April 7, 2019
“Judging the Judges of Project Runway..."
Oh, howdy. I’m sorry to make you
wait. Just as I was about to start writing, Kay
yelled at me to come watch the finals of “Project Runway” with her. I’ve
occasionally gotten myself trapped into
watching one of her dog shows or dog-cooking shows, so she hoped to get me
interested in dress design. One might think I’m being controlled.
You know why she did that, don’t you? It’s because of the time when
she suckered me into watching a
hair-styling competition. It was a contest to determine which of about a
dozen beauticians was the best.
Fascinating. At least it was up until the
episode where each contestant was asked to groom a dog. I missed the next
couple of episodes because I was so upset. I sure wouldn’t go to a barber who
placed first in a dog grooming contest. One of the contestants let it be known
that he was insulted by the challenge. He did it anyway, but his heart wasn’t
in it. Neither was the dog’s. Dogs can pick up on a person’s vibe. So can
flies. They act like everyone is out to get ‘em.
Apparently, Kay told my
three brothers about me watching a series on hair-styling. Larry said, “I am sure
glad that mother didn’t live long enough to find this out.” After that
humiliating experience, I began watching macho competitions. Boxing,
weightlifting, who-can-throw-the-telephone-pole-the-farthest… that kind of
stuff. The stuff I do not enjoy watching. However, I hung in there for a few
weeks, because I knew if one of my brothers kicked off, the first thing they’d
do when they got to heaven is tell Dad about my interest in hairstyling. There
are a few people I would be a little leery of, even in heaven. I fear that
attitude might just prevent my entrance.
I eventually started
watching “Forged in Fire,” the series where four guys compete to design and
forge the best sword. In each challenge,
they’re given a particular type of sword to make. You know, a Samari or saber
or cutlass. They’re graded on stuff like the sharpness of the weapon, the
strength of the blade, the feel of the handle, and the design of the guard. –
Beg your pardon, Maxine? Right. That sticky-out part that keeps the swordsman
from losing his hand is called a “hilt,” not a guard. As in, “I am taxed to the
hilt.” – Property taxes. Don’t get me started.
Where was I? Oh, I
enjoyed the first few episodes of “Forged in Fire.” The task of sword-making is
a humdinger. As if I need to watch more programming about stuff I’m incapable
of doing. To be honest – and I have great respect for honesty – I have yet to
find any competitive event at which I would not embarrass myself. And, what’s
crazy—You wanna know what’s crazy? I really believe that I’d be a good judge of
almost any competitive event… except for soccer, hockey, basketball, sculling, volleyball,
cat-grooming, and polka dancing. I’m good with all the rest.
Even with no training, I
have been chosen to judge BBQ brisket, cakes, ice cream, honey, chili, and
stuff “that deep down, you don’t talk about at parties. You want me on that
wall! You need me on that wall!” – Sorry about that. I utilize any
opportunity I can find to deliver those lines. Point is, I’m a good judge of
stuff… except for honey. There were at least a dozen entries too many.
I’m telling you all that
to tell you this, I would be a good judge on “Project Runway.” Those, so
called, “EXPERTS” are apparently looking for the best clown suits. If you want
to win that competition, you need to make a piece of clothing that no one would
be caught dead in. One designer created a dress that looked like a giant bursting
balloon that still managed to maintain its shape. The judges were all over it.
“It’s genius!” -- “So much better than anything we saw last week!” – Unless
you’ve got an invitation to the premiere of “Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland”
you could not possibly find a place to wear it.
“Runway” had pretty much the same format as
the hair-cutting show, just not as much dog grooming. In the finals, each of the four remaining
clothing designers had four days to design and make six different outfits, with
a cohesive theme. One guy made six outfits with a reptilian theme. He got
fourth place.
A Polish designer got
second place. The gentleman got so choked up before the revealing of his
collection that he was unable to relate the theme of his outfits. I defy anyone
to identify the theme without making up a load of crabcakes. The judges went
nuts. Each of the emaciated models had her hair made up to look as if a
two-inch rod was coming out of the top of her head.
Again, the judges went
all gaga over what they saw. The East European guy was even more complimentary
of himself than the judges. When it was announced that he got second place, he
said that the lady who won did not deserve the title. That her designs “didn’t
come close to looking as exquisite as his.” Had he been given fourth place, I
fear he might’ve stabbed a judge with one of his models.
Let’s face it, any
contest the outcome of which is determined by someone’s opinion is ripe for
argument. That’s why I prefer to be one of three to five judges in any food
competition. That way I can say I voted for whoever it is that’s upset. Of
course, I don’t want that shared with anyone in my family. God may forgive me,
but my brothers will still tell Mom and Dad. Oh, yes they will.
end
You can
contact Mark hayter.mark@gmail.com
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