Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Jeers and loathing in Las Vegas

Far be it from me to give these two tramps credit for anything, but Paris Hilton and Britney Spears certainly had the right idea by bailing on Monday night's 2006 Billboard Music Awards. if you missed it, consider yourself spared by the clusterfuck of mediocrity. So the show already on a wing and prayer when it came to public interest went hostless last night, save for occasional voiceover from the the Mr. Moviefone school of TV announcers. On the plus side, that meant that the Bill-bored Music Awards could just concentrate on the music. On the negative side, that also meant that the Bill-bored Music Awards could just concentrate on the music. It's bad enough that they're dished out to the retail darlings who dominated the charts all year, so even a deaf-mute could predict the results long before the "nominees" are even made public. But yet, lack of comparable alternatives on the tube usually reels me in for the annual snoozefest despite the danger signs flashing before my eyes. Aside from Mary J. Blige walking away with everything but the kitchen sink, this year's edition was no exception.

Because it's all about control... so where is it?Opening the show was the FCC's favorite target, Janet Jackson oddly juxtaposing a classic in The Pleasure Principle with her cold and buried 2nd single, So Excited. What would possess her to take an anthem that had arguably the most memorable video routine of the 80's and amputate it as an opener for a song that's been performed ad nauseam on Oprah, the Today Show & Ellen already? And to make matters worse, using the godawful remix with Fatman Scoop's constipation wails drowning out the minimal trace of vocals (and I use the term loosely in this case) rendering the entire segment inaudible. Thankfully, her footwork proved that she still hasn't lost her touch, but for the love of all that's holy.... please hand Gil his walking papers as a choreographer already! The luster to the formerly showstopping steps have now dulled to a rusty halt. His fondness for that rigid poplocking only serve to make you appear like the next spokesperson for Icy Hot and far removed from the sultry stage presence we know and love you for. Reach out and dial Fatima Robinson's number. It's not too late.

She's crystalicious... she smokes that rock, rockFergalicious? More like utterly Ferg-ettable. Wearing a blue-green plaid petticoat/tutu fiasco, the poster child for iceheads ambled and staggered awkwardly through what's sure to be the newest addition to YouTube's greatest hits. Was she: A) battling a pesky urinary tract infection?, B) wearing the wrong heels or C) hallucinating at the hired help in blackface doing the Stepin Fetchit? My guess is D. She knew that Gwen Stefani was watching her swagger jacking from stage left and the poor muppet got scared back into a drunken stupor her sidekick (schlepping as the Black Dr. Seuss) couldn't snap her out of. It's one thing to lose the coordination with heavy dance moves, but to be afflicted with rigor mortis with the personality of a cactus? She can shake her ass and her boobs in the camera for music videos, but when it comes to stage presence, girl ain't got none. The director couldn't even minimize the damage with a bunch of zooming camera shots. About two-thirds into her song, she seemed to forget the words. But then again, it can't be easy to dance and jump around a lot when you're desperately trying to hold your bladder. I sure hope this chick's 15 minutes are up.

Pon de foreheadThe only thing she has going for her is the ability to hammer nails with her forehead. That's more of a circus talent so how the hell did Mumm-Ra wind up in the winner's circle as Female Artist of the Year? Maybe her #1 fan in Jigga Christ had a little something to do with that outcome. Ah well, jumpoffs of the world rejoice. Score this one for the side chick. Somewhere I think wifey's keying the bumper of the Maybach out of frustration.

When the entire free world's analyzed your left mammary in high definition, a bit of restraint is a good idea for walking the red carpet. However, raiding the boys' department at Bloomingdales? Not so much. The bat mitzvah-sized neckwear. The dinner napkin cufflinks with matching tranquilizer dart. The dated matte lip liner. And for Chrissakes, missing the memo about a month late in hopping onto the Anna Wintour bob bandwagon? S.O.S., please someone help!

So, how long did G-Stef have to jerk off that yummy hubby for just the right amount of protein to give the Judy Jetson 'do its Aqua Net hold? All of a sudden I've got the munchies for a Little Debbie swiss roll.

There's a rationale behind Denise Richards deciding to throw some goodwill towards birds flying south for the winter in that hornet's nest. And Heather be thy name.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 6:13 PM |


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