Where’s the art? I’m stumped.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this “living fairy tale” exhibit (see video below) at the National Art Museum of Ukraine, at which any male suitor above the age of 18 may kiss a young painted lady who’s pretending to be asleep. If she opens her eyes, they must get married. This is real! Look at her ear doilies! It’s all so bizarre and disease-y — but after settling in for some Monday night cable, I had to ask: Is it worse than Gallery Girls on Bravo?
This is a question I’ve been employing since last week, and it will likely dominate my pea brain at least until fall TV starts up. “My car’s making a weird noise.” Oh, too bad — but is it worse than Gallery Girls? “The walrus in the Skittles commercial freaks me out.” Hmm. Is he worse than Gallery Girls? “Nobody loves me.” Well, Annie, did you just watch Gallery Girls again instead of pursuing a healthy social life? Maybe that is why.
Go here for my in-depth look at the girls and their damages. Here’s a brief roundup of Monday night’s episode 3: Creepy Eli Klein makes lifer-intern Maggie refill a water bowl for dogs in front of an important art collector, and despite her squeaks of protest, I’m convinced they have a weird Secretary-esque after-hours thing going on. Drunken cabbage patch lady Amy nearly flushes Maggie down a toilet in a bar, though she’ll never remember why. Claudia hesitantly stares down some paintings of clouds while Chantal the Olsen twin troll bitches about Claude in voiceover. Speaking of Claude, those paintings were full-on Monets, but the Clueless kind, not the art kind.
After an anonymous sneaker monster steps on Liz’s collage during art class at SVA, she ridicules “all these quiet little Asian people who run away and get scared” — and she says this TO ASIAN PEOPLE. They’re everywhere! Swarming around her with their destructive footwear. Unbelievable. And then there’s Angela, who gets us almost as jazzed as she is for a first date with this gem: “I’ve always had the fantasy of a middle-aged man in the midst of a mid-life crisis — so I was really excited to see Peter.”
She then mocks sad, boring Peter’s flip phone.
“I don’t want a man who doesn’t have an iPhone….or an email that isn’t Gmail. If he has Yahoo! or Hotmail, i think that’s a big no-no.” –Angela
Aren’t you learning so much about art?
Me too. Great. Let’s move onto another rich-people publicity stunt disguised as art: Sleeping Beauties by Ukrainian-Canadian artist Taras Polataiko. Watch… and cringe. You can do iiiiit! Bela Karolyi — and Marta, because I’m sure she’s lurking nearby — encourage you to press play.
This is just so horrifying. I have no doubt one of my “aisles” would accidentally pop open as I’d be wriggling around all over the place, and that was NOT an attempt to sound sexy.
Though my initial and overwhelming thought was EWWWWW, upon repeat viewings of that little video I’ve developed quite a soft spot for this “prince” who appears to have a double-V-neck situation going on.
Romantic idealist or icky creep? Tough call, but I’m confident he’d volunteer to lie in the bed in the gender-reversed version of this exhibit (that should totally exist).
First I thought “gross,” then I thought “sweet”; now I’ve leveled off at “sad.”
What’s wrong with me?! This is clearly Stockholm (Kiev?) Syndrome and I’ve simply spent too much time in the museum with these freaks. Why am I not giving Sleeping Beauties a fighting chance to win the honor of “Worse than Gallery Girls“? Let’s quickly run down the list of damages evident in that short video.
The clown makeup. Obviously. Aliya Mustafina is not impressed.
Doll tutus as facial shields. Is that a gross term for it? Good.
Random zoom-in on Beauty’s shirt. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but the more I stare at it, the more I dig the “algae chic” rosette.
The Russian suitors’ terrible hair. No, that’s not your mom in a pantsuit in the mid-to-late ’70s. It’s a mild-mannered Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men enthusiast and possible Pete Tork descendant in 2012. (I initially thought he “took it out” at 1:26, but more likely he was just adjusting his junk/collecting himself for his potential fail-order bride.)
The concept behind “Sleeping Beauties” naturally makes me think “This would make a great U.S. reality show,” which makes me hate myself. Didn’t they do a standing-up version of this on Bachelor Pad last summer? I wonder how many people ended up dying from that. But yeah, this would make a quick ‘n’ easy game show. In Creeping Booty, there’d be, like, seven guys per segment, only one of whom is “not disgusting” (it’s important to manage one’s expectations), and the Beauty would have to pick one of the kissers based purely on connection (or “essence,” ew) and instinct. Maybe in some episodes, the seven suitors would be dwarfs, just to keep the fairy-tale theme alive. Or virgins, though screening for that might not be necessary. Looks like we’ve got a TLC show on our hands!
Ideally, guys and gays would get to lie in the hotbed (of disease) too. Instead of marriage — too much paperwork — the new pair would just have to go on a date, that’s all. Maybe a nice brisk stroll to the free clinic.
Herpes. Just guessing it’s somewhere in the room.
It’s all the way in Russia. No fair. This might be my only chance at a husband!
He will be mine. Oh yes — he will be mine.
Okay, so let’s decide:
If this doesn’t work, I promise to find something worse than Gallery Girls by Sept. 21. I’ve gotta dream big.
What is with you today? What’s with today, today? Let me know what’s bothering you, pop-culture wise, here or in the comments and I may address it in the next installment.
What is your damage, London Olympics?