Monday, February 14, 2011

I love the Grammys!

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?