Watch What Happens.

An analysis of the entertainment found only on Bravo.

I have often heard people complain about “reality shows”. However, I think they are brilliant. Well— let me qualify that. I am not that interested in watching skanky girls resolve their differences by spitting at each other on “Flavor of Love”, or people testing stun guns on themselves a la “Jackass”. I think the success of reality shows can be attributed to viewers seeking humanity in their entertainment. Determination, talent and compassion can be seen, in truly real moments, on all of these shows, from monster hits like “The Amazing Race” to silly melodramas like “The Hills”. And in my opinion, no network does reality better than Bravo TV.

Project Runway
My favorite show on Bravo is “Project Runway”. I got on board with this show at the start of the second season and I haven’t looked back. The show has one of the best models (and I don’t mean Heidi Klum) in reality TV- it’s about the clothes, people. As enjoyable as it is to see the squabbles between the designers, the arguments between the judges and the designers on the runway, and the oh-so-cool celebrity guests make their appearances, the best part of this show is the creative concepts the designers put into their garments. All of the contestants are passionate about fashion and want desperately to “make it”. But they don’t get there by making fools out of themselves. Seeing them turn their visions into breathtaking, or ghastly, gowns in a matter of days and hours is pretty remarkable. There is something very, very fun about seeing a person pick out seemingly innocuous and unrelated fabrics and adornments, and turning them into something beautiful, or hideous. “Project Runway” very intelligently picks people with all kinds of “wackadoodle” (to quote eliminated contestant Suede) points of view. That is where the entertainment comes from. Following the competition each week, you really want the best person to win. (The finale was this week, and my fave, Leanne was the victor—it felt great.) Sure, it’s fun to have favorites or to hate someone for being a total bitch, but in the end, the prize is great and there is satisfaction in watching the winner earn it all (or disagreeing vehemently with the judges’ choice). And the prize isn’t earned by acting outrageous. It’s by being damn good. Network executives, take note.

The Rachel Zoe Project
I was so glad to see this show hit the airwaves. As a ravenous consumer of gossip, I have heard that Rachel Zoe (pronounced Zoh) is the mastermind behind all beautiful women in Hollywood. Celebrities are pretty, for sure, but we all know it takes a lot of make-up, lighting, personal trainers, chefs and numerous other minions to get them looking good. And no assist is greater than that from the celebrity stylist. And no stylist is more famous than Rachel Zoe.

The first season of the show concluded this week. I was excited because we finally got to see some short interviews with Rachel’s biggest client, Jennifer Garner, who is every bit as adorable as I imagine her being. I was also glad to see some sort of resolution regarding the Brad—Taylor affair. So Brad and Taylor are basically a demented Will and Grace. Taylor has a pretty face and messy blonde hair and has this punk rock vibe going. Rachel constantly praises Brad’s style, bowtie preppy and clean on the canvas of a cute, gay guy. Taylor has been Rachel’s assistant for two and a half years, and Brad just got hired to take the grunt work off of her, so she can do more important things. Brad was formerly at Vogue. Taylor is a complete bitch who feels the need to rant and rave, very harshly, at Brad for all for all of the things he does wrong. The thing is, she never tells him what to do. (Pointed out brilliantly in the finale episode by Rachel’s very sweet makeup guy, Joey.) Not that Brad is perfect. He does have a frivolity about him and there is a kernel of truth to Taylor’s complaints that he loves the glamorous side of the job, i.e. being Rachel’s BFF, a little too much. But overall, you root for him. You want to shake Taylor and inform her that this is not rocket science, and she is no Rhodes Scholar. Nevertheless, the Day of the Oscars in the most important of the year for Rachel’s camp. Brad makes a huge boo-boo when he gets to Kate Beckinsale’s house. As he pulls up, he gets a call that he is needed at Cameron Diaz’s. So he calls ‘Rache’ to find out what to do. She says, go on to Cameron, I’ll be at Kate’s in a minute. So then Brad’s like, I feel really bad leaving Rachel to deal with this on her own, but oh well. In the end, the major problem is that Brad did not leave Rachel a “kit” at Kate’s house. A “kit” in the Zoe camp, I guess, has the double-stick tape, shoe pads, and all of the other little tools used to get a celeb red-carpet ready. So Rachel gets really pissed at Brad, Brad weeps uncontrollably, Rachel tries to console Brad but as she does, Taylor loses her shit on Brad even though he’s crying hysterically—and Brad quits. In the end, Rachel convinces Taylor to call Brad and get him back, which she does. Now, I don’t know why every member of the Zoe camp doesn’t just have a kit in their own car on Oscar day. Or why Rachel didn’t say to Brad, make sure you leave a kit for me at Kate’s. It seems like a lot of their problems could be solved if they were all a little more organized, and I think it’s fairly clear the fault lies with Taylor.

Rachel Zoe herself is pretty entertaining. I think I like her overall, though she does some pretty inane things. The craziest to me is her penchant for oversized sunglasses. I can see sunglasses that are a little larger than usual, but hers are insane. She looks like an alien. And here’s what REALLY kills me—she and her pal Joey even had them on when they were watching the Oscar red carpet on TV, in her house. It’s bad enough to wear sunglasses indoors, but here you are, watching the looks you picked out traipse their way across the screen, and you can’t take off your cool sunglasses. Rachel knows that color and fabric choices don’t always translate the same on TV--she mentions this--so wouldn’t she want to observe them accurately? The other crazy Rachel-ism is her vocabulary. Here’s a primer—bananas, meaning awesome/great. Shut it down, as in, you look so great the world has stopped functioning. The most irritating phrase: I die. Or just, die. Or D-I-E, reserved for when Rachel sees something so fabulous it’s like her heart literally stops.

Rachel’s long-suffering husband is Rodger. He is the down-to-earth presence, the ying to her yang. This poor guy is really supportive of his wife who he hardly ever seems to see, especially during fashion week. But I do credit them big time for their teamwork. He understands her vision and seems to help her achieve it, however she needs him. He is encouraging her to start her own brand, which given her sense of style and her reputation is a no-brainer. But a few times I have heard her say, “but when am I going to have a baby?!” and then she laughs. Rachel is around 36 years old. Nothing drives me crazier than an aging woman who does not realize it might not be as easy to have a baby as she thinks. Rachel’s personal life takes a tragic backseat. When her uncle dies, she is extremely sad (hysterical, really) and feels she must make it back east for the funeral. That is why I love Rachel Zoe. But she doesn’t end up making it to the funeral because of an important fashion shoot. That is why I hate Rachel Zoe. I’ll tell you one thing, though— that theme song is bananas. I die.

And The Rest
But Bravo’s brilliant programming does not end there. I loved the first few seasons of “The Real Housewives of Orange County”. Sure, most of these women are spoiled rotten and their values are flawed, but I found myself rooting for them and connecting with them. It was delicious fun to see them interact and deal with their issues. I didn’t think I could fall in love with a new class, but the New York cast is just as fun. Atlanta premiered this week, focusing on the city’s African-American elite. I really, really, really applaud Bravo for showing us another kind of rich. They knocked it out of the park with this one. Those peaches entertain.

I also like “Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style”. I usually get bored with these kinds of makeover shows, but I love his Top 10 list of garments every woman should own, and his tips are helpful and easy to follow. I haven’t seen “Top Chef” though I know the second I do, I’ll be addicted. It’s cable’s number one food show, beating out even the Food Network. I also haven’t yet seen that many episodes of “Top Design”. But the one thing I have learned from that show is that Todd Oldham is a freakin’ genius. He acts as a ‘Design Mentor’ and his advice and ideas for the contestants are so brilliant and ingenious it’ll make you want to smack your momma. I remember him from the MTV of my youth, but I had no idea the scope of his talent.

Talent is a common theme with Bravo. They pick a topic- fashion, food, glamour- and they get the best. They get the Michael Kors, the Rachel Zoe. No show more brilliantly showcased talent than the one that started it all, “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy”. The Fab Five weren’t just funny gay guys. It was a necessary component, yes, but the essential ingredient was that all of these men were at the very top of their fields. Minus Jai Rodriguez, who I thought was completely worthless. But Carson Kressley more than made up for him. I have a theory that Carson and I are the same person. But that is for another post.

One Lace at a Time

I am a runner. I love the feeling of pride and satisfaction after finishing an 18-mile long run, pushing through 800-meter repeats, or enjoying a relaxing run on the greenbelt. I love crossing paths with another runner on a trail, making eye contact, and giving one another a slight head nod of acknowledgement. It is a brief signal that says to each other, “I know what you are going through right now. I know the pain you are pushing through. Keep up the great work”. There is no greater pride than knowing you have pushed every physical limit in your body to achieve a set goal.

As much as I love to run, I find myself in a daily battle with myself to lace up my shoes, and walk out the door to start my training. Every day I go through the same process. You would think an activity that I find so much satisfaction in would be easy to stay motivated. But it is a daily struggle. And the funny thing is that once I take the first few strides of the run I instantly am reminded why I love to run. I begin to feel proud of my training, and excited for the next milestone I will hit in my progress. Even if my legs are dead sore from the day before, I know that the recovery run I am doing will further my development and increase my stamina. The hardest part of the run is getting my shoes on and heading out the door.

I tell myself that if I wake up early it would make everything so much easier. I could get my run done for the day, and have the luxury of my evenings after work to do as I please. But, most days when the alarm goes off at 4:45, the snooze button gets hit. I still have the evenings to run, and I do run as I had planned about 90% of the time. It is the other 10% of the time that the struggle comes into play. I know that if I don’t run as soon as I get home from work, it is not going to happen. If I get home, change clothes and put on sweats instead of running shorts, it becomes too easy to take the day off, and the run doesn’t occur. If I turn on the TV when I get home instead of lacing up my shoes, the likelihood that I will stay on the couch instead of hitting the asphalt significantly increases.

I have to believe that there are thousands of other people who deal with this same problem. I think about this often when I am running. For some people the struggle may not involve running. Perhaps for some, their passion involves playing an instrument but they struggle with the dedication to practice each day. Maybe another person desperately wants to educate themselves further, but can’t resist the urge to turn on the television rather than picking up a book. I know there are many who want to lose that last ten pounds, but can’t ever stick to their diet plan. I ponder these things as I run on neighborhood sidewalks or hop over fallen tree branches on a muddy park trail. Every time I always end up at the same conclusion. The true champions are those who are willing to fight off the urge, who have in internal drive to be the best, and who have the mental toughness to realize it’s the second-by-second, minute-by-minute, day-by-day grind that must be taken to achieve the final results that one so desires.

Everyone wants to participate in the culminating activity, whether it is the Friday Night football game, the Marathon Race, the Opening Production of the Play, or the Academic Achievement Award. But only those individuals who have shown true dedication and a desire for excellence can excel in these moments. In the one instance when they have the opportunity to shine, these individuals have the strength of preparation to depend upon.

There are many others who have dreamt about that moment in the spotlight, but who have not put in the time and dedication, who do not have the commitment, and who often discover that they failed to meet their expectations. Everyone wants to live in those rare moments of success. But those rare moments really only occur for the individuals who have prepared themselves for those occasions - physically, mentally and emotionally.

It is this realization that forces me to continuing tying up my laces. When I train solo, I have to remind myself how gratifying it is to set a Personal Record in a road race, and that each workout will help me achieve that end result. I also need to occasionally remind myself of the pain, torment and agony that is tied to losing and that the lack of preparation will bring back those emotions. Undeniably there are going to be days where I question why I am putting in 65+ miles per week. There are going to be occasional days that am invited to a work Happy Hour and skip my daily run. For others, there are going to be days that they might miss their piano practice, don’t get a chance to read the next chapter of a book they started, or had a “cheat day” on their diet. But, the true test of a champion is one who can bounce back and prove him/herself the next day and on a daily basis.

So, for now, I will continue with my daily struggle of getting my shoes on and heading out the door. It is the struggle that makes the success so much greater.

A Comprehensive Failure

I work at a major media company.  When I started two years ago, I was recruited into what was billed as an "exciting," "revolutionary," even "historic" project.  In retrospect, it was an experiment.  But it was destined for revenue, they told me.  I was skeptical, but I jumped on board.

I soon discovered, that my new coworkers were earnest, hardworking.  And I jumped right in, with a similar sense of duty.  I'm not sure if it was out of fear of our experiment failing?  Or our commitment to the cause?  Or if it's just our collective nature?  We never discussed why, but we plugged away despite the strange office (the space had the smell and feel of a damp, nuclear fallout shelter, and we sat so close our knees touched, and worked in ear-popping silence), and despite the fact that we knew very little about the big picture.  We worked in short-deadline increments that got us through one week, then the next.  

And it was incredibly tedious work.  A kind of long-term mindless drudgery that most of us hadn't expected to encounter or endure in the media world.  The other departments in our big parent company did not appear weighed down by the same kind of tedium that kept us under the scorching fluorescent lights and turned our skin a greenish pale, for hours at a time.  We rarely had a need to leave our desks.  I invented "anti-clotting walks," which were hourly, round-the-block strolls to keep the blood flowing.     

Over time, we watched some coworkers leave-- off to new jobs.  Whenever we'd send someone off into the outside world, we'd wonder what they'd encounter.  When you left our project you were leaving the Truman Show.  We all sort of quietly ached to know what was beyond the sky-painted dome, though grateful for this vague, womb-like sense of job security.  

Job security, somehow despite tumult.  Our project started out with 50-something employees and as of last week there were 30.  Management changed hands while we were there.  Our platform also changed.  We received new deadlines, restructured, refocused.  And dove back into our work like little bees in a honeycomb.  

I mean, every once in a while we'd pop our heads up, raise an eyebrow and question the changes, but they were never explained to us, so we just went back to our work.

I went through several emotional cycles over the two years.  I absolutely hated everyone I worked with.  Or I hated only the people whose knees rubbed against mine, and everyone else in the room was tolerable.  Or I loved everyone-- on days when the camraderie was palpable.  There were days when I didn't care about any of them, and I came and went along my merry way.  There were days when I was deeply involved in their private human dramas, shared over coffee in the ladies room.  

After about a year, things appeared to pick up.  They moved us into a new office space, they sent some of us on trips to conventions and forums.  Other departments in the building began to learn that our project existed.   Our confidence boosted.  

Fewer raised eyebrows, but still we quietly wondered for how long would an experiment be funded?  We were never met with any really great news ("Our project just made millions in revenue!").  Never.  Not even close.  But there was never any devastating news either...

And then last week, almost two years to the day since I'd been hired, our Boss Man called us into a meeting to discuss the "long-term plan."  At long last, we would have that big picture discussion.  For two years we'd gone on doing as we were told, meeting deadlines, checking items off our to-do lists, in at 9 and out at 5, obedient, efficient.  

We marched into that meeting pretty much without a clue of what to expect.  Though the news of that week did not bode well.  We had just watched people leaving Lehman Brothers with their cardboard boxes, and had just watched the stock market crash.    

Thirty of us filed into the board room with our notepads and pens.  The jolly, talkative woman who'd worked at the company her whole life-- was wearing one of her famous floral outfits and matching acrylic nails... the young father-of-two who lives in Brooklyn, who taught me how to filter an excel spreadsheet... the 20-something, brash and but soft-hearted former frat boy who appears to have been plucked out of both the movie Wall Street and the show The Office- walked in looking down at his feet....  I watched them all walk in almost in slow motion.  A parade of exhausted employees-- nervous, weary, but- I think- ready for some news of their fate.  What would finally happen to the Truman Burbank and his cast of characters?

The meeting had a soupy and dreamlike feel.  Boss Man uttered the first, and only, words I remember:  "Our efforts...have comprehensively failed..."  I didn't hear much of the rest, until the boss concluded, "in two weeks, half of you will be gone.  We don't know yet, which ones we'll be letting go.  But please use this time to find a new job."

      

    

Just a Day

Like thousands of other women in their late twenties, am planning my wedding. Yes, I am actually engaged. I’m not simply obsessing about getting married and reading magazines on the off chance that he actually pops the question. My fiancé and I dated for seven and a half years, off and on, before we got engaged. We took a long, torturous path from the crisp fall evening we first started dating to get to where we are today.

I say tortuous because when you fall in love at nineteen, you have a lot of growing to do as a couple before you can really feel as though the foundation is strong enough to build a future on. And when I say our path was tortuous, I also mean that I pretty much tortured him—going away to graduate school for four years and living long-distance, breaking up with him twice, insisting that he get himself together, figure out his career, his ambitions, if we were going to work out. I dated other guys, I told him it was over. I was a B****. I was harsh, I was stubborn, and I was cold. And the one thing that saved us was that while he might not have known what he wanted to be when he grew up or how to even land a job, he knew that he wasn’t going to let me walk away that easily. And he succeeded. And I am grateful beyond words for that fact.

Perhaps it’s that the two of us dated as long as we did, or perhaps it’s that I am just not a girlie-girl, but I have found myself, in the six months since we got engaged, resenting the wedding planning industry. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. And I know I’m not the first one to write a blog entry about it. There are entire sites dedicated to the anti-wedding, the DIY wedding, the princess wedding, etc. You name it, there is a wedding site dedicated to it.

I find it fascinating that there is so much dedicated to a single day. Perhaps it’s because I had the benefit of two very loving parents and a very grounded home. Perhaps it’s that I admire my parents love and devotion to one another. Or perhaps it is that I grew up watching my father’s parents and my mother’s parents exemplify the same characteristics as a couple. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but very early in the process, while stressing over table linens and flower choices, I shrugged my shoulders, turned to my father and observed—it’s just a day—it’s the marriage that matters.

That has become my mantra—it’s just a day. When the stacks of wedding magazines grow too heavy to carry and the knot.com checklist seems insurmountable, or when I start to worry that someone will screw something up (which they inevitably will), I simply tell myself that it is only a day. Sure, the vows we will exchange are sacred and undying, but everything beyond that—the menu selection, the flower arrangements, the guest list, the bridesmaids dresses, the perfectly matched bows for the pews—they aren’t what marriage is about.

I’m not saying that my fiancé and I don’t have a list of the things that we’ve liked at other weddings that we attended that we are hoping to duplicate at ours. I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy the decadence of the day—I’d be lying if I did. But what I’m saying is that at the end of the day, if there is a blizzard on my March wedding day, if the cake collapses, or if the shade of tulips isn’t exactly as I’d hoped, I will survive. Because while I’m looking forward to our first dance as Mr. and Mrs, and while I’m looking forward to having all of our friends and loved ones in the same place to celebrate with us, I am MOST excited about beginning this next chapter of our lives together. I am MOST excited about working together, every day, to make our marriage just as strong, just as loving, and just as enduring as the marriages our grandparents were fortunate enough to have. I am excited to try to be just as good a parent to our children as my parents were to me. I am excited to learn and grow together for the rest of our lives, and I feel truly blessed to be embarking on this journey with my true soul mate. I am MOST excited about just about everything that comes after the wedding. Because the wedding is just a day, but the marriage, with faith, hope, and a lot of work, will last a lifetime.

Sheep: Black, Felonious Ones.

I have Black Sheep in my family. Not just one, but four at last count. That’s a lot for a family that’s pretty small to begin with. But, this is just one of those realizations we have at some point when we become adults, right? The awareness that our family is completely dysfunctional and should be hidden away in a closet and replaced with some Pleasantville-type family (I would totally love Reese Witherspoon as a sister, but that’s for another day….). One of those families where mom makes all visitors feel like they’ve been a part of the family for years, dad shares all the same interests as every boyfriend, gramma makes warm chocolate chip cookies all day every day, and cousins hang out and talk about whose grad. program was tougher. The MondayFamily is nothing like that at all. NOTHING, I tell you. I love them all, more than anyone who’s met them could possible imagine, so it makes me feel terrible to be so ashamed of some of them. But for some reason, I can’t help it.

I think I’ve known we weren’t normal for years, but I was reminded again on Friday when CousinMonday (CM) was arrested for Medicaid fraud and forging prescriptions. She was on TV. ON TV, people. With her picture. And her name scrolling across the bottom. Egads. GrammaMonday turned on the 6 o’clock news and there she was. (It pains me to think everyone in my high school saw this and pains me even more to think I actually still care what people in high school think. But then again, don’t we all…..secretly?). Given that mine and CM’s lives are so dissimilar, we, surprisingly(!), lost touch a long time ago. I hate both that fact and my general embarrassment at the situation, because she’s obviously fallen on touch times. To try to forge two prescriptions for 130 oxycotin (don’t pharmacists write prescriptions in amounts of 5s, 10s, and 30s, not 130s?) and then pay for it with your Medicaid card has got to be a cry for help. Her four class E felonies and 2 charges of fraud have her looking at 10 years in jail.

CM is not immune to causing the family grief. Besides weighing in around 350 pounds, this is the same cousin that dropped out of high school at 14 and had a baby at 17 (with the most redneck, airbrushed t-shirt wearin’, five teeth sportin’, beater pickup truck drivin’, basic grammar slaughterin’ 16 year-old EVER). In an almost K-Fed type situation, he is now looking like the better parent. Not to be outdone by the felony charges, she apparently posted bail, went to work, decided to close up the convenience store by inviting all of her friends to come in and party, and then got fired. I guess if you’re going to go out, do it with a bang. Just one of these days, I’d like to leave a job like that.

But let’s not forget the other sheep, each of which I could devote an essay to. UncleMonday, for example, has been known to sit in his front yard in one of those cheap metal lawn chairs in the middle of summer in his whitie-tighties with the sprinkler running. And a can of Busch in each hand. He’s the king of get-rich schemes and once thought he could make it rich renting out his old garage to banks so they could store their processed checks. His sister, AuntMonday has had six husbands, totaled three cars, filed for bankruptcy twice, and smokes cigarettes while IN the tanning bed. And we can’t forget GrandparentsMonday who vote Libertarian (that alone is sheep-worthy in my book), think that the government really IS building a toll-road from Canada to Mexico with Spain collecting the tolls, wouldn’t let me watch the Cosby show as a child because of the “colored-people,” and still toot around the yard in a Model T like it’s 1937.

But for some reason I positively adore every single one of these people. I could live without the grief CM causes everyone, but she was always the sweetest girl growing up. I think somewhere she’s still got it in her, and I hope she can get the help she needs. Perhaps I’ve been fooling myself all of these years with the idea that mine is the only dysfunctional family, but it makes me feel better to know that if we are, we’ve got enough dysfunction to go around.


GMon’y