Last night I watched the great, Oscar-winning actor and total hottie, Kevin Kline in the 1986 version of The Pirates of Penzance. This is unfortunate, because I realized, as I watched him camp around singing his intro number I Am a Pirate King that this is the tune stolen to be Popeye’s theme. I now have a mash up of the two rocketing around in my head. To make matters worse, this ear worm has taken over the space in my brain previously occupied by Tim Curry’s novelty hit I Do the Rock, which showed up in i-pod rotation and stuck in my head for a week. I can honestly say that I’d rather be possessed by Tim than Popeye. Kevin only supplies the visuals in this, and even the memory of him in black tights, thigh high boots and a poofy white shirt cannot erase the pain of a mental loop caused by Popeye the Sailor King.

I try not to blog about my work life anymore, because frankly, life here at hospice is infinitely better than life at the hospital. Whereas at the hospital, the only time anyone gave a thought, much less a rat’s patootie, about the mission/vision was when the regulators were coming and any employee could be asked to recite them, here at the hospice I have found that people tend to live the values. Especially in the field, hospice work is more a calling than a job, and things like “We Take Care of Each Other” are profoundly held beliefs.

But there is always a fly in the honey, is there not? One of my co-workers has drunk our boss’ Kool-Aid and is all offended by the health and wellness program offered by the HR department. Why is a health and wellness program offensive? I don’t know. But it seems to be hinging on the addition/promotion of yoga. This is seen as intrusive and a religious pontification and a promotion of the HR director’s personal beliefs in contradiction to separation of church and state and who the fuck knows… I most emphatically did NOT drink the Kool-Aid on this one. All I know is that yesterday, at the corporate holiday lunch, said HR director gave a short presentation on life/work balance, and said co-worker just writhed in her seat (which was, unfortunately next to mine) and sighed and heaved, and rolled her eyes and carried on until I told her to put a poker face on it already and just shut the fuck up. This did not go over too well with my co-worker who felt she had to explain why she was so mortally offended by the presentation and the yoga and you know what? I have no idea what she was yapping on about because despite the pleasant smile on my face, in my mind, I was going “lalalalalala I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Which is what you have to do in a corporate setting, and what I was trying to tell her about sitting there seeming to listen to the life balance blahblahblah.

Anyway, tonight I start cooking for Thanksgiving. The Girlcousin hosts it, but since all the women in my family find cooking to be a competitive sport, there is plenty of room on the buffet table for everyone to show off. I make two cranberry sauces (cranberries in port wine—fabulous, and Susan Stamberg’s mother in law’s cranberries with sour cream and horseradish, which is just divine), a pumpkin pie from scratch (because I can) and this year I’m roasting brussels sprouts.  The Girlcousin’s brother and sister-in-law bake, so there will be something chocolate, and lemon squares (for me) and probably a little more chocolate. There will be deep fried turkey and a regular turkey breast roasted in the oven. Potatoes and sweet potatoes. Salads. Kasha. Cocktails. Hilarity. Football. All the junior cousins will be in town, and I’ll finally get to meet my nephew’s wife.

On Friday, the other side of the family will gather for an after-Thanksgiving lunch and there will be more hilarity, more cousins, more food, and more love.

On Saturday and Sunday, I’ll be packing up stuff to bring back to Miami for a garage sale. Is there no end to the fun? And because I have them on hand, here are my two cranberry relish recipes.

CRANBERRIES AND PORT WINE

12 oz. bag fresh cranberries

1/2 c. sugar

1 c. port wine

Wash cranberries and place in pot with sugar and port. Bring to boil - reduce heat and boil gently, uncovered until berries begin to pop. Remove from heat and chill. May be kept in refrigerator up to one week. If you prefer a smooth gel, press though a cheese cloth.

MAMA STAMBERG’S CRANBERRY RELISH

2 cups whole raw cranberries, washed

1 small onion

3/4 cup sour cream

1/2 cup sugar

2 tablespoons horseradish from a jar (“red is a bit milder than white”)

Grind the raw berries and onion together. (“I use an old-fashioned meat grinder,” says Stamberg. “I’m sure there’s a setting on the food processor that will give you a chunky grind—not a puree.”)

Add everything else and mix.

Put in a plastic container and freeze.

Early Thanksgiving morning, move it from freezer to refrigerator compartment to thaw. (“It should still have some little icy slivers left.”)

The relish will be thick, creamy, and shocking pink. (“OK, Pepto Bismol pink. It has a tangy taste that cuts through and perks up the turkey and gravy. It’s also good on next-day turkey sandwiches, and with roast beef.”)

Makes 1-1/2 pints.

For more on Ms. Stamberg’s cranberry relish, NPR has the back story and other recipes.

Last night, after watching an exhausting hour of the Bianca

Bitches and Hos (aka America’s Next Top Model), I settled deep into the couch cushions, opened up the laptop and participated in a live blog party with the most rabid (and I say that in the nicest possible way) of the Project Runway fans over at Blogging Project Runway. Thanks for letting me in, and I’ll certainly do it again, even though it made taking any coherent sort of notes impossible.

And. We are off and running, and damn Heidi Klum for being spot on when she said this is the best season yet. We didn’t waste any time with the audition tapes or the freak show of folks who didn’t get in. There was no pre-challenge challenge to narrow the field. There were just new apartments, which, I’m sorry, look exactly like the old apartments. Gotham. Atlas. Cube Farm. What ever. The fourteen move in and the camera does not linger over any of them, but I wonder at the introduction between Jack and Kevin (who would like everyone to know that he is straight before we go any further). Kevin says hi and Jack says hi and they shake hands and seem to hit it off and then Jack charmingly allows as how the two of them will most likely loathe each other before the end of the season. And then he smiles and laughs, charmingly. Or sinisterly. Only time will tell.

In the women’s apartments the two earlies gloat over having squatter’s rights to the closet space and bed choices. It turns out that this is Jillian (in Betty Page mini-culottes) and Carmen (I used to be a model and if you were never a model, you don’t know shit about clothes.) They are joined by a heavily tattooed Sweet P (who used to be a biker chick and also has Evil P tattooed on her other forearm, and who warns us that you never want to meet Evil P. I’ll lay you odds right now that we meet her in all her Shetangi-like glory before the end of episode 3). There is the requisite whack job who comes in and claims a spot for her Sun Salutations. This is Elvira, uh, Elisa, who makes 30-foot tall marionettes which somehow accidentally translated into fashion. Whoo-boy. Is she Angela? Is she Lupe? Is she Vincent?

In the men’s apartment, we have the arrival of a flamboyant little boy with wicked manners and the worst emo haircut in history. It is Christian, and he has worked for Vivienne Westwood and gone to school in London, and is a perfect prat. He is also, he says with a stupid valley girl uptilt at the end of the sentence “Really kinda Fierce?” Hmmph. We’ll just see about that. He says he is thrilled to be sleeping in a bed because he sleeps on the floor at home. Why spend money on furniture when you can spend it on? What did he say? Fabric? OK. I’ll give him that. But if you have a big enough stash, then you can sleep quite comfortably on that. Not that I would know, by any means. I’m just guessing.

There is a handsome fellow named Rami from Israel, and a Jay McCarroll light clone, who, as it turns out, made the salad dress that Erin featured on Dress a Day. Look, I loved it then, and I love it now, and despite the unfortunate resemblance to Jay, I’m loving Chris March. There’s some guy who looks like a watered-down, much shorter Emmett. A stupid hat guy. Several stupid hat guys. Lots and lots of tattoos. None can hold a candle to the Neck of Darkness that was Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo, and for that, too, I am grateful.

Back in the women’s dorm, there are more tattoos and more women. Simone Le Fang. Kit, whose work just floored me. I love her stuff. And I know the perfect place to get the hats to wear with them.  If I don’t own that candy pink Marie Antoinette Pirate Tricorne with the fishnet drape by next Halloween, my name ain’t Miz Shoes. Of course, I’ll need the candy pink, be-ribboned and be-shelled corset, too. But maybe Kit works in pink… Rounding out both genders we have a florist who makes clothes and a lingerie designer who wants to do outerwear, and Victorya, who seems to design a lot of stuff that looks alike.

Heidi Mail! Meet us in Bryant Park. And now you know where that forced song lyric in the title came from. Hey, you want better? You think of better. Champagne, and nibbly things and small talk and Tim and Heidi. Heidi asks the designers if they are enjoying the champagne and they all say yes, and she says good, because the party is over. Tim reminds everyone how in previous seasons, the first challenge has been to make a dress out of junk like groceries or their apartment furnishings, but this year, no. He points across the park to three shabby art festival tents and tells the designers that the tents have what they will work from. Only—FAKE OUT!—it isn’t the tents, it’s what is inside the tents. $50,000 worth of fabrics from Mood. Heels come off, elbows come out and they stampede across the lawn to claim their yardage. Except for Chris, who is a leetle too portly to run. Kevin beats out Kit for the silk plaid. Elisa grabs some silk chiffon. Others are grabbing just anything. By the time Chris makes it to the tents, there is nothing left but (insert evil chuckle) exactly what he wanted. Good, because that was a shitty thing to do, reality show or not. Hah! and Snap! Their ultimate assignment: to make a garment that shows who they are as designers. State your point of view now, or for ever hold your peace.

Back they all schlep to Parsons, but not before Elisa takes her silk chiffon and starts scrubbing it in the grass, rubbing grass stains into the gorgeous fabric. She is wearing Bermuda shorts and high cowboy boots. She claims to be imbuing the fabric with the soul of the grass. Oh. Really. Well. That will either be fabulous or a fabulous atrocity. Score one for the Vincent style of loony. Or would that be Bradley? As they leave, Tim turns and looks at the skeletons of the tents. All that is left is a faux fur pelt, sadly alone. Poignant. And also nasty, which is why it was rightfully left behind to become a nest for rats, or some homeless guy when even the rats don’t want it. They arrive at the workroom. (Oh, workroom, how I’ve missed you and the mannequins. And the industrial machines and cutting tables of correct height and steamers and irons and the BlueFly wall of accessories, which last year was the Macy’s wall of accessories. It looks like a big step up in style this year.)

And now all the crazy comes out. Christian is showing off what he learned in Vivienne Westwood’s attellier, but without the attention to little details like matching the plaid, which he defends as a point of view when Tim questions the wisdom of matching the back seam, but not the sleeves. Christian is putting on the wicketywhack. Elisa is communing with the voices in her head to determine which one has the best ideas for the dress. Christian calls her strange. Miz Shoes calls Christian Mr. Pot, and points out that as such he has very little room to criticize Mrs. Kettle over there, who, having destroyed that yummy silk chiffon is now doing bad things to a bolt of peacock blue…jersey? In a moment of lunacy that makes Vincent, Lupe, Bradley and Angela all look like pillars of sobriety and sanity, Elisa is sitting on the sewing table, legs stuck straight out, and is somehow sewing the dress on herself, rather than on a dress form. What ever. I’m sorry, there Mr. Pot, you may, in fact, have a point. And then, while everyone else is working like made, she announces that she has finished and goes off to take a nap.

Rami is draping. Rami has biceps. No. Really. Rami is built like a brick house and as long as he wears tank tops, the man can do no wrong in my book. I think Tim Gunn may feel the same way, because he says things about Rami’s draping but he’s eyeing Rami’s biceps. And who can blame him? Rami is doing things with a steel grey silk georgette that makes me want to weep. Did I mention that he has really great arms? He does. And Marion and Ricky have stupid hats. I’m thinking that the rule this year is stupid hats, stupid tats and/or stupid hair. Carmen has the same asymmetrical emo cut that Christian does. I miss Laura all of a sudden. Finally it’s time to go home, and many of the designers have much left to do, like put in zippers, or sew up seams, or in the case of Elisa, make a dress that doesn’t suck.

It is morning in the apartment, and we are gifted with the sight of Jack in nothing but his briefs. Miz Shoes has a moment on the couch. Miz Shoes thinks that if Jack will continue to wander around in towels and briefs, Miz Shoes will be very happy. This is infinitely better than Santino in a towel. At Parsons the designers meet their models, send them off for hair and makeup and prep for the runway. There are some big girls this season, by which I mean that they may have eaten more than wheat juice and hot lemon water in the past year. Some of them actually look like solid food has passed their lips and they LIKED it. Elisa “hand measures” her model, by which I mean she estimates the girl’s height and width by hand spans. A hand is the standard by which horses are measured. A hand is four inches. In case you ever need to figure out someone’s height in hands. I am so amazed by this action of Elisa’s that I almost miss her (Elisa) thinking that maybe a column of peacock blue jersey with a tail of shredded, wadded up crap that will unfold and explode down the runway could be a bad idea because maybe the girl won’t be able to walk in it. Tim asks her if she’s sure about this concept and she says that the other times she tried it, it almost worked. Unfortunately, she doesn’t listen to the voice that’s telling her to make it work, she’s listening to the one that is telling her this: Bai Ling wants you to design for personality number 43.

Heidi comes out in a gold mini dress with her golden locks and her legs up to there and looks amazing. Today’s guest judge is Monique Lhuillier. No idea. Had to look her up. And the runway commences. Eliza’s model comes out (wearing a particularly clashing aqua slouch boot…Angela crazy moment) and promptly gets ensnarled in her gown and can barely make it to the end of the catwalk and back without tripping. Chris, who we saw nothing of in the workroom, has made a beautiful, elegant olive green and eggplant gown in something shiny and drapey. Charmeuse? Kevin, who wants you to know, before we go any further, that he is straight, has made a sort of Playboy Bunny/waitress mini-dress out of what looks like a black pinstripe menswear suiting, but with the added kickiness of a metallic ren-fest wench bustier. Meh. Sweet P has the first baby doll dress of the night, in an ivory oversize eyelet lace with burgundy at the neck and hem. Simone has a monochromatic hot mess with an even worse brocade mini shrug. Jillian has made a vibrantly red (perhaps a red sheer over a magenta stretch underlining) party dress with a bubble miniskirt. Christian hauls out his beige, black, white VW ensemble complete with bustle on the skirt. But markedly well-made, I have to say. Victorya sends down a black mini-baby doll with bondage straps across the upper arms that makes me think of something Heidi wore last year. Rami’s steel grey dress is a knockout, and I’d wear it if I could get it. Ricky the lingerie designer also sends down a black baby doll minidress. Ho-freaking-hum with the baby dolls already. Jack sent down a dress that could have walked in anyone’s cruise wear collection, and it is accessorized flawlessly. He used a black and white fabric, cutting it so that the print was an integral point of interest in the design. Oh, there’s a term for that, but it escapes me. He used a clear turquoise either as an edge treatment or as a lining that showed along the seams, I couldn’t tell about the construction, but it was another dress that would sell out if it were put into ready to wear. Marion did some Santino light thing all flowy and drapey and with raggedy swatches of denim. Steven (and who is he again?) did a wonderful, retro new-look sort of pencil skirt and dramatic jacket suit. Black with red accent. For all the color that I saw in the Bryant Park tents, and all the color popping out of their bags of swag, this is a black and red runway show. Carmen made something with genie pants and an Elizabethan vest. I didn’t want nightmares, so I didn’t look too closely. Kit sends out an asymmetrical black and red (plaid?) hottness. And then, there is judging.

Chris, Kevin, Sweet P, Jillian, Jack, Marion, Steve, Carmen and Kit are all safe. Rami, Simone, Ricky, Victorya, Elisa and Christian are the top and bottom three. Simone Le Fang says that she wanted to make a moderne romantic, but Michael says it looked like her model dressed in the dark. And you can’t sew, either. Rami’s silk georgette was called sophisticated and chic. MK pointed out that there was a mother-of-the-bride fleurchon up there on the shoulder, kind of spoiling everything. Ricky, as a designer of lingerie, was called out for doing a stupid baby doll when he could have done something constructed to within an inch of its life. A pageant dress? Oh, Kayne, where are you now? Victorya’s baby doll was also dissed, but Michael admired her use of the arm bindings, and laughed an evil laugh as he allowed as how he knew women who would bleed for fashion, much less not be able to hail a cab.

And then we had Elisa, who explained her point of view thusly: “a sylphlike haiku of a cut like SLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPP and a tail that goes FFWWWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”. Imagine the appropriate hand gestures, too, please. To which Michael says, “you had me at hello. Color: pretty. Sleeve: pretty. But where to stop? It’s a train wreck.” Dammit, Michael, low puns are MY purview. Christian’s work was found to be innovative (you say innovative, I say derivative. Tomayto. Tomahto.) Rami’s ability to drape with those amazing arms was duly noted as was the fact that he knows his craft.

As the judges discussed the bottom three, Heidi said that Elisa’s dress made her model look like she was (and again I quote, because there is nothing I can add) “pooing fabric”. And finally, Rami wins and Simone is out. Next week looks like a team challenge. And having watched this and ANTM in the same night, I am left to ponder the differences between shit and shinola.

At the Casa de Bitches and Hos, Lisa is talking shit

about the pressure on her to remain in the top spot. We see her practicing in front of ever reflective surface in the house: mirrors, glass doors, the shine of grease on Binaca’s forehead. Honey, you should just worry about remaining in the house, is what I’m saying. Heather is eating at a table with Binaca, where, I am certain you will be shocked to learn, Binaca is engaging in her very favorite game (well, you know, other than torturing kittens, ripping the heads off baby chicks and tearing the wings off of flies) of beating down Heather to her face while pretending to be concerned about Heather’s fragile psyche. Today this takes the form of worrying about when, exactly, Heather will have a complete and total breakdown, and be taken from the house in a straight jacket. My guess would be shortly after Heather finally snaps and pounds the shit out of Binaca. Pounding the shit out of Binaca would leave nothing more than an empty skin, but where would the loss be?

Tyra Mail! tells the girls to get ready to be schooled. Doesn’t say in what, and the usual lame guesses aren’t worth wasting the pixels on writing down. Off they go in their bio-bus and end up at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. There they meet Neal Hamil, the head of Elite Model Management (and one of the Powers That Be that have to live with the winner for a year, and I think that after 8 seasons of winners (and I use the term loosely) like Jaslene the Drag Queen, Noxema and that other one who couldn’t talk to save her life (insert any name here), the Powers That Be have decided to participate a little more closely to prevent another nightmare like (insert any winner’s name here).

So, the hamsters see BennyNinja again, and he tells them that today’s challenge will be to become a muse to a student designer. The designers will use a particularly nasty, mother of the bride, pastel blue polyester dress & jacket and transform it (good luck, says I) into an expression of who they (the models, not the designers) are. The hamsters are teamed up with their designers and we see the designers trying to get a feel for who these vapid clothes hangers really are. Lisa says she likes to show off her legs. Binaca gets some little Asian girl who sees Cleopatra and a boat trip down the Nile. Binaca sees that this is not what she wants, and begins to show the stank face. Chantallobotomy is asked to strike a signature pose and stands with arms akimbo and the same vacuous look she always has. I suppose that a face devoid of expression or intelligence could legitimately be called her signature. Whatevs. Jenah’s designer sees a ballerina. Has the designer ever been to a ballet other than the Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo? Heather’s designer is a cute little guy named Justin and between the two of them there is so much cuteness and dorkiness that I think they should get their own spin off. Neither one can look the other in the eye, probably because Justin is like, two feet shorter than Heather. Heather explains who she is by saying “I’m a dork.” All righty then. When the dresses are done, there will be a fashion show and the girls will have to explain how they inspired their designers.

Backstage, Lisa is practicing her attitude and little speech. “I’m a garden party crasher.” Yeah. Binaca is telling everyone that she’s not worried about a thing, because her pictures just keep getting better and better. Unlike her skank personality, which is starting to really, really annoy me. She’s not as delusional as Darth Jader (but then, who could be?) but she is as big a bitch as pick one: Camille & her signature horse stomp, Yaya and her ego, or Moonique of the crusty undies. Boy, we’ve had some good times together on this show, haven’t we? Memories, sigh. But right now, Binaca is going off on Heather again, saying how she has a pretty face and nothing else.

For the judging, in addition to Neal, we have Ann Shoket, Editor in Chief of 17 magazine. There is a brief montage of the girls variously hating on their designers and dresses, with the occasional squeal of “This is SOOOOOO me!” from Jenah. And we’re off. Bianca comes out and declares herself Cleopatra Jones, and flounces and attitudes her way down the catwalk, daring the judges to not like her or how she’s reinterpreted what her designer told her the look was. She’s a little more Grace Jones than Cleopatra Jones, if you ask me. Heather comes out, looking etheral and then…can’t speak. She chokes big time. She chokes worse than Vinnie Testeverde at the Fiesta Bowl when Penn State cleaned the collective clock of the University of Miami on national television, after the Canes looked like fools wearing cammo and talking shit. GACCCKKK! Calling Dr. Heimlich! But I digress. Heather stands there and we get the dreaded cricket sound track. Not good for Heather. Oh Noes! Ambreal comes down in something that looks like a cross between a crash test dummy and police crime scene tape, with a neon yellow lollipop thing. But that’s OK, because she interviews that she was perfect.

Jenah was a rock star ballerina, which translates to fairy dress from Hot Topics. Lisa blows the talking part as much as Heather or Jaslene, but doesn’t get the cricket edit. She does deliver that inane “garden party crasher” drivel, just not well. Then she goes back stage and cries “No more Top Model for me!” No, no, no. That’s “no soup for you!” Get your pop culture references straight there, missy.

Chantallobotomy comes out in a sort of gauzy Barbie dress, which, actually, is perfect for her, but then she does some crappy, crabby mean-faced stomp down the cat walk and it looks stupid. Salacious D comes out in a real pixie dress, complete (at least in my mind) with wings and is just adorable. And what’s up with her weave? Why is hers still perfect and adorable (even if it looks a little bit like Kelly Osborne?) and poor old Jenah has the rat weave from hell (or Britney Spears) exploding on her head? We’ll never know. But it’s time for Neal and Ann to review the hamsters and pick a winner (who will also get to do a photo shoot for jewelry and take along two frenemies),

Ambreal rushed it and oversold it. Binaca had more attitude than anyone else (shocking) and way too much attitude for the dress. Lisa got derailed while trying to speak and it was her weak moment, unlike Heather, who totally blew up. They were very disappointed that Heather couldn’t sell her ocean dress and called her a blah day at the beach. The winner, the girl with the most sparkle, is Salacious D, who picked Lisa and Binaca to share her prize. At the shoot, Binaca continues to trash talk Heather, and Lisa looks a little rode hard and put up wet for 17 magazine. At least to me.

Back at the house, Lisa and Salacious D make a dive for the showers, completely ignoring the fact that Heather had first dibs. Sort of like in week whatever when Binaca literally walked over Heather to take the phone first. This must happen a lot in the house, because Heather totally looses it, runs in the shower and just screeches at the other two to quit dissing her. Salacious D could care less about this, and naturally, if there is shit being stirred, Binaca has a spoon it. We are saved from seeing more by commercials, where Jaslene is signing autographs and being unintelligible at a Wal-Mart. Ah, nostalgia for Noxema signing autographs at Walgreen’s wafts over me. Is Walgreen’s a step up or a step down from Wal-Mart, do you think?

The next morning, the hamsters get an early wake up call and are hauled off into the middle of the desert in the bio-bus, which, having dropped them, then leaves them stranded with nothing but their wits and the camera crew. Slim pickins’ I say. But from out of the shimmering heat comes a man. Not an interesting man, like maybe, Clint Eastwood in a serape, but the Little Orange Man. Who leads the girls across the salt plains to the bio-bus and today’s shoot. A Model’s Burning Wasteland. Sort of like a Teenage Wasteland, but without Roger Daltry. Or Pete Townsend. Or guitars. Or a point. But with a burning car. Little Orange Man tells the girls to give him, and I quote: “desperation fabulosity”. Lisa tells herself not to over-think things, because then they go wrong. The photographer today is Trevor O’Shawna… the guy who shot the krunking klowns on the roof, where in Darth Jader sort of rocked the shot. Bianca goes first and wears Jay out with her fabulousness. Oh, Jay, please don’t feed that particular fire.

Chantallobotomy is in a baby doll dress that keeps flapping up and she works the frustration with the dress. She also tells us that she craves being in front of the camera like water. I think there’s something missing in that sentence, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…like, maybe, the other half of the simile? Salacious D has to get frustrated before she can get a good shot. Ambreal is told to stop posing. Jenah allows as how her emotions in the photo were real, because she really was hot and miserable. Lisa got all stumpified some how, and didn’t work the garment. And here, I have to say that this season, they actually are trying to teach the girls to model the clothes rather than model themselves. Sort of. And we’re done with this segment.

Back at the house, Heather is all bummed out about her performance this week, so Binaca stirs the turds a little and asks her, Oh, Heather, what’s wrong. Sweet baby Jesus, Heather: STOP TALKING TO BINACA!!!! No good will come of it. No good will EVER come of it. She’s evil. She’s getting in your head. And then Binaca gloats that Heather wasn’t perfect this week. And Ambreal says how everybody’s been babying Heather, and now she’s having to pay for that. And Chantallobotomy says how they are all in the house together, for each other, together, by which she means that she’s there for herself and everybody else should be there for her, too.

Tyra mail announces the week’s judging, and Heather is sure she’ll be sent home, and was that a cobalt blue garden gnome on the table next to the Tyra mail? In the judging room, Miss Jay’s Afro is now bigger than anything Diana Ross ever dared to sport, and I keep seeing Chinese dragons pop up in the background. Then a dragon comes out, and in one of the worst scenes ever on ANTM, Tyra pretends to talk to it as it wags its tail and bats its eyes, and then Tyra shouts with more falseness than her eyelashes, “What you say? We’re GOING TO CHINA!!!!” Much squealing.

Jenah gets her evaluation first, and Nigel and Twiggy are all over her in a good way, and Miss Jay gives his highest approval: she looks like a broke down doll next to a broke down car. Heather is loved by Twiggy, but not by Tyra and Jay. Heather says how she was off this week and the Elite guy says that her talk was directed at him because he was so hard on her, and Tyra explains how to compartmentalize and turn off your soul for the pictures. Salacious D is called pretty, but not striking. Tyra says she took chances, but not enough, she needed to commit to the chances. You know what? My brain hurts just typing this shit. Chantallobotomy is told by Nigel that this is her best photo to date, and Twiggy says yeah, what he said. Ambreal is beautiful but the clothes are lost and she’s got stumpified legs. Binaca looks like she set the car on fire and is challenging the viewer to do something about it. Miss Jay compliments her on showing the dress off well (I didn’t think so, since she was behind the freaking car door). Nigel says Lisa was dramatic, but managed to make herself look squat and short. So. On to the discussions.

Jenah and Heather get love. Neal from Elite gives it up for Salacious D, saying that she’s got the whole package, and that she’s a fun girl that people will want to book her. Chantallobotomy is compared to Cheryl Tiegs (ha. In dreams) and everyone agrees that she’s pretty but not a super star. Ambreal is not special enough. Binaca is rising… to which I say that cream may rise, but shit floats. Lisa gets the harshest critique though. Miss Jay says that she didn’t do so great this week, but she’s still one of his favorites, and Nigel says she’s shrinking and sinking and Neal from Elite says “she isn’t fresh enough”. This makes Tyra mad, and she says something about youth, and Neal says, not youth, freshness. I said she looked rode hard and put up wet. She makes last season’s Renee look positively dewy by comparison.

And the photos go to: Binaca (oh, she’s just going to be insufferable now), Jenah, Salacious D, Chantallobotomy who scrunches up her nose in a sickeningly cutesy way and Heather. Lisa is already crying and she and Ambreal go forward to hear which is doomed. There’s no sexy snot ‘stache, but she ain’t pretty. In any event, Lisa gets to stay and Ambreal is sent home. Just in case we ever forgot that she was a musical theater major, she dances off. I’ll miss her. Next week: Shanghai.

Well, sweeties, is today a great day, or what? We have the newest season of Project Runway beginning tonight, and we are mid-way through this season of America’s Next Top Model… in honor of this momentous occasion, I am discounting my “Got Taste” t-shirts in my cafe press shop. It’s never too early to think about your holiday shopping. Or about my dwindling bank account.

After the thrills and chills of Halloween’s Recap Episode where we saw how quickly Ebony went from Stank Bitch With Attitude to Sunk Bitch Without Hope, and Chantallobotomy gettin’ all up in Binaca’s stank grill, I just don’t know if I can handle tonight’s episode.

Oh, who am I kidding, I live for this. Well, this and the accompanying martinis. So. Without further ado, I present my recap of ANTM: The Girls Work It Out With Tyra. YES! I kid you not, this week the original Miss Thing gets down and dirty with the bitches and the hos and reminds us out here in TeeVee land exactly why she can get away with the crap she does and says to the hamsters every week. It’s because she defines “fierce”. No, really, I’ll wait here while you guys go to your Webster’s and look up the word. See? Right next to the entry is a picture of Miss TyTy on the catwalk. She can stomp it out. She can create the wind in her own hair. She has fire in her eyes, and and and… well, I’m just speechless. She leads the girls across the floor and they are just feeble echoes of a dim reflection of Tyra.

But I digress. Let’s begin at the beginning, with Binaca on the BioBus, explaining that Ebony wasn’t a broke down wannabe, she was just missing her family. Unlike Binaca. In the traditional foreshadowing interview segment, Chantallobotomy tells us that she isn’t concerned about a thing (SHOCK!) that she doesn’t question herself at all (BIG SHOCK) because she knows that she is a natural at this modeling game.

Heather explains that she is doing well in the competition despite not having any natural ability or the first clue because she is a visual artist, and instead of “posing” she is making art with her body. I think Farrah Fawcett did that on the Playboy Network. Of course, with her this involved a lot of paint and a lot of nudity. But still. I’m just sayin’.

Binaca then steps up and hates on Heather. A lot. And to her face. Which, maybe it’s the Ausberger’s or maybe it’s her mental maturity, but Heather just lets it roll off her scary-bony back. Which only infuriates Binaca more, and she asks the other girls why they are so protective of Heather when she’s the competition. Oh, I dunno, and just a wild guess here, but maybe? It’s because she doesn’t talk shit to and about everyone else? And she seems pretty sweet? Unlike, say, BINACA?

And then, the girls end up in a dance studio, wearing fleshy colored unitards and dance shoes. For some skinny bitches, those girls sure look awful dressed like that. Then Tyra! comes in and tells them that she is the teacher for today and she’s going to teach them how to move for music videos and runways. And I have to point out that after a few stomps back and forth across the floor, girlfriend is pretty winded. We do runway stomp with fierce eyes! We flirt with ourselves in the mirrors to learn how to be sexy and coy. Ambreal is choppy and hokey, and allows as how since she isn’t supposed to be there, she really needs to prove herself to Tyra. Good luck with that, Am, since Miss Thing is in front of a mirror.

Next, we work on the “wall slide” which is, apparently, a Very Important piece of munitions in a top model’s arsenal. Who knew? Heather looks a tad possessed, but in a fierce and sexy way (which irks Binaca greatly) and Lisa the Lap Dancer (which we haven’t heard about lately) fails to haul her scrawny ass back up the wall using only her leg muscles. This astounds Tyra, who gives us all a little lecture about how just because you skinny, you ain’t fit. But I’m too busy trying to figure out how a stripper/lap dancer can’t do this particular move in her sleep. I mean, I thought the wall slide was de riguer for strippers/lap dancers. Right up there with the pole twirl. As usual, what do I know…

Then the girls get knee pads, and—SHUT UP!!!—it isn’t that at all. It’s about the sexy/strong tiger crawl. Chantallobotomy does her best, but Tyra says she looks like she’s only running on half a tank. Of what? Bio-diesel? Half-tanked on tequilla? Half a brain cell? Answers are not forthcoming. Binaca is seen as too self-conscious. And then Heather crawls and Binaca tells us that Heather was pure suck on dry toast, and Tyra tell us that Heather was fabulous, and Binaca’s head explodes from jealousy, anger, hatred and just general stank.

And at this point in my notes I say “I’m thinking that Chantallobotomy is heading home this week because she keeps interviewing about how good she’s doing, and how confident she is and how she was BORN TO WIN THIS!!!

Then Sarah comes on and talks about how is she a plus size or is she ain’t and she just doesn’t know anymore. Tyra mail arrives and it is found by Heather. Who stands six feet away from it, like she’s afraid it might explode, and yells for all the other girls to come before she’ll open it. Musicians love models… No kidding. That’s breaking news.

The girls arrive at a theater, and meet Jessy Terrero, a famous (I guess. If you know about those things, which I clearly do not) music video director. Today they will be shooting a music video for a fabulous, international singing sensation. One girl will get a starring role. All the girls will appear, but the “multi-platinum” artiste will get to decide. The “mulit-platinum” artist turns out to be Enrique Iglesias, who, I must admit, is a lot hotter than his dad ever was, and even hotter since he got that mole taken off his face. They are going for a vampire-esqe/Goth girl feel, and in what must be the first time any one of these guest judges ever told the whole truth, Jessy says that after consulting the record company as to what they actually want, the girl chosen to star is

Commercials and we see Jaslene in New York City, unveiling her billboard in Times Square. I hate to say this, but I think I understood what she said. Something about a New York Minute?

Lisa the Lap Dancer…and Heather, because she was just too good to pass up. Binaca head blows up again. This may be my new drinking game. Jenah and Heather stand in a doorway as Enrique walks in. Jenah is supposed to give him the vampire come-hither, and Heather just gets to grab him. Nobody is surprised at how good she does that, or how fierce she looks while she does it. Chantallobotomy opines as to how bad it sucked not to win because she has all this natural talent and stuff. The director says: Chantallobotomy was a stiff. Ambreal (the musical theater major) gets to do a wall slide, and does it totally hootchie, which is exactly what Tyra told them not to do…except in a music video. We will hear more about this later. Lisa’s big scene is to stop Enrique with a leg across the wall, which she (using her talents as a lap dancer) manages to also sort of twine around his waist. Salacious D, Sarah and Binaca are all in a back room, supposed to be giving Enrique the old vampire come-hither, en masse. Sarah is just too freaked out by being the big girl in big-ass open mesh to do anything more than whine about being too big to be mostly naked. To which I say, Sarah, come to Miami and check out how big you can be and still wear ass-floss on the beach. I did that a few years ago, and went back to bikinis, since even though I’m the size of a Mini-Cooper these days, I’m still a LOT smaller than most of the women on the beach. Yep. If you don’t wander into Euro-trash territory over on SoBe, the beaches of Miami can do wonders for a big girl’s self esteem.

They are finally filming the final rave scene and it’s hot and it’s late and it’s hot and nobody has thought to have a caterer on set apparently, because all of a sudden Heather turns whiter than usual, and takes a face plant. The diagnosis is that she hasn’t eaten all day and it’s hot, and it’s late and girl has no stores of body fat to turn to in situations like this (lordy, you could saw a tree down with the points sticking out of her back). She gets some Gator Aid and a lecture and the BioBus back to the Green House. Salacious D makes the astute comment that she doesn’t think that Heather goes out clubbin on high levels of adrenaline too often, and so doesn’t know how to dance all night on empty. Binaca, on the other hand and this will amaze you, takes this opportunity to say that Heather just doesn’t have what it takes to live the model’s life. Which, it goes without saying, she, Binaca, does have…in abundance.

Back at the Casa De Bitches and Hos, the girls are all tucked in their beds, contemplating who will be sent home. Chantallobotomy once more states that she isn’t nervous about judging, because SHE WAS BORN TO DO THIS, and God gave her this face and body for a reason… as an apology for forgetting to install brain cells? Ambreal is nervous because she isn’t even supposed to be there anymore.

Judging. Finally. Jessy Terrero is the guest judge. Miss Jay’s afro is getting scary. Lisa goes first and Nigel tells her that if she could turn out that energy and hotness in a still, she could go far. Big freaking IF, Nigel. Ambreal’s wall slide is dissed as being hootchie, and she even (heaven forbid!) Licked. Her. Lips. The horror. Jessy, though, says he thought she was HOTT. Ha! Salacious D and Sarah were told that Salacious D popped and Sarah looked wicked, except for the part where she looked embarrassed. Nigel tells Sarah that she’s disappearing and she was brought on to be a plus sized model and to, for god’s sake, eat something. Beef up, ho. Don’t be ashamed of the T&A.

Jenah and Heather are called up and their footage reviewed. Jenah was smiling, and vampires don’t smile. She wasn’t evil enough. Evil light. Heather, though, rocked the evil fierceness.  Chantallobotomy was supposed to be checking out Enrique, but instead she was giving the “I’m hot” model pose, and not the “you there, come to Butthead” that she was supposed to be broadcasting. Binaca was too choppy, kissy and stagey, and not fluid.

There is discussion about Sarah losing weight, about Chantallobotomy being too flat and a dissppointment, Binaca being choppy but bad ass. Jenah can’t control the sexy, the camera loves Lisa (and good thing, because none of the rest of us do) and Heather is awkward and coach-able. So. Names are called in this order: Lisa, Heather, Salacious D, Binaca, Ambreal, Jenah. Sarah and Chantallobotomy are the bottom two, and in what must be a first, the foreshadowing and hints were a ploy to throw us off. It is disappearing Sarah who disappears, and Chantallobotomy who gets the second chance. Sarah cries more than any girl ever in any season, and Tyra gives her hugs and comfort. See? If she’d just made a couple of bacon and grilled cheese sammiches, who knows how far she could have gone.

And another week on the couch comes to an end. See you next week, when we play the “Binaca’s head explodes, time to take a shot” game.