Then we said hello to Nicole Scherzinger of the Pussycat Dolls, a gyrating pop group. With Nicole having made her name as the most prominent of a pack of well-oiled skanks, her Dancing narrative requires that she do little but class herself up. (The host at one point referred to her and her partner as "Sir Derek and Lady Nicole.") Told that she would be dancing the Viennese waltz, Nicole sputtered with bafflement: "What is that?" Her tone suggested that she'd never heard of Vienna.
Some guy from a soap opera danced with some woman named Edyta. She wore a flapper-appropriate fringe dress, but with the fringe on the diagonal and no dress underneath. Their accompaniment was "Hungry Like the Wolf." They weren't really ballroom dancing. It was more like he was all up in her business in the club, meeting with some success.
We got around to Kate Gosselin, a tabloid creation famous for exploits regarding the issue of her capacious womb. I recently saw Kate in the flesh, if you can call it that, at the premiere screening of the Discovery Channel's Life,a nature documentary series. Among the flaws of Life is the heavy stress it puts on the point that mothers of very many species will go to extraordinary lengths to give their young the very best care possible; no duh. But I suppose that Discovery invited Kate to the Life party to offer a counterexample. Last night, she wore a powder-pink dress with a horribly crystal-flecked bosom. "To all the moms out there, this one is for you," she announced. I need to call my mother anyway, and Kate inspired me to get on the horn and undo that dedication.
We ended with Pamela Anderson, awesome as usual. Pam wore a micro-mini-dress of Schiaparelli pink, tousled hair bigger than Tawny Kitaen's, and an expression communicating that she understood far better than any of the other contestants how to put bad taste to good use. Before her performance, she would let the camera see mock sneers on her face—sneers inspired by her competitors that melted into mock-insincere smiles when she made eye contact them. She was vividly sultry on the dance floor, treating her partner as a mere prop and the audience as a source of energy. Her command of glitzy kitch is intellectual, instinctual, complete. She short-circuited Bruno's double-entendre mechanism such that he could only splutter single-mindedly: "I can only think of sex, sex, and more sex—the dirtier the better." I believe that the number to reach to vote for Pam is 1-800-868-3411. Standard sext-messaging charges apply.
TODAY IN SLATE
Smash and Grab
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Even When They Go to College, the Poor Sometimes Stay Poor
Here’s Just How Far a Southern Woman May Have to Drive to Get an Abortion
The Most Ingenious Teaching Device Ever Invented
Marvel’s Civil War Is a Far-Right Paranoid Fantasy
It’s also a mess. Can the movies do better?
Sprawl, Decadence, and Environmental Ruin in Nevada
An All-Female Mission to Mars
As a NASA guinea pig, I verified that women would be cheaper to launch than men.