The Grammys. So prestigious. So glamorous. So magical. So FUNNY!
My guilty pleasure is Hollywood smut. I love the gossip about all the stars--what they're doing, who they're dating, what kind of collosal faux pas they've made (cough, cough--Christina Aguilera messing up the National Anthem). And the Grammys are like crack for the smut addict. I love to see who they come with and what they're wearing.
Their outfits are always something amazing to see. I mean, a lot of them look great, but there's always a few that make a huge spectacle upon their arrival. Whether they come in an egg with points plastered on their shoulders or in an animal print with a poodle atop their head, they're always fascinating.
And then there are the performances. Some are awesome; I could watch them over and over again. But some...some make you wonder how in the world these peole ever got a recording contract. They also make your ears grateful for the effects achieved by studio. And then there are the oddities like publicly abused women who get up on a stage for all the world to see and sing about liking the way things hurt. That's irony at it's very best.
I went to bed last night satisfied. I had a stomach full of doughnuts (great smut-watching food BTW) and a head full of crazy costumes and botched performances. Is it sad and terrible that it made for a great night of television and a peaceful night's sleep?