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Friday Night Horror

2015-08-28 21.44.19It’s Friday night, and while we have to get up tomorrow at the same time we do every day because that’s how toddlers work, we’re still throwing caution to the wind and starting a game of Eldritch Horror after 9:30, which guarantees we’ll be up past midnight.

A few months ago E and I vowed to take one “non-screen night” a week where after EV was asleep we’d put down our laptops and turn off our Netflix binging to do something together. Except, the first few weeks were… well, a bit awkward. We don’t really like crafting or cooking together. Playing music could wake EV. I proposed a book club, but we were unable to come to agreement on what to read.

The answer was obvious: games. If we had more two-player games, we could turn no-screen into a game night. This especially appealed to me as an only-child with a mom who was mostly into very literal games like Trivial Pursuit and Monopoly. There’s a whole world of fantastical board games I’ve never had the chance to play! As I was beginning to press the game option with E, one of my favorite comic authors – Kieron Gillen – posted an Instagram shot of him playing Cyclades. My interest was piqued, and after researching it on BoardGameGeek I decided it was up my alley.

BoardGameGeek is the sort of website I can disappear into, never to return – combining thoughtful reviews with thorough data and user forums. Cyclades was every bit as beautiful and ingenious as I could have hoped, like a weird blend of Risk, Catan, and Jason & The Argonauts – and, I set out to find more games I might like just as much. I immediately purchased its exceptional expansions, Hades and Titans. Then we had a board game gold-rush weekend where we acquired Jaipur (2p, genius), The Castles of Mad King Ludwig (awful and fiddly), Kemet (brutal and satisfying), and Eldritch Horror.

I had read the warnings about the Cthulhu-infused Eldritch Horror. Complicated, involved to set-up, sometimes crushingly difficult – it sounded like a game I might like, but I wasn’t so sure about E.

I needn’t have worried. E could not resist a globe-spanning pre-WWII story of sealing away Lovecraftian horrors before they could destroy the world – especially in the form of a cooperative game full of powerful female characters. It took her watching just one game of my solo play to volunteer.

Fast forward a month: we have all three expansions, plus many accoutrement like special dice, card sleeves, and box organizers, and we are just getting back to it after taking a break after a week-solid sprint against the Ancient Ones. Tonight we’re facing Syzygy. Wish us luck! Perhaps if we survive I’ll come back with a more proper review.

Why female comic characters matter (to a baby)

If we were to look at the pie chart of activities of my life (which would still be a terrible use of a pie chart because even when looking at proportional representation out of 100% it’s harder to compare the relative sizes of things in that format – death to pie charts) it would be obvious that comic book reading takes up a not-insignificant amount of my time.

If we are in a room with this comic book EV needs to run to it and bring it back to me to page through. Spidey who is a girl AND is in a rock band? Is there any better thing in the multi-verse?

If we are in a room with this comic book EV needs to run to it and bring it back to me to page through. Spidey who is a girl AND is in a rock band? Is there any better thing in the multi-verse?

That meant that EV had a lot of comic books read to her from as soon as she could be propped up to semi-sit-up on her own. Yet, even when she didn’t even have the means to escape from my reading, her attention span wouldn’t necessarily last an entire issue, let alone a whole trade paperback. That changed quite suddenly when I read her Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Avengers Assemble: The Forgeries of Jealousy last summer, a story primarily staring Spider-Girl at its center. EV sat transfixed by the whole thing. She let me read the entire book to her multiple times in one sitting.

I didn’t think too much of it – I just love reading DeConnick’s dialog, so maybe that did the trick, which also explained EV staying put in the fall for Captain Marvel, Volume 1: Higher, Further, Faster, More. The realization didn’t hit me until I read her the critically acclaimed, newly-Hugo-winning Ms. Marvel, Vol. 1 (and to E, who lingered in the room, feigning not paying attention but actually listening quite closely).

That baby would sit still to read books with female heroines.

I tested my theory. Spider-Man? A few pages. Hulk? No interest. Thor? Barely a glance. Storm? Entire issues. The lady version of Thor? Glued to the pages. Spider-Gwen? She picks it up every time we walk up to the attic. Hell, one of her first few dozens words was “Lumberjanes” so she could request the comic of the same name (which I dislike; maybe more on that later).

Tonight we read the first few issues of Ryan North’s delightful Squirrel Girl (recommended highly for kids!) while EV spent the entire time hanging off of me and giggling with glee.

What’s interesting about those books is that they include varying amounts of action and extremely distinct artwork, but they are each about more than a superhero who happens to have breasts. They feature women being women. I don’t mean doing “girl” things. I mean as heroes, their women are distinct in their voices, actions, hopes, and fears from male characters. They could not simply be gender-swapped.

The exercise lead me to look through EVs other books with a critical eye. Most protagonist characters in baby books default to male – the female is almost always the mother! And do you know how many books we have that feature a father in something other than a vestigial, dismissal role? Only a handful I can think of – Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, Gaiman’s delightful Fortunately, The Milk, the classic Make Way For Ducklings, and my favorite, Maurice Sendak’s Pierre. However, of those, three of the protagonists are male and three have mothers as the primary female.

In case you are ever wondering – representation matters. Even a baby who cannot say a single word will tune in to media with a character she identifies with more readily than one she doesn’t. I didn’t have to run a very length or scientific experiment to figure it out. When we’re asking to see Black Widow on Avengers merchandise or wondering if we could see Miles Morales – a black, latino Spider-Man – onscreen, it’s not just because we like those characters or are demanding diversity for diversity’s sake.

We want the next generation of real life superheroes to see themselves in the media we allow them to consume.

(Little does EV realize that I have every issue of Wonder Woman from 1975 to present sitting in the attic, waiting to be read to her.)

(I’m also excited to capitalize on her Spider-Lady Love when Silk hits TPB later this year, since she is a rarely-represent female asian hero that’s not the sex-bomb yellow-face routine of Psylocke.)

happy birthday to this

Baseline Peter on the way to play a Smash Fantastic show in June.

Baseline Peter on the way to play a Smash Fantastic show in June.

I.

I have wanted to have blue hair for at least half of my life.

Not bright, electric blue, but a dark, steely, navy blue that looked like Wonder Woman’s hair back when newsprint comics didn’t print a true black, but instead built it from other colors such that you could always detect blue in the highlights.

I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. I like blue, but not navy blue. I’m actually a bit afraid of it, to tell the truth. I don’t like how it’s deceptively almost-black. Wearing pants that might be black or might be navy blue used to make me physically itch from confusion. Yet that’s how I’ve always described this dream hair.

I described it in high school, when Gina and I tried to Manic Panic it directly onto my long brown locks and failed to even tint it. I described it in college, when I inexplicably went copper-red instead because it wouldn’t raise eyebrows on interviews as it faded. I described it when I worked for Blue Cross, joking that it was the wrong Pantone blue for me to be their mascot. Yet, even as I did so many other things I had always wanted and dreamt of, I never had that blue hair.

All of that is to say I am proud and quite giddy to be writing this post to you from beneath dark blue locks today, on the fifteenth anniversary of this blog.

II.

If I had to speculate on the origins of my blue-hair obsession, I would trace it back to being psychic, which in turn is linked to summer camp. Not to say that my psychic powers came from summer camp. They’re just related.

Embarking on blondness a few weeks ago, here I am in the Spike From Buffy The Vampire Slayer phase of my bleaching.

Embarking on blondness a few weeks ago, here I am in the Spike From Buffy The Vampire Slayer phase of my bleaching.

Let’s step back for a moment. It was circa Junior year of high school and I had a major crush on a younger girl who, in retrospect, was part of a post-punk early manic-pixie-dream-girl movement of chicks who wore black with zippers and patches and dyed their hair awesome colors and who were very briefly my type. (My actually-punk female friends at the time were blonde and wore plaid.)

I was resolved not to repeat past romantic failures in this instance (oh, youthful hubris) and was gearing up to ask said young lady on a date rather than let the feelings linger unannounced. One night I dreamt that I was riding on a school bus with her sitting behind me, and I turned around to confess my feelings only to see that her hair – previously bleached blonde and dyed in streaks, was now blue.

This was a weird dream not because of the girl or the hair but because of the school bus. I had never ridden one of those yellow-colored, vinyl-seat school busses in any context other than summer camp, and just for one summer.

Summer camp was a miserable experience for me, because it involved spending unadulterated time with other boys my own age. I mostly didn’t like other boys my own age, but mostly because they didn’t like me. That started around the seventh grade, when I was suddenly teased for not being boy enough, which was a different sort of teasing than the teasing I’d experienced for having massive beaver teeth or Spock hair. Sure, all those times I was being teased for being different, but now I was teased for not being the same.

That summer was probably when I stopped really enjoying sports. I was actually a voracious watcher of football and wrestling around that time, and I had always loved gym class. Yet, at a sports-oriented camp, I discovered there were two kinds of boys – the boys who were good at sports and then the boys who got teased for being gay. And, of that subset, I was the one who actually seemed as though I might really be gay, which made me the teased-in-chief.

With that being the experience I associated with yellow school busses, you would think I would have recognized that my blue-haired school bus dream was not a good sign but instead a terrible portent of impending failure. Yet, the next day I waited in the hall in the stairwell outside one of my dream-girl’s classes. Out she emerged, and as I wound up for my actual-life confession of teenage crushdom, I noticed her hair was blue.

“Hi,” she said, smiling, not expecting to see me there.

“Hi,” I replied. Her hair was blue. I searched my memory, trying to recall if she mentioned she would be dying her hair blue. Nothing came up.

“Your hair is blue.” I remarked. It seemed like a good sign.

“Yeah, I did it last night.” Funny, that, since I had dreamt about the blue hair the night before as well.

I did ultimately comment on my feelings in that exchange, referring to them as “non-platonic.” She agreed. I was thrilled. Yet, a week later, she was surprised when I had Gina act as my valet to deliver her roses in homeroom on Valentine’s day, later commenting, “I didn’t know what platonic meant.”

Just as she had misinterpreted me, clearly I had misinterpreted the dream.

As it turns out, she was not amongst the most significant unrequited loves of my teenage life, as displayed by my songwriting habits of the time. However, the blue hair stuck with me. Maybe that part wasn’t such a bad idea.

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After one wash, my hair hadn’t quite settled down to the silvery, ash-blonde we were shooting for as a base-coat for the blue.

III.

Last week I went to summer camp for the first time in half my life – since circa the beginnings of my blue-hair urge.

It was not a weeklong hipster summer camp for Brooklynites (not that there is anything wrong with that). Instead, about a quarter of RJMetrics packed up for a weekend of sports, swimming, sun, and sleeping in cabins for no reason at all, although ostensibly the reason was team-building and camaraderie.

A lot of it was the most fun I’ve had while not playing with a band or with a baby in… I don’t know how long. A long time. And, in having that fun, I found myself doing things I’ve never done before – or, at least, had never had fun while doing before. I competently played sports, actually scoring and at one point sliding into a base (I was out). And, a gaggle of much-younger, much-fitter guys taught me how to do flips into the pool – something I’ve always wanted to know how to do.

Due to said band- and baby-having, I don’t get to do a lot of these off-hours team-building and camaraderie things. I’m missing one right now, actually. As a result, I try to do my team-building and camaraderie during my time in the office as much as I can, which means I have to figure out how to do them while working.

That recently took the form of a workgroup around selling analytics to content-based sites. I paired up with a group of people I never get to work with and dissected our favorite money-making blogs to understand how they ticked, which inevitably lead to dissecting this blog to expose those gears and guts of visitor patterns and affiliate links and conversion tracking.

I didn’t give it a second thought. Having a blog is part of who I am just like the band and the baby. I don’t hide those things, so why hide the blog? All of them are a part of what makes me a success.

Driving home on Sunday morning from my idyllic day at camp, it struck me that all the fun had to do with trust. I trust those three-dozen other people every day with my success and the success of our company. They trusted I would do my best to catch a ball. I trusted they wouldn’t make fun of my twenty back-flops into the pool on the way to a full 360 degree rotation. They trusted I wouldn’t make fun of them as they sang to my guitar playing around the campfire and that I could lead them through enough sun salutations to warm ourselves from the cold, dewy dawn that surrounded us. I trusted I could use my blog as an example for my colleagues and they trusted that I was doing something that would help them sell and service clients better, even though it seemed a little unorthodox.

All we had to do was trust each other.

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After another two washes I had a spectacular, surprisingly realistic silvery blonde. Now, the waiting game began.

IV.

This past year has been a year of everything and nothing, a constantly churning status quo. I don’t quite know how to sum it up. Maybe it’s because the things around me are changing more than I am, and so I am suddenly measuring time by my sameness rather than my difference.

Last year I had a baby and now I have a toddler. Last year I had a scrappy acoustic trio sweating out covers and this year I’m leading a full band confidently unreeling unheard tunes. Last year I wasn’t writing music, but this year I’ve got a fistful of new songs. Last year Arcati Crisis was on indefinite pause, and this year we played one of our best shows ever. Last year I had hired a core of my team, and this year I nearly tripled it. Last year E was also the director at a successful start-up, and this year she is employee #4 at an even-newer start-up and a local tech figure of some note.

All those things changed, but it’s hard to tell if I have. If I did, it was in a much more incremental way. I’m the same shape and weight, the same voice and temperament. I didn’t change many opinions or buy many new clothes. Despite nearly slicing my thumb-tip off a few weeks ago, I don’t even have any new scars to report.

Maybe it would be easier to tell the difference if I was writing more, but maybe I’m not writing more because things seem so the same. I suppose the only way to know would be to write about it.

I should probably do that.

2015-08-26 16.13.28

Back to the salon today to touch up my roots and then paint me blue!

V.

Today I almost cried in a hair salon.

To be fair, I cry a lot of places for a lot of reasons – becoming a parent just exacerbated that. But when I hugged my long-time stylist goodbye today with tears in the corners of my eyes it was because she helped me perfectly realize a dream that had stuck with me for over 17 years. It was a complete shock to look in the mirror and see that blue I imagined sitting on my head, perfectly realized.

That blue-hair urge is only slightly older than this blog, seventeen to its fifteen, but where my three week process of changing my hair still feels sudden, Crushing Krisis is anything but. It’s like a fossil record of myself, full of dated thoughts and opinions in each era, crystalized in HTML to be excavated and revisited later. If it wasn’t for this record, maybe I wouldn’t understand how much I’ve changed except for those big, blue-haired milestones.

I’ve been wrestling with trusting other people even longer than with the blue or the blog, and tracing the story of the blue back to its proverbial roots made me realize just where that trust began to elude me. It was at that point where everyone stopped being just kids and started being boys and girls, jocks or geeks, straight or gay. That continued through playing my own songs, always ready to wince away a heckling comment.

It doesn’t make any sense that performance anxiety or avoiding sports or not wanting to hang out with other men could stem back to those formative moments just like it’s hard to believe my wanting blue hair somehow emerged from that marble stairwell, but those are my best two guesses and thanks to one psychic dream they’ve been inexorably connected all of this time in the back of my mind.

This week feels like a sort of kismet in that way, wherein I resolved the camp issues and then my long held hair wishes, and also stayed in a cabin full of a dozen other dudes without feeling out of place for a second, all right in time for the day of the year that I retrospect the most. It’s clear that I’ve changed a lot in the past year despite some semblance of status quo, and not just by the virtue of it ending with me scoring points or dying my hair blue.

I feel like I’ve just put a final piece of punctuation on a long-unfinished sentence – one that’s been playing out here for years. It’s a lot about trust but also about just doing what you know will make you happy when you are sure it can’t hurt anyone – only help.

So here I am, instructing my future self: when you look back at this sort of epiphany and want to know how it feels to get here, do not think of the way your whole body has ached for days or the dye burning your scalp. Instead, consider that second after my feet left the diving board dozens of times and how I shut my eyes and just spun, unmoored from gravity and rotating, spinning free, knowing I would hit the water in a moment but also knowing that was not the point at all. The point is the journey, the spinning, the trying to orient myself the right way, and all the rest is just what results. That’s why I kept diving, even after I stopped landing on my back and got the flip right. It wasn’t about getting the flip right. It was about what happened on the way.

Tomorrow when I wake up I might feel the same, but I will have this blue hair to show me I am different. Yet, blue or not, no day is ever the same and that’s why I keep waking up and doing it again. Sometimes I am the change and sometimes the change is all around me, and no matter what I spin through it again, trying to orient myself.

Thank you for being a part of that change and part of what stays the same. Thank you, and happy birthday to this.

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A toddler, a dinosaur, and your author with his long-awaited blue hair.

RuPaul’s Drag Race Power Rankings, S7E12

A dull final challenge did nothing to shake up our ranks, though it did eject Kennedy from what looked like a surefire trip to number three. Here’s where we wind up, with the odds for each girl to take the win.

Here’s where I get to crow a bit – aside Fame’s strong showing in week one and brief Max insurgency, I’ve had Violet and Ginger pegged for the finals all season long, including last week. Furthermore, I’ve been obsessed with Violet since her nude walk of confidence down the runway on week one.

Now that they’ve reached their goals, what are the odds for their wins?

#1 Violet Chachki (avg 1.66, was #1, 1, 3, 1, 3, 2, 4, 1, 1, 1, 1)
Her odds? 8:5

I think everything will be coming up Violet in the finale. She is like an Adore Act / Courtney Delano mashup in many ways (except singing) – young and a little dumb but growing every week, plus fishy and high fashion yet not afraid to make a fool of herself. That’s a pretty compelling combo for Ru the starmaker, and Violet makes for a different kind of winner than we’ve had recently. When it comes down to it, she never left a detail unfinished this entire season – even her arguably weakest moment in the John Waters performance was controlled down to the thrusting choreography.

Why isn’t she a lock? This girl will go down as one of the most dominant queens in the history of the show, but so were the non-lip syncers Alaska and Courtney Act – and neither of them got the win. Sometimes dominant can be boring, and detailed runway looks aren’t everything. More than that, Violet showed a certain lack of imagination as a performer that doesn’t bode well for a champion. Also, there is the specter of Tyra Sanchez still haunting Ru – another fashion-forward and generally flawless young queen who fizzled after taking the crown.

#2 Ginger Minj (avg 1.9, was #2, 2, 1, 2, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4)
Her odds? 2:1

No one has ever walked in the Drag Race door as equipped for the win as Ginger except for perhaps the past two winners, Jinx Monsoon and Bianca Del Rio. Therein lies the problem. Ginger’s no Jinx – a magnetic star of Broadway caliber – and there’s a real risk is that she’s just Bianca Del Rio 2.0 – southern, red-headed, comfortable acting and proficient enough in dancing and singing, and wickedly funny. She might not be an insult comic, but that does sound a heck of a lot like The Return of Hurricane Bianca.

However, Ginger also has the big queen angle working for her as well as her unique “Glamour Toad” look, which was never same-y but always consistent. Its hard to imagine a big queen who will ever be a more beautiful woman and viable winner than Ginger.

Why isn’t she a lock? Ginger has some self-defeating tendencies when faced with a challenge. Her pagaent-centric vision of drag could be a little small-minded for Ru, as evidenced by the final boot of Kennedy. Plus, now that RuPaul has had the chance to see the entire series and fan reaction to it, this might not be the lady she wants to represent her brand for an entire year.

#3 Pearl (avg 6.33, was #4, 5, 6, 6, 5, 7, 8, 10, 9, 7, 6)
Her odds? 8:1

True to her namesake, Pearl is a rare jewel worked up from just a little piece of grit. The problem with that narrative is that Pearl isn’t all that rare or shiny. No final three queen has ever presented fashion as boring, repetitive, and just-plain-busted as Pearl, and finalists have seldom been so weak all across the board when it comes to talent. Yet, there’s no denying Pearl has a certain it factor, and it’s that factor that Mama Ru is so drawn to.

Can she really win? I can imagine some contexts where RuPaul decides neither of the other ladies represent the future of drag, but that involves a major roll of the dice that Pearl keeps growing and pushing the envelope. What’s the risk for Ru taking a chance on a queen on a positive trajectory and beloved by much of the audience? Potentially losing credibility with the hardcore fans of this show, who keep the buzz alive for the looky-loos who arrive each season. Yet, nothing could be worse for the show than this dud season as a whole, so why not end it on a cavalier note?

 

RuPaul’s Drag Race, S7E12 Recap: And The Rest Is Drag

Last week on Drag Race, Katya crushed Pearl and Kennedy and went home anyway, ending the show. This week’s episode is just an overlong epilogue, like in Return of the King.

After the Elimination

All four girls are clearly crushed about Katya’s exit, and Kennedy is maybe limping from her energetic lip sync? Ginger cries about it in her interview, while Kennedy takes all of half a second to congratulate Violet on her win before “NEXTing” her. Bold move coming from someone on the precipice of dismissal about two minutes prior. Pearl defends Violet, “Kennedy Davenport, your Hello Kitty was a Hell No, Kitty,” to which Kennedy responds, “This is not a sewing competition.”

What now?

Any time any of the girls utter the phrase, “this is not an XYZ competition,” you know they are high on their own fumes and headed for dismissal. It’s an everything competition – sewing, dancing, acting, being funny, being beautiful. It is clearly labelled as all of those things. The only time I have seen something on the show where it was straight up not that kind of competition is when the girls had to play basketball in All Stars, and they all thought that was hilarious.

Violet, appropriately, comes for Kennedy and Ginger and their hesitance to sew, and Ginger says, “I’m not a seamstress, I don’t know how to sew, but no other bitch on this show has been able to sing like me or act like me.”

What now?!

Did she miss the season with Jinx? Or the one with Courtney and Adore? Or the one with Latrice and Willam? The past three seasons have been lousy with amazing singers and actors. Did she see Darienne’s spectacular meltdown in the acting finale? Hell, even Sharon and Phi Phi turned out to be good singers when they were paired against each other. I can concede that Ginger ranks in the top group of actors on the show of all time alongside Jinx, but it’s not like she’s the obvious theatrical all-time champion. It’s just more huffing her own fumes. (Continued)

RuPaul’s Drag Race Power Rankings, S7E11

This week’s Hello, Kitty challenge only served to solidify last week’s ranking as we head into the penultimate episode, and gave Katya the unfortunate early exit I’d been predicting for weeks. Will this rank hold up next week as we see one last queen depart? We shall soon see.

#1 Violet Chachki (avg 1.7, was #1, 3, 1, 3, 2, 4, 1, 1, 1, 1)
With a second win in a row, seven of eleven weeks ranked #1, long-deserved adulation from the judges panel, and nary a weak spot in sight, Violet appears to have locked up her trip to the finals. She just needs to evade one more week of elimination, which she can likely do even if she gets handed a lip sync. Anyhow, at this stage the only challenge that can slay her would be writing her own comedy and I can’t imagine there’s going to be more of that. She’ll do just fine in the typical “make a Ru video” gauntlet.

#2 Ginger Minj (avg 1.9, was #2, 1, 2, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4)
Ginger has now spent nine consecutive weeks entrenched in my top two. If we’ve been reminded of anything this season, it’s that Ginger is one of the best strategists in the history of the game. She came with all the right skills, and when she’s feeling weak she reduces expectations right up until she hits the runway. What could keep this queen from the top three? Perhaps another dancing challenge, but Pearl would also be felled by that. However, the real question is if she can fairly defeat Violet or Kennedy in a lip sync if it comes down to a Jinx v. Detox style shocker.

#3 Kennedy Davenport (avg 3.2, was #3, 2, 3, 2, 5, 3, 4, 6, 2, 2)
Kennedy maintains her solid #3 spot after a trip to the bottom two and a harsh read from the judges about her unwillingness to change up her style. Why am I so sure she’s going to live through next week? Because she’s going to come out swinging after a trip to the bottom, and after that lip sync she’s now willing to show all of her cards. The only way she could depart is if Ru is forced to have her sync against Violet, who Ru might want to see in the finals just a bit more. However, the editing narrative and the averages both make clear this is going to be a Violet v. Ginger game at the finish-line, with the third girl just there for flavor.

From the start I was sure Katya wasn’t going to be Ru’s idea of a final three girl, and she did have a 4.8 average. Yet, I’m sad to see her exit on schedule this week instead of squeaking into next – it just didn’t feel like her time to go.

#4 Pearl (avg 6.6, was #5, 6, 6, 5, 7, 8, 10, 9, 7, 6)
It was (yet again) Pearl’s turn to go home this week due to a pair of underwhelming looks, but Ru insisted on keeping her in the game. I like Pearl – she’s smart, she’s sassy, she’s fashionable, and she’s growing every week. However, her weak Hello Pearl should have had her facing off against Kennedy with a noble exit. She’s in a harder situation now – she needs to win next week’s challenge or else she is a sure lip sync candidate, and she doesn’t stand a chance against these other girls.

RuPaul’s Drag Race, S7E11 Recap: Hello, Kitty Girls!

Previously on RuPaul’s Drag Race: we had another busted runway concept and the somewhat unfair dismissal of Trixie.

After the Elimination

Ginger is appropriately both sad about Trixie and congratulatory about Katya and Violet, but then brings up the elephant in the room – now that Miss Fame is gone, Violet is the only girl who has yet to lip sync!

Ginger claims she “just wants to see it,” but it’s hard not to react as if someone is saying they want to see you sent home. Violet fires back, “Ginger, how does it feel to have a weakness? I feel like you’ve been really strong this entire competition – but I felt that I really got to see this week.”

MROWR.

Ginger says she does all her crying after they head home from the work room, and then comes back with her game face on – which Pearl and Kennedy agree to. Nice show of solidarity and strategy there. Ginger does a lot of whining in the work room, but she doesn’t let us see her truly upset.

This was the best intro chat of the season. I think we’re going to see some great interactions in this final five that we probably wouldn’t have had if some of my other favorites like Trixie and Max made it this far. Plus, much as with last season, there are really no under-accomplishing villains – even Pearl on the weaker side has fought for her spot. (Continued)