Beware the Tines of Valen

Winken, Blinken, and Coldhardmutherface Bloodydoily.

You're the Kind of Ugly That Is Invisible

I'm talking to you, Heidi Montag. I know you would have liked to be on Miss America's Shiz List this year, but you were too insignificant to make the cut. When you're trying to rise to the level of Paris Hilton, well . . . too late to check yourself before you . . . yeah. No need to mention you again. Your stupid "single" is stuck in my head and that is a musical contract killing.

And speaking of Miss America, what happened to these ladies' platforms? Not the shoes, the Something They Stand For. Perhaps it seems old-fashioned, and the experiment (again) this year was to "modernize" Miss America and make her "hip," but the platforms (remember literacy? AIDS? Welfare?) were what made this competition more than The Victoria's Secret Runway Show Reinterpreted by the PTA.

Instead of those old things, they recorded folks on the street reading off questions that the last eight contestants had to raise their hands to answer. And those questions

1. Were as substantive as the crossword puzzle in People Magazine.

2. Were almost impossible to answer without sounding like a self-righteous lemon square. (I was actually impressed when I think Miss North Carolina said Jamie-Lynn Spears should not be fired from her job for getting pregnant, because we all make mistakes and deserve second chances. A very Christian answer to a very rude, dare I say unladylike, question.)

3. Led to the name-checking of the aforementioned Jamie Lynn, Paris Hilton, and the repeat offender, Lindsay Lohan, who might as well be dubbed Satan's Private Dancer after getting called out at least four times as a bad example.

It made me feel a little sorry for these famous chicks. Two of them are definitely human beings, after all (See Paris Hilton: Hollywood Ebola at the Lainey Gossip site). And if they are so awful and the opposite of what you are about, Miss A, IGNORE THEM. Hasn't that always been the well-bred lady's ultimate weapon? Do not invite them to your party. And don't talk about them behind their backs, either. It only sullies you.

Oh, before I forget, the other part of the pageant that raised my eyebrows came right after the swimsuit competition (with its poor choice of porn muzak soundtrack), when the three women eliminated after that round were the two black women (Miss Mississippi and Miss South Carolina, maybe?) and Miss Utah, who was the only one to wear a one-piece. (We at home had jokingly predicted she would, but were unexpectedly delighted when she came through.) Were the judges serious? Did they take Donald Trump Vitamins that morning? Did they really just penalize a woman for not wearing a bikini, when you could still tell everything you needed to know about her "fitness" in her skin-tight attire? Even worse, did they stop a moment to think why they were giving the lowest marks to the two black women left in the competition? Their bodies were similar to each other's (and killer), but it was a different body type than that of the other women (who were all Caucasion except Miss Washington, who is Native American). Shorter waists, slightly more rounded thighs and hips. But there was no jiggle, you just couldn't actually see their hip bones, and their firm firm abs were not concave, just compact. Whatever, it just seemed like a GLARINGLY OBVIOUS BIAS. And NOT MODERN OR HIP. Mmkay?

My DVR actually cut off at the very second they were going to announce who had won, and I didn't really care. I didn't care about anyone, except the ones who got eliminated already, and I only cared about them because I wanted to see a mass uprising of the disenfranchised. Miss-What's-Her-State and her fire batons should have led the charge. I was left saddened that all America's Shorty needs to do is say she's better than the half-naked women you see on TV, and then appear half-naked on your TV. "What did you expect, Em? NPR's All Things Considered?" No, no. I grew up watching this show with my mom, and I know it's cheesy. But it was also an enjoyable experience, to start out laughing at the big hair and the crazy smiles and overdone makeup, and then slowly begin to be charmed by these contestants despite myself. Whether their talents were embarrassing or kind of decent, whether their answers were dim or delightful, I would start to root for them because at least they were dedicated and worked hard at something. Maybe they'd use that dedication for a noble cause someday. At least they were people who were trying.

They still are, I guess. It was just hard to tell that from a very badly-done show. Oh, well. Despite my cynicism, I do kind of like the idea of a whole country having its own spokesmodel. Maybe we could just vote for one every year at the polls. Any woman could campaign for it, and in the end we'd have a much clearer idea of how close to the apocalypse we are.

Up with Dresses, Down with Fascists

27 Dresses was $9.75 (thank you, Sara's student I.D.) well spent. I don't like that many "chick flicks," I don't really enjoy weddings, and I've been completely ambivalent toward Katherine Heigl besides applauding the healthiness of her figure. (Speaking of, I really do applaud things, reflexively; it is not just a turn of phrase. When Jamie Bell came onscreen as the antagonist in the preview for Jumper, I clapped like a meth-addicted cheerleader before I knew what was happening.) Now I'm going to have to own this movie, and watch it every time it shows up on TBS two years from now, and I want to be best friends with Heigl in the same way I'd like to be best friends with Wendy Crompton, except I think Heigl is less busy. (I also want to be friends with Judy Greer from this movie, who manages to be enthusiastically"over it" at all times. And hey, if James Marsden weren't married, I'd say yes to a date or five. Throw him a bone, you know.) Can you have a crush on a whole movie? Can I write slash fiction about 27 Dresses/Love, Actually? That was the last time I liked one of these romantic thingies this much. I should write a real review of this, but I don't want to. I should also balance this experience out soon by watching There Will Be Blood, or, like, voting. For now, I am content to geek out.

I still don't much care for weddings, though. Thumbs up to marriage, for sure, but weddings and receptions give me a combination mall shopping/school dance/funeral feeling, and P.S. that is slash fiction I will not be writing. I bet my feelings will change when I attend an LDS temple sealing, but I also bet the reception afterwards will still leave me feeling like a stale marshmallow peep in a microwave. Brides and grooms should simply float away in hot-air balloons, or on the spaceship from Flight of the Navigator, and the rest of us can wave handkerchiefs and cry and then have a way better party. Okay, fine, that's not nice. I do appreciate cake, and treating the commitment of two people like it's V-E Day, because in this day and age, it pretty much is. Beating the Nazis, if NAZI stood for "Nookie + Awkwardness + Zoo + Insincerity." What? The "Z" made that tricky.