Elaine Stritch at Liberty
Ahhhh. There's nothing like a stage diva waxing musical about her golden years. Though from the looks of Stritch, we may be talking about sometime around the dawn of man. What is she, 108? Jeez. Still looks amazing in a dress shirt and black stockings, I gotta give her that. And the voice! Like aged whiskey poured over a carton of unfiltered smokes. No wonder Richard Burton once confessed to having an, um, arousing time at one of her matinees. And after this year's Tonys, it's obvious they don't make 'em like this Broadway baby anymore. Now they make 'em like a gay Wolverine and dirty Muppets. Which ain't bad either.
The Simple Life
Speaking of bad, I have a confession of my own to make. I adore Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. I know, I know. Let the stoning begin. It's just that they're so dumb! "What's a Wal-Mart?" "What does generic mean?" "Let's have a threesome!" God, it doesn't get better than two beautiful idiots screaming about a tick in their bed. Especially since half of us have downloaded proof that Miss Hilton has hit the sheets with far worse, right? However, I am a tad concerned about Tinkerbell. Anyone who knows my precious Pepito can testify that any Chihuahua that mellow has to be hitting some heavy meds. Little buddy.
101 Best Kept Hollywood Secrets
Whooaaa! Don King served four years for killing some guy who owed him money back in '66? And here I am thinking that 'do was his worst crime.
Last Comic Standing
Friends of mine loved, loved, loved this reality talent show last season, but I just couldn't feel it. There's something annoying about people trying to be "on" all the time. It's like being trapped with a bunch of overgrown class clowns all trying to out-geek one another, you know? Plus, the hefty gal who joked about resembling a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon needs to check her material. I was hatin' on myself like that years ago, before Weight Watchers clued me in to the whole tears of a clown routine. Go easy on yourself, honey. Even if judges Kim Coles and Colin Quinn weren't. Kudos to the 20 funnies who did make the cut... even John Heffron. How he's made it this far is beyond me. Nevertheless, Vegas should be a blast. Too bad Retha Jones got the boot, though. Her riff on dating shows had me fallin' out! Who Wants to Marry This Bitch? was perfection! You know that somewhere, Trash, I mean Trish, from The Bachelor is kicking herself for not thinking of it first.
The Simple Life
Oh my God, Paris can't figure out how to open the tailgate on her truck. I think I just peed!
Seriously, I understand that this is repeat season and all, but the hairdresser-unbound antics debuted last night and it's already been on three times! Between this and the endless Queer Eye reruns, Bravo might be required by law to switch names with Encore. Cripes. And since my Watercooler colleague Daniel Coleridge covered it yesterday, I'll spare you the review, except to say that Party Boy is right on. Hetero, homo, metro or whatever, Jonathan Antin is way too pulled and poreless for his own good. But I differ with him on bad-boy Brandon. The tats are cool, the 'tude is not. Give it a rest, champ. And save me a seat at the salon. I am so hooked now.
I can't wait for this one, just to see a Catholic-school uniformed Mandy Moore crashing into a huge neon Jesus sign. Maybe it's her penance for A Walk to Remember. Or the fact that I was an altar boy. But we probably shouldn't go there.
True, true, I took a few swipes at this one last week, so it's with a happy heart I report that tonight was a much better showing for Carey and co. Mimi applying for a job at a pediatrician's office wearing enough makeup to scare children into fits of palsy, Drew's boss using Kellie's place for his afternoon assignations. For some reason, it just clicked. Let's hope the gang keeps it up. After all, we're getting double doses of this all summer and I'd like to save an hour of badness each week for...
Ultimate Love Test
Oh, look. Brandon's crush, Brooke, booked a massage for them. Classy. I guess she finally figured out that sitting around jabbering about their "connection" was going to make it very tricky to get him naked, huh? "I didn't realize you had a girlfriend," she coos, all blinky and coquettish. Sure, blondie. Because it's so common for reality shows to sic women on unattached guys. Ho. You too, Brandon. Good thing Kenesha's such a poster child for emotional stability. That'll make your eventual reunion really comfortable. Not! Oh, and could you grow a pair, Diego? When even your pop suggests hightailing it to Cabo after screening the video of Amber slutting it up, there's a problem. It's called being a gutless wonder. And it's not sexy.
101 Best Kept Hollywood Secrets
Ohhhhh, Marilyn Monroe was sleeping with most of the Kennedys and may have committed suicide? Really? Please. That's not a secret. Now, Willie Nelson sparking up a doob at the White House... that's a secret. Oops. I guess not anymore, huh? Sorry about that, Will.
I am so glad I don't have kids, because I don't know if I'd warn them about this sicko Cops spoof or teach them how to set the VCR. It's a stone-cold, unsettling riot! And it's about damn time the second season got off the ground. Granted, we knew short-shorts sporting Dangle wasn't going to leave Reno for Carson City, but what a hoot it was finding out that nobody really cared one way or another. His sad-sack going-away party alone is proof that the folks behind the scenes need serious help. Not to mention the dog-shooting bit and Kenny Rogers' homoerotic dream sequence. Which is a statement I honestly never imagined having to write in my lifetime. God, I love cable.