Idol and Water

I felt the Cool in my url last week thanks to two outings.  The darling Soyan On, stylist for Idol, got me tickets to see an Idol dress rehearsal.  That is at 2pm the day of the taping of the show.  Waiting in the hot sun with masses of people wearing black (I was also wearing black, not very original) wasn’t much fun, but when we were let in we saw the mentor for the week Harry Connick Jr onstage.  I have always thought him attractive, but ALMOST LOST MY PANTIES seeing him in person.  Cha-ris-ma!

Ryan Seacrest doesn’t dress up, but the Idols do and they largely run the show true to time.  They redo some things.  There is a hilarious array of fake judges.  Fake Randy calls everyone dog, Fake Ellen likes everything, Fake Kara gushes.  All true to life.  Fake Simon barely gets to speak, so not so true to life.

For Idol watchers it was interesting, because Casey did sound MUCH better in rehearsals, than he did in the show later, which Harry Connick Jr told Ryan later in the live show.  I screamed from my granny gown in my room, “That’s right, he did.”

Actually they all sounded better in person.  TV kills the sound.

Later that day, Mark and I were picked up in a brand new Lexus and taken to a gallery not far from us for a dinner sponsored by Fiji water.   A rep from their company had asked me if MP would attend when we were at the Palm Desert food festival.  Being half in the bag as I was (see earlier post on that) I said, “SURE”. As it got closer, we were both like, “What’s this dinner?” I wasn’t sure what to expect, so when we arrived and I saw candles and champagne I was so glad Mark had worn his suit and I had worn my textured hosiery.  It was on one of MP’s few nights off so that was cool.  They called it Tastemakers of LA.  Other chef’s were there, Susan Fenniger, Mary Sue Miliken, lovely gals, both.  The last winner of Top Chef and Ilan Hall, who won TP before.  I made Mark twitter about him and generally promoted him around the room, so I will try not to be bruised that he didn’t return my email after he said he would be thrilled if my dinner club came to his new restaurant, The Gorbals, next month.  Sigh, whatev.

The dinner was also benefiting Meals on Wheels, a charity Mark has worked with for years. The dinner was cooked by Nobu.  He was there himself.  Pretty cool.

There were some designer reps there, but I didn’t know that until later.  Something I love more than fashion was about to eclipse all other wattage in the room.  In walked Mayor Villaraigosa.  I, being the daughter of a former local politician, waved him over to us ASAP.  We talked for while about wine, food, city deficits, the usual.  Very cool.  Then figuring we had monopolized His Honor enough we drifted toward the tables for dinner.  There were only three tables in the room full of chunky, rough hewn wood, concrete floors and rusted chandeliers.  I saw that the Mayor was at the head of one of the tables and who was seated next to him? My husband.  Well, hello, “A” table! I was on the right side of MP and across from me was Eric Garcetti, President of the City Council and his darling mother Sukey (for  those out of LA, you might remember his father Gil Garcetti was the D.A. during the O.J. trial). After 35 years working in restaurants MP seems to know everyone.  He embraced Mrs. Garcetti.  I’m thinking, I didn’t know you knew them.  Ends up her daughter had worked in one of his kitchens many years ago.

A rep from Fiji water was on my right and I asked her, “What’s this dinner for?”  She said, “We want you to have a good association with Fiji water.”  Well,it was a great evening of intelligent conversation and I regaled them with my tales of growing up with local politics, they could relate to the battles and such.  And Council-member Garcetti and I compared primary stories, he slogging through the snow in Iowa for Obama, me eating Chimichanga’s while working for Clinton.

My mom-self came out when I found out Garcetti was a Rhodes scholar, Naval reserve and he and his wife have fostered children.  I turned to his mom, “How did you raise this kid? I have to duplicate it.”

“Hold them them close and then set them free,” she said cheerfully.  Nice, but there has to be more to it then that.

We stayed late enjoying the hobnobbing with bold face names who were all fun and down to earth.  It was a good association.

American Idol Stylist

Here is another vid that is more cool, than mom. I did a segment with the gal who styles the lady singers on American Idol, Soyon An. She is also a costume designer and before joining the show she was the stylist on the Idol tours.  We liked her so much in our field segment, where she made me look like a rock star, she came in and was our 3rd chair on Fashion Team to critique the red carpet.  She is a sweet gal, a local Angeleno like myself.

Here in one minute we hear the challenge of her job, and how you can be your own (Seacrest pause) American Idol!

And by the way, this season, eh, not quite as good. Not because of the clothes, but the group, not that exciting and the judges have all gotten so nice.  Even Simon.  You can tell he is phoning it in.

American Idol

Despite our best plans to hold Western civilization together realty shows, have become a part of our lives. Well, most of us. From the higher brow like Amazing Race, to those put-a-bunch-of-white-trash-girls-in-a-room variety, at some point we watch them. The Bachelor? No, never liked it. Blech. Talk about setting woman back.

But American Idol? Well, you see where I am going with this. And what do you think of Ellen so far? I think she’s fine.

Out for George Michael

I use to say that I was a gay man trapped in a straight woman’s body. Particularly when I was a single woman living in San Francisco.

Bridge at Dusk #4
Creative Commons License photo credit: Pargon

I liked having sex with men, a few different ones. I collected mid-century furniture, liked vacationing in Palm Springs and my music of choice was deep house. The kind of music that makes you feel like a guy in a gay bar at 1:59 am, doing a popper and not sure who you’re going home with. Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa.

I still workout to house music when I can. And I still have some Heywood Wakefield furniture. But my neutered mom-self has lost touch with a lot of that former FAB! self. That is, until I was a guest this season at the American Idol finale. Sixth row. When George Michael walked out on stage, I screamed like a gal in 1963 for the Beatles, I screamed like you scream for ice cream, I screamed like a college grad at an Obama rally. I was that excited.

I think I’m unmoved by Madonna, or other pop stars. But I love me some George Michael. Which is why I was so excited to see the posting on The Poop from a guy who loves GM, talking about his favorite songs. Well, a CD of Michael just goes from one delicious morsel to the next. But, come on, there can’t be any argument really, right?  Hands down, “Father Figure.”

Dancing with a Toddler

Here’s what a dork I am. I just frittered away a good ten minutes of my life looking up the bios on Dancing with the Stars, and not just the celebs but the dancers and the judges too. I mean who is Carrie Ann Inaba anyway? I also wanted to know who that hot Latin “star” was. He was in the first season of Ugly Betty. He played the photographer who pretended to be in love with Alexis the transgender sister of Daniel.

As a host I can be very critical of my brethren. Initially I thought Tom Bergeron was a generic, white man, tool. But, he has impressed me with his ability to improvise. Samantha Harris is annoying just because she has great arms and a tiny figure 4 minutes after giving birth. Her job is kind of thankless. How many times can you ask, “The judges were kind of hard on you out there. How do you feel?”

I love DWTS. It’s a show I can watch with my daughter because it’s not scary (she can’t distinguish botched plastic surgery) and we often get up and dance during the show. Lately, DWTS and Ugly Betty are the only shows Vivien allows me to watch –with humans–without whining. It’s hard for me to even get to American Idol this season. After 5 minutes she says, “Momma, I no like this show.” And my old favorite Hardball? Forget about it! Not enough movement.