enjoyed watching Jason Taylor and Christian Fuentes duke it out for the inevitable 2nd and 3rd place, I think we can all agree that Kristy’s awesomeness made the competition a little stale. It wasn’t just because she blew everyone out of the water, either. I think the skill levels overall were lower than usual all the way around; any of the top finishers from the last three seasons could have beaten Jason and Christian, at least technically. What I’m saying is that the show would have been even better and even more exciting had Kristy been up against worthier adversaries. But then again, if she was up against a man who happened to as perfect as she, she would have lost, at least according to past precedent. We can’t have that, can we?

I actually watched the Dancing with the Stars finale from start to finish, and I couldn’t help but feel like The Yamaguchi was over the whole thing. Was it just me? I mean, at the end when she won, I think it was pretty obvious that Mark Ballas was far more excited than she. She was all, “Um… yay! I guess. This was kind of fun, wasn’t it? I mean, it kind of pales in comparison to winning a gold medal but it wasn’t a total waste of my time all things considered.” And then there was Mark, who looked like he was about to faint before the announcement of the winner, and afterwards pretty much took it to church, all THANK YA JESUS style, and jumping and kneeling and kissing and crying like winning a disco ball trophy was the greatest human achievement since the moon landing.



Winning Dancing with the Stars might have been a small step for Kristy Yamaguchi, but I’m sure she’s happy to let Markie enjoy it.

America’s Next Top Model: Score one for the Phat Girlz…

What cycle of America’s Next Top Model are we on again? It’s got to be up there in the early 30’s. This season was one of the better ones, thanks to some truly wacky characters and better than average challenges, and by better than average I mean the teaches and photoshoots seemed more practical to the modeling industry than usual… like, I could actually imagine some of those pictures in magazines. So many of the shoots in the past have been absolutely ridonk… I’m pretty sure no company or designer would ever require a model to dress up like Brad Pitt AND Angelina Jolie in the same photo. There are other better examples, I’m sure, but that’s the only one I can think of at the moment. The point is… these photoshoots made some sense, which… refreshing.



Anyway, Whitney, Ms. Plus-size USA, took the prize, but not without some controversy. <

> If the whole point of letting a plus-size girl win is to validate the big girls of the world, then I think this show may have blown it. I mean, if she's plus-size... well, let's just say I don't think many big girls are feeling the love. If anything, Whitney's on the thin side of completely normal. So... mission remains unaccomplished, Tyra. When you let a size 10 take the title, then we'll talk.<

> The little gay birdies are twittering that Whitney was a ringer. Tyra has expressed on many occasions her zeal for finally crowning a plus-size model, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Whitney was a plant. I liked Whitney quite a bit, though, and I’ve also been anxious to see a big girl take the title. And really… does it matter? Does anyone still think this show is a reliable platform for starting a modeling career? I don’t think the girls that agree to appear on the show buy into it, either. This is a chance to get on T.V., hopefully establish a name for yourself, and move on to bigger and better things. And you get to meet Tyra Banks. If you’re into that sort of thing.

I’ve already talked about Survivor here.
I’ve already talked about Project Runway here.
I’m trying to pretend Big Brother 9 never happened.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad winter/spring season of T.V., although I can’t remember the last time I was so ambivalent and uninvested. I guess I can’t expect every season of every show make my skirt fly up. But, naturally, I never give up hope. This summer, we have So You Think You Can Dance, a summer session of Project Runway (the last one for the Bravo Network), and Big Brother 10 returns to its usual dates and times. Based solely on last night’s premiere of SYTYCD, I’d say we’re in for an amazing summer.

Reeva Dubois Revisited... Part 1...

A few days ago, I alluded to a new feature here on this blog in which I would delve into the archives of my previous home at LiveJournal and repost some of my favorite posts of the past. I must reiterate… I actually don’t expect anyone to read them. I’m just doing this so they have a permanent home in the archives over here. So… ahem. A good place to start would be my first significant (significant in this case means the post has content, all the ones before it were silly memes… I don’t flatter myself that any of my posts are significant in the true sense of the word) post on the LJ, wherein I introduce myself. Little known fact: there was another LJ before the one that stuck. It was the summer before my senior year of college, and I was toiling away, and by toiling I mean suffering, in the RA office of my college’s dorm. In a ploy to stay on campus with a bunch of my friends, I took a job with the Housing Department as a summer RA, with duties that included helping residents with lock-outs, opening doors for summer camps, and a whole lot of absolutely nothing. It was the most boring job that was, or will ever be, created and I nearly killed myself from boredom. The worst shift was the graveyard shift; it was not a little bit creepy, dark, and… you guessed it… boring as hell. Anyway, during that time, a friend of mine turned me on to LJ, and I posted all of five posts. It’s kind of hard to re-read them now, because they’re all about how awesome my senior year was going to be, and preparations for grad school, and friends that I don’t talk to anymore. I have no interest in posting them here, now that I’m bigger, better, and totally adjusted to the way my life turned out (ish!). No, I’ll start with one of the first posts from the second incarnation of my LJ, something that came about thanks to another friend (who shall not be named). I started in January of 2004, the year after I graduated, more or less after I’d completely fallen apart and put myself back together again. In this ditty, posted on Jan. 31, 2004, I talk about my strange sleeping habits, the joys of blogging/journaling, and I deign to give an explanation of my screen name, which has a mythology all its own. Please note how much my grammar/spelling/general use of the English language has improved over the years. I’m still not perfect, but I think we can all agree It's a far cry from the sic-tastic post that lies behind the jump, which I have decided to post unedited. Get your red pens ready! It’s called “Middle of the Night Musings.”

Yes, it is 5:15 in the morning. Shut up! I am, always have been, and probably always will be a night owl. It runs in my family. We are nocturnal creatures that reach our creative and energetic highs past midnight. We are also useless during the day, and that has its drawbacks. That is why i'm pretty sure that if i'm ever going to enjoy life i have to have a profession that allows me to sort of "set my own hours!" I know that this is impossible, and if i want to have anything ($), i have to join the real world and face the fact that i will have to get up on the morning. It is a cruel world sometimes. But i'm here now, and i'm awake, and actually feeling pretty good (ask how i'm doin' tomorrow at, say, 1:00 in the PM).

Journals are supposed to be therapuetic - an outlet for creativity and self-expression. Believe it or not, I kept journals all throughout middle and high school. I wrote in them almost everyday and i was very very secretive. Of course, the only thing in them is silly teenage ranting and REALLY REALLY bad poetry, but it is positively rewarding to know that i will never forget high school. I figuratively slap myself repeatedly on a daily basis for my one great indiscretion: i did not keep a journal in college. Its ironic that i documented the pointless feelings that i had about geometry and my little crush on {redacted to protect the innocent}(which is really fun to read about since i'm now a FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL (and yes, i know that i was always a homosexual, but high school is a confusing time (i'm not one of those crazy queens that thinks that something turned them gay (its not a frikkin light switch)))) and yet managed to leave four of my most formative years out of the channels of history. Not to say that all of it would have been interesting - "Dear Diary, today i practiced the piano...a lot." But a lot of shit went down, and even now, approximately one half of a year later, a lot of the precious details are already lost to me. So, as i began to type this, a sense of overwhelming calm overtook me, because i realized that i was doing something that used to bring soo much comfort and control to my life. I mean, the fact that other people may read this is sort of exciting (its almost like sex in public, don't you think (No? *shrug*)), but it feels so close to my little diary with the little lock. So, CHEERS to the livejournal, henceforth known as the "livejournal of life!"

Who, you ask, is Reeva Dubois? Thats me! An explanation is in order. My sophomore year, i roomed with the first guy friend that told me he was gay. I eventually got around to telling him that i, too, was gay, and we have been almost inseperable since. Anyhoo - in the room next door, lived two INCREDIBLY gay guys, who also became very close friends. So, those two rooms became known across campus as the gayest place on Earth, and even though South Beach, San Francisco, and some pockets in New York might be more deserving of the title, we held it with pride. Our shameless sexualities eventually attracted almost every other non-closeted guy on campus, and by the end of the year, we had quite a frat! We partied together, hung out together, and formed friendships that can't even really be explained - most were normal, but some were bizarre and unhealthy. Needless to say, there was never a shortage of DRAMA. We were sitting around one night after our weekly get-toghether to watch Will and Grace, when one of them commented that this group of about 10 guys really felt like his family. Someone else said, "Duh - we are a family." A surname was chosen. Dubois for three reasons. It sounds royal, and we are queens after all. It sounds french, which we just thought was neat (Ok not a good reason), and third because it literally means "of the wood", which was just too much innuendo to pass up. Then, we each picked a fabulous name, any old name we wanted, as long as the first initial was the same. Mine, of course, is Reeva - but there is also, Georgia, Vivian, Jade, Jasmine, Jessica, Kenya, Roxanne, Jacqueline, Blanche, Alexsis, Adeena, Monique, and many more through the course of the years. We actually call each other by these names, and we have grown rather attached to the whole thing. I actually created a coat of arms for the clan. I spent a fascinating shift of work on the internet researching heraldry - did you know that even the position of the different objects have meaning - its sooooo complex. If i can ever get my hands on a scanner i will post it. Our Latin motto - which we are pretty sure is absolutely wrong (we used an online translator) is "Reginas Amicitias Fides Amplexor" It (supposedly) means "Queens of Friendship Loyalty and Love". Of course now the Dubois family is scattered across the countryside, but we still keep in touch. Well, most of us anyway.

Ok - I graduated from Furman University in Greenville (G-Vegas) South Carolina with a BM Piano Performance. I'm currently taking time off from school to sort of soul search and get a hold of reality and life and blah blah blah - and i'm not being very successful. I'm supposed to go to graduate school next fall, but i have yet to apply. My parents are so proud.

SJP, newest member of the Ministry of Silly Hats...

So, Viv called me the other day and we had just the most uproariously riotous conversation about Sarah Jessica Parker and arboreal headgear.

Apparently, the London Premiere of her new movie was the perfect time to inform the general public that she is not only obsessed with fashion, shoes, and boy-faced character actors, but also… horticulture as it applies to madhattery.



I know I’m late posting this, it happened two days ago, but I had to post it for posterity. Everytime I come to my blog I want to see this in all of its quirky, foolish, crazy-ass glory.

While I may want to remember this, I’m sure SJP’s costars would love to forget. I mean, can you imagine having to stand next to her on the red carpet, straining to keep a straight face? And what is to be done about the swarm of very confused bees following her into the theatre?



In all fairness, the dress is pretty… in a wood nymph, skipping through the meadow kind of way. And the hat, as a piece, is rather interesting. But as a hat? I don’t know. It’s hard to take it seriously because… I just can’t stop laughing at it. I think the acorn cap is the best part. It’s like Sarah Jessica Parker bloomed out of it upside down, like a fabulous, couture wearing, oak tree in reverse.