Every time a new cycle begins, I can't imagine how the new premiere could possibly be more ridiculous or inherently lame than the last one. And then Mr. and Miss Jay (come on, could we at least be Ms. Jay?) arrive looking like gay twins from the future spawned from a cross-DNA hybrid of Donatella Versace and Donna Summer mixed in a disco globe.
But before we get to the (true!) tranny fierceness of a brand new cycle, let us first say: Welcome to the Weave! We are Wholahay and Spontaniouse, fierce bitches who have wasted countless precious hours of our lives watching Tyra Banks use onomatopoeia to impart wisdom gleaned from modeling since the age of 17. (In Paris. Did you know?) We decided that instead of merely yelling at the TV every Wednesday night and hotly debating each episode over gchat for hours at a time, we would create this blog, mainly so we could quote the show even more often than we already do.
We also want to give big ups to Potes of televisionwithoutpity.com and to Rich from http://fourfour.typepad.com/ for doing it (like Kanye West) harder, better, faster, stronger. It's also possible that Rich might do anything for a Klondike and that Potes would do anything for a blonde dyke. They've gotten us through many long boring work days, and you should be all over their blogs like Prince was on Apollonia.
(I'm sorry. Goddamn you, So You Think You Can Dance, for making me obsessed with that song).
Welcome to the Weave. Full reports on the fierceness of Cycle 11 to follow soon.