I'm working on an enhancement to Girlyshoes. Specifically, I'm adding a podcast. Or I would be if I could figure out where the error is in my code that seems to be preventing i-tunes from being able to find the file.

Anyway, I came home from an hour at the gym with Nic Cage, had my emergency back-up martini from the freezer and went to work on the code.

At some point, I decided that it would be a Good Idea to delete what appeared to be a duplicate folder off my server.

That would have been this blog and most of the freaking web site.

I gave the remainder of the martini to the RLA and spent the rest of the night reconstructing this site.

Please forgive the missing photos in back entries, because I haven't found them on any of my hard drives yet, to replace them on the server.

I'm on the Metromover (which is a Disneyworld-style light elevated rail with no drivers) heading toward the train. I have on my headphones and I'm listening to Meat Loaf (Everything Louder Than Everything Else)* Even through that racket, I somehow manage to hear my cell phone ring (The Ramones: Sheena Is a Punk Rocker). I pull one earplug out, and answer the phone. It's RJ.

Here is our conversation, more or less in its entirety.**
RJ: Where are you?

Me: On the shuttle, we're at (looks out the window) Knight Center. Are you at the station?

RJ: Yeah. The southbound train is delayed. I think it's stuck in Overtown.

Me: Where are you on the platform? I'll catch up with you.

RJ: Hmmm. It looks like the train is coming now.

Me: Are you going to get on, or are you going to wait for me?

RJ: Ummmmmm. I'm getting on. Why?

Me: Well, if you waited, we could talk about the Oscars.

RJ: (pause) I didn't watch them.

Me: WHAT??? How could you not watch them? It's like the movie lovers' religious holiday. Child, how can you NOT watch the Oscars, I mean, other than that it's boring, nobody looked too good and Jon Stewart totally sucked as the host?

RJ: Well, that. And I didn't see any of the movies.

Me: Me, neither. Does it really matter? (Sees train heading south) (Suspiciously) Are you on that train?

RJ: Yes.

Me: Bitch.

Both: Raucous laughter, then hang up.


I meant it, too. Not that. The part about Jon Stewart sucking. I don't get it. The guy is brilliantly funny. How he could have slipped into such mealy-mouthed, poor man's version of the very UN-funny Billy Crystal, I just don't know.

Isaac Misrahi was tamed down to boring. The clothes the women stars were wearing were black, black, chocolate brown, navy blue, beige, ecru, sand and black. Except for the handful of women in various shades of Kodak yellow, which, I have to say, was flattering on exactly none. As for the men, nobody even tried to pull a Johnny Depp and dress with a little out-there flair. Boring. Boring. Boring. Face it, the highlight of the evening was Sandra Bullock showing that her dress had pockets. And she was with Keanu...who just keeps getting stiffer and stiffer and thicker and thicker. It's sad.

Speaking of sad, how sad was it that the message last night was "DVDs bad. Multiplexes good." I could have bought that argument, that movies are an art form best enjoyed on a big screen, in the dark with strangers, if there were still big screens in the dark. But there aren't. There are screens slightly larger than a two-car garage door, in a dimly-lit space with strangers yammering on cell phones, playing with Blackberries and not minding their kids. Even though my big tv is smaller than a one-car garage door, I still prefer to watch movies there.

I do go to the multimegaplex on occasion, I went (with RJ, as a matter of fact) to see the latest Harry Potter movie. We went on a week night, during the dinner hour, and were rewarded with great seats, and nobody but our husbands there with us. If all movie experiences could be like that, I might go more often. Honestly, though, ever since they made movie theater popcorn healthier by not popping it in palm oil, the bloom is off the rose for me.

But I digress. I watched the Oscars, but I didn't enjoy it.

*(Go ahead, have a laugh at my pathetic musical tastes. I'll tell you something else, I love Diamond Dave. Yes. Oh yes, I said it. I love David Lee Roth.)

** My god, but we amuse ourselves. It's sad, really.

I am the Very Proud owner of a Daniel Franco t-shirt.

Don't hate me because I'm fabulous.



Or not.

I watched my two shows last night, and what a snooze fest THAT was.

First of all, the ANTM "Where Are They Now?" proved to me that even the most successful of the also-rans were eminently forgettable. I saw Yaya's Radio Shack ad at Christmas time, and didn't recognize her, but found the ad and that character annoying. Hmmmm. Maybe I recognized her on a cellular level?

Ann in black hair? Ick. Yoanna's too-short bangs? Also ick. Tocarra? Still cool. Kim? Still annoying. Lisa? Still fabulous.
Then we moved over to the penultimate Project Runway episode, and, ugh. All Santino, all the time, all redemption arc. I don't want that useless egomaniac redeemed, I want him to suffer for his hubris. Still, despite all Santino's protestations of really being a nice guy, and learning not to talk trash, and how he's just a scared, insecure little gay boy underneath all his bullying, there he was, thirty minutes later, talking shit about Dan and Chloe. (Her collection looked like a sofa... if Dan couldn't see what was wrong with his clothes, there was something wrong with Dan...)

I'm hoping that Tim's underwhelmed-ness regarding Daniel was merely a ploy to throw us off the scent of his winning, and not a big ass sign that Satano is going to go home with the gold. That would just be awful.

The final challenge of having to make one last piece seemed to be a cruel ploy to crush all of the designers souls, once and for all. And what was up with having to choose a dogsbody to work with out of the discarded designers? And why Diana?

I was thrilled to see Daniel snatch Nick away from Santino. (Again with the eye-rolling, Santino. Enough, already.) Tell me that he didn't choose Nick exactly for that reason: just so Santino couldn't. But I think that someone (ahem, Chloe) should have used Daniel Franco's tailoring skills.

Another question: did this happen before or after the taping of the reunion show? Why did they all diss Kara? And since Kara was the decoy, did she have to make a 13th garment, too?

BTW, I totally agreed with Tim about the "shop class" quality of Daniel V's purse handles. Yet another ick.

Still, all things being equal, I loved Daniel's collection (except for those wonky little tab thingies in the middle of the chests... which I suppose are his military details... whatever.) Santino's one starburst-pleated dress was beautiful (and no, my tongue did not shrivel up when I said that). And the comment that Chloe's line was very Balenciaga made me hate those enormo-sleeves just a little bit less.

So. Who will win? I'm still hoping for Daniel V, but getting worried that it may be Santino after all.

Ick.

If consistancy is the hobgobblin of little minds, then the editor I work with must be a fucking genius, because the bitch never copyproofs the same way twice. One week we're using en dashes in certain places and the next it's all about the em dash.

For six months, every time we use the word "noon" in a time (Noon - 2 p.m.) it's been capitalized. As of this morning, it isn't.

Grrrrrrrrr.

Here's yesterday's thoughts from my boss:

Why aren’t any Democrats raising this issue:

OK. So the White House says it is the height of injustice and racism to launch kneejerk attacks on the Dubai Ports deal because Dubai has been such a useful instrument in the so-called War on Terror.

Keeping in mind that this is a STATE-owned company, what assurances can Mr. High Crimes & Never-Been-Briefed offer that the government of the nation state of Dubai will always be a government pre-disposed to cooperate with the United States? It wasn’t too long ago, for example, that Iran was a sea of pro-U.S. tranquility/stability/oil in the Mideast and Lebanon was the “Switzerland of the Mideast.” But I think those descriptions, in the words of the Nixon White House, might no longer be operative. Can you imagine what a fix we’d be in if Nixon had sold a half-dozen U.S. ports to the Shah of Iran in 1972? Two generations ago, Yemen was a conservative pro-Western mini-state. Then it became one of the most radical regimes in the world. Now it is struggling to regain its footing and rejoin with the Western World. Libya is pointed to with great pride by the boosh neo-cons as proof of the success of their war of aggression on an Islamo-fascism that is partly of their own making. But who’s to say the Qadaffi will not fall victim next month or next year to a young, radical firebrand of a colonel … somebody exactly like the M. Qadaffi of 35 years ago. Things change. All over. Particularly in such a volatile region of the world as Jim Baker’s Mideast.

So maybe Dubai is the United States’ greatest, strongest, most reliable ally in the world today. In that part of the world, that’s zero guarantee that tomorrow that state couldn’t be the second coming of the Taliban.

And, of by the way, our great and good and cooperative friend Yemen just recently stood by and allowed several dozen Al Qaeda operatives to escape from a local prison. Sure makes me feel good about turning our port security over to a country who’s greatest claim to fame is that Michael Jackson has decamped there.
In other news, I have found a reason to love Richard Gere, something I never thought I would say in my lifetime. But the quotes that have been circulating after his acceptance of the Hasty Pudding Award, have finally won me over. If you haven't seen it yet, here it is:

"I'm asking why I said yes to this," Gere said of the student roast. "'Cause we're all bozos on the bus. All of us, and especially in this world and in this country right now, the biggest bozo on the bus is actually driving the bus."

The emphasis is mine. But who would have ever thought that the man who is the Dalai Lama's BFF would be quoting Firesign Theater. I may just have to swoon a little here over that.

Finally, to round out my reasons to live today, tonight we get to see the great and glorious Tim Gunn visit the finalists of Project Runway in their natural habitats. Maybe, though, natural isn't a word to use with that useless asshat Santino... And as if that isn't enough to keep me on the couch tonight, it is also the ANTM "Where Are They and What the Fuck Are They Doing Now" show, prior to next week's season 6 opener.

Fuzzy bathrobe, bunny slippers and a jug o' plonk and I am good for the night.