Oh, it’s so nice to watch “Project Runway” again, in real time. Lifetime has done its best to ruin it, but it’s still worth your time, if you don’t mind all those promos for “Dance Moms” along the way. Tonight’s challenge is to make a ball gown suitable for opening night at the opera. The winner was one of two or three that deserved it (Austin). Now here comes the boot. I’m thinking it’s going to be Sweet P. And yes! I’m right. I knew she was toast. Her dress looked like something you’d wear to a beach party, not the opera.
Reality television. It’s not my thing, but sometimes, it’s my thing.
Every so often I think about what the next new thing’s going to be, in any field. Not long ago we were talking about R.E.M., which broke up after 30 years. The Beatles were together for, what, seven? When was the last real new thing in pop music? Hip-hop, I figure — something no one had ever heard before, that enough people flipped over (and the right people hated) that it took its place in the parade. Same with TV. Reality TV made its first big splash with “Survivor.” A friend told me it wouldn’t last. “Reality TV is OVER,” he was always declaring. The last time he did, it was 2002.
Reality TV. Not over.
How about some bloggage?
A very oldie, but something I hadn’t read before, until someone unearthed it for the New Hampshire primary — Henry Allen on New Hampshire. Cruel and unfair, but it feels right to me. The place sounds like northern Michigan.
Six things I love about Detroit, by some Internet guy I should know more about, but don’t.
Matty Moroun’s terrible, awful, no-good, very bad week. And one that made applause break out in the courtroom.
I’m going to bed.