This year for Thanksgiving I am grateful for my wonderful family, my health, my baby-to-be, Twizzlers, the Red Sox failure to make it into the post-season, and J.R. Martinez winning Dancing With the Stars Season 13.
What I am not thankful for is the 2-hour finale starting at 9. Some of us are tired. Some of us are pregnant. Some of us need sleep, and staying up until 11 is mean. You could have started at 8, DWTS, is all I'm saying.
I've been predicting since Week 4 that J.R. would win, so I wasn't that surprised. But I did worry that the judges' collective crush on Rob Kardashian might create an unpleasant upset. Not that Rob isn't adorable and cute and a good dancer, but if J.R. lost it would be like shaking hands with Hitler: disturbing, wrong, and un-American.
J.R.: "Thank you to everyone who voted for me!"
Me: "YOU'RE WELCOME."
In one of many shockers of the night, Ricki Lake came in third place, but she seemed to be a good sport about it, which is good, because I remember when Layla Ali wasn't a good sport about coming in third and that made me lose respect for her which then made me afraid of her because I bet she could totally feel my lack of respect through the T.V. and wanted to reach out and punch me in the face, like it's somehow my fault she doesn't know how to lose gracefully. At least Ricki didn't do that, though maybe she did and they just didn't show it? No, I can't sleep at night thinking about that, so we're all going to pretend that Ricki was a graceful nerd with a hairy chest. Did anyone else do that rhyme growing up? "First is worst, second's best, third is the nerd with the hairy chest." No? Ok.
The biggest shocker of the night, in my opinion, was that J.R. did not choose his Samba from Week 5 for his third dance of the night. That was probably my favorite dance of the entire season. But later on, when he had to do an Instant Samba, it sort of made more sense. And he didn't do the Waltz from Week 3, but I kind of get that because it is super-emotional, and if it made me cry my eyes out and I don't even know J.R. personally and am not, you know, him, then I can't imagine him forcing himself to do it again.
So, whatever, he did his Jive and it was fine, but here's the thing: forcing the dancers to do 3-4 dances in two nights was just cruel. In spite of the judges' gushing accolades, J.R., Rob, and even Ricki just fell flat last night. I know, I'm not supposed to say that, I'm supposed to be all, "It was everyone's best dances ever and the crowning jewel in the Dancing With the Stars tiara of joy!" But I can't. Because that's a lie. Everyone was tired, and I think forcing Rob and J.R. to do an instant Samba was unnecessary and made me feel bad for them because they were clearly exhausted. At that point in the show I seriously doubt the Instant Samba made the difference in who won, and it wasn't fun to watch.
Know what was fun to watch? Carson Kressley's dance to Madonna's "Vogue." Well, it was fun if you ignore the fact that poor Carson can't dance his way out of a wet paper bag, but I still enjoyed it.
And I'm glad that Chynna Philips got to redeem herself with her Tango, but more importantly, I'm glad I got to see my Tony dance one last time this season. I LOVE YOU TONY YOU ARE TOTALLY MY FAVORITE PRO!!! <3 <3 <3
But if we're going to talk about the finals, and I mean really talk about the finals here in the intimacy of my blog, we need to talk about the freestyle dances from Monday night, specifically J.R. and Karina's lifts. Did they turn off the gravity in the DWTS ballroom for those? Is Karina hollow inside? IS J.R. REALLY SUPERMAN??? I think Carrie-Ann summed up those lifts best: "sick." In a good way.
Anyway, I'm at the point in this post-mortem where there is probably tons more to say, but I can't, because J.R. won and all is right with the world, and also I am trying to spend time with my family for the holiday week. Next season starts a few days after my due date, so we'll see if I am capable of doing these post-mortems. We'll see, but hopefully I will be back with these in March, despite a newborn. Priorities, you know.
Thanks for hanging in there with me, everyone, and especially thank you to my awesome husband for putting up with my obsession even though he hates the show. <3
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
...don't say anything at all
This being my second go-round on the Pregnancy Carousel of Suck, I am well aware of the fact that my baby bump tends to make other people stupid.
Oh, it makes me forgetful. Lately I've taken to a sort of Tara Gregson approach to what is commonly called "Pregnancy Brain." Like this:
Husband: "What's that actor's name?"
Me: "Oh, man. Non-Pregnant Meredith knows this off the top of her head. I'm going to have to look it up."
or
Form at the doctor's office: "Name:"
Me: *pulling out my driver's license*
The other day at the supermarket I meant to grab two containers of orange juice, and the next thing I knew I was standing by our shopping cart, checking to see if I had put one of them in there yet. Turns out I had only grabbed one, but the point is half a second after I would have put an oj into my cart I forgot whether or not I had done so.
While that's not nearly as bad as "How I Met Your Mother" would have us believe when earlier this season Lily gave a stapler and a bottle of wine to some trick-or-treaters, it's still not fun, especially when you usually have a mind like a steel trap. Steel! Trap! WHAT???
But, you know, at least I have the excuse of being pregnant to explain away my forgetfulness. Hormones, building a person from scratch, not being able to get comfortable when I sleep, waking several times a night to pee - none of that is good for the ol' noggin.
Know who does not have an excuse for being stupid? Other people. Especially other (non-adoptive) mothers. You'd think that, of anyone on the entire planet, other women who have gone through the whole pregnancy rigormorale would be a little more careful about what comes out of their mouths, but they aren't. They're pretty dumb.
First, there were the several women who told me how much better sons are than daughters during my first pregnancy. Around that same time I wore a pink t-shirt one day to work and a cashier at the drugstore commented, "Oh, are you having a girl?" Because I guess failure to create another uterus inside your own bans you from the color pink forever.
Then there was my former building super, who told me over and over how his wife walked for miles every day during her pregnancies and both her labors were, like, minutes long, because as we all know, walking is the one and only key to a quick and painless labor.
A pregnant friend of mine today informed me that she told a co-worker how she now goes to bed at 9pm, to which the co-worker responded with, "You need to get a hobby!" Because if there's one thing pregnant women are, it's bored, especially when you work and already have a 2 1/2-year old.
Today I treated myself to a pre-Holiday haircut and eyebrow shaping because even feminists sometimes like to look like pretty ladies, and the woman waxing my brows - who has four grown sons of her own - said to me, "Wow, you're only about a month away, aren't you?"
Now, my reply: "Actually, I have another four months to go," would normally embarrass and silence most people. Most people would blush and apologize, but not my brow waxer! She continued, "Wow, you're really big!"
I had no witty retort to that, so I just sort of shrugged and said, "Yeah, I'm carrying really high."
Which I am. I'm carrying so high that the baby may well come out of my rib cage ala John Hurt in "Alien," unlike my last son, whom I carried so low that by the end I had to hold him in with my knees locked together, afraid that a hard sneeze or laugh would send him shooting across the room.
So, I'm carrying high this time, but I still don't think I'm carrying particularly BIG, you know? And it certainly isn't the job of anyone else to comment on my size.
Which...bothered me, at first. As a feminist, I make a conscious effort not to fat-shame myself, which is why I can happily report that I am writing this while eating an entire pack of Twizzlers. But if I'm not feeling fat-shamed for that woman's comment, then why did it bother me so? And the answer came to me a while later: because pregnancy, like so much else concerning women's bodies, is considered public domain. Total strangers feel the need to comment upon mine, like the bartender at the Japanese restaurant my husband and I went to (DON'T WORRY, PREGNANCY POLICE, I DID NOT EAT SUSHI!), who asked me, "You're going to breastfeed, right?" while going through the motions of honking his non-existent breast.
Because ultimately, strangers commenting on whether I look big or small is really their way of commenting on whether they think my unborn child is healthy or not, on whether I'm taking care of myself - and, more importantly, my fetus - or not. I would like to think that it's heartwarming to see such an outpouring of community concern for the well-being of the unborn next generation, but I doubt these strangers are coming from an "It Takes a Village" place. More likely they are coming from a place of judgment, something almost every mother is familiar with. Mothers are a favorite whipping-girl of our society, starting with the nanosecond our baby bumps become obvious.
For those of you who need a take-away from all of this, here is a list of perfectly nice, acceptable, non-judgey things you can say to a pregnant woman:
"You look beautiful!"
"Here's a bottle of Macallan 18-year old Scotch* for when you pop that kid out!"
"Would you like a free foot massage at the expensive day spa nearby?"
"I hope labor and delivery go according to your birth plan!"
"That child is already so lucky to have you as a mother!"
"May your baby never get colic!"
"You're already doing an awesome job!"
"I've heard that chocolate in the womb helps babies develop higher IQs and love their mothers more!"
"May your child be the first gay Jewish-Cuban President of the United States!"
And, of course, there is what my husband tells me on a nearly daily basis: "You are one sexy pregger pants." He's a smart one, is that guy.
*I did not receive any compensation or requests to endorse Macallan Scotch Whisky for this statement, but if they read this and want to send me a free bottle anyway, for when I pop this kid out, I will not protest.
Oh, it makes me forgetful. Lately I've taken to a sort of Tara Gregson approach to what is commonly called "Pregnancy Brain." Like this:
Husband: "What's that actor's name?"
Me: "Oh, man. Non-Pregnant Meredith knows this off the top of her head. I'm going to have to look it up."
or
Form at the doctor's office: "Name:"
Me: *pulling out my driver's license*
The other day at the supermarket I meant to grab two containers of orange juice, and the next thing I knew I was standing by our shopping cart, checking to see if I had put one of them in there yet. Turns out I had only grabbed one, but the point is half a second after I would have put an oj into my cart I forgot whether or not I had done so.
While that's not nearly as bad as "How I Met Your Mother" would have us believe when earlier this season Lily gave a stapler and a bottle of wine to some trick-or-treaters, it's still not fun, especially when you usually have a mind like a steel trap. Steel! Trap! WHAT???
But, you know, at least I have the excuse of being pregnant to explain away my forgetfulness. Hormones, building a person from scratch, not being able to get comfortable when I sleep, waking several times a night to pee - none of that is good for the ol' noggin.
Know who does not have an excuse for being stupid? Other people. Especially other (non-adoptive) mothers. You'd think that, of anyone on the entire planet, other women who have gone through the whole pregnancy rigormorale would be a little more careful about what comes out of their mouths, but they aren't. They're pretty dumb.
First, there were the several women who told me how much better sons are than daughters during my first pregnancy. Around that same time I wore a pink t-shirt one day to work and a cashier at the drugstore commented, "Oh, are you having a girl?" Because I guess failure to create another uterus inside your own bans you from the color pink forever.
Then there was my former building super, who told me over and over how his wife walked for miles every day during her pregnancies and both her labors were, like, minutes long, because as we all know, walking is the one and only key to a quick and painless labor.
A pregnant friend of mine today informed me that she told a co-worker how she now goes to bed at 9pm, to which the co-worker responded with, "You need to get a hobby!" Because if there's one thing pregnant women are, it's bored, especially when you work and already have a 2 1/2-year old.
Today I treated myself to a pre-Holiday haircut and eyebrow shaping because even feminists sometimes like to look like pretty ladies, and the woman waxing my brows - who has four grown sons of her own - said to me, "Wow, you're only about a month away, aren't you?"
Now, my reply: "Actually, I have another four months to go," would normally embarrass and silence most people. Most people would blush and apologize, but not my brow waxer! She continued, "Wow, you're really big!"
I had no witty retort to that, so I just sort of shrugged and said, "Yeah, I'm carrying really high."
Which I am. I'm carrying so high that the baby may well come out of my rib cage ala John Hurt in "Alien," unlike my last son, whom I carried so low that by the end I had to hold him in with my knees locked together, afraid that a hard sneeze or laugh would send him shooting across the room.
So, I'm carrying high this time, but I still don't think I'm carrying particularly BIG, you know? And it certainly isn't the job of anyone else to comment on my size.
Which...bothered me, at first. As a feminist, I make a conscious effort not to fat-shame myself, which is why I can happily report that I am writing this while eating an entire pack of Twizzlers. But if I'm not feeling fat-shamed for that woman's comment, then why did it bother me so? And the answer came to me a while later: because pregnancy, like so much else concerning women's bodies, is considered public domain. Total strangers feel the need to comment upon mine, like the bartender at the Japanese restaurant my husband and I went to (DON'T WORRY, PREGNANCY POLICE, I DID NOT EAT SUSHI!), who asked me, "You're going to breastfeed, right?" while going through the motions of honking his non-existent breast.
Because ultimately, strangers commenting on whether I look big or small is really their way of commenting on whether they think my unborn child is healthy or not, on whether I'm taking care of myself - and, more importantly, my fetus - or not. I would like to think that it's heartwarming to see such an outpouring of community concern for the well-being of the unborn next generation, but I doubt these strangers are coming from an "It Takes a Village" place. More likely they are coming from a place of judgment, something almost every mother is familiar with. Mothers are a favorite whipping-girl of our society, starting with the nanosecond our baby bumps become obvious.
For those of you who need a take-away from all of this, here is a list of perfectly nice, acceptable, non-judgey things you can say to a pregnant woman:
"You look beautiful!"
"Here's a bottle of Macallan 18-year old Scotch* for when you pop that kid out!"
"Would you like a free foot massage at the expensive day spa nearby?"
"I hope labor and delivery go according to your birth plan!"
"That child is already so lucky to have you as a mother!"
"May your baby never get colic!"
"You're already doing an awesome job!"
"I've heard that chocolate in the womb helps babies develop higher IQs and love their mothers more!"
"May your child be the first gay Jewish-Cuban President of the United States!"
And, of course, there is what my husband tells me on a nearly daily basis: "You are one sexy pregger pants." He's a smart one, is that guy.
*I did not receive any compensation or requests to endorse Macallan Scotch Whisky for this statement, but if they read this and want to send me a free bottle anyway, for when I pop this kid out, I will not protest.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Dancing With the Stars Post-Mortem: Week 9
I was so afraid I was going to have to start this post with a giant, "NOOOOOOO!" because of J.R.'s ankle. What if I jinxed him? What if he gets the boot because of me? I was too tired to text in my votes Monday night and what if there's a huge upset on Tuesday because of my laziness?
Thankfully, I did not cause J.R. to get eliminated. If he had been, I'm not sure I could live with myself. With everything else going on in the news lately I am sorely tempted to move my family to a log cabin in the woods and live as solitary survivalists, and J.R. not making it to the finals may very well have pushed me over the edge.
Because he's still in, we don't have to break the lease on our new apartment.
This is how the world works when you live with me.
Meanwhile, my husband loves the DWTS finals because, as he puts it, "When that show ends, we all win." See, he says stuff like that, and yet he will also comment on the dances. He pretends to play Angry Birds next to me on the couch, but I think he secretly loves DWTS.
Also: MUPPETS!
Nothing on earth makes me as happy as the Muppets do. So Muppets on DWTS? It's like all my Christmases and birthdays rolled into one! Why aren't the Muppets on every week???
And Carson Kressley. I <3 you. Never leave the show!!!
Now, if I were Hope Solo, and I was pretty sure that barring Rob or J.R. or Ricki dropping dead I was going to be eliminated this week, you know what I would NOT do? Start my Paso Doble in chains. And sit on the floor in the middle of my Paso while Maks dances around me. But that's just me; I've seen a lot of seasons of this show and I know what needs to happen in the semi-finals in order to advance to the championship dance. Maybe Hope didn't know these things. Maybe Maks forgot? Maybe he was so busy holding her hand during her shoulder injections and trying to be a Nice Guy that he didn't think, "Hey, the semi-finals are no place for wasting time with chains and floor-sitting!"
Then again, maybe they both knew, which is why neither of them were at all surprised when Hope got eliminated last night. We'll just never know.
Their Argentine Tango, though....whew! HOT! RAWR!
Husband: "Doesn't someone do a Tango to that song every season?"
See? He pays lots of attention for someone who professes to hate this show with the passion of a thousand dying suns.
He also called her fringe pants during her part of the Cha-Cha relay "gorilla legs." I'm just saying.
Still, the sexy, steamy Tango could not save Hope from the merciless producers who have clearly wanted her to go from Week 1, but more on that later.
Now, J.R. sprained his ankle during rehearsals, but he took a page from the book of Ricki Lake - and also, let's face it, the dude is probably the toughest man on the planet - and kept going. His Paso was not his best dance, but I didn't think it was as bad as Len said it was. His footwork was surprisingly crisp and precise for having an ankle injury, and I've already said that I know from ankle injuries.
His Argentine Tango was also fine, and for a second dance on a hurt ankle, he not only pulled it off he actually impressed the judges. I knew they couldn't stay disappointed in him for long.
I admit, I was embarrassed for Rob when he and Cheryl came out on that parade float with the giant blow-up rainbow behind them. But I also admit that I kind of loved their Samba. I loved it so much that I woke up the next day with "I Go to Rio" stuck in my head, and sang it for my 3-year old son, the Juban Princeling, when he woke up, so we Samba'ed together from his room to the kitchen. It was highly cute. Oh yeah, and Rob got his first perfect score to this dance.
After Rob's Argentine Tango, the judges pointed out that Rob is actually a good dancer, and not hiding behind Cheryl, which is true. I've said before and I'll say again how much I hate when stars don't really put any dance in their dances and still continue from one week to the next, or even win the mirrorball trophy. I'm looking at YOU, Emmett Smith. When the pros don't have a strong dancer, they have a tendency to have the stars simply stand there while they do all the dancing. This is more obvious with female stars and male pros than it is with male stars and female pros, which is how Emmett Smith won a few years ago. But Rob doesn't do that, and I'm glad the judges noticed.
So, Ricki Lake. I like her so much, but is her whole "I'm no good at this!" schtick getting under anyone else's nerves? It's a little annoying, I think, to make it this far in the competition and still act surprised when you do well. She's like that friend we all have who apologizes all the time for everything, and at first you're like, "No, really, you're fine!" but then after a while you're like, "Seriously, stop. You're making me feel like a monster here." Ricki - you are in the finals. I think it's OK to be proud of yourself.
Anyway, Ricki and Derek did a Samba to "Jump in the Line," which is another song my husband is sure someone does a Samba to every season. And again: he hates this show and tries to distract himself every week when I watch it, but this he notices. Mmm-hmm. (I'm going to end up divorced after this post.) And I didn't notice any glaring problems with the Samba, despite Ricki's sour puss when she finished, and clearly the judges agreed with me because Ricki got a perfect score. So, you know, just smile and say "Thank you," Ricki. Oy.
Her Argentine Tango was excellent. Of course. Just...stop demanding external validation already!
Anyhoodle.
I'd like to take a second and point out how much I enjoyed the Design-A-Dance. Even my husband liked it because he is in love with Anna Trebunskaya. What can I say, he likes bossy redheads. I like it when the Paso costumes are more black leather and Goth-ey, it goes with the dance. (Husband: "Well, yeah. Gothic and Paso Doble go together because who do you think the original goths were, as in the Visigoths who ruled Spain?") I've also always thought that "Bad Romance" would be a kick-ass Paso song. And I was right. Of course.
In fact, some day when I am finally just famous enough to be on DWTS, here is my song list. Oh, I know I won't get to pick my own songs, but here's my list anyway:
Paso Doble: "I Love Rock n' Roll" by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
Samba: "The Rhythm of the Night" by El Debarge
Argentine Tango: "Common People" by Pulp (is that Sadie Frost in the video?)
Mambo: "Conga" by Miami Sound Machine
Cha-Cha: "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure
Jive: "Just Can't Get Enough" by Depeche Mode
Rhumba: "On and On" by Stephen Bishop
Quickstep: "A Little Respect" by Erasure
Foxtrot: "Galileo" by Indigo Girls
Waltz: "Angels" by Robbie Williams
Freestyle (for when I make it to the finals): "Say Hey (I Love You)" by Michael Franti & Spearhead
Learn it, know it, love it, DWTS producers. Also: if you pair me with anyone but Tony Dovolani as my partner, I will cut a bitch.
Yes, I've put a lot of thought into this, and maybe if I put this much effort into my writing career I'd be published already.
So, Hope Solo got eliminated last night, to absolutely no one's surprise, least of all hers or Maks's. You could tell by the way Maks embraced her before the announcement that he totally saw this coming. And so did she. She had none of Nancy Grace's (possibly false) bravado, and was not at all stunned to find herself in the bottom two like J.R. was.
And here's another example of inconsistency in judging. I know I'm not a professional ballroom judge, but I never thought Hope's dancing was as bad as all that. Len, Bruno and Carrie-Ann seemed to pick on her a lot when there were always worse dancers around. Hope was actually kind of good, though she had no shot in hell of winning. But the producers of the show clearly had their favorites, and Hope was not one of them. I think this might be what Maks - and, many seasons ago, Derek - tried to say, though it came off as a self-serving rant: that for some contestants, the odds are stacked against them and no matter what they do they aren't going to win. I hate to sound paranoid, but I do believe that's how it is on this show. There are fan favorites who stay voted on, but there are also producer favorites, kept around for ratings reasons no matter how poorly they dance. (See above, re: Emmett Smith.) And poor Hope was not one of the faves. Maybe she wasn't controversial enough or didn't have a famous mama, but clearly her fans kept her alive far past the point which the producers - through the judges - would have kicked her off.
So, we are nearly at the end of our DWTS run (husband: "Thank god!"). Next week we have the finals, which is always super fun because I like seeing what everyone chooses for their freestyle dances. Here's some free advice, Ricki, Rob and J.R.: don't do a slow song. Do something fun and fast and energetic. The slow songs are pretty much death knells in the finals.
Stay tuned!
Thankfully, I did not cause J.R. to get eliminated. If he had been, I'm not sure I could live with myself. With everything else going on in the news lately I am sorely tempted to move my family to a log cabin in the woods and live as solitary survivalists, and J.R. not making it to the finals may very well have pushed me over the edge.
Because he's still in, we don't have to break the lease on our new apartment.
This is how the world works when you live with me.
Meanwhile, my husband loves the DWTS finals because, as he puts it, "When that show ends, we all win." See, he says stuff like that, and yet he will also comment on the dances. He pretends to play Angry Birds next to me on the couch, but I think he secretly loves DWTS.
Also: MUPPETS!
Nothing on earth makes me as happy as the Muppets do. So Muppets on DWTS? It's like all my Christmases and birthdays rolled into one! Why aren't the Muppets on every week???
And Carson Kressley. I <3 you. Never leave the show!!!
Now, if I were Hope Solo, and I was pretty sure that barring Rob or J.R. or Ricki dropping dead I was going to be eliminated this week, you know what I would NOT do? Start my Paso Doble in chains. And sit on the floor in the middle of my Paso while Maks dances around me. But that's just me; I've seen a lot of seasons of this show and I know what needs to happen in the semi-finals in order to advance to the championship dance. Maybe Hope didn't know these things. Maybe Maks forgot? Maybe he was so busy holding her hand during her shoulder injections and trying to be a Nice Guy that he didn't think, "Hey, the semi-finals are no place for wasting time with chains and floor-sitting!"
Then again, maybe they both knew, which is why neither of them were at all surprised when Hope got eliminated last night. We'll just never know.
Their Argentine Tango, though....whew! HOT! RAWR!
Husband: "Doesn't someone do a Tango to that song every season?"
See? He pays lots of attention for someone who professes to hate this show with the passion of a thousand dying suns.
He also called her fringe pants during her part of the Cha-Cha relay "gorilla legs." I'm just saying.
Still, the sexy, steamy Tango could not save Hope from the merciless producers who have clearly wanted her to go from Week 1, but more on that later.
Now, J.R. sprained his ankle during rehearsals, but he took a page from the book of Ricki Lake - and also, let's face it, the dude is probably the toughest man on the planet - and kept going. His Paso was not his best dance, but I didn't think it was as bad as Len said it was. His footwork was surprisingly crisp and precise for having an ankle injury, and I've already said that I know from ankle injuries.
His Argentine Tango was also fine, and for a second dance on a hurt ankle, he not only pulled it off he actually impressed the judges. I knew they couldn't stay disappointed in him for long.
I admit, I was embarrassed for Rob when he and Cheryl came out on that parade float with the giant blow-up rainbow behind them. But I also admit that I kind of loved their Samba. I loved it so much that I woke up the next day with "I Go to Rio" stuck in my head, and sang it for my 3-year old son, the Juban Princeling, when he woke up, so we Samba'ed together from his room to the kitchen. It was highly cute. Oh yeah, and Rob got his first perfect score to this dance.
After Rob's Argentine Tango, the judges pointed out that Rob is actually a good dancer, and not hiding behind Cheryl, which is true. I've said before and I'll say again how much I hate when stars don't really put any dance in their dances and still continue from one week to the next, or even win the mirrorball trophy. I'm looking at YOU, Emmett Smith. When the pros don't have a strong dancer, they have a tendency to have the stars simply stand there while they do all the dancing. This is more obvious with female stars and male pros than it is with male stars and female pros, which is how Emmett Smith won a few years ago. But Rob doesn't do that, and I'm glad the judges noticed.
So, Ricki Lake. I like her so much, but is her whole "I'm no good at this!" schtick getting under anyone else's nerves? It's a little annoying, I think, to make it this far in the competition and still act surprised when you do well. She's like that friend we all have who apologizes all the time for everything, and at first you're like, "No, really, you're fine!" but then after a while you're like, "Seriously, stop. You're making me feel like a monster here." Ricki - you are in the finals. I think it's OK to be proud of yourself.
Anyway, Ricki and Derek did a Samba to "Jump in the Line," which is another song my husband is sure someone does a Samba to every season. And again: he hates this show and tries to distract himself every week when I watch it, but this he notices. Mmm-hmm. (I'm going to end up divorced after this post.) And I didn't notice any glaring problems with the Samba, despite Ricki's sour puss when she finished, and clearly the judges agreed with me because Ricki got a perfect score. So, you know, just smile and say "Thank you," Ricki. Oy.
Her Argentine Tango was excellent. Of course. Just...stop demanding external validation already!
Anyhoodle.
I'd like to take a second and point out how much I enjoyed the Design-A-Dance. Even my husband liked it because he is in love with Anna Trebunskaya. What can I say, he likes bossy redheads. I like it when the Paso costumes are more black leather and Goth-ey, it goes with the dance. (Husband: "Well, yeah. Gothic and Paso Doble go together because who do you think the original goths were, as in the Visigoths who ruled Spain?") I've also always thought that "Bad Romance" would be a kick-ass Paso song. And I was right. Of course.
In fact, some day when I am finally just famous enough to be on DWTS, here is my song list. Oh, I know I won't get to pick my own songs, but here's my list anyway:
Paso Doble: "I Love Rock n' Roll" by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
Samba: "The Rhythm of the Night" by El Debarge
Argentine Tango: "Common People" by Pulp (is that Sadie Frost in the video?)
Mambo: "Conga" by Miami Sound Machine
Cha-Cha: "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure
Jive: "Just Can't Get Enough" by Depeche Mode
Rhumba: "On and On" by Stephen Bishop
Quickstep: "A Little Respect" by Erasure
Foxtrot: "Galileo" by Indigo Girls
Waltz: "Angels" by Robbie Williams
Freestyle (for when I make it to the finals): "Say Hey (I Love You)" by Michael Franti & Spearhead
Learn it, know it, love it, DWTS producers. Also: if you pair me with anyone but Tony Dovolani as my partner, I will cut a bitch.
Yes, I've put a lot of thought into this, and maybe if I put this much effort into my writing career I'd be published already.
So, Hope Solo got eliminated last night, to absolutely no one's surprise, least of all hers or Maks's. You could tell by the way Maks embraced her before the announcement that he totally saw this coming. And so did she. She had none of Nancy Grace's (possibly false) bravado, and was not at all stunned to find herself in the bottom two like J.R. was.
And here's another example of inconsistency in judging. I know I'm not a professional ballroom judge, but I never thought Hope's dancing was as bad as all that. Len, Bruno and Carrie-Ann seemed to pick on her a lot when there were always worse dancers around. Hope was actually kind of good, though she had no shot in hell of winning. But the producers of the show clearly had their favorites, and Hope was not one of them. I think this might be what Maks - and, many seasons ago, Derek - tried to say, though it came off as a self-serving rant: that for some contestants, the odds are stacked against them and no matter what they do they aren't going to win. I hate to sound paranoid, but I do believe that's how it is on this show. There are fan favorites who stay voted on, but there are also producer favorites, kept around for ratings reasons no matter how poorly they dance. (See above, re: Emmett Smith.) And poor Hope was not one of the faves. Maybe she wasn't controversial enough or didn't have a famous mama, but clearly her fans kept her alive far past the point which the producers - through the judges - would have kicked her off.
So, we are nearly at the end of our DWTS run (husband: "Thank god!"). Next week we have the finals, which is always super fun because I like seeing what everyone chooses for their freestyle dances. Here's some free advice, Ricki, Rob and J.R.: don't do a slow song. Do something fun and fast and energetic. The slow songs are pretty much death knells in the finals.
Stay tuned!
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