What Your Spines Should Reveal About You

Apparently bookshelves are not supposed to reveal what you've read, but rather what the person you would like to be would/has read.

When hubby and I lost our libraries to a fire, there was a serious moment of gulp, holy shit. As two academically-minded types who in moments of low self-esteem could always count on the fact that we were book people, what did it mean to no longer own any books?

The first time I visited my future-husband's bedroom, I didn't check out the thread count on his sheets or the pictures on the bedside table. I went straight to his bookshelves. A summary glance picked out Foucault, Anais Niin and a book called "The Jewish Book of Why."

My conclusion?

Please god let this man be funnier than all signs indicate.

Of course, once I'd moved into that bedroom, I learned that 1) My guy had learned way more with his philosophy minor than I had; 2) He had a great sense of humour; and 3) He actually hadn't finished reading most of the books on his shelves.

When I added my fiction-heavy collection to his mix, our libraries balanced one another out and wedding bells soon followed. Well seven-alarm fire, then wedding bells.

When we finally settled into a new place with nary a bookshelf between us, our home seemed strangely empty (that also might have had something to do with the fact that our furniture consisted of two lawn chairs). Of course, it was only a matter of weeks before a pile was teetering beside my side of the bed; but the sight of books in our home has never brought us the same sense of ease and assurance as it once did.

I think what I realized when we lost all our hard- and soft covers of self-worth was that our books actually only reflect a time in our lives. And they take up a lot of space. And brief time and big space = nostalgia.

It turned out our books were nothing more than a 16 year-old's dried flowers collection. Beloved, cherished and expired.

Did I go out and buy some of the books I lost? If I wanted to read them again, yes. But we have a new rule in house: If the book cost less than $50, we get rid of it after we've read it.

And while my husband has taken to buying $1000 dodo books online so that his new collection can grow slowly but grandly, I continue to buy my humble little novels and short story collections and give them away.

Perhaps it's what we're willing to let go of that reveals who we really are.

Cause: I Don't Believe in Fashion

Yay! A new season of crazy thin girls running rampant through a city (in this case, New York).

Right away Marvita is all about asserting herself ("I'm back" she proclaims, making me wince for fear that she will the first eliminated) while Kim whines, "I'm not a dumb blond." And yet her up-speak suggests otherwise...

As the girls gather in a coffee shop, a hot courier boy drops off their Tyra Mail which is directions to their new loft in South Soho.

When the girls arrive at their new digs they discover the house 'theme' is What's Your Cause? As usual, bedding was not a cause that anyone in production bothered taking on, since there are only a limited number of single bunk beds and the rest of the girls are forced to share a giant bed.

Fatima starts to emerge as the resident bitch, telling the newly-named Amis (formally Amy) that she talks too much. But she tells her in a snooty passive-aggressive Omarosa sort of way by noting that not Fatima, but other people might assume that Amis is an idiot. Hm. Charming.

The Js arrive and take the girls on a bus tour of NYC, dropping them off in Times Square to do a Badgley Mischka runway show. While slightly amused tourists bundled in winter coats look on, the girls stumble down the runway in various sheer spring numbers. The highlight is Kim's admission in interview that her outfit cost a couple thousand dollars, which seems ridiculous to her since she doesn't "believe" in spending that much on clothes. Uh oh. Looks like someone picked the wrong cause.

After the show, the girls return home where a new high-tech mail delivery system has been installed. Yes, Tyra Mail is now delivered via the indoor electronic sign. So New York.

The scrolling electronic message tells the girls to head off to Elite Model Management where manager Neal Hamil and supermodel Paulina Porizkova are waiting. Paulina warns the girls that the industry will often tell them "hurtful" things, so she might as well get the hurting started.

Paulina points out zits, square jaws and smushy faces but the biggest insult is reserved for Dominique who she describes as a "transvestite Robin Wright Penn." Ouch.

After crushing the girls, Paulina cheerily wishes them a good time at their first photo shoot.

Outside, the Fab Cab (a stretched yellow cab limo hybrid) drives the girls off to the shoot. Fatima starts repeating all the criticisms Paulina expressed and Marvita exclaims, "I've never met a mean African until you." And as Marvita shakes her head, I really believe her.

At the set, Mr. Jay lets the girls know the shoot is to benefit the Reciprocity Foundation for Homeless Youth. That's right--the girls will pose with homeless women. So New York.

So the girls get wardrobed in outifts that look like Oliver! meets Galliano. Fatima becomes overwhelmed with emotion as she recalls the taunts of her classmates who used to accuse her of living in a shelter. Marvita uses her recent experiences as a homeless person to inform her poses. And Amis, well, she just jumps around and giggles helplessly.

Before the judging panel starts, we see Tyra's politically riveting homeless photo: she is looking up at the camera, a "Will Pose for Change" sign beside her. Tyra admits the photo shoot was personally important to her. Not because she knows or cares for homeless people (she refers to them as the people she used to "ignore") but because on the Tyra Show she once pretended to be homeless for a day. How do you do it, Ty-Ty?

The panel includes Tyra, Nigel the ever-glowing, Miss J wearing a Janet Jacket-esque military jacket with each of the girls name applied with velcro (for easy removing) and--surprise!-- Paulina Porizkova as the new Twiggy. Or, the anti-Twiggy, as she enters by pushing her way past the girls and twirling self-importantly in a purple gown I believe was once worn by Linda Evans on Dynasty.

Paulina is quick with her opinions. She disagrees with Nigel (calling him the "old judge") and praises Anya's photo for looking "homeless Russian."

Miss J has an obsy-doodle boy-boy crush on Dominique, gushing, "You are so drag-licious."

Allison is told her pilates training seems to be working against her. When the judges are alone, Tyra calls Allison a "wannabe Gossip Girl" but I actually think she's closer to the elitist girls of the 80s (Heathers anyone?)

Claire our breast-pumping mommy has the best photos overall but admittedly a lot of the girls look really good. Mind you, the girls always tend to look best in shoots where they are supposed to look like shit (cycle 9 cancer anyone?).

When Kim stands in front of Tyra for her photo critique, before the photo is even revealed, Kim admits that "the whole fashion thing doesn't interest me at all."

Pause. Clank! as Tyra's jaw hits floor. As Tyra's brain synapses to near-epileptic levels, she tries to make Kim feel guilty for taking a spot in the final 14 when other girls were sent home. Kim remains unfazed. Finally Tyra snaps, "Fine. Do you just want to go home?" And Kim smiles politely and nodding with an obvious measure of relief, says, "Yeah" and leaves the set.

In her interview at the Loft of Causes, Kim says modelling was fun, but the high price of clothing didn't sit right with her and her heart wasn't in it. And I have to say, right on, Kim. Instead of taking on female circumsision or child rape, you heralded a cause that actually should be addressed by those in the fashion industry.

See ya.

Meanwhile, Miss J tears up Kim's photo and rips her name off his chest like a misplaced panty-liner.

Tyra announces that a girl will still be voted home and it comes down to Atalya, a non-descript pretty black girl from Florida and Amis, whose goofy honesty is both kinda annoying and kinda endearing. Either way, she kinda stays and Atalya is booted.

Next Week: Makeovers and Confrontations!

Like 60 Minutes, But Totally Not

Here's a brief montage of interview clips with the ANTM girls.

Worth watching if only because it confirms that Allison is delusional in that scary cheerleader who murders sort of way and that basically none of the models make any sense when they open their mouths.

Tonight Twiggy-replacement Paulina Porizkova sums up the girls as "Bad skin. Smushy face. Transvestite," to which some fashionista mews, "You're fabulous!"

Let the self-esteems crumble!

ANTM: Class of '08 Commences

It's cycle 10 of our fave ANTM and it begins with a countdown montage of its best cat fights, botched makeovers, medical crises and runway spills. Because we all know the show really doesn't have anything to do with successful modeling...

So, foregoing limos or eco-vans, the 35 finalists are driven in a school bus to campus where Miss J and Mr. Jay welcome the new fashion students. Miss J is dressed like a headmistress drag queen and Mr. Jay is dressed like, well, a Miami club owner.

The girls are told they need to "make the grade" and are sent off to put on slutty schoolgirl uniforms, making the premiere of cycle 10 more reminiscent of Debbie Does Dallas than say, um, first day of classes at Harvard.

Brief on-camera interviews reveal Fatima, the Somalian, as a stand-out. The rest of the girls? Neh.

During Runway 101, Miss J demoralizes the girls for their awkward gaits, especially Lauren, a self-described punk from Brooklyn who looks like Dead Girl Walking.

Another standout during the walking lesson (for totally opposite reasons) is Claire, a gorgeous mom who later confesses to drinking her own breast milk to keep the jugs flowing while she's away from baby. I am not sure why she has to drink it, exactly, but she says it tastes like light soy milk which is only a carton away from tasting as good as vanilla soy.

A bonfire in the football field gets the girls excited (whereas I would have been terrified--hello Salem!) while being greeted by cheerleaders played by former contestants (including snaggle tooth Joanie and the awkward twins) doesn't really impress them.

Of course, when Tyra makes her grand entrance as the Homecoming Queen, with a crooked tiara and running mascara, the girls freak as if Carrie just telekinetically shut the gym doors. ARHARHAHHGHA. TYRA!

As one contestant sighs, "Tyra's just so special." Um, yep.

Tyra tells her "pretty bitches" that the lucky ones who make the grade are heading to NYC. But first, the girls must introduce themselves to the judges panel.

The Js and Tyra take their usual positions behind the table while the girls each introduce themselves and reveal those little dark nuggets of personality that make them 'stand out.'

Like Marvita, who was booted last cycle after confessing to abuse and rape. She's back after a year of therapy and claims that thanks to her pastor, she's got more Jesus in her.

There's also Allison, who kind of looks like a bitchy Sarah Silverman and claims that she is better than the other girls and better than the small crap midwest town she comes from. Guess who won't be voted homecoming queen in her senior year?

My early favourites for weirdness are Anya, who claims her accent is "beach surfer" although it sounds more like a Croatian lisp, and Jenna, a black girl trapped in a white girl's body who struts the runway as if she's cruising in her sooped up fly '07 Impala. She's like Fergie when Fergie still did crystal meth. Awesome!

Of course, while the girls take their turns with the judges, backstage cat fights are already breaking out. And, ewww, they are juicy! Fatima, the Somalian, calls the other black girls "ghetto" and according to Shalynda, Fatima means "ghetto" in the bad way (apparently there is a good way--who knew). Then Shalynda warns Fatima to back off 'cause Sha's a bitch. Fatima laughs all Iman styles (mwahaha) and tosses back her head and then pounces. "So if you're a bitch, should I call you a bitch?" Well Shalynda loses it and has to be held back! In episode one! Me-ow!

Of course, it's all hugs and kisses after Fatima confesses she was circumsized in Somalia and can never have sex with a man. Fatima cries and the girls are like, holy shit dude, and even I was like, wow. Crappy. But then Marvita asks something about doing it with girls and the whole group returns to a 'whatcha lookin' at bitch?' sort of vibe.

Class portaits are handed out and most of the girls that got any camera time were given a passing grade. At the commencement ceremony Tyra handed out scrolls of paper to 13 girls and then at the last minute hands out another one to Dominique, a tanned girl the others accuse of being a trannie. Dominique told the judges she survived being abused by her boyfriend and sort of summed up her self-worth as a "pretty package." (Maybe she can borrow some of Marvita's Jesus).

Next Week: The girls take a bite out of teacher Tyra's Big Apple!

Maury: The Trusted Baby Authority

Maury Povich, the king of daytime paternity tests, is hosting a baby name contest!

During yesterday's episode he announced the baby name pick of the day. It was Xavier, which is totally ridiculous because there is no way a Maury guest would:
1) Name their kid Xavier.
2) Know how to spell Xavier.

In fact, just last week Maury congratulated his guest on naming her daughter the 'best' name he'd ever heard: Dazzy'Ta. Don't even ask.

Would You Like Fries With That?

Greg Garcia (pictured to the right of Jason Lee), the executive producer/creator of My Name is Earl was busy washing toilets at a fast food joint while his fellow writers were striking on the street.

In a Hollywood Reporter interview, Garcia admits he always wanted to write about his experiences working at different jobs. He admitted that as a sitcom writer he spends most of his days locked in a room and that the work experience allowed him to "get back in touch" with TV viewers/Americans while earning more "life experience."

"This wound up a really positive thing," Garcia said. "It didn't turn me off from fast food. In fact, it was really the opposite. The place was unbelievably clean. The people whom I worked with were great. And the work itself was fun. Really. I worked hard -- cashiering, cleaning the bathrooms. A few days in, they liked me so much they asked me to join their management team."

I love that Garcia enjoyed the work.

Whenever I've asked friends what their favourite jobs were, I've never heard: the one I have now.

It's always the "gig at the pub in university" or "the summer I worked for parks and rec." There's something to be said about honest work. But more importantly, there's something to be said about honest work that you know you won't be stuck doing for the rest of your life.

CBC At the Forefront of African Fashion

Looks like my husband isn't the only one who digs the CBC logo.

The Strike is Over! Resume Couch Position!

As of midnight, thousands of writers began tapping out genius on their keyboards while lamenting how the strike means it will be at least another month before they can afford the new Mac Air.

Of course, despite the flurry of those fingers, there are then lines to memorize and shoots to arrange. So the big question remains: When will your favourite shows return?

Actually, I don't really care about your shows.

I just care about mine, which are, naturally, the most awesome shows on TV. Here's an airing date list, which NY Magazine will be updating regularly:

Dirty Sexy Money--gasp! They're thinking of launching it all over again next September rather than trying to reintroduce it now. Crap. How the hell am I going to survive March?

Gossip Girl--end of April (this is really more for my husband than me).

Heroes--September. Seriously? It was all I used to think about while doing yoga on Monday nights. Now I'm stuck thinking about my breathing. Hello boring!

Lost--execs are meeting today to discuss when the remaining 11 episodes will be shot.

The Office--April 10.

30 Rock--TBD based on Alec Baldwin's film shooting schedule. Huh?

Tyra Insincere? No!

On her show yesterday, Tyra strapped herself up to the lie detector and answered the pressing question on everyone's mind: "Do you think every ANTM winner deserved to win?"

Guess what the answer was?

Beyond the utter shock of discovering that Tyra is a complete phony, I am more struck by the predominance of lie detectors on American television (Maury Povich, the new craptastic Moment of Truth).

Lie detectors haev become to American ethics what diet pills were to weight loss in the 80s: a lazy shortcut that masks the bigger question.

Just as you should wonder what is being lost when you pop a pill and drop some pounds (is it fat, muscle or your brain's ability to operate while under the influence of amphetamine?), take a moment to consider what is being sacrificed by a reliance not only on lie detectors, but on the notion of telling the truth as the ultimate barometer of ethical goodness?

With all the focus on being honest, the ethics behind what is being asked (let alone what is being revealed) is lost.

As I told my husband last night, if he was the kind of guy who thought going on the Moment of Truth was the best way to ten grand, I wouldn't be sitting on the sidelines waiting to find out if he lied about saying he liked my ass.

I'd be hustling said ass out the door.

The Most Wonderful Woman of All

Did you know Wonder Woman is being broadcast weekdays at 3 on Sun TV?!

Do you remember how awesome this show is?

Beyond the awkward Lynda Carter jog and indiscreet prejudices inherent in the bad-guy casting (was every evil hitman in the 80s either Italian or Japanese?) Wonder Woman is everything this year's failed Bionic Woman is not.

First of all, Diana Prince, Super Woman's everyday identity, is quick to laughter, intelligent, professionally recognized and a snazzy dresser.

Second, the plots are simple and riveting and don't tap into any of our current social fears. Special laser rocks stolen from a astronomy lab? Right on. Meanwhile, last fall the Bionic Woman was trying to stop biohazards from being released into an American community on the behest of some Jihad. De-pressing! And scary!

Finally, Wonder Woman maintains a healthy BMI, wears full-bottom underwear, runs in public without self-consciousness, and owns a lasso of Truth that makes all the stupid boys tell her what they are really up to. Sigh.

Why aren't there more Wonder Women in the world?

The Son Shall Rise Again (and Kick Some Brother Ass Next Week)

Biggest Losers decided to take on food issues this week.

Instead of the typical product placements (mmm, this Extra gum keeps me satisfied all day) the show actually had chef Rocco Dispirito judging the contestants' abilities to prepare tasty low-calorie versions of his recipes.

While turkey bacon-wrapped anything is never appealing, I think Paul's carrot and green pepper 'palm tree' revealed something truly sinister about the military (which is where he picked up his garnishing skills).

In true black team fashion, Gillian's crew (after two of the them admitted to consuming less than a 1000 calories a day) ate properly for the week and dropped huge numbers, sticking it to the blue team.

Meanwhile, the annoying brothers were sent to the judging table and, along with the footballers, decided to split up the mother/son team and send mama Jackie home. Her 21-year old son Dan was left in tears that will inevitably crystalize into shards of back-stabbing vengeance.

Mark and Jay, the brothers sharing one chromosome, better watch their butts next week, especially now that Mark has a stress fracture. Easy prey....

Should Trailers Be Forced To Pull a Real Load?

The Guardian is reporting that movie-goers are walking out of Sweeney Todd, apparently mortified to find themselves watching a musical.

Seems that the trailers in England (similiar to Canada) fail to include any indication that all of Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter's lines are sung. Disgruntled ticket buyers have even gone so far as to complain to the Advertising Standards Authority.

I actually love that trailers rarely reflect the true crappiness of a film (the article notes that the recently released National Treasure 2 includes scenes that don't even appear in the film).

Trailers are like eye contact with a hot guy. Brief, exciting and almost free of mood-destroying dialogue, they hold all the promise of a shared life of love and sweat-soaked sex. Which is totally unlike actually going to see a movie, which these days is often like that awkward moment on your first date when you realize that pretty boy who you imagined would be funny and sensitive is actually really really dumb.

Kanye Smart Like That

Kanye has a book of Kanye-isms coming out and he's published a few of the pages on his blog!

Wisdoms from the inevitable bestseller Thank You and You're Welcome include "Be Leery of the Free Gift Bag" and "Getting Use to Getting Used." So true.

The book looks like a CD liner and reads like an annoying email forward. Like the kind my dad insists on sending that offer quotables from the likes of Mae West and Ghandi adorned with winking emoticons.

Why do I have a feeling this book is going to end up republished in calendar form?

Lost: Pops-ups and Flash-forwards

So I finally settled down on Saturday to watch the pop-up video version of last season's Lost finale, along with this season's premiere.

Oh. My. God. It was like tasting heroine after 8 months of rehab. So soo sweet.

While fans are divided on the pop-ups (which helped contextualize characters and scenes in the finale in an attempt by ABC to draw new viewers in to its insanely convoluted series), there were some useful tidbits of random trivia.

After the hectic, knuckle-blanching two-hour finale, the premiere was a little...less than totally awesome. I mean, rock on, Hurley, flying in a Camero through the streets of LA but it was just so depressing to see him swathed in a mental institution moomoo. And what to make of the "Oceanic Six" and the secret Jack is anxious for him to keep?

All these flash-forwards beg the question, why is everyone so eager to get off the island after 3 months of tropical paradise with no phones, emails or work. Sure, there are the occasional monster attacks and abductions by the Others but this might be a fair trade for crowded streetcars and over-priced restaurants...

Needless to say, I am looking forward to getting back to the island this week and findnig out just who the deceased Naomi was working for...