I will call only one name...

...or say only one word, and that word will be WHY?

Well, that is really directed at no one but myself.  It is my own fault I watch the show, it is my own fault I am mired in its shallow waters, and it is my own fault that I feel such a sense of shame about it.  I am talking, of course, about America's Next Top Model.

Why?

The show is ridiculous.  Really, it is.  In its many, many cycles (they are currently on cycle 16), they have yet to produce someone that is actually a "household name" or even "easily recognizable".  They are producing "Another Average Model", not top models.  But the false advertising is just one of its many silly parts. 

Tyra has swung back into the realm of normal human in this season, but in previous cycles she has exhibited behaviors that made me seriously believe she had some mental-health issues.  The "goddess" theme in cycle 12 was very what-the-crap.  The talking about herself for every possible situation...ok, that hasn't stopped.  The cycle where she wore a jumpsuit to every single judging panel?  Why?  And every cycle gives us another few moments of her doing some completely over-the-top "acting" thing that is supposed to have a point but never does.

Is...is this fierce?

The judging itself is 100% arbitrary.  They will tell one girl they are letting her go because she doesn't want it enough and another girl that they are letting her go because she wants it too much.  They constantly criticize girls that are not loud and crazy by saying that they have no personality (because apparently that's why models are famous.  personality.  not their bodies or anything).  They will fawn over hideous pictures of girls they like and pick apart great pictures of girls they don't like.  If you are strange-looking, congratulations.  Victory is coming.  If you are what the rest of the world would call "pretty" or "beautiful", you are in some trouble.

But really, none of that matters.  The judges know which girl they like early in the competition and once they decide who they want to win, performance has nothing to do with it.  This works great in situations where that person is actually skilled and likeable (Naima, Ann, Nicole, Danielle, Caridee...), but is infuriating when the person is average or obnoxious (Whitney, Saleshia, Teyona, Krista...).  Yes, I know, it is stupid to get even remotely invested in a reality show, but no one likes it when the bad guy wins.  We like to pretend that talent actually matters.  And you wouldn't think there would be any form of talent involved in getting dressed up pretty and standing in front of a camera, but I promise you, they will find a way to make it look like the most difficult thing these girls have ever faced (and for some, depressingly, it is).  Apparently, you can suck at being a human prop.  I swear, if Tyra tells girls to "smize" one more time...

Here is a brilliant diagram of what Top Model thinks makes a good model.  Thank you, cracked.com.

It's sad because it's true.

Then we get into the madness of what happens in the show.  Any given cycle is a crap-shoot of contestants.  You never know whether you will be watching likeable human beings or shrieking harpies trying to consume one another's souls.  Several cycles feature nearly no one for the audience to cheer for (I am looking at you, cycle 14).  All cycles will feature a resident bitch and several catfights.  And the structure includes the obligatory reality-show confessional booth where people say shockingly stupid and bitchy and just outright awful things to the camera, apparently forgetting that THEY ARE ON A TV SHOW AND PEOPLE WILL SEE WHAT THEY ARE SAYING.  You would think they would have some vestigial desire to be remotely likeable, but apparently not.  Every cycle you will hear someone with the "I'm not here to make friends" line.  While this may be true (it is a competition in theory), that does not excuse becoming the most-hated person ever.

The show also features various challenges.  Some seem to have a point (teaching them creative poses or how to conduct interviews), while others are clearly ridiculous gimmicks.  The worst offenders are the runway challenges.  Runway challenges have included:  walking a runway with a live roach attached to your body, walking on a foot-wide runway on water in a giant plastic hamster ball, walking a sped-up moving-sidewalk runway, walking a runway blindfolded, and walking a runway while giant pendulums are swinging at you.  It's like they are asking for some kind of injury settlement.

 This happened.

The photos range from cool to creepy to why-would-you-do-that?  I will let you pick the category on some of these:  being fake vampires in a bathtub full of fake blood.  Taking a picture with live snakes or a live tarantula on your face.  Taking pictures while covered in bees (yes, bees.  Those bugs that sting).  Taking pictures while dressed and made-up as a person of a different race (this has happened more than once).  I could go on so much longer, but that would be boring for everyone.  There are weird ones.

One of the more hilarious challenges is that each cycle, the girls have to shoot a Covergirl commercial.  They sometimes get prompters, they sometimes have to memorize scripts, but whichever case, I know there is no way it is nearly as difficult as they make it.  People completely break down, freak out, panic, sob off their makeup, go into curse-laden rants, etc.  I try to feel sympathy sometimes.  I understand stage fright.  I understand being dyslexic and having trouble memorizing.  But, seriously.  For the vast majority of contestants, it is not.  that.  hard.  It's just painful to watch sometimes.  Really.

 Stop it.

But you may ask me, "Calli, if you get so annoyed by the show, a show clearly designed to exploit the shallowness and vapidity of the fashion industry (which you also consider pretty much worthless), why do you watch it?"  And to that I would respond, "Largely, because I can't stop."  That's right, my friends.  I am addicted.  I feel shame, of course.  Embarrassment.  Frustration.  But I can't stop.  I must know what ridiculous thing will happen next.  I must know if there is anyone involved that I might actually be a fan of.  I must be there to yell at the Tyra on my tv screen as she turns every possible situation into something about her (hello, narcissism).  And I must talk with my friends about how ridiculous the show was tonight and can you BELIEVE what they did and how this person acted and who got eliminated?

It's stupid, I know.  But it's my guilty pleasure.  I know it is shallow.  I know that, very possibly, it is actively killing my brain cells.  But I don't watch other reality shows.  I don't watch jersey shore because it makes my soul vomit.  This is my pathetic little rant-session.

Speaking of which, I am going to watch the next episode right now.

 Don't worry, guest judge.  We don't get it either.

You are welcome.

I bequeath unto thee...

...an awesome way to waste time.

If you know me, dear reader, you will know that I like music.  I like it a lot.  And now, in the age of technology, I get to enjoy the videos to go along with all of my favorite songs.  Some of them are artistic and well-thought-out, some are pretentious, some are silly, and some are just several shades of strange.

Today, I am listing some of my most-watched music videos and the reasons why.  And believe me, there are reasons.

The first is a silly and entertaining song.  The music video to it can best be described as a renaissance fair on some bad form of acid.  Here is the "safety dance" by men without hats.

I would like to point out some of the awesomeness.  Observe the midget who dances along throughout the entire song.  Observe our singer's strange interactions with said midget at 0:23.  Observe the facial expressions on the hippie-girl at 0:40 which clearly demonstrate that she is suffering some kind of facial seizure (no doubt a side effect of some bad crack).  Observe our singer's overly-serious facial expressions at 1:06.  And the dance itself, demonstrated at 1:18 and continuing onward, seems to be some extremely aggressive mutation of the classic fourth position in ballet.  Always entertaining.

Next comes the totally freaky "Total Eclipse of the Heart".  For your viewing pleasure, I have included both the original version and the literal version of this ode to creepiness.  I highly recommend the second one.

I don't even know what all to hit on here.  What about how we see at the end of the video that she is apparently an authority figure of some sort at this school and seems to be having elaborate fantasies about the underage boys there?  There are tons of shirtless shots and I don't know what to say about the glowing eyes.  O, overly-dramatic music videos.  This music video is the equivalent of the poetry that middle-schoolers write when they are trying to be insightful that consists of them just listing every emotion they have ever felt.

Here is a music video that is mildly scarring.  The darkness has decided to let you know that they "believe in a thing called love".  I do sincerely apologize if any of you require therapy afterward.  But I still think it is funny.

Battling space crabs with disembodied singing heads in the background?  A vastly over-estimated sex appeal?  A furry towel-creature?  Mannequins in compromising positions?  Space-squids?  I don't even know.  They must have been having some kind of fun when they made this thing.  Or been some kind of high.  Maybe both.

I am going to veer into nostalgia territory.  I both apologize and submit a "you are welcome" for the following videos.

First, the backstreet boys would like to rock your body.  And they feel that the most effective way to do this is with bad acting, thriller-mimicking, and transformations into various halloween-type creatures.

I love all the ridiculousness of this video.  I love that there are random mummy-girls and the terrible facial expressions and cheesy dancing.  I love the truly terrible acting at the beginning and the end.  I even love the awful nineties clothes they are wearing at the beginning.  O, backstreet boys.  This music video does, indeed, rock my body.

For good measure, I am going to throw in the larger than life video.  They like doing the costume thing.  How nice would it be if things really had gone all futuristic at the year 2000?  I want a hovercraft-surfboard.  For real.

While we are on the subject of boy bands, I will be bringing up n*sync.  I was not sure whether their little puppet video was funnier or the one when they are ken dolls.  So I just posted both.

Both ridiculous.  Both hilarious.  And I thought both were totally awesome when I was younger.

Also, the second one does a great job of teaching us that important life lesson: Barbies are evil.  And they will ruin your life.

To cap off this blog of just terrible nostalgia, I am posting Britney Spears.  I give unto you: the ridiculous (and oddly prophetic) "lucky", "oops, I did it again" (how does she get into that body suit?), AND the song that gave boys everywhere an inappropriate school-girl fetish, "hit me baby one more time".

You guys are so welcome.  You are also welcome to judge me for the things I find entertaining.

Rock on.

Good Lord, that hurts...

...and I wish it would stop.

Today's blog follows my trials and tribulations, successes and failures at that land of mystical machines, pulled muscles, and inferiority complexes: the gym.

The gym and I have a strained relationship.  I will commit to it like it is my best friend for about a month and then suddenly, with no warning, I am gone.  I think to myself, "I have been so good.  Surely, it is no problem to skip today.  Besides I have something else to do."  Or perhaps something less positive, more along the lines of, "I have been working out for a month and nothing is happening.  If anything, I think I feel more chubby today.  I hate you, gym, and I am never speaking to you again!"  Or maybe it is something far less dramatic, like "O, I love this show!"

Though I often quit on the gym, I am occasionally provoked.  The gym is occasionally mean to me, the abuser in an abusive relationship, if you will.  Sometime the gym throws several tiny, beautiful girls with not an ounce of fat on their bodies directly into my path.  Sometimes these tiny girls get on the treadmill next to me and don't even go as fast as I do, but they still remain tiny.  Sometimes I see someone doing a new weight-lifting exercise and I decide, "Hey!  They are in great shape!  If I do that, I will be in great shape!"  And using the ever-popular "the more it hurts, the quicker I will be skinny" mentality, I often end up injuring myself.  Last week I remembered being in good shape when I was in soccer so I decided to do some of the old soccer exercises.  This was a mistake.  My thighs did not respond to my commands for four days.  It was unfortunate.

However, this time, I am trying so hard to be positive.  I really want to make this relationship work, gym.  I want us to be allies.  And, damn it, I want to be in good shape.  I know this is shallow and silly, but swimsuit season is coming and I refuse to believe that I have lost my potential to be hot.  I am irreversibly pale.  A toned form is the only thing I can possibly have going for me in summer.

I have been working so hard.  Ok, not as hard as I should because my workouts are tempered by strange forms of laziness.  I work out in the afternoons after I get off work because I am too lazy to do it before work.  I also usually go every other day which equals out to three or four times a week.  If I don't find a random reason to skip (but we're meeting people later and I won't have time to shower!  my hair takes so long to dry!  the kettleballs laughed at me last time!), I am there every other day. 

I am also not the most dedicated of healthy eaters.  Let's take this week, for example.  I was doing so well.  I ate veggies in creative ways (I made a vegetable curry!), we had lean meats or no meats, I got a veggie sandwich at subway (see?  sacrifices!)...but then the weekend came.  Tyler was out of town Friday night and I decided the only thing that could comfort me was a cheese pizza.  This might have been fine if I had not eaten over half the pizza that night.  Then today I had this soup from safeway that is just so delicious, but has enough fats in it to virtually equal drinking straight cream.  Why do I do this to myself?  I try so hard and then sabotage myself and whine about how I am not getting skinnier.

No more messing around, body.  I have been reading fitness and health magazines.  I have been watching labels on my food (and I'm going to pay attention to them this time too!).  I am going to use a kettleball without inflicting serious damage on myself.

The only other real issue I need to get over is people looking at me when I lift.  Last time I was at the gym, I was using the kettleballs for the first time.  There was a diagram right on the wall of some exercises to do.  I know I was doing it correctly.  But there was a guy standing directly behind me doing nothing but staring at me while I did those squat-things.  It was creepy.  I couldn't tell if I was doing it wrong, if he was checking me out, or if he was considering beating me to death with a kettleball and hiding my body in the sand of the volleyball pit.  I wish he had been aware that I was facing a mirror and could see him the whole time.  Seriously, don't look at me funny when I do these things.  With lifting, I am already half-certain I am doing it wrong.

I am not afraid of you, gym (it sounds like I am talking to a person.  My occasionally-abusive on-again-off-again boyfriend, Jim.  Anyhow).  I am coming to you tonight and I will be sweaty and gross and not as toned as the skinny girls you throw in front of me.  But I will be healthy!  I will be strong!  And, at the very least, I will reach that mystical point where I am not just seldom self-conscious, but never self conscious!

Your move, gym.