I’m Not a Cat Lady

Dancing With the Stars, Season 11: Week 3. Margaret Cho Is Robbed Again!

I'm really annoyed. I want to know what the judges have against Margaret Cho that they keep giving her The Devil's Number week after week. She is not worse than Bristol the Dancing Plank or rubber-legged dunderhead The Situation, yet both get higher scores. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It's Week 3. And it’s Story Night. You remember Story Night: It was the theme last season that brought us the nightmarish spectacle of a ghoulish-looking Kate Gosselin doing the paso doble to 'Paparazzi'—a sight we'd all sooner forget, but of course, ABC has to show us once again. So, in case you missed it: Enjoy.

Will this season's stars manage a trainwreck of such epic proportions?

Here they come down the stairs, all in some manner of extreme costume—our dear Margaret Cho being the most extreme in a fringed rainbow flag frock and a yellow-feathered headdress that's just this side of insane.

Bristol’s in a sparkly raincoat, Florence is channeling Maria from The Sound of Music, and Jennifer Grey is dressed like... Sarah Palin? Is this a wink to last week's Boogate?

Now that there are only 10 couples left, there’s more time to fill in this bloated two-hour timeslot—which really should be reduced to 90 minutes by now—so we get a super-cheesy opening number by a bunch of Russian dancers known as The Pros. Time to fast forward.

Onto the dancers. First up is Movie Star Jennifer Grey.

Last week's score: 24

The Story: Derek is hot for teacher. And he’s got some real-life experience: He had a crush on “Mrs. Foxy” when he was at in the third grade. Aww. All Jennifer has to do is be hot, which she doesn't seem to have any problem with.

Low Expectations Sequence: They’re doing the samba, it’s hard, Derek’s pushing her, Jennifer’s fried. But don’t worry: This chick has drive; she wants to stay on the top of that leader board so she’s gonna "kick this samba in its aaaaaasssss." (That's how she says it. It's a little creepy.)

On the floor: Kinky! Jennifer is Naughty Teacher, lashing young Derek with a ruler, dragging him by the ear, and then stripping off her sweater to reveal… a blouse that looks like it was attacked by wolves. Also: Those weird, chap-like fringed trousers. The dance, however, looks flawless.

The judges: Len loves the story and the choreography, but is concerned with the little “twiddly bit” that happened at some point that I sure didn’t notice. Bruno: "You are the sexy mistress of Cougar Town’s Academy of Samba!" but he nitpicks about getting tangled in the roll and something about a pivot, which I also didn’t notice. Carrie Ann: "Tonight you were slightly out of sync... And you had a big mess up in the  middle.” Still, they get three 8s.

Total score:  24

America’s Favorite TV Mom Florence Henderson

Last week's score: 20

The Story: Surprise! They’ll be dancing to 'Edelweiss' from The Sound of Music.  And guess what: Flo played Maria on Broadway wayyyy back in the 60s. And excuse me, look at her, she hasn’t changed a bit!

LES: Florence has never done a waltz like this, but seems pretty confident with this one—even though she's wearing a terrible striped sweater that looks straight out of Carol Brady's wardrobe. Then she starts talking about her late husband, John, whom she’s reminded of while practicing the waltz and when she talks about how she misses him, my eyes starts stinging. Consider my heartstrings plucked.

On the floor: Oh crap, after this slow, sad version of 'Edelweiss', le deluge. This song always makes me cry when I'm watching The Sound of Music, but while watching DWTS? I am so ashamed! Maybe it’s the wine. Anyway, I think Flo’s dance is beautiful: She glides and she twirls and she spins on one foot with the toes of her other foot nicely pointed. Very classy. Plus, she and Corky look like a little waltzing couple that used to come out of my parent’s old cuckoo clock on the half hour.

The judges: Each has praise with a caveat. Bruno: "Simple, effective, very very sweet." But: “You were stopping to get into a figure and then starting again." Carrie Ann: "I definitely think John is smiling down on you. Really touching..." But: "A little on the simple side." Len: "It was poignant, it was emotional, it was sweet." But: "The technique in your feet is nonexistent." He gets booed. And, no, Sarah Palin is nowhere to be seen.

Total score: 20. Flo gets only a 6 from Len. That’s rough; clearly, her flirting with him isn’t working.

Oh look, in the audience, it’s Kelly and Sharon Osbourne! I must say I love Kelly’s look these days. The platinum hair is working for her, and I am loving her on Fashion Police. Sharon, meanwhile—hair’s a little bouffy, girl! And the waxy face! She needs to take it all down a notch.

Superbowl MVP Kurt Warner

Last week’s score: 21

The Story: Someone’s having a bad day. Because their song is 'Bad Day.'

LES: Kurt’s a big guy. Can he be graceful and elegant or will he look like "a big tree running around on the dance floor"? Anna decides the perfect practice for him will be a little tea party with his two adorable blonde daughters and a plastic infant.

On the floor: There’s a Singin' in the Rain thing going on, with a brolly, some rain and, inexplicably, a red phone box. Kurt plays the guy who says “Come on, luv, smile, it may never ’appen!” to Anna’s surly Russian spy. Then he does a solo twirl with his umbrella, hoping, I guess, to evoke Gene Kelly. Not in this lifetime.

The judges: Carrie Ann: "It was so charming!" Len says it was lacking musicality through the arms but “everything else was penthouse.” Bruno liked the Brief Encounter scenario but he nearly clocks Len while imitating Kurt’s “frying pan hands.” 

The score: 23. Bruno brandishes the lone 7 with some relish.

Comedian Margaret Cho

Last week’s score: 18

The story: It's all about expressing pride, happiness and joy. And coming out!

LES: How is Maggie going to control The Face? Not only that, she’s on tour and rehearsing all at the same time. She's knackered.

On the floor: The song is 'Copacabana,' which totally explains the yellow feathers in her hair. Cute! And she is shakin’ that rainbow-flag dress! Maggie can do the hips, she’s all fluid and bouncy and happy, and not a Dragon Face in sight. She messes up the footwork pretty badly halfway through, but seems to bounce right back, which can’t be easy. They end with a bang of rainbow streamers, which she didn't seem to be expecting: She's tickled pink.

 
Look how cute her moms and pops are!

The judges: Len was encouraged at the start by the rhythm and hip action but “you lost it in the middle.” Bruno: "I praise you for wearing the rainbow flag, keep waving it, girl!" But: “You lost your timing.” Carrie Ann loved the story but “you lost control, it was like 'release the beast!'” Oh, bitch-bitch-bitch!

The score: The Devil’s Number again! Not one 7? Come on!

The Hills’ Star Audrina Patridge

Last week’s score: 23

The Story: A marine comes home to his wife in a dream. I think.

LES: This dance, a waltz, needs some serious emotion, and Audrina says she’s not used to showing her emotions. This from the girl who cried throughout rehearsal last week over her boyfriend, and never stopped blubbering over Justin Bobby on The Hills. Another problem: She’s got to try to figure out how to dance with these weird flesh bubbles under her arms.

On the floor: Drina’s a natural—she makes it look effortless. The arms are gorgeous, and look, no flesh bubbles! But sorry, the face is still dead.

The judges: Bruno: "Beautifully danced and beautifully played—a hit!" Carrie Ann has a quibble over her toe pointing but "the competition just got very interesting." Len prematurely announces: "That was the most touching dance of the night," even though we still have five dances to go.

The score: 26. Drina gets two 9s!

And now, a quick cut to my girl in the backup band.

Teen Activist Bristol Palin

Last week’s score: 22

The Story: Partner Mark is a homeless person; Bristol takes pity.

LES: Bristol’s scared to death and nervous about looking into Mark’s eyes and doesn’t know how to get into character and she giggles too much. Because she’s not a performer, remember? Remember? And she’s a single mom. And she’s traveling around all over the place preaching abstinence. Life is so hard!

On the floor: Bristol discards the sparkly raincoat and reveals... Another truly dreadful, homemade-looking dress. It adds five pounds to the five pounds already added by the camera. Very poor choice. As for her dancing, she looks extremely stiff and uncomfortable out there; she all but lumbers through it.

The judges: Carrie Ann: "Umm... That was a hard one." Uh-oh. She says her movement was quite lovely but the face “wasn’t happening.” Len says he told her to take a chance this week; she did, and he didn’t like it that much. Bruno says the execution is neat and clean, but "you’re not Meryl Streep yet. I know there’s something in there—show it to me, baby!” Oh dear, these scores are not going to be good.

The score: 19. Bruno throws her a 7. It’s a pity point, and it isn't fair. She does not deserve a better score than Margaret Cho. What's going on here—are the judges scared of Mama Grizzly?

R&B Singer Brandy

Last week's score: 21

The story: The Bodyguard.

LES: The tension in rehearsal is as thick as Maks's beard. Tabloid rumors abound that she and Maks hate each other, which they’re both desperately denying this week. However, it's not pretty watching Maks smack her around during rehearsal. No wonder she's  pissed.

On the floor: She comes out lip-syncing to this hideous version of 'Put It in a Love Song' and, I don’t know, I’m seeing Brandy the R&B diva, not Brandy the ballroom dancer. There's a lot of solo stuff in this performance: She dances around Maks rather than with him; she does that same chest-shakin’ shimmy she's done every week now; her arms are still snaking all over the place. She’s technically outstanding but it looks too much like music video choreography to me.

The judges: Len: "It had energy, it had punch, good hip action." But Len is very unhappy about the practice sequence: "Slapping her on the arse is not the way to train in my opinion." Bruno: "I’m starting to see the comeback of the diva! Way to go, girl!" Carrie Ann doesn’t condone “that kind of teaching” but “it worked!” She praises Brandy's arms. Didn't I just say there was way too much arm?

Total score: 24. I don't get it. I must be watching another show.

Disney Star Kyle Massey

Last week's score: 22

LES: Kyle and Lacey are given 'Take It To the Limit' by The Eagles. "Who are The Eagles?" Lacey demands. They chuck it. Hah! They get 'Falling in Love at the Coffee Shop' instead. Now the only problem is: Can Kyle be serious, soft and delicate enough for the waltz?

On the floor: Surprise! Kyle's very graceful: light on his feet, smooth moves,  good arms, sober attitude. But then, as they go into a dip, Kyle can’t resist pulling a goofy face at the camera.

The judges: Bruno: "You’ve got the likability factor sewn up!" Carrie Ann: "You just bring the fun to the floor! I loooooovvvved it!" Len: "Your acting level is very high, your performance level is very high, your footwork is atrocious, it’s non existent."

The score: 23

The Situation

Last week's score: 18

The Story: Something about a time machine, The Situation 2.0 and FrankenSinatra.

LES: Can The Situation find his musicality, remember his steps and be less pigeon-toed?

On the floor: They’re doing the foxtrot to 'Boom Boom Pow.' It's truly terrible. I’m so distracted by it I can’t decipher what’s going on—there's a giant beaker, flashing light, steam, and a costume change where Karina comes out all gothed up and The Situation, in a studded net shirt, looks ready for an evening at The Cock. There’s virtually no dancing, it’s just Karina twirling off the end of The Situation’s arm as he strikes various poses and walks alongside her. His rubber legs are not helping. He looks suitably embarrassed when the dance is over.

The judges: Carrie Ann: "You are baby stepping your way to becoming a dancer." Len: "If that’s the future, I’m glad I live in the past." Bruno: "In a very weird way, that was very very entertaining."

The score: 20. This goober got two 7s, and Margaret Cho got none? Wrong. Very, very wrong.

NBA Champion Rick Fox

Last week’s score: 21

The Story: Rick costs his teammates the latest game and he’s drowning his sorrows at the bar. 

LES: They're dancing the samba. Cheryl wants Rick to loosen up those hips and control those long limbs and be sexy, goddammit!

On the floor: Cheryl shakes some serious booty on the bar—not sure about her part in this story, is she a lap dancer come to make him feel better?—and then, whoa! Rick rips open his shirt and gives us full torso. Not bad, but he’s no The Situation, bless him. The audience roars: His booty shake is a crowd-pleaser and a wife-pleaser, too—she’s all “Yessss! That's my man!”

The judges: Len: "You’ve gone up a notch tonight." Bruno: "You’ve definitely got the hot cheek... We want to see more of that"! Carrie Ann: "It was hot, it was sexy, it was goooooooood!”

The score: 24

Who? Will go home?

UPDATE: It's between Bristol, who brings zero entertainment value, and Margaret, who brings fun and energy to everything she does.

It's Margaret. Words fail. The Plank lives to lumber another day.

Dancing With the Stars, Season 11: It's Never Too Late To Panic

Bongos, red lights, cheesy brass, that singer with the crazy African-style tiara.

It’s the Season 11 premiere of Dancing With the Stars!

I haven’t watched DWTS for a few seasons. I used to, religiously, because as an editor at a national TV magazine at the time, it was my job. When it wasn’t my job anymore, I stopped. And I might not have watched this season, either, except the TV happened to be tuned to ABC at 8pm tonight, and once I saw the lineup, I couldn’t turn away.

On with the show. Here come the stars:

Audrina Patridge, whose name always seems like a typo.
“Music legend” Michael Bolton.
Some rather chubby Disney kid.
NBA champ Rick Fox.
The fabulous Margaret Cho—oops, and she trips!
Brandy.
A flight attendant. Oh, wait, it’s Bristol Palin.
Somebody else, who? I missed his name.
Carol Brady!
Ech! The Situation.
Jennifer Grey.
And... The Hoff.

The camera pans, they boogie and shimmy around, Bristol Palin does a chipmunk smile and a coy hand-flap of a wave. She looks extremely ill at ease. Jennifer Grey looks very... smooth.  She’s seems to have borrowed  Nicole Kidman’s forehead. Johnny Weir could do a few nice spirals on that thing—even her partner, Derek, looks surprised.
First up, it’s Audrina, with her curiously dead eyes and her weird overly plumped lips and conspicuously fake breasts. And those teeth! Remember when Matt Dillon’s huge fake veneers were a big joke in There’s Something About Mary? They called him Chompers? How did this ever become a coveted look?

For the benefit of the countless viewers who have no idea who she is, Audrina says,“I’m best known as the fun-loving party girl on The Hills.” Um, no you’re not, sweetie, that would be Kristin Cavillari. You’re known as the silly little simp who kept letting Justin Bobby stomp all over you, season after season. And for getting your bobos done.

On the floor, Drina certainly looks the part, filling out her skimpy Big Bird–yellow outfit very nicely indeed, but she keeps her dead eyes glued to partner Tony Dovolani throughout the routine, looking for her cues—much like she did throughout her relationship with Justin Bobby.

She might be the whole package but the box is empty: there’s no expression, no passion, no oomph. As Bruno Toniolio says, “You look like a beautiful show pony that needs to be pushed to the limit and whipped into shape, my darling.” And a million men enjoy a very different  interpretation of that statement. Dead-eyed Drina and her teeth just stare.

We have the requisite witless chat with Brooke Burke, another vapid, siliconed brunette. Then Brooke announces, “You can call, text or log on to abc.com; Tom?” Why does Brooke throw back to Tom Bergeron in exactly the same annoying voice as her predecessor Samantha Harris did? For God's sake, girl, come up with something original! Try a downward inflection, perhaps?

Next: Kurt Warner, the NFL guy whose name eluded me earlier. Not exactly exuding charisma—he’s kind of a lunk.

I love how he’s all “I’m the first quarterback” on the show and then he gets on the floor and, clearly, he’s no Emmit Smith. As the dance ends, Kurt tosses his partner Anna Trebunskaya aside so he can stride manfully across the dancefloor to kiss his wife. Ick! Why does this strike me as arrogant?

Carrie Ann Inaba and Bruno go easy on Kurt but Cranky Uncle Len Goodman totally slams him, saying his dance has "very little to commend it." I have to say I agree.

Total score: 19

Next up, the Disney kid, Kyle Massey, who looks like a little Forrest Whitaker.

He's full of chutzpah, saying, "I'm gonna nail it," which is nice, but expectations are low—he’s the proverbial fat kid of the group, and since when is the fat kid good at anything? And then... Hah, you haters! He’s great! With his jiggly middle and all. Carrie Ann’s got her arms in the air, all “Whoo! I’m in LOVE,” and nearly gives Cranky Uncle Len a myocardial infarction when she leaps up to imitate Kyle’s shimmy.

Bruno says he wants to take Kyle home. I can't believe he's going there already.

Total score: 23

Hey now! Here comes Rick Fox, and he's all kinds of gorgeous.

He’s like Obama on stilts. And he’s partnered with win-or-die Cheryl Burke, who has to get special shoes so she can at least come up to his chest. Wow, Cheryl looks really different from the last time I saw her , and she sounds so adenoidal. Why do you suppose that is?

    
Cheryl Then                       Cheryl Now

It’s showtime. Will their height difference scupper them? Hell no! They’re good. He is wonderful--he's smooth, he glides, and shoots out those long arms—"hits his lines," in DWTS speak—at gorgeous angles. He’s quite a sweaty fella, though; jeez, he’s dripping.

But even Cranky Uncle Len is tickled pink. He LOVES it.

Hello, there’s Jamie Lee Curtis sitting in the audience. What’s she doing there? And is that Mark Burnett next to her?

 Total score: 22

It's time for Margaret Cho. I love her, I really do, but those goddamn tattoos. I try to understand, but I just can’t. So distracting.

She does her mom, which is my favorite thing ever--- and look, there’s her mom in the audience!

 
Maggie's practice session isn’t good. “You’re doing it like you’re sitting in the bathroom doing number 2,” pronounces her partner, Louis van Amstel, decorously.

On the floor, she punks us all by doing the Viennese Waltz quite beautifully—and promptly ruins it by pulling a Dragon Lady face and doing some insane semaphore with her cape, or gossamer bat wings, or whatever it is she’s got on her shoulders, like a constipated Madame Butterfly.

She turns it into a comedy routine, complete with pratfall.  Oh dear. Poor Maggie. It’s clearly a case of the old “I’ll make fun of me before you can,”and it totally backfires. Bruno says it best: “What the hell was that?”

Total score: 15

Tom introduces Brandy. There are a couple of old dears in the front row behind him. Bless!

Brandy's partner, Bad Boy Maksim, announces he’s is going to try to be a Good Boy this season. Yeah, right. Brandy’s has a wee crush on Maks. It’s cute, look at her face.

She wants him to be rough with her. All right! What a good match. On the floor, they look fantastic together. She’s a natural with “the lines” and she’s just upped the game. Didn’t we know she would?

 Total score: 23

Finally, the flop everyone’s been waiting for: It’s “teen activist” Bristol Palin, shakin’ her chest. Gah!

Poor Bristol, she’s a bit of a dumpling, just an average-looking young girl with a flat voice and not a whole lot of personality. As if we need the confirmation, she announces, “I’m not an entertainer, I’m not a performer”; in other words: I SHOULDN’T BE HERE. And, with some heavy-handed irony, her song will be “Mama Told Me Not to Come.”

It’s showtime, she’s in that god-awful sparkly flight attendant’s suit and then, The Big Reveal. She busts out of it and underneath is a harlot-red mini fringed number.

Bristol can shake that fringe all she wants, she's as sexy as a little girl in a children’s beauty pageant. For the dance, she only just manages to hit her marks. She gets a 6, 6, 6. The Devil’s number!

Total score: 18

Going to break: Florence Henderson flashes her abs and bra and says, "Look out, The Situation, I've got a 12-pack here." Love her. Can she please get the Betty White treatment next?

Back from break: There’s Jamie Lee Curtis again. WHY?

It’s Florence’s turn. She looks amazing, she really does. And she’s one salty old broad—which, unfortunately, is becoming a cliche for the over-70 celebrity set. During the performance, she does too much  showbiz face--eyes and teeth! eyes and teeth!--with a few truly bizarre grimaces thrown in. 

She’s a little stiff--I guess she would be, at 76—and she’s just okay. She gets the Devil’s Number, too.

Total score: 18

I’m skipping over Michael Bolton, I’m sorry. Sheesh, what a bore. And what a waste for cute little Aussie gal Chelsie.

Total score: 16

And now, The Situation. When The Jersey Shore debuted, I prayed that if we all just ignored it, it would go away. As usual, God wasn't listening: Now I see little Snookis and Situations showing up at my local Safeway.

The Situation is really lucky he has that spunky spitfire Karina Smirnoff as a partner. He’s such a goober. He looks like Pauly Shore's little brother, tell me if I’m wrong.

On the floor, with his random orangutan-like ceiling pointing and white-man's overbite, he’s painful to watch when he first comes out.

  But then... He’s not so terrible! He actually gets some proper cha-cha footwork in there. And—oh how I hate to say this, it actually hurts—he’s likable. I have a feeling he’s going to become a favorite.

Cranky Uncle Len’s Quote of the Week: “Did I tell you you’ve got the guns but not the ammunition?” Priceless.

Total score: 15

Next: Jennifer Grey, “the actress who’s starred in some of the most iconic movies of the 80s.” Pardon? I can only count two:  Dirty Dancing and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I'm sorry, but two does qualify as “some.”

Over the years I have read so much about Jennifer Grey’s nose job that all I can see when I look at her now is nose job. And the botox! Really, I hardly recognize her.

They've gone and picked a Dirty Dancing song for her, and she gets all overcome about Patrick Swayze. Bound to happen, right? So we start off with her dance on a very sober note.

She’s flawless. And she definitely gets the sympathy vote.

And there’s Jamie Lee again, clapping like crazy. Is this show sponsored by Activia? Enough with her already!

Carrie Ann is all choked up over Jennifer's performance, but then says, somewhat tactlessly: “Some things get better with age and I think you’re one of them.” Thanks sister! Jennifer looks at her like, "Oh, really?"

Total score: 24

Last, and quite possibly least, here comes The Hoff. I’m scared to watch this. I hate seeing the token Aging Dude talk about his body letting him down, it’s depressing. His rehearsal is awkward. So is his performance, where he’s not so much channeling Las Vegas Elvis as a Las Vegas Elvis impersonator.

He’s terrible, but kind of fun to watch. One thing about The Hoff, he’s knows how to laugh at himself.

But the judges aren’t laughing; in fact, Len is holding his head. “It’s never too early to panic,” he intones. Bruno calls it “a potpourri of insanity disguised as dance,” prompting much mirth about the way he pronounces potpourri.

Total score: 15

UPDATE: Results Show

It's between The Hoff and Kyle. The Hoff goes home.

Oldsters Not Going Loco For Geo Loco, For Obvious Reasons

Today the New York Times has a report on how "the mainstream" has been slow to latch onto the booming new geolocation trend flaunted by the likes of Google, Foursquare, Gowalla, Shopkick and, most recently, Facebook. As reporters Claire Cain Miller and Jenna Wortham explain, GeoLoco is the Next Big Thing that's sputtering a little at takeoff:

Venture capitalists have poured $115 million into location start-ups since last year, according to the National Venture Capital Association, and companies like Starbucks and Gap have offered special deals to users of such services who visited their stores.

But for all the attention and money these apps and Web sites are getting, adoption has so far been largely confined to pockets of young, technically adept urbanites. Just 4 percent of Americans have tried location-based services, and 1 percent use them weekly, according to Forrester Research. Eighty percent of those who have tried them are men, and 70 percent are between 19 and 35.

I just have to wonder why anyone would think that this technology would appeal to anyone but a younger demo. Interviews with a couple of thirtysomethings reveal a general reluctance to broadcast where they are at all times stemming from common-sense concerns about safety and security that come with the aging-out-of-early-adulthood process. Some over-30s are drawn to the Shopkick model, which offers discounts when shoppers check into certain retail outlets, but as for the rest of it, why would anyone want to share the personal stuff? As one mother admits, “We go to playtime, the park and the grocery store. My life isn’t exciting enough to broadcast where I am and what I do.” 

It's that simple, really. When you're in your teens and your twenties, your social calendar is full. You're running around with loads of friends, hopping from one party/bar/restaurant/club/concert/dodgeball game/what-have-you to the next. The male-to-female ratio I can't explain—maybe girls are less nerdy about this stuff? More concerned about stalkers? More partial to text?—but as for the age disparity, come on already! Once you get to a certain point in your life, you have other things to worry about besides appointing yourself the Mayor of your local Dew Drop Inn. Like, if you're lucky, a job. And, luckier still, a significant other. And then there are kids. Even if you don't have them, your friends—the same ones you used to run around with, bar- and club- and party-hopping every night of the week when you were in your late teens and early twenties—definitely do. You now have to book these friends weeks in advance just to commit to a babysitter and meet you for an early-bird special. It's sad but true: Your social circle dwindles as you leave your twenties. You don't need to check in to find out where all your friends are—you're not hanging out together like you used to, you are all no longer so spontaneous, and when you do get together, it's usually the result of a plan.

But of course the Times has to turn this into yet another piece about how Old People Just Don't Get Newfangled Technology. "Location services are catching on more quickly with young people, who have grown up posting personal information online," they state. And then they quote some idiot who says, "The magic age is people born after 1981. That’s the cut-off for us where we see a big change in privacy settings and user acceptance.”

No, fella. People born after 1981 are under 30. They're the only ones a location service like Foursquare or Gowalla would appeal to. Has nothing to do with growing up with both thumbs glued to a glassy iPhone screen. Does anyone honestly think that once today's under-30s grow up, get married and start having kids that they'll still obsessively check in to see if any of their friends are at the day care center dropping off the  little'uns, or at the Home Depot? My guess is that by the time today's Geo-Loco enthusiasts have reached that point, Geo-Loco as we know it now will be as hot as Friendster.

I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here Day 13: The Rise of Long Tall Salley

Well, the already-low numbers for IACGMOOH are slipping, but audience viewership was down last night across the board. Could it be all those poor wretches who weren’t ready for the big digital conversion on Friday? Whatevs, it’s a week since the departure of the Desperate Duo, Heidi and Spencer, and IACGMOOH’s numbers haven't plunged all that much. Last night's two-hour extravaganza begins with drama: The set is besieged by a major tropical storm! Damien and Myleene's cushy little studio location has been flooded! Everyone's hair is frizzy! In this weather, Damien promises us, literally anything can happen. Literally!

But not till we've recapped what happened waaayyyy back on Thursday night: Daniel Baldwin was voted off. We get a post-mortem of his brutal execution. His little bro Stephen  is so choked up about it, he can't even swallow right now. Just like LouDi back in that nasty food challenge. They need to do a swallowing trial; that's one Janice Dickinson would totally take.

And here she is, with her kabuki eyebrows again, rasping to camera, "I couldn't be happier that Daniel Baldwin is gone because he's a big bully." We cut to everyone in camp wringing their hands over Big Bad Daniel's absence. Everyone but a jubilant J-Dick, of course. Stevie B. says he'd better not catch anyone going through his big brother's things. J-Dick barks, "I already did!" "You went through his stuff?" gasps Stevie B. "Hells to the yes!" she ripostes.

Okay, off topic for a minute: J-Dick has to be the only person in the land who is still using Whitney Houston's cracky catchphrase from Being Bobby Brown way back in 2005. I don't know about you, but I've noticed that catchphrases don't have the same shelf-life as they used to. Everyone was saying "Hell to the no" when BBB came out. When's the last time you heard it? That's four relatively short four years ago. Expressions like "way... no way" and "...not!" from SNL's Wayne's World were all over the mainstream for almost two decades; variations on Jerry Maguire's "you had me at hello" are still being written into scripts. But remember when everyone was saying "high five!" and "sexytime" after Borat just a couple of years ago? Wouldn't you feel like the proverbial douche saying them now? And wouldn't you feel like an even bigger douche uttering any single line from Juno, like the execrable "honest to blog"?

But I digress; back to J-Dick. She's lying on her back and rasping out orders from her sticky glossed lips non-stop. She's aged yet another five years over the weekend; the perma-scowl is not helping, nor is that cooking oil she's got slathered all over her face. It's all about J-Dick and her vile temperament tonight. This is bad. The producers are clearly having a problem eking out a storyline if this is all they can come up with two weeks in.

And then, more wind-baggery. In an effort to lecture sweet innocent Holly on the pitfalls of celebrity, LouDi harkens back to his heady heyday on La Bamba. Which he pronounces "Lammaammmbaaa" in that way people tend to over-emphasize Lad-tiiiiino names or words of any kind. J-Dick chimes in about TMZ going through her trash and robbing her of her privacy, which she pronounces "privvacy"— she probably picked that up from her British ex-husband Simon Fields. Patti rabbits on about her deadbeat husband again… She really wants that sympathy vote.

Out comes the scroll and LouDi's reading glasses. It's a luxury trial, and the reward is a massage. LouDi says he fancies getting a rub. I'll bet. Long Tall Salley wants one two. It's the two old guys versus the alpha chicks, Torrie and Patti. Muscle queens LouDi and Torrie go head to head cranking a lever to pull an ever-shortening plank out from underneath Patti or Long Tall. Long Tall tries the charming courtside trash talk on Torrie but he drops like a sack of bowling balls, yelling "Mutha—!" on the way down. 

Back to camp. J-Dick's lifting dumbbells. Word to the ladies: Want good muscle tone in your 60s? Take J-Dick's lead. Suddenly, she opens up to LouDi about her lousy marriage and her messy past. He's honored. Such a good daddy.

Again with the scroll and the reading glasses. Another trial. My mind wanders for a millisecond and I miss the details, but it's some kind of a scavenger hunt. Everyone has to find a particular item, all of which seem to be in J-Dick's bag: tweezers, hand-mirror, brillo pad. J-Dick sets off to find her item while clutching her crotch for some reason. They win smores.

Suddenly Long Tall is talking about leaving the game. He's too proud to lose and being on the bottom two last week shook him up quite a bit. "I'm not the white girl with the pretty face and the blonde hair," he grouses. Wow, bitter much? And also, by the way, do either LouDi or Sanjaya or J-Dick—none of whom has hit the bottom two—fit that description? I'm sorry but that is lame.

Sanji feels bad that Long Tall is down, though, so he offers to do the cooking and decides to fry some chips. Chips of what, it's not clear. J-Dick chides his one-chip-at-a-time frying style. He loses his temper for the first time and threatens to throw hot chips in her face. Well, she's already got the oil! Holly stands by her little man: "These are sowww good, Sanji. Soooowww goooouuud." Bleh. J-Dick takes a bite and announces, "You are Lord of the Fries." Every now and then, the old girl hits one out.

Coming up: What’s wrong with Janice? We see her doing something unspeakable. Has she got the crabs?

And... back. Long Tall retracts his idle threat and decides to stick it out and "man up". About time. Then old lady Dickinson waddles into the woods. Seems she's all clogged up. "I haven't had a shit in 7 days!" she rasps. Everyone but LouDi exits camp in disgust. She doesn't miss a beat: "I sure know how to clear a room, don’t I Lou?" She shows off her distended belly. She scarfs down the papaya and the prunes. Nothing works. " I’m surprised she doesn’t have some yoga pose that doesn’t make it come flying right out," yuks Stevie B.

Ooh! An iguana on a log. Finally, some new stock creature-footage. Patti's rabbiting on about Blago issue again. Fast forward. We’re an hour in. Let's get on with it!

The public voted Torrie and Sanji into the Tunnel of Terror. Sanji thinks the public want to see his breaking point. That's what you get for being so damn competent, Jungle Boy. Actually it's a joy to watch him kill it every time. So, we have  stars hidden in all kinds of scary places in an underground tunnel. Myeene warns: "You won’t be alone in there." Reeeerrreeeerreerrrrrrr! There's that screechy-violin noise from Top Chef and Kitchen Nightmares and every other reality show again. A few critters await, alright already, we know the drill, please stop that noise! In goes Sanji. And: spiders, iguana, snakes, oh no, a tarantula on his back, crayfish. Wait, crayfish? In the jungle? And then the weeny baby crocodiles. Watch out Sanji! They might bite your pinky toe!

Sanji, of course, kills it again. How anyone could crawl through an underground tunnel full of water and mud, in the dark, is beyond me, critters be damned. It's Torrie's turn. We hear her wimpering and gasping and breathing heavily.  I’m worried the neighbors will think I’m watching porn. She does extremely well but Sanji wins. The camera pans slowly up Torrie's mud-soaked frame, a loving journey from feet to face. Subtle. But I have to say, she looks as gorgeous coming out of that filthy tunnel as she did going in. She is stunning.

Unlike J-Dick. She's not looking so good. The campmates are worried about her and choose their words verrrryyy carefully. Patti: "She looked... really... frail." Torrie: "She looks....horribly sick." Stevie B. gets to the point: "She's sick, dude." Long Tall concedes that "she's not crying wolf today." Eat your words, mean campers.

But J-Dick isn't running for the jungle door. "I've made it this far," she whimpers. Girl's a trouper in her own messed-up, scowly, angry way. But she's sent to the medico. She’s got a virus. They're keeping her there for the night.

It's night at camp, and we've got on our night-vision goggles. Everyone's sleeping. Ooh! A snake slithers into camp. Some men in camouflage stealth-creep in. They're identified: "onsite security."  They’ve got sticks, they’re prodding in the bushes, Patti wakes up. They sneak off wordlessly with the snake. It's a bizarre little pantomime, completely surreal. Patti tippy-toes over to Long Tall's bed. He wakes up just long enough to exchange a word with her. "Did you see those ninjas over there?" she asks. "Snake?" he goes. "Snake," she confirms. He sinks back into his jungle coma, leaving Patti alone and awake in the dark.

Morning. The camp talks about the Great Snake Invasion. It finally hits Stevie B. like a mallet to his low-hanging brow that he's not on a movie location. Holly's hair is in a full-on frizz, she should have used her sister's dry shampoo. J-Dick comes bounding back. She must have had an enema: She is walking on air. The old-lady droop is gone, too. Amazing what a good movement can do.

Time for a new camp leader. LouDi's reached his term limit. We have a eulogy for him that goes on way too long—yeah, yeah, he's Obama, he's been cool, we get the point. We have a quiz stolen straight from Survivor—match the adjective with the player as voted by America. So we learn that America thinks John Salley is the hardest worker, the most famous, the best team player, has the best strategy and is the smartest. What was it you said about pretty white blonde girls again, John?  Plus: I'm not sure what show America's been watching, but it's definitely not this one. I'd have thought LouDi would take the vote for smartest, what with the reading glasses and all. Strangely, the majority of the campmates thought Patti was the smartest. And as if to prove it, Patti's vote for the most vain is "Stephan."

Long Tall voted for himself in just about every category so he wins. Ever humble, he declares, "I was already a leader in so many ways."

The camp plays "who's your best friend?" It's a lovefest between Stevie B. and LouDi. John's BFF is Patti, and she's all "right back atcha." Torrie and Stevie B. have bonded because they're both—take a guess—Christians. Holly and Sanji call each other out all googly-eyed. J-Dick, the gooseberry, declines to call out anyone... and goes off to take a dump. Which, under the circumstances, seems completely appropriate.

Immunity trial. But first, an IACGMOOH promotion. Get jungle gossip on your phone! There’s Heidi and Spencer. They’re still using them for the interstitials? More proof that NBC was bankng on them, hard.

Back to Damien, who shares shares a lot of irrelevant information about things we can't see, and... out.

photos courtesy of NBC

I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here Day 10: The Great Granola Bar Mystery Continues

I'm a Celeb was up against both So You Think You Can Dance and the NBA playoffs last night. How do you think it did? Yep, pulverized. So, anyway, we pick up where we left off—with the Great Granola Bar Mystery. The wrapper is found, outside the confessional. The Bully Baldwins do what they do best—asking Janice questions about it and muttering over and over again, really fast, “where’s-the-granola-bar? where’s-the-granola-bar?” and cracking up laughing, right in her face. She glowers and grimaces and scowls as hard as she can and avoids eye contact at all costs. It's taking quite a toll of J-Dick’s looks—she’s looking 65 today. Then Daniel shoots her a look that would turn a rabid Grizzly bear’s blood to ice and says, quiet seriously, “You’re dead to me.” Oh. This is not funny anymore; if anyone looked at me that way, I’d age instantly too.

We get a bug-bite montage next, with a night-clip of Long Tall Salley manically swatting some kind of prehistoric winged creature from his face. The camp is given bug patches and tubs of what looks like calomine paste. The guys' backs are covered in a Milky Way's worth of white dots.

Food trial! It’s a shopping challenge. Sanji and Holly step up because, you know, if there’s one skill this hre young generation has mastered, it’s shopping. They’ve got to push a bamboo trolley across a cable and pick off big pieces of fake food. Sanji, who sprints across as if he was born on a tightrope, kills it. There really is nothing this wood nymph can’t do. 

Back at camp, J-Dick is regaling the group with every detail of her career, all 85 years of it. “Is it time for Janice’s meds?” Meanie Daniel Baldwin asides. Apparently the game they’re playing now is “What was your career-defining moment?” Holly shares that it was when her sister Heidi invited her to L.A. after her step-brother was killed in Iraq. Actually, that’s sad. She cries, and everyone wells up with her.

Patti dashes from the group, because it’s making her think about her husband’s career-defining moment, which is probably going to land him in the hoosegow. She hides in the confessional to have a good cry. J-Dick is waiting for her at the door when she comes out, all ready to console her, but Patti cuts her off. “I’ve just composed myself, I don’t want to hear it.”  J-Dick is stunned. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” It’s a pretty raw and deeply uncomfortable moment. Talk about “let’s get real.”

There’s a silly segment about a potential romance blossoming between Holly and Sanji. The whole camp and even the hosts are rubbing their hands about it. Now wait a minute. Is it just me, or is Sanji unmistakably…. a wood nymph? Next: some of the campmates get to Skype home. Sniffle, sniffle, boring, next?

We’re live, time for the elimination. Holly, who’s been on the show for two seconds, is safe. Ben Silverman must have been working those phones. Torrie’s climbed up from the bottom; she’s safe. Cut back in time to last night’s dinner: Everybody except Janice sits around the campfire telling each other what they love most about them; tears and bonding, family talk, next?

Back to eliminations. Sanji is safe (he was right!), and so are Stevie B. and, shocker, Janice, who screeches, “Are yewewww kidddinngggg meeeee?” Patti, Long Tall and Big Bad Meanie Daniel are in the bottom. I’m convinced it’s going to be Patti. But no! It’s Daniel. He takes his dog-eared black-and-white family photo and says his goodbyes. J-Dick steals his last live-on-air moments by rasping in the background, “Say no to Prop 8! Say no to Prop 8! Perez can you hear me?” No teary goodbyes to Daniel from her. In fact, no goodbye at all. Can't blame her.

Coming up: the contestants compete in the Tunnel of Terror and to demonstrate how scary it will be, a tarantula attacks the camera. We’re told in advance that Janice will be exempt for medical reasons. Again? Are her health concerns mental or physical? Tune in for the next two-hour-long episode on Monday and maybe you’ll find out. But you probably won’t.

UPDATE: It was reported on the Huffington Post today that Stevie B.'s home in Rockland County, N.Y., has been foreclosed and is up for auction. Whoa. I wonder if that will come up around the camp fire.

photos courtesy of NBC

Fighting the Brain Fog

 Not too long ago, I lost both my parents—they died within seven months of each other. (They'd been divorced for 35 years and lived on different continents, but that's another story.) Both of them succumbed to dementia, for very different reasons: My dad's was exacerbated by a brain tumor, and my mother had vascular dementia, the result of a stroke.

It was devastating to see them this way, and it still makes me cry when I think about it too much. Plus, I'm now full of the fear that one day I'll be overcome by dementia, or maybe Alzheimer's, too.

I know I'm not the only one: Many of my friends are seeing their parents become feeble-minded, and we're all convinced that whenever we can't find our keys or stumble over a word, we're showing early signs. This feeling is possibly exacerbated by the fact that any time you flip past a local PBS station, they seem to be airing infomercial-like programs about the aging brain—The Secret Life of the Brain; Brain Fitness and Neuroplasticity; The UltraMind Solution; Change Your Brain, Change Your Life—ad infinitum, telling us all the things we need to do to slow down the process. (Take fish oil! Eat avocados! Learn a new language!)

Now a new report has been released by the Alzheimer's Study Group, headed up by Sandra Day O'Connor and Newt Gingrich (?!), to determine how to deal with a looming Alzheimer's epidemic (it already afflicts 5 million Americans and in 20 years, warns the study, Alzeimer's cases will increase by 50 percent). So, okay, I'm even more alarmed.

I bought a couple of books about keeping the brain flexible and even some CDs: They remain unread and unripped. But recently, apropos of something else entirely, I came across a weekly podcast called—heh—BrainCast, by the folks behind the BrainReady web site, which delivers episodes that run around 30 minutes running the listener through little mind exercises that they promise will help keep your mind sharp. It embraces all the tenets preached by the PBS brain experts hawking their pricey books and CDs and computer programs: Eat certain brain-healthy foods, exercise regularly and challenge your brain to do things it doesn't normally do—the surest route to brain atrophy, I've heard many times, is to stick to the same old routines. Which is exactly what every old person you've even known does.

I've listened to a few of these podcasts and they're kinda great: There are simple math problems you have to solve in your head (and I'm useless at math, I was always put in the dumb math class at school, so that's a serious challenge for me); visualization and memory exercises, and logic quizzes. It seems a little simplistic, but I swear, after listening to the 4th episode in the series, I felt a little clearer minded today.  Maybe it's just mind over matter. But maybe that's exactly the point.

An experiment: I'm going to listen to an episode or two a day until I get up to 20. I'll report back on my progress.

UPDATE: Okay, it's a week later and I was diligent with this for the first, oh, four days? And it's great! But, like everything, it takes commitment—there's homework, for instance, such as drawing a sketch of your living-room layout from memory. Then there's setting that 30 minutes aside each day to just sit still and listen. Harder than it sounds! Especially when you're also trying to carve out 30-minute slices of time all day long for other tasks, like going for a morning run or filing for a tax extension or eating some goddamn lunch.  But I did buy the matcha green tea and have integrated dark chocolate and walnuts into my diet. Brain foods, ya know. That's something!