Dancing with the Stars

Okay, so like we're in some sort of TV Renaissance or something cuz there are like a ton of shows that are a must watch. Project Runway is like waaay compelling. I mean how could a show fail when it combines fashion, catty remarks, models, fashion, designers, and more fashion. It's like almost perfect. Grey's Anatomy is also hot because it features all these good looking people who are given smart things to say. Oh my god, it might not sound like an achievement, but it is totally rocket science and way above the Hollywood norm. Like nearly every sitcom features some dumpy looking moron who is miraculously married to a totally smoking hot and with-it babe who puts up with the moron's juvenile antics. As if. Like I know Wonder Woman didn't really come from an island of teched up Amazons, but if such a place existed, it would be populated with women who escaped life as sitcom wives. So Grey's Anatomy gets a Buffy snout of approval.

But one of my favorite shows ended last night with the season finale of Dancing with the Stars. I was going to live blog it for those of you without TV or anything, but I was so caught up in the action that I totally forgot to type. And typing is like waaay hard for me, so maybe it was a good thing that I forgot, cuz it might have ruined my enjoyment of the spectacle or something. So why do I like Dancing with the Stars?

1) Like the most obvious reason is that it involves celebrities and that always catches my eye.

2) Even better, it draws on C-List celebrities who are amusing and easy to root for. I mean, come on, Joey Lawrence is like just looking for a cameo in a real film or a recurring character in a sitcom that will be cancelled. How could I not find his desperate effort to win a dance competition gripping? And it is kinda fun to see what they look like now. Did every failed teenage actor hit the gym thinking big muscles would help them land parts? What is the deal? Or did Mario Lopez make so much money on Saved by the Bell that he doesn't need to work and can spend all his time in the gym.

3) And since I am a semi-C-List star myself, I could totally picture myself on the show in a couple of years. The only problem is that I don't know what the judges would think of me. I mean, my posture is fine for a four legged aardvark, but my back isn't totally vertical or anything. And like I have four feet, which means I would have to learn twice as many dance steps as a normal contestant. And my tail might get in the way, sorta like Jerry Springer's age or Sara Evans' lack of coordination or rhythm.

4) The dancers are brutally hot and a few of the contestants are cute, too. Always a plus. But they should totally take out the older male contestants. If I wanted to see overly tanned, nasty old men dance poorly, I would book a trip on a Carnival Cruise or something.

5) And the dancers are hot, but the costumes are ridiculous. Oh my god, could the women look a little more trampy? I don't think so. And the guys look like mannequins dressed by a near-sighted leprechaun from the Castro. The fashion disaster in each dance never fails to make me happy.

6) It is always fun to guess which partners are couples. And if they aren't couple, how hard is the dancer trying to couple and how mad is the husband or wife of the contestant?

And that is just like a short list of why I love Dancing with the Stars. And I haven't gotten to the lame dancing so stilted you expect the rest of the high school juggling team to drop by. Like the show is a total tour de force.

And I was psyched that Emmitt Smith won. I've never watched football or anything, but he seemed really nice and totally devoted to his family. I can completely respect that. And Mario was like totally the opposite. I mean, it was tragic watching Karina talk about how the relationship was forever when Mario kept saying he'd have good memories of the show. You could tell that Karina thought it was love and Mario was wondering what Eva Longoria was doing that night. Mario is a heartless punk. Period.

Since I don't know much about football, like I thought I'd bring in Goofball to comment on the show. Hey, Goofball, you like wanna tell the audience about Emmitt Smith and his performance in Dancing with the Stars?

Goofball: Why am I being dragged into this?

Buffy: Cuz like you know lots of stuff about football and might be able to round out Emmitt Smith's history for us?

Goofball: Emmitt looked plenty round without my help.

Buffy: As if. Emmitt was totally ripped and you could tell that he still works out.

Goofball: I could not possibly care less about that show.

Buffy: Like I'm surprised at you, Goofball. I thought the show would be right up your alley. You dance.

Goofball: Yes, I do have some smooth moves in my repertoire.

Buffy: And you like football, don't you?

Goofball: I have been known to prognosticate and pontificate on the subject. I am have even opined from time to time.

Buffy: So like what is the deal? Why don't you enjoy the cultural masterpiece that was put on your plate every Tuesday and Wednesday evening?

Goofball: Let me ask you a question, Buffy. Do you like ants?

Buffy: Yeah, I am an aardvark afterall.

Goofball: And you like modelling, right?

Buffy: Like why are you wasting my time stating the obvious?

Goofball: Would you like to model clothing made out of ants?

Buffy: What type of weirdo scenario would lead to that? I mean I guess it would be okay. My fur would protect me from any bites and if I got hungry during the shoot, I would always raise the hemline by eating a few ants. So I guess it would be okay. Maybe it would be fun once.

Goofball: Okay, so that didn't work out like I expected. You like makeup, too, right? So what about makeup made out of ants? Or ants wearing makeup? How about that, huh?

Buffy: What's your damage?

Goofball: All I'm trying to say is that football and ballroom dancing are not like the proverbial chocolate and peanut butter. Unlike things do not always go well together. There is a reason they are unlike.

Buffy: And your point is ...?

Goofball: Watching the legendary Emmitt Smith prance around stage dressed as a holiday themed Chippendale made me sad. I don't care if he won or not. No one is a winner when Emmitt Smith is wearing green sparkly shoes, a vest, and bright green arm bands.

Buffy: I thought it was awesome and hilarious.

Goofball: It's unAmerican! Football is our national religion and one of the prophets of running backs has been sacreligious -- perhaps even heretical!

Buffy: Wow. You need to chill, Goofball. If I would have known that you would wig out in my post and everything, I wouldn't have invited you to join in.

Goofball: I didn't want to say anything, but you put me on the spot. Now that I have the megaphone, I would just like to say that the judging had less integrity than professional figure skating. Talk about rigged.

Buffy: You're like a total downer today, Goofball. I'm going to have to end this post. I still think Dancing with the Stars is completely awesome. It's get an extra special samba-themed Buffy snout of approval.

Another Election Down, Tenure to Go

The words "frustration" and "futility" can most aptly summarize my activities for the past few months. Any lingering hopes that my plight may improve dwindle each day.

There was a time in my life when I enjoyed elections. The exercise of democracy should constitute an inspiring occasion to celebrate human autonomy and the capacity for collective action. My classical training and general demeanor might suggest that I suscribe to Straussian / Platonic suspicions of democracy, but in fact, I acknowledge the empirical evidence that history provides in support of democratic decision making as a check upon poor governance. Somewhere deep inside my stuffing, I still believe that elections are good and important.

However, serving as Ozzie's academic mentor has stripped all personal joy from the election cycle. His work is so mind-numbingly dull to execute that I often find myself envying the plush hoi polloi lounging in front of the television watching Brother Bear. After negotiating and planning with so many groups planning to mobilize voters, I wonder if tired adage, "those who can't, teach" ought to be appended, "and those who can't think, politick." I bemoan the uncurious nature of my fellow teddy bears, but perhaps I should change my frame of reference and praise those I reluctantly call my family and colleagues. My observations over the past few years have led me to conclude that political campaigns run by teddy bears would be more effective, less expensive, and more high minded than those run by so-called "professional consultants." Even bears whose entire vocabularies consistent of one syllable, such as Moose --

Moose: Moose!

Er ... exactly. Even these bears would manage to raise the level of political discourse. I make this claim with no sense of hyperbole and deep regret. Ozzie has promised that once he is granted tenure, we will take a break from voter mobilization and he will assist me in writing my book: The Political Economy of Teddy Bears.

Since Election Day has passed, I can relax ever so slightly and turn my attention towards my other duties. The most critical of these is educating Ricky. Initially, I had high hopes that my efforts would craft a well-rounded scholar. However, I find after five months than my tutelage is for naught. Ricky's most developed talent is drooling and he lacks the discipline to focus on the project at hand. More than a few times, I have found my lectures interupted by slimy hands grabbing and chewing my notes or, even worse, myself. Quite simply put, educating under such circumstances is impossible.

I do not believe that my expectations are unrealistic. The zebras were feral when they arrived in our household. The zebras were a noisome, unkempt, and uncouth lot. However, after much effort, I managed to, first, tame the zebras, and then, in a feat of Pygmalian perfection, taught a zebra to read and write. I will admit that grammar and refinement are not yet the hallmarks of Taylor's prose, but he has made mighty strides in just a few months. Surely, if I can teach a zebra to dress himself, read and write in five months, a human child should be able to at the very minimum replicate the skills.

At least, the zebra didn't drool on me or chew on my nose. It is hard to maintain an aura of gravitas when your nose is being chewed upon.

Moose: Moose!

Sigh ... exactly.

Toy Testing or Indiscretion?

Um ... hello. I liked reading Goofball's excellent post about testing toys, but I thought something was missing. It's hard to figure out what is missing when you have stuffin' for brains. Then a little bird flew into the room and tipped me off ...



The bird was Goofball! Yeah, yeah, he dressed up as a chicken. Harriet thought he looked cute, but ... um ... everyone else thought he looked ... um ... ridiculous.



Um ... I think he enjoyed it. I wonder why he didn't post these pictures.