Apparently the Miss America pageant is a full reality show now. They're "reinventing" the ordeal to make it more real, less cheesy, more glamorous, less sequins and hairspray. Hum.
Maybe the rare thrill I feel at discovering a beauty pageant on TV is more mocking and ironic, less genuine and awed than the producers want. But it's escapism and aspirational entertainment, an absurdly classic foil to absurdly of-the-moment Vogue. I don't want to tame the big big curls any more than I want magazines to drop Ghesquiere's $4,175 Balenciagas for reasonably-priced Steve Madden flats -- I don't pay maqazine subscriptions to see shoes I have all over the closet floor. I don't want to be like Miss America, and I do not want Miss America to be like me. And yet ... with the sharp little Michael Urie as host/cheerleader, and my favorite Stacey and Clinton pillaging the ladies' wardrobes, it may be very entertaining. And ps, the girly cheers and colored teams remind me of Girls State, a pivitol moment in high school lady's social development.
Hey Marseilles at the Sunset last night with Admissions folks. Excellent, as last time, very fun and engaging. Far too talkative crowd though. What's wrong with Seattleites? All the caffeine goes to our mouths, but our hips are far too tired to dance?
We saw Sweeny Todd last Sunday. I liked it till it was over, when there was no plot left to engage me, only just the thick, sticky residue of fake blood and sadism. For all the talent, style, and story, I had no empathy, no hope, no passion. I love Johnny Depp but I do not love the demon barber.