Ghost and Bird return, courtesy again of the fine folks at Nyquil. And, bye, Nick. Personally, I was a bit astonished at the umbrage the judges took at his terrifically androgynous suit. Yes, it has no pockets, and yes, it is a silky material—so what?? It’s 2006! Why must we bow to the conventions of yesteryear when they have absolutely no practical resonance today?
First of all, the pocket issue. Listen, I need a suit with pockets, because I carry keys, a wallet, a checkbook, a Blackberry, a phone, and a knife. Also? I do not need something so form-fitting that it doesn’t have pockets, because I don’t have the twenty-four year old/twenty-four inch waist of Daniel V.
He totally looked fine, though, and could easily carry a shoulderbag or even a clutch to handle all his gear. I am genuinely surprised at how conservatively the judges reacted to the no-pockets suit. Listen, the Replacements were singing in nineteen eighty-four about “here come Dick, he’s wearing a skirt/here comes Jane, y’know she’s sporting a chain/Same hair, revolution/Same build, evolution/Tomorrow who’s gonna fuss” in their great “Androgynous” from Let It Be. Paul Westerberg was comforting the unnamed subject of the song that in the future “Kewpie dolls and urinal stalls/Will be laughed at/The way you’re laughed at now,” and I would have thought the last people on earth to attempt to reinforce notions of “masculinity” would be the Project Runway panel of judges. I’m disappointed.
I’m further disappointed because I mostly dug Nick’s work, but also because Santino put Kara Janx in a freaking Blade Runner jumpsuit. It was ridiculous, and the arm fell off. I mean . . . come on. Come on. I know the producers want him for conflict value—and it seems they got their wish, as the preview hinted at Daniel V. venting on him next episode—but Santino just did not have the level of craft going than Nick.
As a last point, boys can’t like silky material? Whatever. Just because all my clothes are distressed cotton doesn’t mean I can’t believe that some boy somewhere would like that. Also? I have a new rule. If you are orange? You cannot speak to me.
Oh, well. In other news, the promising new season of Survivor managed to jump the shark last night in its second episode. I swear—I miss the first twenty minutes of a show, and it all goes to hell. And, yeah!! Don’t boot off the Junky! Oh, keep him! He’s going to do wonders for your tribe! “Three pack a day” addiction, my ass.
Larry Ferrari and I laughed last nite over a tell-tale remark made by the Junky: he didn’t want to go home and see “his kid.” No, he wanted to go home and call his kid. Ah, the absent father. I think it’s so sweet that he, you know, is thinking about how great that phone contact would be. God forbid he takes the kid somewhere, though. I suppose one shouldn’t judge; supervised visitation can probably be a real bitch.
Damn, I think the Ghost’s nasally snark has infected me. To all you Hold Steady fans: have a good time in Red Stick tomorrow night!!