The Wife:

A horrible thing almost happened this week on Make Me a Supermodel. We almost lost Jonathan. And I still don’t understand how. I mean, did the photographer not see at all what he was giving during his photoshoot for Rowdy? Dude fucking hung upside down in a doorway and gave mad face — how could they possible not have chosen at least one shot of Jonathan over that lonely, far-off shot of Branden?

Nonetheless, props to the max to the editors for making us all think that because Sandhurst and Jonathan know they’re the best and that Branden is by far the least talented of the remaining models, that Branden would be the one to not appear in any shots. The challenge, by the way, was to get in as many of the final six shots as possible by being fucking awesome. The girls also bitched and moaned about how their hair and makeup took longer so they were at a shot disadvantage, but, presumably because the girls have breasts, they ended up being in more shots than any of the boys.

I mean, really, why wouldn't you choose more shots of these fine ladies?

I mean, really, why wouldn't you choose more shots of these fine ladies?

Here’s the final tally:

Mountaha: 3 photos

Salome: 4 photos

Jordan: 3 photos

Branden: 2 photos

Jonathan: 1 photo, which is the wrongest thing I’ve ever seen

Sandhurst: 2 photos

Per the rules of the game, Salome was awarded the win, much to the chagrin of her fellow contestants who constantly complain that she wins all these photoshoots but never books jobs, which, frankly, tells me that she’s a great print model, but not a good runway model. (I see their argument in that the show isn’t called Make Me a Print Model, but Make Me a Supermodel, implying the winner should be able to do all types of modeling.) She was sent on a go-see for Alice + Olivia, and brought Mountaha with her (since she brought Jordan last time).

While Salome and Mountaha were out strutting their stuff, Nicole Trunfio took the remaining models to a salon to get “next-level makeovers.” This basically meant that nothing happened to Sandhurst, Branden got some wax put in his hair and Jordan threw a fit before putting herself in the hands of the stylist who darkened her look. But then there was Jonathan, so clearly distraught from a challenge he (and I) completely misread that he thought he should make a drastic change. So he cut his hair very short and took it very dark, erasing his sun-kissed golden god look and basically becoming . . . Jude Law. This was not an entirely bad makeover, but I liked Jonathan as he was before. Even Sandhurst felt that the makeover made Jonathan lose some of his glow.

At the go-see, the folks from Alice + Olivia loved Salome’s angelic face and thought that, even though she’s a little bigger than most girls on the runway, they really liked her for the brand. Mountaha didn’t have the right look for Alice + Olivia clothing, and was deemed not quite edgy enough to transcend/juxtapose romantic clothing. They told Salome they were considering her for their summer collection, which is better than all of the outright rejections she’d received before. Mountaha and Salome joined their competitors at the salon post-go-see where Mountaha was made blonder and Salome, for some reason, got a strange exaggerated bob weave, about which she remarked that she never thought she’d have a weave because she thought they were for black people. She’s kind of right: just look at all of the white girls Tyra gives weaves to and notice how they absolutely don’t know how to take care of them about halfway through the season over on ANTM. White girls just don’t know how to take care of a weave.

At the Catwalk Challenge, the models were asked to learn to use Heelys and incorporate skating into their catwalk. Jordan was afraid she’d be the worst at this, and she was, but even so she opted not to trade in her Heelys for high heels. Jonathan really stepped it up here and, knowing he’d done poorly in the photoshoot, learned to skate backwards down the runway, which certainly secured him another week on the show. The outfits for this challenge were straight up wacky, like stuff you might see in a neon raver version of Godspell, and Mountaha got the worst of them all, but still managed to rock it.

Wigga-wha?

Wigga-wha?

In the end, Mountaha was given immunity this week, and Jordan was sent home after a very intense discussion in which I thought they might oust Salome (because Marlon straight up hates her body) or Jonathan (because everyone at panel thinks he over-models sometimes), but they sent home one of the right people. It would have been better to see Branden go, but Jordan is such a pill that I’m glad to be rid of her bitchface.

My ideal top 4 would be Jonathan, Sandhurst, Mountaha and Salome. Branden has to go next week, because if he makes it into the finals, something has gone horribly, horribly wrong for any of those far superior models.

The Wife:

Continuing down the road of terrible episode titles, we got “Take Me to the Photo Shoot” this week, which would have been clever, if the photo shoot involved aliens, but didn’t, so it wasn’t. We actually got a two-shoot episode, though which was kind of neat. The first Tyra Mail told the girls that “a Top Model knows how to be direct,” which lead them to a challenge in which they acted as creative directors for one another, posing in Southpole Jrs. urban chic street hip hop fashion wear clothing designs. (I just felt like using a lot of words to describe a brand that I don’t think had much of a look going for it.) If the budding little Miss Mr. Jays did well, one lucky winner would be rewarded with a fashion spread in Seventeen. What strikes me about this particular challenge is this: knowing the tension between Tyra and Mr. Jay, I felt like asking the girls to do his job was, in some way, her means of erasing him, or at least reminding him of his place in her empire. Let it be known, Mr. Jay, that Tyra could replace you with a model at any minute. Step it up, or resign yourself to hosting Canada’s Next Top Model.

Working it like a good little lemur.

Working it like a good little lemur.


On the other hand, though, it was a good idea for the girls to see what it’s like to direct their sorry asses on a shoot, as well as style and edit their sorry asses. The experience clearly proved valuable for Lemur Allison, who learned enough human language to make an amazing picture of Aminat. It was, however, completely unappreciated by Aminat when she was directing Natalie, as her poor time management led Mr. Jay to snap at her. She was all like, “It’s so not my fault,” and he was all like, “Bitch! Please! You just dumb!” And, despite all that, Anne Shoket from Seventeen somehow thought that what I felt was the worst-looking picture in the bunch was actually the best Seventeen cover-type photo of them all, with Natalie looking listless with her arm over her head, in jeans so whiskered around the thighs they actually made her look like a normal-sized girl. Celia put out a great photo of Fo, except she chose a final shot where the girl’s ankles were cut off, and so Teyona, who directed Celia, won, particularly because she demonstrated good styling techniques, which, amazingly, had nothing to do with Celia herself. For the Seventeen shoot, Teyona brought along her model Celia and her friend Aminat, which apparently angered Fo a little bit, who thought Teyona was her bestie best bestie.

The Tyra Mail for this week’s actual photo shoot suggested, “You haven’t had too much R&R – maybe it’s time for some R&B.” And so Mr. Jay woke all the girls up at 5:30 at the asscrack of dawn and brought the styling team to their abode for hair and makeup – because that’s how real Top Models do it. Then Ciara showed up and they were informed they’d be posing with her in their photoshoot, as crazed fans wound up in her microphone wires. Or, as photographer Mike Ruiz explained, “The metaphor is that you’re tangled in Ciara’s web.” Um, actually, Mike, it’s not really a metaphor anymore when you are literally tangled in things that are attached to the person entrapping you. Poor London had issues with this shoot because she’s gained 15 pounds over the course of the competition, which, to a model, is the equivalent of 100. She was feeling badly about it, but then Mr. Jay felt the need to talk to her about it. He did so gently, but, still, it’s not like she wasn’t aware after last week’s Joe’s Jeans incident. It is somewhat disconcerting that she gains weight so quickly, as this competition is really only, like, 2 months long. To gain 15 pounds in 2 months is a significant amount of weight, but if she’d had that weight on her when she started, no one would even make a deal of it. I still think she’s pretty and takes a fierce photo, even if she’s allegedly model fat now. And so the tragedy of weight-related issues in the fashion industry continues . . . sigh.

Right, because when I think of Brazil, this is what I think of.

Right, because when I think of Brazil, this is what I think of.

At panel, Tyra brought back her damned Guide to Finding Your Inner Fierceness, this time dishing out the advice that music always helps a model find her groove. Apparently, nearly nude male models carrying Brazil nuts also helps, because after a drawn-out segment where Tyra ate said nuts and tried to guess what they were, it was announced that six of the seven beautiful girls standing before here would join them on a plane to Brazil. The ensuing celebration of Brazilianness seems very scaled back this year, which I assume is due to the economy. They could only afford two Brazilian flags, cheap maracas from the Oriental Trading Company and some paper confetti. Not to mention all the money they spent asking that male model to shell all of those Brazil nuts for The Goddess of Fierce. After a set PA came to sweep up the scaled-back debris, the judging began.

This time, itd be called White Celia . . .

This time, it'd be called White Celia . . .

  • Natalie: The judges say she really stands out in this picture, which I think we all know is because the stylists froed out her hair in a way that seems impossible. I think she looks a bit zaftig in this shot, as the way the microphone cords cut across her belly make her look a tad on the side of pregnant.
  • Aminat: This photo is a total failure. Per Miss J, “What you needed was two cups of crazy and a pinch of insane.” Word.
  • Celia: Her photo is “not classically pretty,” but she looks really hardcore in it. She reminds me of Brigitte Nielsen in Red Sonja.
  • Teyona: Girl got a fierce shot this week, what can I say?
  • London: Nigel thinks her shot is a bit over the top. Tyra loves that London smiles with her eyes in person, but wonders why that goes away in a photograph. To my dismay, Miss J immediately wonders what she’s been eating. Thanks, Miss J. You’re real fucking nice.
  • Fo: Dressed like a movie star from Mexico in the 1940s, Fo delivered a shot this week that was all angles and 100% awesome.
  • Lemur Allison: Finally, she delivered a different kind of face in her photo this week. Miss J wishes her body were as dynamic as her face in this shot. She then goes on to compliment her experience working with Mike, which Tyra tells her is not smart because she’s worked with Nigel and he’s sitting right the fuck there. Or, you know, they could not act like children and just listen to what the girl has to say. Whatever.
And if they ever need a new Barbarella . . .

And if they ever need a new Barbarella . . .


Callouts: Teyona, Fo, Natalie, Celia and Allison, leaving Aminat and London to wonder whether or not they’ll be able to journey to the Amazon. Strangely, Tyra chose to keep the girl who takes terrible photos over the girl who gained weight and sends London back home to her God while Aminat gets a ticket to the rainforest. Frankly, I would have kept London, who I think has more potential than Aminat. But I guess, as always in the world of fashion, some who is skinny but has no talent is favored over someone who looks like a normal person and has talent.

The Husband:

Whatever, Tyra. You’re just leaving me open to now cast London as a manic pixie dream girl in whatever Cameron Crowe rip-off film I intend to do in the future. I’d give her a small part, to be sure (like the best friend who shows up in three scene) but London’s got that gnarly little Godspell thing going on – that nifty combination when hippie meets Christianity and doesn’t bug the hell out of me – and I think that if she has the acting chops she claims, she could definitely make a cinematic impression.

And yes, wife, casting her on 90210 wouldn’t be a bad idea either, especially considering she looks exactly like Jessica Stroup. Maybe she could be a cousin. Or a long-lost sibling, a bastard child from their personal trainer-banging whore of a mother.

The Wife:

I’ve been saving up these House posts for a number of reasons, primarily because there’s so much awesomeness on Monday nights now that House falls by the wayside for us, so there’s no sense posting something within a few days of a new episode. I know this will greatly disappoint Mary, our friend and massive Hugh Laurie lover, but on Mondays, I’ve got Chuck, Secret Life of the American Teenager, Big Bang Theory, Gossip Girl and How I Met Your Mother. I can’t even watch all five of those shows on a good day, so House gets pushed back, resulting in this clusterfuck of a post.

House aired its 100th episode with “The Greater Good,” in which a formerly brilliant cancer researcher (she’s still brilliant, just not researching the ol’ cancer anymore) falls ill during a cooking class. As she lays dying under House and his team’s care, they all wonder why she would give up cancer research – especially when she was so close to finding a cure for a certain cancer I can no longer remember – to live a selfish and self-fulfilling life. Shouldn’t she, as a doctor on the forefront of research in her field, be working towards the greater good? Meanwhile, Thirteen starts to get really sick because irresponsible asshole Foreman switched her onto the trial drug from the placebo. Bad shit goes down, like, losing her vision and developing small brain tumors. Side effects are fun, kids!

Ultimately, when the patient gets a final diagnosis of ectopic endometriosis (which she developed after some of her endometrial cells escaped into her body during her hysterectomy a few years back), everybody realizes that they probably shouldn’t do things for wholly selfish reasons, especially Foreman, who risked his girlfriend’s life because he wanted to keep her around. House and Thirteen, however, don’t get that upset at Foreman and won’t let him “torch his career” because he’ll do a lot more good for other people if he’s still a doctor, he just has to quit the clinical trial and throw out Thirteen’s study results. I get that this ending to the clinical trial mishap fits with the theme. Yes, one more doctor in the world saves the lives of however many people (and Foreman, though an idiot, is a good doctor), but it also doesn’t fairly punishing him for endangering Thirteen’s life, and the fate of that Huntington’s study. Because its TV, that study gets to continue and Tank Girl might have a chance of living for a few more years than she would have, but I think that in the real world, compromised results has a strong chance of removing that particular study from Princeton-Plainsboro altogether, and possibly put on hiatus for a long time, which isn’t helping anyone with Huntington’s.

Frankly, I wasn’t that into “The Greater Good,” especially because the two episodes that followed “Unfaithful” and “The Softer Side” were so much better (although I find the latter to be a little problematic). In “Unfaithful,” House takes a case from Cameron involving a drunken priest who hallucinated a stigmatic Christ. House takes this, hoping to prove that anyone who would put their faith in something unseen has something wrong with them, but as the case continues and the ailing priest and House have a few bedside conversations about the nature of believe and what it’s like to lose one’s faith, House starts to think that the vision of Christ has nothing to do with the rest of the symptoms which, during the priest’s stay, involve loss of gangrenous digits, blindness and numbness to pain.

Where the hell is Meryl Streep when you need her?

Where the hell is Meryl Streep when you need her?

While House has never had any faith at all in a higher power, the priest began to lose his joy in the priesthood after an accusation of molestation moved him from parish to parish, making him a black sheep amongst the members of his various flocks. Though he denies molesting the child, Taub feels he should believe the claim of the victim, especially when the team diagnoses the priest with AIDS, and sets out to find the boy the priest allegedly molested. The boy, Ryan, visits the priest on his deathbed and asks him for forgiveness, which to me says that the allegations made against the priest were false. But that’s just me. Much like Doubt, it’s a situation where you aren’t given the whole truth and should decide for yourself. (In Doubt, by the way, I’ve decided that since we know the little boy had some homosexual tendencies, Father Flynn, who joined the priesthood because he also has homosexual tendencies, merely befriended the boy, without any other ulterior motive.)

Once House rules out the hallucinations, he realizes that the priest doesn’t have AIDS at all, but Wuska-Aldridge, an auto-immune deficiency that acts a lot like AIDS, but his hereditary, non-communicable and non-life threatening.

This episode also added a third element to the theme with the organization of Cuddy’s daughter’s naming ceremony, which House refuses to attend based on the principle that anyone who doesn’t practice their religion to the letter is a hypocrite. Thus, because Cuddy doesn’t keep the Sabbath, pretending she’s more religious than she actually is by having a naming ceremony for Rachael is hypocritical. Cuddy doesn’t really want House to go, though, but Wilson fucks it all up by convincing House to at least put in an appearance. In the end, everyone attends the service but House, who stays at home, playing traditional Jewish music on his piano instead. (Know what I love? Hugh Laurie playing piano.)

And then there’s “The Softer Side,” the patient of which my husband noted is like an alternate version of last week’s Private Practice, but fast forwarded 13 years. Much like Anyanka and Sgt. Scream’s baby, the patient of the week is a 13-year-old “boy” with genetic mosaicism. “He” has both male and female DNA, but his parents chose to raise him as boy even though we learned on Private Practice that 70% of genetic mosaics end up identifying as female. Jacksons parents have lied to him for years, socializing him as a boy and pushing him to do masculine things like playing hockey and basketball, even though, like one Billy Elliot, all he’s ever really wanted to do is to dance. He collapses at one of his basketball games with pelvic pain, and his parents immediately demand that House and his team give Jackson an MRI to look for a blind uterus. Strangely, House concedes to this procedure, even though when Thirteen suggests it, Foreman (continuing the lie they established in the last episode that they had broken up) mocks her for the suggestion, because surely every single one of the kids previous doctors had thought of that.

Consenting to the MRI, as well as asking to eat his bagel before doing so, alerts Wilson that something is wrong with House. He thinks maybe Cuddy slept with him, which Cuddy denies, but when both of them go to check up on House, they find him sleeping in his office . . .  and not breathing. Foreman gives House a bitching titty twister to wake him up, and House insists that he just passed out because he took one too many Vicodan.

Shhhh! He's sleeping!

Shhhh! He's sleeping!

Jackson only gets sicker after the team takes him off his “vitamins,” which are testosterone shots, fearing the T might be causing some of his problems, so House sends Foreman and Thirteen to investigate the kid’s house for environmental factors. In his room, which has posters for So You Think You Can Dance, Godspell, Rent, A Chorus Line and The Wizard of Oz, Thirteen finds a poem that she believes is a confession of Jackson’s state of mind, potentially indicating suicide. She brings it to his parents, suggesting that he knows he’s different than other kids and may have developed some suicidal feelings because of it. She tells Jackson that his vitamins aren’t vitamins, and that he should ask his parents about them. This causes the parents to finally tell their son that he’s intersex, and Jackson gets so upset with his parents lies that he refuses to talk to them. Jackson’s mom is furious at Thirteen and wants her off Jackson’s case, but Cuddy intervenes and tells Thirteen that she has to be the person Jackson trusts now.

The bisexual doctor and the intersex boy have a nice heart-to-heart about Jackson’s feelings about his gender identity, wondering if his homosexual feelings towards a friend on his basketball team and his predilection toward dance exist simply because he was meant to be a girl. And that’s where I find this episode to be a little bit problematic. Granted, this is an hour-long show that’s barely skimming the surface of the complexities of gender identity, especially for intersex children, but Jackson’s words here and Thirteen’s lack of correction lead me to question the rigid construction of gender that seems to frame this argument. Knowing what I know about genetic mosaicism, I would argue that Jackson’s parents made the wrong choice in aggressively gendering him as male, but other than not liking basketball, Jackson doesn’t seem to exhibit any other issues with having a male gender identity. No one ever scolded him for wearing his mother’s clothing often because he didn’t do it. He doesn’t express feeling as though he should be developing breasts or otherwise show any signs of a gender identity disorder He feels male and constructs his identity as male. How much of that feeling comes from the fact that his parents aggressively gendered him as such, I don’t know, but he does seem to like being male. He just doesn’t like to play sports. And there’s nothing un-masculine about dance at all, and the fact that his parents assert otherwise just tells me that they’ve a.) never watched So You Think You Can Dance with their son and b.) they need to be punched in the face, repeatedly.

What I’m getting at here is that this entire argument constructs gender identity based on very antiquated terms, and I think Thirteen kind of points to this when she tells Jackson that she was a point guard on her basketball team. No one in their right mind would think their daughter wanted to be a man if she started playing sports, so why on earth would someone think their son wanted to be a girl if he wanted to dance? Baryshnikov gets all the bitches, that’s what I’m saying. The boy, though, is confused at this point, and who can blame him, as he wonders if he actually should have been a girl or if, perhaps, he is meant to be a gay man. (I vote gay man.)

So maybe, Jackson might be alright with the gender identity his parents chose for him, but should they have chosen at all? People have very different feelings about gender identity, and I’m really not for aggressively gendering children. I find that when children begin to socialize with other children, they pick out a gender identity for themselves and the degree to which they want to express that. I have a friend with a two-year-old daughter. My friend tried really hard not to engender her child in anyway, but this little girl, at only two, has expressed a great interest in wearing dresses and trying on mommy’s make-up and dance clothes. Without even encouraging her to do so, her daughter has begun to express a very feminine version of a female gender identity. This example points to the fact that society – the images about our gender that we receive from our peers and from the culture at large – will gender us unconsciously, so that even if we are not aggressively gendered by our parents, we may still choose to exhibit a more normalized gender identity. Of course, we may not. But isn’t it better to let a child choose than to saddle them with something they might not feel suits them, forcing a child to be like Tireseas, first one thing and then the other?

Just . . . I dunno . . . read Middlesex. It’s great. It won the Pulitzer. And it’s far more eloquent about these thoughts than I am, as well as a far better examination of an intersex individual than this episode of House does.

Private Practice-style lesson: You can't lie to your kid about giving him testosterone injections.

Private Practice-style lesson: You can't lie to your kid about giving him testosterone injections.

Back to House, the strangely complacent doctor begins to do more strange things, and now both Wilson and Foreman suspect him of being on heroin, so Wilson invites House to dinner and offers him a shot, knowing full well that if House drinks it, he could stop breathing again. House knows what Wilson’s up to, and defiantly takes the shot and walks out, only to vomit in the parking lot and bark at Wilson for knowingly nearly killing him. Wilson rails at his friend for being on heroin, and House admits that he’s actually on prescription methadone, which makes him feel no pain at all, but could kill him at any moment. Cuddy refuses to let House practice at her hospital under methadone, so he quits, choosing a pain-free existence over his job, only to return when Cuddy agrees to let him come back as long as she can supervise his methadone use.

When he does, he realizes that Jackson is sick because of the MRI contrast dye, which never got filtered out of his system when they took him off his T (something Thirteen figured out in his absence, after another fight with the boy’s mother when she realized his “suicide poem” was just a classroom assignment to write in the style of Sylvia Plath – what the fuck kind of English teacher assigns Plath to 8th graders?). When he first came into House’s care, he was just dehydrated, but House’s allowance of the MRI only made Jackson worse because he kindly gave in to the requests of Jackson’s family. Realizing that being pain-free clouds his judgment, House refuses to accept methadone treatment and returns to being the curmudgeonly Vicodin addict we’ve come to know and love, an end to the softer side of House.

I really liked “The Softer Side,” but I really dislike the implication that exhibiting a female gender identity is somehow soft.

The Husband:

Just as with the end of s2 – at least, I think it was s2 when House started feeling no pain and started skateboarding – I wish that Dr. Gregory House hadn’t been so willing to drop the methadone and go back onto the Vicodin, continuing to live in pain but being a “better doctor.” It was an interesting examination of his personality, and I could have used at least three more episodes on this subject. It’s what made the last episode so great – me, the one who hasn’t really been into any of the personal stories this season, thinks this to be so – and gave me the second episode in a row to actually captivate me and not just spark a small amount of medical curiosity.

But man, did I like “Unfaithful” like crazy. Not only was the priest played by the always-cast-as-a-creep Jimmi Simpson (Liam McPoyle on It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia), who I think is pretty underrated as an actor, but I was actually invested in the mystery for once, eager to reach the conclusion of the episode just to know what the hell was going on with his disease and his past. Yes, it was like Doubt 2.0, and I was itching for some answers. The fact that we didn’t get all of them is fine, because for once the P.O.W. was a fully fleshed character and not just a pin cushion with a mouth and an attitude problem.