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Korean figure skating gold medalist Kim Yu-Na faced enormous pressure in the Vancouver Olympics. The 19-year-old skater, considered Korea's biggest celebrity, trains in Canada in large measure because she can't go anywhere in her home country without a team of bodyguards. Hop over to YouTube and it becomes clear that Kim's popularity is to some degree self-inflicted. The enormous body of videos therein—ads for cars and eyeliner and milk and smoothies and air conditioners and gold-medal-winning feminine hygiene products—suggests she's a willing endorser of every single product available for purchase in South Korea.
Kim's broad advertising oeuvre reflects her versatility as a spokeswoman. In this spot, which evokes the sexy-librarian roleplaying of Taylor Swift's "You Belong With Me" video, the versatility of Kim's Samsung mobile phone is paralleled by the skater's own multifaceted personality.
Sometimes Kim is called on to play a more straightforward role. In this case, she's a wood nymph eating yogurt in the forest.
As to be expected, many of the skater's commercials take place on the ice. This cell phone ad, which shows Kim gunning down suitors with a coquettish finger-pistol, makes direct reference to her on-ice James Bond routine.
On the rare occasion when she's not shilling lipstick with girlish glee, Kim is just a great Olympian. This classic-looking Nike spot, in which she skates over a collection of questions and doubts, could be fodder for any world-class athlete. Her familiar winning formula: "Just Do It."
And then there are the commercials that subvert all expectations. Is Kim hugging a paramour-or something even more delightfully cuddly?
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In the recent battles over late-night talk-show television, one host remained in the background: Craig Ferguson, the brainy, silly, endearing Scotsman who hosts CBS's Late Late Show. Last night, Ferguson conducted an experiment: He recorded his entire show with only one guest, the English actor and writer Stephen Fry, and with no studio audience present. (You can watch the episode here.) What inspired Ferguson to try this stunt I don't know—perhaps his longstanding friendship with Fry, or his frustration with the limitations of the conventional talk show format after five years on the air. But the show left this viewer wishing that the spectacle of two adults engaged in long-form conversation would stop being a stunt and start being a show.
Fry was his usual delightful self, cheerfully tossing about high-register words like "demotic" and "tautology" and comparing Twitter's 140-character word count to Robert Graves' theory of poetic compression. Instead of occupying the usual host-at-a-desk, guest-on-a-couch setup, Ferguson and Fry simply sat face-to-face in armchairs, sipped beverages out of bizarrely ornate mugs (any guess as to what they were supposed to be shaped like?) and kibitzed about whatever came to mind: Fry's bipolar disorder, their history of drug and alcohol abuse and their shared love for American culture, the etiquette of responding to Internet trolls, and the universal assumption that everyone else in the world somehow got a memo on how to live that you missed. There was no part of their chat that wasn't something one might overhear at an interesting dinner party. But in the talk-show world, where appearances are usually pegged to publicity tours and anecdotes prepped in advance, spontaneous and thoughtful conversation constitutes a radical novelty.
A little stiff at first in the cavernous silence of the empty studio, Ferguson soon got wrapped up in the topics at hand. "I forgot that we're doing a TV show," he apologized as he interrupted Fry for a commercial break. Later, he observed as a piece of equipment clattered in the background, "Usually the audience's hooting and braying covers up these technical errors." Wrapping up the show, Ferguson recalled Fry's earlier appearances, complete with audience and couch: "I'm sorry that in our past conversations I've been so shouty." "It's your job, and you do it very well," Fry replied graciously—but it was hard to repress a sense of sadness that this brief window of intelligent discourse was about to slam shut. This morning, Ferguson tweeted: "Back to normal crap tonight." But does Ferguson's small but devoted audience really want a return to the "normal crap"? If he sat down with CBS and issued an ultimatum (in the way talk-show hosts seem fond of doing lately), could Ferguson make this an opportunity to reinvent the late-night talk show?
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It has come to my attention, as Slate's official squash correspondent, that a video of one squash player attempting to eat the head of another squash player is making the rounds on the Internet. This is another bad mainstream moment for squash. Squash fans are still depressed that our sport was denied a berth in the London Olympics. More beach volleyball, anyone? Ooh, can't wait for the rhythmic gymnastics to begin!
Anyway, on Sunday, Baset Chaudhry—who is 6-foot-5, hails from Pakistan, and is co-captain of the legendary squash powerhouse, the Trinity Bantams—defeated the top player from Yale, the freshman Kenneth Chan, from Singapore. The victory gave the bantams their 12th-straight national title—they haven't lost a team match since 1998. The sportsmanship fail happened at the end of the match, when Chaudhry does a victory yell over Chan, creating an awkward Goliath-confronting-David moment. Next, Chaudhry leaves the court, gives his dad a hug, and then pushes Chan back into the court when the Yale player tries to exit.
The jocks at ESPN's SportsCenter were soon having fun with this episode of squash "trash talking." In the video, the analyst Merril Hoge breaks down the "questionable sportsmanship" with the help of his telestrator while his colleagues chuckle along. Hoge's contempt for squash starts with an attempt to explain the rules: "You got a couple lines here. A line up top." Then he zooms in on the "verbal spraying" and concluded by connecting the whole incident to the importance of "buttocks"-blocking in the NFL.
Sure, there's some residue of truth to what a commenter on Deadspin had to say: "Squash: the sport rich kids play when they suck at lacrosse." But as Slate's Seth Stevenson pointed out almost a decade ago, collegiate squash has become an international game, with the Baset Chaudhrys replacing the Baxter Thatcher Hatchers at the top of the ladders. At both the pro and the top collegiate level, squash players are elite athletes—aerobic freaks with amazing hand-eye, foot speed, racquet discipline, and guile. Watch this rally, nonbelievers:
Back to the matter at hand, Chaudhry displayed improper squash dominance. The best way to win is with nonchalance. You stalk the court in such a manner to imply that the calls, your opponent's shots, and the crowd simply don't matter, such is your obvious dominance over your opponent. If you do deign to yell, you yell at the refs. (There is a lawyer-esque element to competitive squash matches, as each call can be appealed.)
We are also left to wonder what it was that set off Chaudhry. Trinity's coach said that Chan had been "getting in [Chaudhry's] pants for the entire match" (i.e., crowding him) and that the outburst was an outpouring of that frustration. There is also loose talk of an earlier Chan-initiated staring-down moment. We may never learn the truth of this alleged "trash talk," but it's more fun to conjure our own imaginary squash insults.
Some suggestions:
- I've seen better drop shots in John Irving novels.
- I've seen better rails in West Coast cities known for their sprawl and lack of public transit options.
- Where'd you learn to serve, Hotchkiss?
Let's hear your best squash trash talk in the comments.
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I was recently perusing the pre-sale items for L.L. Bean's new signature collection, when I was distracted by the blond model wearing the $79 textured pullover. Why did she look so familiar? This wasn't one of the blandly attractive, patently frumpy denizens of the mail-order catalog. It was none other than Maggie Rizer, the supermodel famous for her Nordic good looks and for losing her fortune to her father's gambling problem, who just a few years ago used to regularly grace the covers of Vogue and Elle. Poking around on the site further, I watched a promotional video for the new line, and caught a glimpse of—could it really be?—Missy Rayder, younger half of the famous Rayder sisters, and also a bona fide supermodel of the early aughts.
Since when do high fashion and L.L. Bean, long-time purveyor of mom jeans and mock turtlenecks, even belong in the same sentence? Is this just another example of the sad fate of aging supermodels? (Rizer is 32 and Rayder 33, so, basically, ancient.) Or is the stodgy old Maine brand positioning itself to become the next big thing? The signature collection—for which the company hired creative director Alex Carlton, founder of the nautically hip Rogues Gallery—is an assortment of new designs and updated classics, cut trimmer than the standard, boxy Bean fare and marked up 20 to 25 percent. Not coincidentally, Rizer and Rayder are also both "American classics reinterpreted for today," according to a company spokesperson.
Someone at Bean clearly got the memo that in the age of Vampire Weekend, their preppy-meets-outdoorsy look is all of a sudden kind of trendy. Everywhere I look in New York this winter, people are wearing Bean boots again—I resurrected my sister's old pair from college. The boot is one of the mainstays the new line revamps, introducing a Filson-esque waxed cotton version that has already sold out on pre-order. If L.L. Bean wants to de-frump their image and update their classics, I'm excited to see the results. But a word of caution to those who have loved their Bean boots and canvas totes forever: When a genuine old-school American outfitter starts pandering to a younger set, the results aren't always pretty.
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This week's New York Observer examines how George Stephanopoulos has been "adjusting to a life of fluff" since assuming a co-anchor spot on Good Morning America in mid-December. "From the get-go," writes reporter Felix Gillette, "various observers have questioned Mr. Stephanopoulos' suitability for the GMA job. Call it the reverse Katie Couric syndrome. As in, isn't he just a little too qualified for morning TV?"
Gillette leaves his readers to conclude that Stephanopoulos will not master the delivery of dumb news until he overcomes his ingrained circumspection and sheds some propriety. We are talking, after all, about an arena in which Couric once felt comfortable, if that's the right word, in submitting to an on-air colonoscopy—for a good cause, yes, but c'mon, man, really? While I do not expect that Stephanopoulos will ever invite viewers into his small bowel, I must observe that he has made notable progress toward ceasing to be quite such an on-camera tight-ass.
The early days were rough. On some mornings, Stephanopoulos just barely managed to feign interest in Emeril Lagasse's sauté pan; on others, his fake enthusiasm was all too blatant. During a holiday-shopping segment, a heedless G. Steph breezed incomprehensibly through the French-language title of a book about coquillages he was buying for himself. His Dec. 21 interview with Meryl Streep, who was promoting It's Complicated, turned into a minor farce. "What's complicated about your life, Meryl?" he asked, almost visibly straining. Well, her daughter was about to get married, she answered, careful to state that her future son-in-law, "Ben," was a lovely guy. "Ben Harper!" said George, as if buzzing in on a quiz show. "No," said Meryl, confused and amused. "But he's also nice!"
He could only go up from there, and he did, much helped along by his wife, actress Ali Wentworth, who began popping in on a semi-regular basis. She de-wonkified her husband, as it were, by sprinkling the scene with her daffy screwball-dame charm. I don't remember whether she was referring to her dog's house training or her daughters' potty training when delivering one classic line about home life with George: "When we wake up in the morning, we're usually covered in pee and we don't know whose it is."
By early January, he was feeling relaxed enough to put his foot up on GMA's coffee table. Instead of struggling to shine with enthusiasm about every dental-care tidbit and dopey romantic comedy, he began allowing himself to be merely curious about them—becoming more authentic and appealing. I'd like to think that the real breakthrough came when the Project Runway gang dropped in on Jan. 13, and George repeated Tim Gunn's catchphrase with a full throat: "Make it work!"
Going forward, GMA needs to give Stephanopoulos as many opportunities as possible to talk about his kids. Why? Because it is cute. "You've got something over here that my daughter Ellie is gonna love," he beamed during a January gadget demo. "She loves to take her temperature!" Then, demonstrating a forehead-scan thermometer, George took his own—97.8 degrees Fahrenheit. Indeed, Stephanopoulos still runs just a little bit too cool to serve morning fluff at its proper consistency, but he is steadily warming to the task.
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After each episode of Project Runway's seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week the challenge was to create a fashionable age-appropriate children's look, with a "corresponding" adult outfit. Seth Aaron Henderson was the winner; Janeane Marie Ceccanti was sent home.
Jessica Grose: This week was a big improvement over last week. Including children was a genius twist—the little buggers certainly were charming, especially Anthony's vampy wee one. The top designers are really pulling ahead of the pack: The tailoring on Seth Aaron's modish motorcycle jacket was impeccable, and the design on his kids outfit was whimsical and sweet. As you predicted last week, David, Janeane was auf'd, and good riddance to that Debbie Downer. Her "taste level" as the Proj Run judges often put it, was not up to snuff. Janeane is so down on herself that in her exit interview, she said: "I'm going to be international in the next two years. Not huge, but around." With that kind of attitude—not to mention her sub-pardesign skills—she is destined for mediocrity.
David Plotz: I knew Janeane was gone as soon as they showed her on the phone with her husband. That always telegraphs: I'm done.
I'm sure I can't be trusted, because I have a crush on her, but I thought the banishing of Amy to the bottom two was absurd. Her kid outfit was incredibly cute in all respects, and the petal clown pants were courageous.
June Thomas: I'm with you. I was mad at the judges for not respecting Amy's risk-taking. And I loved her kids outfit—it felt sophisticated andage-appropriate. And that's without noting some of the horror shows that thesafe designers snuck by the judges. Emilio has lost it for me. His kid's dress looked like a combination nightgown/communion dress, and the adult outfit that was supposed to "correspond" with it was straight-up hooker.
D.P.: Totally agree about Emilio, who seemed to have sized his ugly communion dress for a 10-year-old, not a 6-year-old. No daughter of mine would be permitted in Jonathan's scratchy yellow horror. Jay's outfit would be perfect for a little girl—a little girl who spends most of her time in S&M-themed wine bars.
J.T.: The ruffles on Jay's ensembles were technically impressive—I wanted to stare at them like some kind of optical illusion—but the colors felt way too dark.
J.G.: I agree about Amy's kids outfit! It reminded me of something from the now-defunct kiddie store Oilily. I thought the colors were vibrant and fun.
D.P.: I mostly loved the little girls, but the couture-ing of children is a generally repellent phenomenon. Whenever I see children tarted up in fashion magazines, I want to stick my daughter in a potato sack. I'm all for little girls dressing cute, but I hate the idea of indoctrinating them with fashionism. They will learn it in due time—why rush it? And why praise it?
J.G.: I don't think this was indoctrinating them with "fashionism." The majority of little girls like dressing up—this wasn't the tarted-up ickiness of Toddlers and Tiaras. These outfits were age-appropriate, and the girls appeared to be excited for the opportunity to prance down the runway, not as if they were pushed into expressing themselves.
BTW, Plotz, when I was 10, I coveted a pair of jeans shorts with brown leather fringe. Make of that what you will.
But back to the designs—I thought the way Jesse's designs worked together was quite clever, but good God, I hate his stupid hats and his untied bowtie. Does his little cap not make you want to punch him in the face?
J.T.: Until tonight, Jesse's only role in the show was to draw my hate. He comes across as a selfish, unserious person. But I have to admit, I'm a sucker for an untied bowtie. It's a look I'd sport myself if I were a little more confident.
Still, I liked his kids outfit, with its askew lines and the lovely gray and red palette. And all praise for the jacket, but I didn't like his adult look. It was poorly made around the bodice, and he seemed to use the same belt that Ben did last week—though I suppose there's only so much to choose from on the Bluefly.com Accessories Wall (TM).
J.G.: It would be adorable on you, June, and not raise my ire. Maybe it's just his smug, annoying face beneath the chapeau.
What did we think of guest judge Tory Burch? I thought her Quaalude delivery didn't add much to the proceedings.
J.T.: Tory Burch was a human-size dollop of prettiness sitting in the guest judge's chair, but she contributed nothing beyond that.
D.P.: Besides Amy, the dresses that meet my dress code were Mila's dress, which was dull but fine, and Jesse's (though I thought the adult outfit was slightly Nazi stewardess). Seth Aaron certainly deserved to win—I loved the watermelon-shaped pockets—though I personally am not a gigantic fan of little kids in hoodies.
J.T.: I loved the whimsicality of Seth Aaron's kids look, and I'm glad he won. I'm hoodie agnostic, but it did seem as if there was too much stuff bunched up around the back of his adorable model's head. All that fabric reminded me of the ultra-padded Olympic snowboarders uniforms.
D.P.: Curiously, though Janeane certainly deserved the boot, I didn't object to her sacky red kid's dress. It wasn't fashion, but a girl would look fine in it.
J.T.: There was absolutely no doubt that Janeane had to go, but her looks were inoffensive. Her adult jacket, the one that Michael said looked like a "home ec. Project," was far from the worst thing on the runway tonight. But Heidi was right: It's a design competition, and producing garments that women will look "fine" in is not the point of the show.
J.G.: I thought Kors was on fire tonight with the quips. I particularly enjoyed when he called Jonathan's models "Conceptual toilet paper twins."
D.P.: Jonathan's pitch-perfect imitation of Kors early in the hour inoculated me against the quips. Jonathan's mockery made it obvious how formulaic Kors' one-liners can be.
J.T.: Amen. Best Project Runway impression since Santino's Tim Gunn.
D.P.: We've barely mentioned what I think was the truly stellar design of the night, which is Seth Aaron's mod, fake-houndstooth, adult jacket. Wow that was cool!
J.T.: It was gorgeous, and he styled the hell out of his model. Her look was edgy but nothing that would scare the kids.
J.G.: Agreed! Best thing that's been on the runway all season.
D.P.: So over the years, P.R. has done moms, pro wrestlers, teenage girls, formerly fat ladies, heart disease victims, and now little girls. I am worried that there is only one place left to go next season ... dogs.
J.G.: They did dogs in Season 3. And drag queens.
D.P.: Oh, my God, you're right. Then it will probably be the homeless.
J.G.: Tyra's already done a homeless challenge on America's Next Top Model, so they'd be following in her big, brassy footsteps.
Previous chats: Weeks 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
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The second half of Glee's first season kicks off April 13, but on Wednesday, the show released a brand-new trailer through its official Twitter account. It is filled with tantalizingly brief glimpses of how things have (for the most part not) changed at McKinley High School since the glee club won sectionals.
Judging from the one-minute trailer, the choir geeks are still pariahs among the cool kids, mean cheerleader coach Sue Silvester and glee coach Will Schuester still hate each other's guts, and something might finally happen between hot quarterback Finn and nerdy diva Rachel. So what's new?
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Just as we're surrounded by a world of micro-organisms—some good, some bad, many imperceptible—our culture is continually under siege by small perversions of the written language. Today, some of the world's nastiest errata appear on marquees and in book titles, burrowing into the innards of an unsuspecting nation. Copy-Editing the Culture collects the most prominent among these to offer both a diagnosis and a cure.
A few months back, Copy-Editing the Culture took on the tortured grammar of the latest Jamie Foxx movie, Law Abiding Citizen, whose title makes sense only in the context of a particularly trippy thought experiment. Our plea for grammatical integrity, though, went unheard: When the film came out on DVD yesterday, it had not one hyphen more of clarity. We are starting to wonder whether Hollywood has priorities besides its parts of speech.
But so it goes. In the meantime, Copy-Editing the Culture has been beset by other horrors. Be Good Johnny Weir, a Sundance TV show, purports to chronicle the high style of an Olympian skater, but in matters of the written language, this unfortunate program has the style of a garment-district trash heap. The crisis here is a missing comma, one that would separate the command be good from the name to which it is addressed, Johnny Weir. Without that crucial punctuation mark, the title describes a show about a man called Be Good Johnny—a zoot suit of a nickname much more likely to land him in a trunk somewhere in Bergen County, N.J., than on the path toward Olympic glory.
And what is one to make of 44 Inch Chest, the gritty U.K. black comedy that seems to have left its hyphen on the toast rack? Does baroque British profanity preclude proper hyphen use? Abso-bloody-lutely not, muppet! Although there is little chance of the title being misunderstood as it is written, 44 Inch functions as a single modifier and thus deserves its own hyphen. Where did Windsor come from, after all, besides the great house of hyphens, Saxe-Coburg-Gotha?
Spot a grammar clunker in the cultural limelight? Send it to copyeditingtheculture@gmail.com.
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After each episode of Project Runway's seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week the challenge was to design an outfit for Heidi Klum to wear on the cover of Marie Claire magazine. Anthony Williams was the winner; Anna Lynett was sent home.
David Plotz: I always thought those stories about the viciousness of fashion magazine editors were just self-serving industry propaganda, but apparently not: Guest judge and Marie Claire editor Joanna Coles was gratuitously derisive and cruel. Her cut of Mila—that her dress was "the color of hospital food" was just mean.
That said, I am less and less impressed by these designers as the weeks pass by. Except for Ben's, whose bold kimono dress would have won my vote, the outfits were worryingly bad—a whole mess of mini-dresses cut an inch below the crotch! All that beige! Emilio's French maid in the boudoir dress—he seemed to have forgotten that red dress week was last week.
Where did all the color go? Why did they all run away from it, except Ben and Anthony (and boudoir Emilio)? I think they heard Coles warn about black and assumed that type wouldn't show up on anything other than ecru.
About Anna's and Janeane's outfits, the less said the better. I was hoping Heidi would take them both down at once and save us a week. Janeane obviously deserves auf'ing—why not get it over with?
June Thomas: Not that I want you to take any cues from Joanna Coles, David, but I loved the way she showed off her editor's eye, getting Emilio to whip out his scissors and hack at his dress to make it work the way she wanted it.
Hanna Rosin: I agree, June, but that kind of chilly self-confidence is terrifying. I bet by the end they weren't sure they wanted that cover.
DP: That was one of the greatest moments in Project Runway history. I disagree that it massively improved the dress, though I suppose it slightly diminished its underage-girl-gone-bad quality and made it just slutty. But I, too, loved seeing the action. Do you think they judged the dress as he sent it down, or the dress as they amended it?
HR: I think they bristle when contestants refuse their advice, so they judged Emilio's dress post-snip. And in this case, they were absolutely right—it did look very Teen Beat with those tie shoulders, while without them it just looked Victoria's Secret, which, I suppose, is preferable. But overall I found that dress completely uninteresting, and the feat of making jersey go hard did nothing for me.
I think they keep Janeane because she is the necessary counterweight to Mila. They are at opposite ends in the spectrum of self-awareness. Mila has none, and thus is pleasantly, cluelessly evil, a stock type in reality TV who can't fathom why no one ever gives her a hug. A hundred bucks says she lives alone, like Kenley from Season 5, and has an overbearing father. Janeane, meanwhile, is crippled by self-awareness, incapable of sewing a stitch without dissolving into piteous self-doubt.
JT: "Hospital food" is an odd British obsession, by the way. (Young hooligans often ask each other, "Do you like hospital food?" Followed, inevitably, with, "Because that's what you'll be eating when I'm finished with you.") Nina pointed out the bigger problem with Mila's dress: The color blocks acted like a giant arrow pointing at the crotch. On the plus side, that dress was one of the few to show even a bit of cleavage.
One of the things that bothers me about PR contestants is how clueless they sometimes seem about the basics of the industry they supposedly want more than anything to break into. About half the designers seemed never to have seen the cover of a fashion magazine before, much less that of Marie Claire. And worst of all, they didn't seem to know much about the woman they were designing for. Heidi Klum has been on Project Runway for seven seasons now, and every week she wears short, figure-hugging dresses (who can blame her), usually in strong colors. And yet when tasked with designing an outfit for her to wear on a magazine cover, several of them turned out pale, flouncy numbers that were totally un-Klum.
DP: That seems a very finicky form of criticism. The show is not supposed to pick the most knowing insider. It's supposed to give everyone a chance. Plus, aren't the judges always saying: You're the designer—you can't design just to please the client. They were giving their "point of view"—which happened to suck, but whatever.
JT: I disagree. The show positions the contestants as people who want to work at the highest levels of the fashion industry, not in a mall show. These would-be designers who don't know magazines and design styles are like wannabe journalists who don't read. They have to know trends, they have to be aware of other collections, and they see that stuff in fashion magazines.
HR: It's not so relevant whether they are insiders or not. Mean Joanna instructed them before the challenge on the basics of a cover outfit. And more than half of them completely ignored her advice. If they were her assistant, they would definitely be fired.
DP: What did you think of Anthony's winning dress? I didn't get it. But I think men are constitutionally incapable of understanding dresses with one shoulder strap. Two straps, I get. No straps, I get. One strap? It upsets my sense of physics. And symmetry.
HR: Well, you can't help but hope for the best for Anthony. As a person, he is like his dresses: costumey and overdone. And I was sure this would turn out to be another garish mother-of-the-bride thing. but then somehow those folds fell exactly right.
JT: I was shocked at how well Anthony's dress turned out. It was looking messy and a bit hopeless when Tim Gunn went through the workroom, but the color was perfect, and the Frank Gehry-like structure wasn't garish or costumey, just interesting.
Of the other top men, I liked the length of Emilo's dress, but that was about all. And as Joanna Coles pointed out at the beginning, in all likelihood it would be cropped anyway.
I've been enjoying Ben's pieces so far this season (though mostly in the screen captures on Tom & Lorenzo's blog—since this was his first time in the top or bottom three, it's the first time we've really had a chance to stare at his work). He's very superhero-influenced. I loved the colors, but a) someone needs to tell him that Madame Butterfly is a tragic character, not really someone you want Heidi to channel (unless she's going to kill herself as the photographer takes the last shot); b) he needed to show a bit more cleavage; and c) that big chunky belt was heinous.
HR: Disagree! I loved the belt. Without it, this would have been much more Wonder Woman. And I liked the idea of Heidi as superhero. I vastly preferred his dress over Anthony's, but it was much more my style than hers. What did you guys think of Seth's bullet suit?
JT: Seth's S&M suit seemed wrong for the challenge. I could imagine Heidi wearing it at a fetish night somewhere, but not on the cover of Marie Claire. It might work for Mistress May I Monthly, though.
DP: One more word about Anna: Has any designer in the entire history of humankind, ever designed a pair of shorts that looked good?
JT: I can't recall any special shorts—Mychael Knight made a pair on Season 3 that the judges oohed and aahed over, but they just looked like a saggy too-short pair of shorts to me. Like sad Anna's.
Any theories about Jonathan's negligee? Again, clueless; totally wrong for the magazine and the subject.
HR: Oh God, the romper. He even described it as a romper, the idiot. That's so spring 2009, or so infant 1899.
Previous chats: Weeks 1, 2, 3, 4
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About a year ago, a friend and I noticed a theme running through many New Yorker poems: With astounding frequency, they were about writing poetry. We would read them aloud up until some explicit mention of writing, words, grammar, typewriters, or anything else in the poet's arsenal. It felt like we got to the end of maybe half of them.
Take, for example, the poem "Only So Much" by Rachel Hadas in the Jan. 4, 2010, issue. "I bend to the open notebook," Hadas begins. (Here we would normally stop reading, according the game's rules.) Later the narrator gets distracted by some ants, "I shut the notebook and open it from the back, to write."
"Only So Much" got me wondering whether there was a more scientific way to gauge The New Yorker's fondness for meta-poetry. I downloaded every poem on The New Yorker's Web site—which came out to 316 specimens dating back to January 2008—and conducted a simple computerized search for the words poetry, poem, writing, reading, words, lines, or verse. I granted clemency in cases where words or lines were clearly used in a non-poetry-writing context.
By this measure, 84 poems—27 percent of the whole lot—mentioned poetry, including 32 that used the P word explicitly and 15 that mentioned writing in the title.
There's nothing wrong with a little meta-poetry now and again. William Carlos Williams penned a bit of it and Keats fretted in verse about dying too young to complete his intended oeuvre. In the spirit of the old workshop injunction against "writing about writers writing," however, 27 percent feels a tad steep. Let's review some of The New Yorker bards' favorite tropes.
A poem about writing a poem.This is the most obvious form.See Richard Kenney's "Coda"—"I tried lacing loss into these lines"—or David Mason's "Fathers and Sons": "Some things, they say,/ one should not write about."
A poem about someone else's poetry. Keats could get away with rhapsodizing about a translation of Homer, but we're not all John Keats. See "Wheeling Motel," by Franz Wright: "Then the moon will rise/ like the word reconciliation,/ like Walt Whitman examining the tear on a dead face." Other cameos include Wordsworth, Dante, and Natalie Portman.
A poem about reading a book. "I am reading/ Longinus while the Super Bowl is on," boasts Robert Bly in "Sunday Afternoon." Not to be outdone, Jessica Greenbaum begins "The Two Yvonnes" with "for help he said I should read the new translation of a Gogol story …" (OK, so these aren't precisely about poetry, but they're still about literature.)
A poem about words.Not to be confused with the first category, often disembodied words are the poet's muse. "Romantic? [the purple gorilla] says,/ reading the name out loud, slowly,/ so I am aware of each syllable, each vowel," writes Matthew Dickman in "Grief."In "Phone Booth," Brenda Hillman opens with the simple lament that "There should be more nouns."
I would suggest that a scarcity of nouns is not the problem. Apparently, it's a scarcity of new things to write poems about.
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In an effort to cast Sarah Palin as a … I’m not going there … for not believing in global warming, Vagina Monologues playwright Eve Ensler, in an appearance on the Joy Behar Show, made herself look utterly foolish in saying that global warming causes earthquakes and tsunamis. Maybe she takes her cues from Danny Glover, who blamed the Haitian earthquake specifically on global warming. Or maybe she’s well-read and has cherry-picked bits of a highly speculative theory that holds that, in the cases of catastrophic sea-level increases, there’s a small chance that all that heavy water could increase seismic activity.
Or maybe she just doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I couldn’t agree more with blogger Ann Althouse, who suggests that “When you want to call somebody dumb, try not to say anything dumb.” At any rate, if three examples make a trend, we’re only one celebrity shy of turning this into a full-blown meme. Anyone? Maybe Robert Kennedy Jr. will weigh in once he digs out.
*Correction, Feb. 10, 2010: The headline of the post originally said "hurricanes" instead of "earthquakes."
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When J.D. Salinger died on Jan. 27, he left an array of burning questions unanswered. What exactly had the reclusive writer been working on since 1965, when his last short story, "Hapworth 16, 1924," was published in The New Yorker? Did he really take to drinking his own urine in his later years? And, perhaps most perplexingly of all, does Zooey Glass' first name rhyme with "gluey" or "showy?"
Google "how is Zooey pronounced" and you'll be greeted with 17,700 results—none of them conclusive. Many note that the actress Zooey Deschanel, named after Salinger's male character, pronounces her name "Zoh-ee"—but her parents obviously didn't consult Salinger before christening their daughter. And there's a rather moving note in the anthology Letters to J.D. Salinger from a Zooey who wants to know the proper way to articulate his own name. Salinger never responded.
I called up Harold Ober Associates, Salinger's literary agency, to solve the mystery once and for all. According to their office, the proper pronunciation is—drumroll, please—"Zoh-ee." Score one for Deschanel; I guess now there's nothing left to do but go back to wondering about the urine.
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The Shame Index admits he was too lazy to get up from the couch on Sunday night to fetch his phone and dial (877) 987-6401. Surely an account of what awaited callers would show up on the Web in due course. Sure enough, it did. Still, in the spirit of doing his own reporting, the Index decided to dial the number shortly before tonight’s episode. But to no avail—busy signal, over and over again. How I Met Your Mother’s Super Bowl Easter Egg seems to have been a success, with curious viewers lighting up the phone lines right up through this evening. Too bad CBS used its biggest stage to promote a truly dreadful episode.
Shameful:
—Barney’s Super Bowl gambit. The conceit made no sense: Why would holding up a sign at the Super Bowl with your phone number on it produce a constant stream of calls from beautiful, easy women? The writers didn’t even try to sell the joke; we were just supposed to accept this bizarre premise. The Index might have considered suspending disbelief had the concept been funnier. But the magic phone had none of the cleverness of “the perfect week,” and coming on the heels of that episode—another in which Barney binged on sex—it tried the patience.
—The lame montage of Barney almost bedding woman after woman, only to be tempted by another call.
—A wasted visit from Ranjit, who seems to have been present only to give Ted the ridiculous idea that what he needs is an arranged marriage.
—The lame montage of Marshall and Lily frantically looking for a woman to arrange marry to Ted.
—The lo-fi special effects that by turns showed Don with rabbit ears and a duck bill.
—The continued romantic humiliations of Robin Scherbatsky. Last week she was blown off by a dweeb, this week subjected to The Naked Man by the still-more-irritating-than-funny Don.
Awesome:
—The Naked Man has its own Wikipedia page.
—“That’s what I call having a woof over your head.” HIMYM’s writers once again come up with a great snippet from Robin’s telecast.
—Teddy Westside. The Index is a stone cold sucker for the embarrassing nicknames Ted bestows upon himself. (Cf., T-Mos.)
—Barney’s attempt to appropriate Ted’s embarrassing nickname.
—Lily and Marshall crediting their love to the Wesleyan housing department "and a splash of Drakkar Noir."
—The long, nasty fight over whether rabbits or ducks are the superior species. Amusing arguments put forth by both sides, although the Index, as in all things, sided with Marshall, and was disappointed to see him fold. Ducks are mean.
This is the first Shame Index to post since Slate instituted its new commenting system. The Index is looking forward to a lively debate with readers on the merits of this episode. Is the Index being too hard on it? Too hard on Don? Too hard on ducks? And, finally: Did Jim Nantz’s retrograde Flo TV ads during the Super Bowl not give you that much more respect for how well HIMYM deployed the CBS sportscaster last week?
Previous Shame Indices: Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
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After each episode of Project Runway's seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week, the challenge was to design a signature dress for Campbell's "adDRESS your heart" program, and the clients were women whose lives "have been impacted by heart disease." Amy Sarabi was the winner; Jesus Estrada was sent home.
David Plotz: Can we just pretend that episode never happened? All that shiny red fabric. All that crass-even-by-reality-TV-standards shilling for Campbell's. All that phony do-goodism. And then all those extremely ugly dresses. Give me burlap any day.
June Thomas: Amen, brother. I just feel bad that this week's Project Runway was pre-empted for an hourlong Campbell's soup commercial. There were too many elements to the challenge—the dress had to be suitable for a fancy gala, be predominantly red and incorporate the Campbell's logo, and, as they mentioned so many times, the designers were working with "real women." (As wonderful as those real women no doubt are, I gained a new appreciation for the way the emaciated professional models make clothes look great.)
Hanna Rosin: I actually had hopes for this one. Remember a few seasons back when they did the shameless promo challenge at the Hershey's store? That produced some of my favorite dresses ever, made of layered candy wrappers and licorice. The problem here was that they weren't shameless enough. They should have gone Andy Warhol on them—made them incorporate actual tin cans and limp noodles.
JT: Hanna, you're making me wish Ping was still around. She could've made a kick-ass tin-can dress.
HR: After the endless reminders that these were "real women," I wasn't sure if we were supposed to pity them more because they had heart disease or because they were "real," which in fashion just means fat, right?
DP: The real women Campbell's chunky soup challenge. Rearrange those words as you see fit.
I will say this for the real women: They do reveal which designers can't actually, uh, design. That thing--that extra-wide load thing--that Anna sent down the runway was evidence that she and her wispy la-di-da pretty face need to go home. She can't make a dress.
JT: I would love to pick a fight with you, David, but I agree completely. Anna's dress was the opposite of flattering. I would've sent her home before Jesus--sure, his tacky little number looked like something from the opening ceremonies of the Sex Worker Olympics, but it fit and it was flattering, which is more than could be said for Janeane's, Anna's, or the really vile ensemble from this week: Jesse's shiny white majorette jacket and paneled skirt
HR: I think disease is a real problem for reality television, because it sucks the life out of the show. Deep in their hearts, the designers were pissed that they had to design for these frumpy non-famous post-ops. But because they had "heart disease," nobody could say that. So, except for one bitchy Mila comment about her model being a "really tough fit" (again, fat), the episode was a dud.
And did Jay actually say, "I've never met anyone in my life who died"?
DP: Be fair. He did caveat it: "I've never met anyone in my whole entire life who died and came back to life."
June, what are the events at the Sex Worker Olympics? And will it be carried on NBC? Actually, in their horrific bloody red ugliness, a lot of these outfits could pass for genuine Team USA Olympic uniforms.
JT: Let's just put it this way: If Jesus' model had carried a tray of drinks in one hand and a pingpong ball in the other, she couldn't have looked any trashier.
Did either of you see anything that you liked tonight? I agree with the win—Amy did manage to create movement and elegance, but it was still a pretty boring design. Other than Jonathan's silk layer cake of a dress, which stood out mostly because he eschewed bright scarlet, the others all seemed ugly.
DP: I disagree about Jonathan's, which, except for being eggplanty rather than bloody, was bad wedding-store dress. I liked Mila's star-spangled fire engine. I worry that Mila is going to poison Amy before next week's episode, but I still think she's the best designer they've got.
I wasn't gaga over Amy's winning dress, but I am gaga over her. It's been a long time since there has been a PR contestant I really liked. Amy has a dignity and charm about her. It may not win her the competition against ax murderess Mila and quietly vicious Emilio, but I am all in for her.
JT: Ugh, I hated Mila's dress. The story of the stars—the classic Campbell's branding elements—was great, but the dress itself was horrid. Those puckered old stars made me weep for old glory.
HR: I think they can't kick Anna out for the same reason they can't complain about the heart disease patients. It's like kicking a puppy. (And they can't ever kick Janeane out, because she will threaten to jump off the roof of Mood.)
I have become kind of interested in Emilio, though. He's been offstage since the first episode, but he's been amping up the bitchiness at an alarming speed. I feel like they are preparing us for an Emilio showdown. But I'm not sure with whom.
DP: Janeane and Anna remind me of the girls I tried desperately to avoid dating in college. And Maya reminds me of the girls I tried desperately to date. And Mila—a grown-up Maya—is a very useful reminder of how lucky I was that the Mayas wouldn't date me.
HR: So, David, am I an Amy or a Maya?
DP: You are a total Amy!
Previous chats: Weeks 1, 2, 3
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Nevada casinos and online gambling sites will take in tens of millions of dollars in Super Bowl bets this year. A good percentage of that take will come from "prop bets." Many of these have to do with football—the number of touchdown passes Peyton Manning will throw, for instance. Others are a bit divorced from the on-field action: the number of times Peyton's father Archie Manning will appear on television (the over/under is four), the number of times Who guitarist Pete Townshend will deploy his signature windmill move (over/under 5.5), and the color of the Gatorade that will be poured on the winning coach (you can get 8-to-5 odds on clear/water).
While those wacky wagers might be enough for some people, Slate wants to create appealing gambling opportunities for every football-watching man, woman, and child. Print out the list of propositions below, make your picks, and see who at your Super Bowl party has the keenest eye for Hurricane Katrina references and talking-animal commercials.
Inspirational stories:
References to the Haitian backgrounds of Pierre Garçon and Jonathan Vilma: over/under 4.5
References to Saints "uniting" New Orleans: over/under 4.5
Number of CBS pre-game features in which New Orleans jazz musicians (Harry Connick Jr., Wynton Marsalis, etc.) talk about Hurricane Katrina: over/under 0.5
Hometown flavor:
References to Bourbon Street: over/under 1.5
Shots of the French Quarter: over/under 4.5
References to any food item associated with New Orleans (gumbo, jambalaya, beignets, etc.): over/under 4.5
Reference to any person, place, or thing associated with the state of Indiana (Indy 500, John Mellencamp, Gov. Mitch Daniels, etc.): over/under 1.5
CBS promos:
Shots of featured cast members of any CSI show in the stands: over/under 1.5
Commercials for or mentions of the Masters: over/under 7.5
Commercials for or mentions of Undercover Boss, the new reality series premiering after the game: over/under 14.5
Will Jim Nantz make a pun on Undercover Boss at any time during the game (referring to a wide receiver as "under covered," for example)? yes/no
The halftime show:
Announcers' use of the phrase "Who Dat?" before or after The Who go on stage: over/under 0.5
Will there be a reference to Peyton Manning as a "wizard," specifically as a pun on "Pinball Wizard"? yes/no
Will "Magic Bus" be used as bumper music at any time? yes/no
Will deceased members of The Who John Entwistle or Keith Moon be mentioned by broadcasters, stadium announcers, or onstage? yes/no
Will Entwistle's replacement Pino Palladino be named? yes/no
Will a mention of Keith Moon lead to a mention of Warren Moon? yes/no
The game:
References to Peyton Manning studying film: over/under 3.5
References to Drew Brees studying film: over/under 0.5
Will there be a graphic of a grade-three ankle sprain? If so, will that graphic rotate to better see the ligament in question? yes/no
Will Saints kicker Garrett Hartley's four-game suspension for taking Adderall be mentioned? yes/no
Will anyone other than Drew Brees or Manning attempt a pass? yes/no
How many plays will be subjected to replay review? over/under 4.5
Which will happen first, illegal shift or lining up in the neutral zone?
Will the referee's mic go dead for more than a second? yes/no
Will a penalty flag be waved off at any point? yes/no
The first time a coach throws a challenge flag, will he struggle to remove it from his pocket? yes/no
Will Gumbo get his revenge on Reggie Bush? yes/no
Will the first tackle to report as eligible be eligible to take a head-of-household standard deduction or eligible only to take the single- or married-filing-separately deduction?
Family:
Will Peyton's mother Olivia Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Peyton's older brother Cooper Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Peyton's wife Ashley Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Drew's wife Brittany Brees be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will any other player's wife, child, or sibling be mentioned by name? yes/no
The commercials:
Ads featuring talking animals: over/under 3.5
Ads that encourage you to go to the Web to watch the "uncensored" or "extended" version: over/under 2.5
Which beverage will be featured in more spots, Coke or Budweiser?
Miscellaneous:
Will there be acknowledgement that it's the 44th Super Bowl with the 44th president in office? yes/no
Shots of Kim Kardashian in which the announcers make no reference to Kim Kardashian because they have no idea how to do it tastefully: over/under 0.5
Psyched for the Super Bowl this Sunday? Check out this Magnum Photos gallery on football.
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Performance artist Tino Sehgal's show "This Is Progress" opened to the press at the Guggenheim on Thursday, and to mark the occasion, the museum had stripped the walls bare. The Gugg was completely empty—except for a couple engaged in a highly choreographed makeout session in the central foyer and a few parent-child pairs milling uncomfortably around the fringes. No official explanation was provided, but on walking up the museum's spiral, the exhibit's logic started to fall into place.
Instead of being left to their own devices, viewers are quickly intercepted by an intrepid—and very cute—little kid who introduces himself and the show before inquiring about the nature of progress. From there, increasingly older docents, all of whom are dressed in street clothes, ask to hear your take on health care and government regulation. They are disarmingly earnest. Halfway up, while listening to a guy in his 30s spell out his thoughts about karma, I couldn't shake the impression that I was in a Richard Linklater movie. The core of the show is conversation, and Sehgal, a London-born artist with a background in dance and economics (go figure) puts the headspace of the Guggenheim to good use, taking the attitude of the well-behaved museumgoer as his weapon in a surprise intellectual inquiry. The overall effect is personal and fun, and has the added bonus of shaming those who like to "shush" chatterers.
I have no idea how the exhibit's going to work when faced with normal weekend crowds, but in a best-case scenario, the show could just expand naturally—evolving from its set cast of kids, teenagers and adults into one where any visitor becomes an impromptu docent. That would be progress.
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Among the nonstories coming out of this year's Oscar nominations is the fact that Pixar's Up has become the first film ever to be picked for both the best picture and best animated feature lineups. (That's not such an impressive feat when you consider that the latter category has only been around since 2001.) Somewhat more interesting is the fact that Up is only the second animated film to receive a best picture nomination, after Disney's Beauty and the Beast in 1991. An animated movie has been the highest-grossing film of the year at least a dozen times since the academy started handing out its awards. Yet no other cartoon—Disney, Pixar or otherwise—has ever had a shot at winning best picture.
Unless you count Avatar.
According to a Hollywood Reporter article from 2008, the film (then in production) was slated to end up 60 percent computer graphics, with plenty of special effects and animated backgrounds in the "live action" shots. For comparison, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?—generally considered to be an animated film—consisted mostly of live scenes and backgrounds with animated characters drawn in. So why wasn't James Cameron's CGI-soaked epic also nominated for best animated feature?
In a smart analysis of this question posted to RopeOfSilicon.com, Brad Brevet reviews the academy rules on what makes for an animated feature film: "A significant number of the major characters must be animated, and animation must figure in no less than 75 percent of the picture's running time."
If you trust that Hollywood Reporter number from 2008—and ignore all the CGI backgrounds and special effects in Cameron's live-action shots—then Avatar would fail the 75 percent test. But so would another film that was on the shortlist of possible nominees: Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. As Brevet points out, only six of that film's characters were animated: Alvin, Simon, Theodore, and their female rivals, The Chipettes.
Avatar may not have a chance at winning best animated feature, but Brevet reminds us that it's all but guaranteed the Oscar for best visual effects. "Why is the CG in Avatar considered visual effects," he asks, "while the CG employed for a Pixar or DreamWorks film [is] simply considered animation?"
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The Shame Index recently retired as a sports fan, but he's not so far removed from the sporting life that this episode's significant charms were lost on him. How I Met Your Mother fans were abuzz a couple of months ago when news broke that Yankee heartthrob Nick Swisher would make a cameo this season. But in the event, the show was stolen by another sports figure: CBS's own Jim Nantz.
Awesome:
—Nantz: Time's James Poniewozik asked last night on Twitter whether Barney's dream interview, were his imagination not circumscribed by CBS's corporate imperatives, would have been conducted by Bob Costas, not Nantz. While Costas is the bigger name, and thus might have been Barney's true wish, the Shame Index isn't sure he'd have been the funnier choice. That's because Costas is funny—a quick wit, and a practiced raconteur of comic sports tales. (See, e.g., this endearingly lo-fi compilation of his Letterman appearances.) Nantz, on the other hand, is forever playing straight man to more lively color commenators and sports personalities. But Nantz's status as the milquetoast man-in-the-blue-network-badged-blazer is what made it so hilarious to hear him say things like "Over two hundred women, spanning six continents, 17 nationalities, 74 sexual positions, and not a single fatty." And "I think she has a thing for the Barnacle." And "You don't open an e-mail from Phil Simms in front of your kids." And "Our toothbrush?"
—The baseball gags: Ted eating a hot dog and calling for his beer at MacLaren's as if he were at a ballgame; the amazing pitcher/catcher consultation between Ted and Barney (he shakes off "the heater" and "high and outside," before deciding on the girl with the mini-burgers, "the slider"); the hats Marshall makes commemorating Barney's historic feat ("I was going to do shirts but then you have to guess sizes, feelings get hurt, it's a mess").
—The gradual realization that Lily, Marshall, Ted, and Robin had for long stretches of the previous eight years been using the same toothbrush. (Though how did this happen? How did no one notice when a new toothbrush appeared and they hadn't bought it? Marshall and Lily might have just assumed the other spouse had replaced it. But Ted?)
—Marshall's sudden realization that his use of a certain performance enhancing drug has led him to present a certain well-publicized side effect.
—"Barney's whole life is a cry for help."
—"Phil Rizzuto. Holy cow that guy had game."
—"Mookie Wilson: Is that a thing?"
—Barney's induction into the Hall of Game. Specifically, Marshall's wish that Barney's performance be recalled for generations, which set up Ted's sarcastic "Yeah, I'm totally going to sit my kids down one day and tell about how Barney nailed seven girls in a row." Which in turn set up Ted 2030 to ask "Am I a bad dad?" As much as we HIMYM fans enjoy Ted's stories, it's good for the series to acknowledge from time to time the absurdity of the conceit that he is telling these ribald tales to his adolescent children. The kids nailed the reaction shot.
Shameful:
—Cook Poo: Gross, vaguely offensive, not funny.
—More romantic embarrassment for Robin. When are the writers going to give her a break? Is she really going to be this hard-up until the not-so-eagerly awaited Don plot kicks in?
Don't look now, but HIMYM has a little streak of its own going: a nice string of episodes since the mid-season break. Or is it a jinx to mention it?
Previous Shame Indices: Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13
[Update, 9:12 a.m.: The Shame Index is ashamed to admit that he originally misspelled Jim Nantz's name.]
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The last ever episode of Dollhouse aired Friday night, with Fox shifting the finale from the show's customary time slot to make way for the season premiere of a reality series about a celebrity chef. And so another richly realized Joss Whedon universe comes to its end, not with a bang but with a whimper.
I count myself among the mourners. Whedon is a first-class TV auteur and his quippy banter, offbeat casting choices, and scrumptiously nerdy characters will always be welcome in my living room. I particularly enjoy his gift for the in-your-face metaphor: high school as hell vortex in Buffy the Vampire Slayer; law firm as demon nest in Angel. In Dollhouse, we meet a supergenius who plays with human dolls—injecting them with new personalities, dressing them up in silly costumes, and parachuting them into an endless variety of conflicts. Whedon has pretty much acknowledged he based the character on himself.
In nearly every Whedon project (Dollhouse is no exception) there arrives a climactic moment in which the specter of the apocalypse is raised. Full-scale doom. Fire and brimstone, blood and bodies. And there's always a ragtag pack of geeky underdogs who must save humankind. I admire Whedon's fearlessness in raising the stakes as high as they'll go, time after time. I also wonder whether—having watched a few of his own beautiful worlds die at the hands of evil entertainment executives—the end of the universe is the most personal metaphor of all.
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Three moments from the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards:
—Next week, when struggling to contemplate the most deeply ill-conceived Super Bowl ads, remember that the accounting-software company TurboTax has set an awful mood-shattering standard for all other sponsorships to be judged against. The company attached its name and logo to the countdown clock on the TV Guide Network's red-carpet show, thus inspiring upper-back tension among viewers jarred by a ticking reminder of a federally enforced deadline. This is no way to treat people who merely want to see Taylor Swift answer the important questions: "How important is it to stay nice? And how do you do it?! It's hard!"
—Stomping through her medley, Beyoncé followed her cover of "You Oughtta Know" with some dance moves further reinterpreting Alanis Morissette's female fury. On her two knees and her own terms, Beyoncé did a hair-tossing head-banging gyration. Cut to a shot of women wielding righteous brass in the horn section. Cut back to the singer, now swinging her mane like a weapon. She was an avenging-angel Ikette.
—While Oscar and Emmy trophies feature humanoid figures, Grammys of course represent obsolete playback devices. Lady Gaga surely had this in mind when shopping for her fabulously witty red-carpet outfit. Gaga's coup was to wear a dress that simultaneously honored the curves of a gramophone horn and gave her the aspect a futuristic humanoid statuette. Galactically cool within her deconstructed hoop skirt, she at once resembled Cinderella, Tinkerbell, and Cinderella Castle itself, starburst glinting hard beside an awesome architectural form.
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