Zombie Pumpkins

Somehow I can't quite bring myself to post about the Fires that are raging away in Southern California. The news is full of it, and I'm actually quite sick of it. I get it and I feel for the people in dire circumstances who have lost their homes. I feel and fear for the firefighters who are down there battling against all odds, tired, overworked and understaffed for such a monumental amount of wildfires.

It's just that I can't take the media coverage of these events! They don't offer safety tips, tell which roads are safe and which fall too close to the fire zones. They aren't being any help at all, in fact. They just go stand in front of somebody's charred ruin of a house and pontificate about the horror of it all.

Worse, they have shown that Poor Princesses' lost Elvis collection a dozen times a day! Oh WOE! And they seem obsessed with where the football/basketball/baseball teams are going to go now that their stadiums have become safe-havens for the homeless and displaced. And they can't seem to cope with the fact that 24 has been unable to complete a filming schedule due to smoke and cinder activity. Have we really become so obsessed with the trappings of Hollywood?

Oh, speaking of obsessions and TV and Hollywood stuff:

It's been quite the year on Dancing with the Stars, so far! What with people falling, fainting and flailing, it's certainly been entertaining in a scary way. Marie Osmond is my favorite: not because she can dance, but because I see her as a more accessible and fun person than Jane Seymour. Jane is so darn stuffy, no matter if she's dancing the tango, the quickstep or the rumba, she acts like she's in ballet class, and that gets on my last nerve. Plus she's prissy. Marie, on the other hand, seems like the kind of gal that would come on over and stuff herself on my cooking and then help wash the dishes! (Thanks, Queen Q. for all the years of eating and dish washing!)(My idea of the perfect guests.)

This year, I am highly in favor of someone firing the costumers. I wonder where I'd go to lodge a complaint? Between dressing poor Jenny Garth in the dead carcass of Big Bird with tail feathers trailing, and making lovely Edyta look like Pocahontas in the bathtub or a decaying zombie dressed entirely in cobwebs, I think they've stretched to the limits of their creativity and have just turned silly. Naked silly. Jane and Marie seem to be dressed according to their age and sense of modesty, but the actual female professional dancers all look like Barbarella!

Only more nekkid and trailing more shredded hankies.

But there is one thing that cannot be faulted in any way. There is one person who must be watched, admired, adored and salivated over. There is one person whose burning Russian Fire and sexy glutes makes it all worthwhile: Maxim Chmerkovskiy.

I love it that he is not even remotely gay. And that he's always in a foul mood. Because he's like a Greek God, and they were always testy. And like a Greek God I shall have to worship from afar, because Ponsonby-Chmerkovskiy is just too much of a mouthful! I cannot trade in my spinster status for such a ponderous name.

Last but not least, a little holiday fun! An entire field of Zombie Pumpkins, dancing away in a ballroom frenzy!