Yeah, yeah, EVERYONE is blogging about Brit-Brit's performance at the VMAs last night, so I shall keep this short, and leave the real bellyaching to the ones with the gossip blogs. In short, this performance has finally kicked to death the last wheezing remnants of her career (or the hope that she'd get it back). She's been demonized in the press as a bad mother; she's been in and out of rehab more times than she's worn underwear; she doesn't wear underwear; she's having a fantastically awful time with her ex and the custody battles; she's gone postal on the press. This girl's nervous breakdown has been so public it's a wonder she's still as with it as she is. But through it all, there was always that tiny hope that maybe, just maybe she'd get it together and have that comeback. The single was released a couple of weeks ago and people said, hey, this ain't bad. Maybe Britney IS back, bitch.
And then, the colossal disaster of last night's showing at the VMAs proved otherwise. She was lipsynching -- ooh, knock me over with a feather for how shocked I am. That's by no means the surprise of the evening (that gal always lipsynched, even when she was at the height of her career...does anyone else think the past tense should be lipsanched?). People complained that she was this out-of-shape jellyroll hulking around the stage. Um... I WISH I were that out of shape. Most of the people making those comments would never dream of being in a bikini, and if they did, they should stop dreaming immediately. The real issue was just her demeanour. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but on stage. She wasn't hulking around the stage, she was sulking and slouching and wandering aimlessly like she had no idea where she was, what she was supposed to do, and what the hell song she was supposed to be doing it to. Her "dance moves" were a joke. We've all seen how she used to dance -- last night I think I could have outdanced her. Everything was lacklustre, like she'd rather get back to her drinking and partying than be wasting her time with these overchoreographed people around her. It was just sad.
There have been a lot of excuses from people -- she'd overheard Sarah Silverman's rehearsal where she referred to Brit's kids as the most adorable mistakes imaginable, or said at the age of 25 Spears had accomplished everything she was ever going to; the heel of her boot was broken; she was supposed to be doing a magic routine with Criss Angel and the MTV producers pulled it at the last minute and told her to just follow the dancers, so she actually had no idea what to do instead -- but it just sounds to me like rumours generated to make even more excuses for Spears. How does some blogger sitting at home know that any of this stuff happened? They don't. I just don't think Britney wants to be doing this anymore, and she's being pushed to do it. It's time we just leave her be -- maybe when she becomes a has-been, it might be the therapy she's been looking for. Britney is over.
The rest of the VMAs were as confusing and confused as Britney was at the beginning. I used to love the VMAs. I thought last night was complete chaos. Never watching again.
My husband and I watched season 2 of Big Love in about a week. And it was brilliant. If you're not watching this show, please please do. It's the cream of the HBO crop. It's got the family quirkiness of Six Feet Under; the wars between families of The Sopranos; the weird, insular political intrigue of Deadwood; and it's fun. After about two episodes of the first season, I still couldn't shake my befuddlement. How could ANYONE live like this? These women don't have rights, I thought. They're giving up their womenhood and agreeing to be barefoot and pregnant and sharing their husband with two other women so they can help their hubby get into the "celestial kingdom," which is a load of bunk as far as I'm concerned. Yet by the end of season 2, when Barb's family is showing their utter disdain and disgust for her polygamous lifestyle, I'm thinking, "How DARE you?" because I love her sister-wives so much. It will make you think about a situation you might never have considered before, but it will draw you in to a world that seems as normal as your own family. It's so brilliant. Season 1 is out on DVD, easily rentable or bought, and season 3 has already been ordered for next year.
Funny things I've read in the past couple of days:
In a pamphlet with breastfeeding instructions that came with a pillow I recently bought (the pillow I used on my first pregnancy was awful, and I swear contributed to problems I had), it said, "Make sure you wrap the pillow tightly around your waste." Ew. Why would I do such a thing??
I went to McDonalds to get a hamburger today (a staple of my diet for both pregnancies), and the wrapper was for a bacon cheeseburger. On the top was a sticker that said: Special order: bacon cheeseburger, no bacon, no cheese. O...kay. They probably could have made that one easier on themselves.
Last night, post-Big Love season 2 finale, we immediately launched into Friday Night Lights. I'd already seen the pilot, but it was a year ago when it first aired, so we watched it again and it was as amazing as I remember it being the first time. But it gave me that moment of "mother of a boy" anxiety that I'm going to soon have, where I look at the brutality of the sport and think, "I hope my son never takes up football... or hockey, for that matter." It's not just boys who can do the big contact sports -- one of my best friends in high school was a hockey goalie, and my sister-in-law sports new bruises every week as someone who practises Muay Thai -- but I think typically this is more of a son worry than a daughter one.
I had season 3 of The Office in my hands last week, and then figured I'll look for it at Costco. But it was hard to put down. On the back it said extras included Lazy Scranton, an interview with Joss Whedon, and Kevin cooking stuff in the office. How could I have put that back on the shelf?! I cannot wait to watch it again.