You'll be happy to know that Paula Abdul has perfected the 48-hour day, something she calls "Paula Time!" Near as I can figure, that means doing normal amounts of things, but acting like they're super intense and terrifying, all the time. Like, tonight she's got the Grammys, and then a hop to Philly for her QVC jewelry show. Which is taking place like 24 hours later, at 1 AM the night, but is still somehow a feat of death-defying agility. The way she describes all this is exhausting, yes, but then so is her habit of calling her dogs her "four furry kids."
Lest we underestimate the depth of Paula's loneliness, we are introduced to her staff: a severely over-surgeried gay buddy slash hairdresser slash...Wildenstein; some girl with a hundred-million-dollar bracelet, the four furry kids, and...I actually, I don't know if she knows any of these people. Mostly they stand around staring at the camera and wondering if she's going to do anything. She's not going to do anything. Actually, she might just think they're on her staff and really they're just concerned passersby. Then one of her dogs eats a diamond ring and she reaches down its throat laughing hysterically. That is literally the only interesting thing that happens the entire time. It's gross yet boring.
Paula designed the costumes and jewelry for the Bratz movie she's producing. I'll say it again. Paula designed the costumes and jewelry for the Bratz movie she's producing.
She gets dressed with the help of those fifteen kind strangers who have wandered into her house. The dresses she looks at are all fucking gorgeous -- I've always mostly enjoyed her style -- but for some reason she picks the least flattering one, a boob-flattening Valentino number that would look good if she weren't three feet tall.
She tells the camera about what a diva Daniel is, and whatever, but his face is so scary I can't even handle it! They do her makeup for three hours and then Paula apologizes to the housemaid for her dogs' dogshit, but blames it on her scary stylist guy. As in, she claims that her stylist has taken a dump in the yard. You know what's patronizing? Telling people who clean things how sorry you are that they have to clean things. "Sorry I think your job is demeaning!" I hate that. That's so Paula too, though.
Paula on the Bratz movie: "I know these girls!"
The Bratz people call and piss her off in some way I don't understand, because she's the Camera Mumbler of all time. They ignored her fabulous designs, then fired their publicist, so now she is or is not involved in the costumes, or something. She and Daniel have this conversation about how they are "beating her down," but it's okay because she's "a warrior." From the ads, you'd think this part was crazy or cool, but you'd be wrong. She gives a speech about how tall she is, which is ironic because she is not that tall. So she's funny, in addition to being out of her damn mind.
What would make this show awesome is if Paula Abdul were crazy in a way that was interesting. What Paula Abdul is, is crazy in the same way that anybody at your job that you avoid because they're weird is crazy. Paula is cat calendar crazy. She's Lillian Vernon crazy. "My ex-husband was a bastard" crazy. She's "bitter about her parking space" crazy. That's not television, that's the Accounting bitches at your place of business, or that lady in Human Resources that won't quit talking about direct deposit every time you run into her. I don't want to watch them on TV either.
The fifteen-person staff of strangers packs her stuff for Philly and the publicist is totally not sincere, all, "I am afraid that they will not have enough time to pack all of her necessary belongings." He's not even worried about it. Who would be? It's boring and stupid. I realize that upkeep is a big deal, and God knows I spend a lot of time looking as hot and camera-ready as possible, beauty is a fucking burden, but maybe the makeup and hair wouldn't take so damn long if she weren't running around crying about imaginary shit and harassing her housekeeper about nothing whatsoever and accusing her stylist of dropping a deuce in her backyard.
Paula whines about her one Grammy and says that the last time she had a hit record was "when Bill and Hillary were having sex." Which is funny because Paula reminds me of the Clinton administration too, because that's when she was relevant, but think about it. That's when she was relevant. Paula stopped thinking about the world at the exact same moment the world stopped thinking about her, and that's where she lives now. She's like if Baby Jane Hudson were really into latchhook and, like, those little figurines of the kids with the giant eyeballs that always get into situations with puppies or angels.
Paula bugs the housekeeper some more, and patronizes the shit out of her. Her name is Marina. She is Paula's only true friend. She doesn't speak English. Neither of them do.
There's an hour and a half left before the flight, and Paula is leaving the Grammies, but the staff has A) lost track of her and B) not packed any of her shit. So the two things they are supposed to do, they did not do, but Paula's going to get upset about some unrelated, irrelevant shit. This is something of a leitmotif.
So Paula's cold and wandering the streets of L.A. aimlessly in the middle of the night, post-Grammies, in an unflattering Valentino gown. She is harassed and adored by the denizens of the night: homeless people, cab drivers, rapists, murderers, people high on crack. She takes this all with an unsinkable charm, apparently deaf to her own fight-or-flight response. She nearly breaks her ankle walking down the middle of the street, and laughs it off. This is all pretty bleak.
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The limo randomly shows up on some corner before she is stabbed to death, so that's nice. Paula pretends to have extemporized this after-the-fact red carpet comeback to the supremely disinterested Joan Rivers: "What doctor is your face wearing?" A) Nobody believes she just came up with that this second, and B) nobody believes she came up with that at all. So then she laughs hysterically in the limo to prove that she too is impressed by her spontaneous genius. C) It's funny but it is not that goddamned funny. Of all the Valerie Cherish moments in that episode, that's the one I'm giving the Cherish Is The Word Award tonight.
At the airport Paula throws a hissy because she has jeans and not sweats for the flight. A serious, long-term, Botoxy mumbling hissy. Then she fights the pants, and all the people in the limo watch her do this with a kind of laid-back horror.
These people abandoned her on the streets of Los Angeles for hours, wandering around in a Valentino gown, and she's pissed, because not only is she being forced to wear jeans, but they are also tight. "If I don't sleep on the flight, QVC is going to be a disaster." I'll say it again: "QVC is going to be a disaster." My emphasis. Also, she wants white tennis shoes and they brought black ones. Music as intense as a hostage situation plays while Paula goes through her luggage looking for white tennis shoes. This is the stupidest show I've ever seen. I swear this is the longest segment. She begs us for some sympathy, wondering if we could possibly sleep in "high-heeled boots and tight jeans." And to be honest, no, I could not do that. But I would never be in this situation, because I am not a lunatic.
At the hotel, Paula freaks because she only has two hours to "wash [her] face and change clothes." I submit to you that these activities do not require in excess of two hours to accomplish. The wonder of Paula Time!
There's a whole thing about how the first time she did QVC, there was a huge publicity push and all this promotion surrounding it. Which is true, but also false, because QVC is a strange little world that is sufficient unto itself and I have never understood it. It's something that generates revenue if you have somebody famous there, and I don't understand that part, but also she's doing this whole show at 1 AM, so who are these people that love Paula Abdul so much that they'll stay up until 1 AM to watch her on QVC, and yet simultaneously despise her so very much that they'll stay up until 1 AM to watch her on QVC. It's an economics I cannot fathom. Secondly, the way she's talking about this, it's like, if you take away the publicity then what you have is Paula Abdul selling jewelry on QVC qua Paula Abdul selling jewelry on QVC, which makes it just sad.
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Paula chats with the security guard about Simon Cowell, and he has no idea who that is, but she thinks she's charming the shit out of him. Then the QVC people show up to meet with her, and everybody hugs everybody else, for a million years, and this priceless moment is preserved forever in the form of a short-lived and entirely-unwatched show called Hey Paula!
Paula sees the "jewelry" she "designed" for the first time, and does not like it. I couldn't tell you why. I know why I don't like it, and the reason is that it looks like fake scary bling like you see at the gas station to the herbal sex pills and the cigarette lighters with boobs that light up. But it's Paula, and you can't assume that's why: she takes issue with specific design elements of the trashy-looking crap. And you're thinking, "That could be absurd and fun to watch, no?" No. I want to be absolutely clear about that.
Paula throws another low-key hissy that is totally boring and unthreatening. Even the people who work for their living at QVC Philadelphia are like, "I didn't know I could hate my life more." Paula mugs for the camera about how hard her life is that she has to make a 9 AM appointment to hock jewelry that is both ugly and pointless. It's QVC, Paula. You already done fucked up at that point. I miss that band that dog. "I want to see Cher / Doing her hair / On the air / And I want to see Richard Simmons / Dealing A Meal / And helping to heal..."
Paula explains how there's no publicity for this round of jewelry, so QVC should not be disappointed. She very nearly explains that this is because she's not actually famous. If only there were a professional person in her entourage that were in charge of that: promotions, publicity and the like. On an unrelated note, Paula's PUBLICIST is like, "This is all very unfortunate."
On the QVC show itself, Paula talks on the phone to some lady whose entire family died last week, but for whom Paula has provided some kind of respite or comfort or schadenfreude. Paula's like, "That really inspires me to keep doing the same shit I've been doing, as though you don't matter. Thank you so much." Publicist guy goes, "I haven't worked half as hard as she has, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I don't know how she does it." Firstly, that's Paula Time happening right before your eyes, folks. Secondly, she does it so you don't have to.
They sell some ugly jewelry and hug each other some more. Then there's another red-eye back to L.A. It's so boring I think maybe we missed a part or fell asleep or something because there's no way this could make it on the air like this, so clearly we've misplaced the part where actual shit actually happens. Paula praises her publicist for standing around doing nothing while her career takes a slow dive, and the assistants bitch and moan about something or another and fail to do anything to assist her in any aspect of her life, and they all drive back to the Philadelphia airport. Fascinating, no?
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