Back wit da bitches and da hos

Although ANTM managed to sneak back on teevee without sending me the memo, they only were on for a week before I found them. All we missed was the crazy that was too crazy for the legal department, and so we’re off to see Miss Tyra and the new batch of mildy retarded, delusional hamsters that warm the cockles of my hard little heart. Yes, gentle readers, America’s Next Top Model is back on the air for Cycle 10, and Miz Shoes is on the couch, martini in one hand, pen in the other to bring you the best (except for Potes) in snarky recapping. Take a swig, and let’s begin.

We see Marvita, she of the frohawk and bad attitude. She’s this year’s returning wannabe, and though she’s no Tiffany, she has her issues and they are many: she was abandoned by her crackhead momma, tossed around many foster homes, abused and raped and left homeless by the system by the age of 18. But she’s been in therapy every Tuesday for a year, and she’s feeling much better now.

We meet Kim, who is dumber than dirt and talks funny. We meet Amis, who used to be Amy, but there was another hamster named Amy and Miss Tyra said that one of them had to change her name, so she volunteered. Why change it to Amis? Because it’s a name from the bible. Miz Shoes isn’t one of those reader/rereader/daily dipper bible nuts, but she does know this: in the bible, they spell it Ay-Em-OOOH-Ess. Amis with an I is Kingsley Amis, the author. I’m just sayin’.

Fatima gets her moment in the rehash spotlight and shares with horrified viewers everywhere her personal tale of female circumcision (aka: genital mutilation) and Miz Shoes downs the first martini in one gulp. Mah Lord, do not make us hear about this every week for 12 weeks, please. Somehow I doubt that my prayer will be answered. On the contrary, last cycle was the Green cycle, and Tyra has told us this is going to be the Important Issues Cycle, and I fear we have not heard the last of genital mutilation. It’s going to be a looooooong twelve weeks.

Fatima is out of the gate and in the early lead (by a nose over Marvita) for the title of House Bitch. After yanking everyone’s chains, she coolly observes to no one in particular that she didn’t know she could make people feel upset. “How interesting.” Oh, how foreshadowing, more like. I don’t know what happened next, but my notes (and we are only five minutes in) say: “Christ on a cracker, do these hamsters ever STOP squealing?” And sadly, the answer is no. They do not. Tyra scrolling text message? SQUEEEEEEEEE! The two Jays? SQUEEEEEEE!!!! A photo shoot? SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! A fashion show in Times Square? SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!! For Badgley Mischka? Crickets. Oh, well. Hey, look! Badgley has the same silver hair-don’t as Mr. Jay!

Lauren self-identifies as “The Girl Who Has Never Worn High Heels Before Being Cast on ANTM.” Where do they find them? And off they go down the runway. Marvita hikes out first, looking down at her feet and racing to the end and back. Kim can’t walk and proceeds to voice over that she was wearing a pair of $700 mini-shorts and she finds it stupid to pay that much for clothes and she doesn’t get it. Ruh-roh, not a good sign.

Lauren causes me to go ACK and Miss Jay to make a face. Amis tries to be cute and aw shucks by asking what she’s doing on a runway, when golly, she’s just a ragamuffin. She uses the word “ragamuffin.” I hate her already. Backstage, Marvita and Fatima are gunning for a bitch fight with each other. Neither one is backing down, and I’m not sure which one is going to pull the first shiv. It could go either way.

Back to the loft, where there is a Tyra Scrolling Message and there is more inane squealing. There is a visit to Elite Model Management to meet Neal Hamil, so the sponsor can get the first look and decide who’s going to win. We have our first look at Paulina Porizkova, former top supermodel, ex-Dancing With the Stars hoofer, critically acclaimed actress in movies nobody ever saw, novelist, renowned knitter and wife of Ric Ocasek (one of the homeliest men in rock and roll, second only to, or maybe beating out Todd Rundgren—who, coincidentally, replaced Ric when The Cars reformed a couple of years ago…). Can you say overachiever? Just typing that list makes me want a nap. Paulina, however, is ready for anything and wastes no time telling each of the hamsters exactly why they will suck: you have bad skin; you look like a drag queen/scrub your face; too High School Musical (this to Kim the Dim) if you have a dark side, bring it (and demonstrates pulling something out of her… well, I’m not sure where it was coming from, but it required sticking her entire arm down her throat.); you are too shmooshy-faced.

And off the models go, to their first “real” shoot, which has something to do about homeless people. Except, real homeless people will be posing with the girls, wearing the high fashion stuff and the girls will be dressed like street people. Salacious D has a “My Life” (still no longer My Life as a Cover Girl, it must be one of those truth in advertising things) commercial and explains that now that she is a new cover girl, she needs a new hairstyle. No, you needed a new hairstyle because that rat weave Tyra & Co. gave you was heinous.

First up on the set is Fatima, who gets all weepy because in addition to her female circumcision, she was also afflicted with homelessness as a child. She goes backstage and starts up with Marvita again, just to blow off the sadness. Marvita gives as good as she gets, and then, Ohmygod! they discover that they have so much in common: homelessness, abuse, stank attitude, anger management issues, and they immediately become BFF. Whew. I thought for sure someone was gonna have to cut a bitch.

The rest of the girls go down thusly: Dominique, surprisingly hot; Claire, sorta good; Amis, amiss; Kim, dumber than dirt; Marvita, dull. Kim then interviews that she wants to model, but not high fashion clothes because she doesn’t “want to support that”. That being the fashion industry and spending good money on clothing. Miz Shoes pounds the second martini and ponders the notion that there is someone in the world who aspires to be a clothing model for Sears or K-Mart.

More squealing as the scrolling message light announces the first judging. Miz Shoes is not feeling the scrolling message lights. We enter the judging room and see that Nigel is as hot (and hopefully as pervy) as ever. Miss Jay has on one of Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation reject jackets, upon which he has velcroed each of the hamster’s names. He will be ripping one name off each week. I suppose that this is better than the ever-expanding afro, or the clown collar, but not by much. The final judge is Paulina Porizkova. Oh boy! La Dickenson has a worthy successor, finally. No more Missus Nice Guy Twiggy in her tatty little cardigan.

Lauren “Lawsy, Miss Tyra, I don’t know nuffin bout walkin in no high heels” gets the first critique and it goes like this. Paulina loves her. Nigel says she looks, in person, way too nervous. Paulina jumps down Nigel’s throat and tells him that Lauren has a right to be nervous, at least for a couple of weeks. Nigel gets his snark on and tells her that she’s entitled to her opinion, NEW judge. And Paulina doesn’t miss a beat and calls him OLD judge. And we all know she wasn’t talking about the number of cycles that he’s been doing this. Miss Jay and Tyra are gleeful at the fireworks. Ratings! We see ratings! Oh, yeah, there are still 13 girls to torment, so let’s continue, shall we?

Anya is put on notice that because she’s pretty and doesn’t suck, she’ll be getting the harsh judging. Amiss is inexperienced and looked like an inexperienced model looking into the light. Paulina yawns. Aimee looked not homeless but incredible. Fatima took the shoot to the extreme and everyone loves it/her. Then Tyra throw cold water on her by saying that yeah, everyone loves this shot, but it was the only one of your pix that didn’t just totally suck. Next, Dominique-a-nique-a-nique is dragalicious. Allison was lost and had no presence and Mr. Jay didn’t have one good thing to say about her work on set. Nice. Whitney is our token large girl and Paulina and Tyra go all ga-ga over the fact that she’s got the “personal, invisible wind machine”. Marvita brings the glamor to the shot, but Miss Jay yells at her to stand up straight and look people in the eye, dammitBeavis. This season’s token Soviet Sweetheart gets high marks, Claire is striking but has bad hands. Atalya is pretty, but not telling the story. The homeless people out shine her. Stacey Ann has a Minnie Mouse voice and only five poses. Kim walks forward in a horrible outfit that includes a giant headband and the judges tell her to take off the headband before they’ll even talk to her. Miss Jay pulls out a stinky, crumpled tissue and tells her that’s what she looked like in the fashion show and then Kim tells the judges that she doesn’t believe in fashion. She doesn’t find it interesting at all. She would, in fact, like to go home now, because one week in she’s decided this sort of sucks. She gets her wish and Tyra (who has heard this so often now, she doesn’t yell or call her a loser or anything) rips her photo in half, but not before telling the room that Kim had one of the best shots. Sting. And yeah, we had 14 girls so we still get to eliminate another one of you tonight.

Anya; Allyson is a Gossip Girl wannabe, Upper East Sider; Marvita; Amiss is nothing out of the ordinary; Aimee; Lauren; Atalya is pretty and pretty dull; StaceyAnn; Katarzina wears too much makeup; Claire is loved, Whitney; Dominique-a-nique-a-nique is a tragic tranny (well, you have to have one); Fatima only had the one good shot, but it was the best shot. So…

First pic goes to Anya, then Claire, who tells Tyra that her dress is “SICK!”; Whitney, Lauren, Aimee, Fatima, Marvita, Katrazina, StaceyAnn, Dominique-a-nique-a-nique, Allison and in the bottom two are Atalya, pretty but dull and Amiss, who is interesting in person, but can’t take a good picture to save herself. At least yet. Amiss stays, and Atalya takes the bus back to Brooklyn.

Next week: Make overs!! Who will get their head shaved? Who will get the rat weave? Who will get the inappropriate hair color? Who will cry for no reason? My favorite.

It’s a cheap shot, but I gotta take it. William F. Buckley is dead, but how could anyone tell?

On the other hand, this is just the shot in the arm P.J. O’Rourke needed for his career. Now he can be the go-to guy for rabidly right-wing rhetoric from an upper-class twit. As far as that goes, he’s certainly funnier than Bill Buckley, and arguably better looking. Not that that’s saying much.

I wanna live forever!! Or at least, leave a lasting impression on the world. That’s why I, Ralph Nader, will not stop until I have screwed every presidential election between now and the day I die.

That’s the only thing that Miz Shoes can figure is going through Ralph’s head these days. Why else would he do this? He’s got no platform, he’s got no chance, he’s got no backing (unless he’s a secret agent for the Pure Evil that is Karl Rove). What does he have to gain, other than a footnote or a couple of paragraphs in the history books?

Get over yourself, Ralph. And go do something productive for a change, like take on Hummer. Or start a viable, well-conceived third party. Start at the grass-roots, and construct a platform. Engage voters. Promote clear thinking and honest debate as opposed to scripted sound bites and photo-ops. Or would that be too much hard work and not enough instant gratification?

HEY! How did ANTM get back on the air and me not know? Thankfully, I only missed the pre-show episode where the girls are winnowed and we see the mini model boot camp. But still? How did I miss the return of the Genius and Gift that is Miss Tyra?

I’d better put the martini shaker on ice tonight for Wednesday night.

It’s the Reunion Show on Project Runway, that zany episode where all the auffed contestants get to come back and talk shit to the finalists, and we get to see all the really crazy shit that ended up on the cutting room floor.

The show starts with Kit Pistol and Elisa talking about the fan mail they get from kids. Of course Kit would be the favorite contestant of the eight and under crowd. She looks like she still dots her “i’s” with little hearts, and probably carries a Hello Kitty purse. In fact, she’s wearing opera-length fingerless ivory gloves. Elisa, on the other hand, says that her fan mail comes from little girls who tell her she’s shown them that they can be different, and it’s O.K.

She says that. I don’t know that I believe her, because (jumping ahead a little here) when she gets her five minutes of flashback, never-before-seen footage, we realize that the editors were actually being kind and generous in their portrayal of her in the footage that did air.

When she says she took a blow to the head, I’m thinking it wasn’t the Porsche in London, but maybe she was dropped on her head as a baby. Girlfriend is scary out to lunch. Remember the spit marking? They didn’t show us that there was an incantation that went with it. Or the anti-bad vibes spritzer she used on her clothes. Or the vast and complex language of grunts and fwooshes and twitters and whatnot that she used…to Tim Gunn. But I get ahead of myself. Sweet P says that the best part of being on the show is being recognized and talked to by celebrities. Which celebrities? Jack Black, who told her she was his favorite. How cool. Jack Black watches Project Runway. Jack Black has the good taste to love on the P.

Anyway, out come the four finalists, and Christian is first. Heidi teases him about his hair, and he admits that he did it four times before he was happy with its fierceness. Jillian flounces out in patterned hose and a cute little mini-dress. Rami does some weird snaps behind the scrim and sweet, Chris March just shambles out.

We are treated to a replay of the final challenge when Rami and Chris learn that they will have to go mano a mano against each other, and there is a close up of Rami sort of stroking the back of Chris’ hand. In fact, there is a lot of touching and stroking throughout the hour between the two of them. Now. I love me that big ole’ Sweety Bear Chris, and my love of Rami’s Heavenly Arms is well documented. Did the two of them become an item behind our backs? I would love it. Because, really and come on, stank attitude or not, Rami is a hottie, and Chris, while sweet and loveable, is not. Wouldn’t it just be the best for Chris to score with the likes of Rami of the Heavenly Arms?

Recap of Jack (speaking of heavenly arms) leaving, and his propensity for sleeping in the nude, to the chagrin of Kevin, who is still straight, and would like to remind everyone that this is so. Montage of Kevin being straight moments. This brings us to the “you have no fucking idea exactly HOW whack Elisa is” montage. The crowning moment of which is the revelation that she writes backwards in her journal because of her childhood crush on Da Vinci. She tells Heidi that “Project Runway” backwards? Is YAWNER. That’s right, she repeats, in case we weren’t clear on how dissed we were getting: YAWN-UR. And cut.

The next montage is of Little Emo Boy Ricky and his stupid crying and his even stupider, little twee hats, one of which he is, of course, wearing for the reunion show. It looks like it was made out of Raspberry Fruit Leather. With black patent trim. It is, if it is at all possible, perhaps the ugliest, twee-est hat yet. Amazingly, even though we are all forced to watch him weep and cry and leak tears for at least five solid minutes, not a tear is shed (at least by him) on this night. He also defends his weepiness by saying that the waterworks surprised him as well, as he didn’t know he would get on teevee and “cry like a woman.” Hmmph. No? Well, you break just like a little girl. Rami, trying to prove that the Totally Stank Attitude was a fluke of stress, and that he really is sweet, says that he finds beauty and something or other in Ricky’s tears. Salt, Rami, and it reminds you of the Dead Sea, back home.

The closest we get to drama comes next, when Heidi or Tim asks the designers how they felt when they finally saw what the others said about them. Proving why they said what they did about her, Carmen gets all snippy about how nobody was sorry to see her leave. The designers try to be nice and suck up. Too little too late huffs Carmen.

Long montage of Chris’ laughter, with side notes of Jillian saying that his laugh got old fast, and other designers (and Heidi) trying to duplicate it. There is a shot of him in the Temple of Dendur, and boyhowdee, in an empty museum space of such volume? That shit echoes.

NinaGarcia and Michael Kors stop in for a little face time, and we get to see MK lose it over the wrestling divas.  It’s pretty amazing. He could not get it together and keep a straight face for a minute. I understand. The designers get to explain their wrestling diva names and signature moves. Then Heidi asks Tim what his diva name would be and he says (wait for it…) Polly Syllabicus. Miz Shoes howls with laughter as the crickets sound and the designers look blankly at Tim. NinaGarcia tells us that she has been called Meana Garzilla when fans of the show meet her in public. Well, that’s a little harsh, non?

Proving that he’s as good a sport as anyone, we get to see what Michael Kors looked like in the 70s and 80s. Holy tousled blonde curls, Batman, what happened to him? Too much time at Studio 54? Not to be outdone, Heidi gets her own greatest hits reel, and we see that she still has a hard time with English. And maybe speaking in a register that human ears can hear.

The rest of the reunion is even more drama-free and boring. Finally, we get to see who the fan favorite was/is, and it is Christian. By a landslide, says Heidi. Rilly? That annoying yet enormously talented little twit was the fan favorite? Eh. I would have thought Sweet P or Chris, which is why Miz Shoes does recaps on her virtually unknown blog, and not on Television Without Pity. Previous fan favorite, Mychael Knight (who has gotten his braces off and is launching a fragrance) presents the Big Check and then it’s Christian’s montage. We see him trying on every flouncy, puffy-sleeved thing he made. We see him annoying the other designers. We see him say “fierce” at least one hundred times. Fierce, Fabulous and Flawless, he says.

P picks Rami for the win. Steven goes with Christian or Jillian. Carmen says she thinks it’ll be Rami, not because he’s the best but because he would be the most palatable to the American public. Snap! And that’s why nobody missed you, Miss Thang. Kit opts for Jillian, Victorya for Christian, Marion for Rami. Jack is last and says it’s anybody’s game, and y’know? It just might be Chris. Miz Shoes kinda hopes so.

Next week: Tim visits the designers at home, and Rami and Chris have a muthafuckin walkoff.

This election cycle is the one where one of my oldest-held political beliefs will be tested. I have always held that America will elect a Black man to be our president before it will elect a woman of any color, and a woman will be president long before a Jew of either gender. It is just unfortunate that we have a charismatic man running against a woman who was never charming on her own, and was demonized by the Republican right to the point where she can never recover. Don’t get me wrong, I admire much about Hillary Rodham Clinton. I just don’t think she’s at all electable to anyone outside of the intellectual elite. Even though I could, if I wanted, place myself in that group, I can’t vote for her. I tried, Lord knows, but when push came to shove, she reminded me of too many women I’ve known in politics in my life: hard, calculating, cold and as much a smoke-filled back room playa as her husband. I never drank the Clinton kool-aid, neither pro nor con. I don’t think that they are in league with the devil, and I don’t think that they are the best and the brightest of our generation.

Bill was a great president, and a seriously flawed human being. Hillary may be a better human, but she’s a political hack through and through. I don’t want to vote for another party clone. And therein lies the problem of this election. Who do we have running? We have the Manchurian Candidate (McCain) and we have The Candidate (Obama) and we have… what? What does Hillary stand for other than getting elected? Geraldine Ferraro was a more potent icon of the political potential of women than Hillary can ever be.

Which brings me to the point. Hillary needs to let it go. She needs to walk the walk and let the popular vote decide the process, and not manipulate it to achieve the results she and the other power holders want. The Democratic party needs to embrace the populace, and not just pretend to for the sake of rigging elections. We (speaking for the nation, and why can’t I?) have seen how power brokering and rigging elections works. We’ve seen it for eight years. It has worked us to the brink of another Great Depression, and worked us into a quagmire of a war in the Middle East. It has destabilized our position in the world.

Oh, for a viable third party. Any third party. Green, Libertarian, Socialist, Creative Apathy, or even Very Silly. Sigh.

This one, at any rate.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Imperial Majesty Miz Shoes the Brobdingnagian of Bampton Underhoop Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Of course it is.

I have been dreaming of knitting this for a year or so, but would never actually commit to buying that amount of that expensive yarn. Since I’ve been a member of Ravelry, I have been spending far too many hours in the groups and forums, and was lucky enough to be the first person in the De-stashing forum to read a listing from someone who gave up her dream of a Lizard Ridge and was selling her 19 skeins of Kureyon, for very cheap.

I jumped on that like a flea on a stray dog. When the yarn arrived, however, her color choices tended to be much darker and more somber than I would have chosen. Still and all, there’s no such thing as bad color in Kureyon. This weekend, the local yummy yarn store was having a sale, so I trotted down to buy just four skeins of brighter Kureyon. I am proud to say that I left with only five skeins, but one was Kureyon sock yarn, and so didn’t count as an overage to my self-imposed limit. Hah.

I cast on last night and I am thrilled already with the way it’s going to look. Whee!

You’re never too old to throw yourself on your back in the lawn. I did it yesterday, camera in hand.

Back in the dawn of time, when Miz Shoes lived in Manhattan, there was a DJ by the name of Allison Steele, The Nightbird. She was the overnight DJ on what was then WNEW, the best, most progressive station in the area. On Valentine’s Day, she would take (or pretend to take) dedications, and intro’d the songs by describing the valentine.

This one’s all red velvet and hearts, she’d say and then play some Peggy Lee. Or this one is covered in lace and has little hearts dotting the i’s, and up would come Stevie Nicks.

Allison’s voice was black velvet itself, with a side of whiskey, neat. I missed her yesterday, and the rest of the jocks who had talent and voices, and didn’t spend hours sniggering at their own puerile jokes.

This one’s got stars and moons, and a slight whiff of Chanel.

I need to apologize in advance, but the RLA came home just as the show was starting and he was in a chatty mood, so I missed the first five minutes of dialog. Then he settled down and I only missed things sporadically throughout.

OPEN: INTERIOR: DAY

We’re with the girls and Sweet P is really happy that it was Ricky who got the axe last week, and not her. She was also really surprised that it happened that way, because she was sure that she’d be packing her bags. Oh, the sweet sting of foreshadowing. And then the RLA started talking and the only thing that shut him up was the vision of Heidi in a really big wig and cute dress, coming out on the runway to do model selection.

Chris keeps his model and there is no muthafuckin’ walk-off. Heidi tells the designers that there will be one final field trip, one final challenge and then two of them will be auff’ed tonight. Oooooooo. Drama. The field trip will be to 5th Ave. and 82nd Street, and I immediately get my East Side/West Side dyslexia and chirp: Oh! Are they going to Bloomingdale’s? And the answer is no, idiot, they are going to the Met.

On the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art the designers meet Tim and Miz Shoes gets all twitterpated, because in the background is a banner for the Poiret show down in the Fashion Basement. But alas and alack, this is not to be.

The designers enter the Greek and Roman Sculpture Gallery and Rami of the Heavenly Arms and Totally Stank Attitude gets a full-on draping chubby. They are completely alone in the museum, well, except for Tim and the camera crew, and Tim explains the challenge. We have chosen three galleries to open for you: The Greek and Roman Sculpture Gallery, the European Paintings and the Temple of Dendur. Take your cameras; photograph things that inspire you. Pick one item and use it to create a couture vision. You have x amount of time. (Sorry, the RLA was yapping, so it was half an hour or 45 minutes.) Predictably, Rami doesn’t even leave the Greek and Roman statuary. He comes up to a sculpture of Aphrodite (sans head) and declares that it is a “soulmate situation” and that he need look no further. This is his love, his life, his inspiration, his schtick. OK. Maybe he didn’t say the last one.

In the European paintings, Christian, Chris, Sweet P and Jillian all find their directions. Christian is inspired by a portrait of a Spanish something or other. He says that it is a military portrait, but I don’t see that. I just see black and severe and nobleman. I can understand why it drew him in, and it certainly had a lot to work from. Chris is drawn to a French portrait of a noblewoman in pewter and oyster-colored satin. It, too, has a great deal of drama and could be the starting point of something big.

We next see the designers in the Temple of Dendur , and none of them, in Miz Shoes opinion, is suitably impressed. I was at the Temple when it opened for the King Tut exhibit. It’s outrageous. You have these enormous windows overlooking the park, letting in all this light, and you have an entire Egyptian temple/tomb that was lifted up out of the Valley of the Kings and set down in the middle of Manhattan, two or three stories up. People. Get a fucking grip. This is where you should have been taking pictures. Instead, we get Chris making a joke about Joan (Crawford or Rivers, I missed it thanks to the happy commentary the RLA was delivering on the other end of the couch) scratching her name on one of the pillars when she was a little girl.

I HAVE YOUR PICTURE

Back at Parsons, we get to see the designers’ choices. Chris’ painting he thinks looks like Zorro. I suppose. Rami has his draped Aphrodite, P has chosen a painting of a peacock, and has some yummy satins in ocher, teal and a rusty red, along with a muted print that contains all of those colors. It’s yummy, yes, but it isn’t saying peacock to me.

Jillian has chosen a military painting, too. Hers is the Master of the Argonauts, and it’s one of those great early Renaissance pieces where something historical is painted in the clothing style of the period and the patron is inserted as one of the main characters. When I was in college, I always wanted to paint a crucifixon, with a graduate student on the cross, and all the professors as the centurions and onlookers, in totally modern garb.  But I digress. Jillian has fastened on to a man in a black coat, brocaded in gold, seated on horseback. She’s going to make a coat. Are you shocked?

Rami is draping the hell out of some purple fabric. Ho. Hum. Jillian is pressing pleats for three hours. Christian is giving her shit for it. They are over each other in a big way. P asks Jillian for help in drafting her neckline and Jillian sweetly tells her that at this stage of the competition, honey, you need to be doing it your own self.

 

So she does. And the models come in for fitting, except for P’s because she’s having some sort of personal crisis. Hey, unless you get hit by a bus, ain’t nothing should be keeping you from Parsons. Bitch. Jillian’s model is doing some weird new-agey hand jive to send her peace, tranquility and the winning lottery numbers. Where’s Elisa? Christian is creating an entire collection around his idea: giant, puffy shirt, cropped little jacket (SHOCKING!) and tight pants. In black. It’s just so totally like nothing he’s ever done before, right?

Rami just keeps draping shit and saying over and over and over that just because his design isn’t screaming and loud, doesn’t mean it isn’t fabulous. No. The fact that it’s just the millionth variation on the same old theme is what makes it less than fabulous.

Christian trash talks Chris for doing something so evocative of the design they did together. Jillian has finished her jacket (not an Apocalyptic Trench Coat, but a short, fitted jacket with a peplum and some fancy cutout in the back over the nipped waist). OK. OK. It’s really nice. There. Are you happy now? I said it was nice. Of course, her dress isn’t even started.

The L’Oreal Make Up Guy, Collier Strong, comes in to do the makeup look with the designers. Eyes. Eyebrows. Big hair. Androgeny. There are four hours left till the end of the day. P still hasn’t seen her model and is in a panic. Chris is happy with what he’s got and goes off to take a nap. Christian dissses him for that. We get to see Chris sleeping and snoring on the sofa in the break room. Nice, editor guys. Make fun of the fat, snoring person. It’s not like a person can help it if they snore, you know. Miz Shoes is just a little defensive about the snoring thing. Christian expounds on his history: Alexander McQueen, Vivienne Westwood, blah blah, I’m so European in my aesthetic, blah blah.

Tim arrives and has a minor stroke at finding Chris asleep. You can’t be done! Is it wowable? SHOW ME!!! And then he pokes a hole in Chris’ confidence, or at least tries to, and tells him to add more shit and at the same time, make the garment more refined. Chris owns it, but Tim’s worried.

Tim then rounds on Christian, and questions the mini-cape-jacket thing. “Is it an obfuscation? In term of cohesion? Does it make sense?” Christian assures Tim that it does make sense, that he has created a look out of separates.

P is the next designer under the Gunn, and is told to make it more exuberant, more apparent that it’s a peacock. Jillian has produced yet another fine looking jacket and needs to do a lot more work before she is ready for the runway. Which leaves…Rami, who says that his dress is stunning. Tim, however, reminds Rami that NinaGarcia is going to pass out from boredom if she sees another draped schmata from him. Rami says, hey! You people gave me the challenge and put me in the museum with Greek and Roman sculptures of togas. What do you want? I’m a draping junkie. Don’t ask me to put down the draping. I need the draping. Or, at least, that’s what I heard.

With two hours to midnight, P’s model wanders in. The dress fits, but there is still so much to do. Wah. They all go home.

SHOWTIME

It’s the morning of the runway and Christian is making sure that his hair is extra fierce and fabulous. This involves random blow drying and ironing. Meh. Back to Parsons, where P dashes straight to her sewing machine. Jillian and Rami discuss how and if they will kick ass today. Tim tells them all that they need to bring the magic! Knock NinaGarcia’s shoes clear across the runway! Make it work! Rally!

Jillian engages in a little smack talk about Christian’s “marshmallowy” poufy, extravaganza of organza. Chris says that going to Bryant Park would be like winning the lottery, and he’s not counting on it, but he’s not counting it out, either. Way to be decisive there, big guy. Jillian has a nervous breakdown regarding a broken iron that won’t steam, and then tries to steam her garment right on her model. Nice. She also cuts the hem on her model and then panics a little more because the hem looks like crap. P’s model has feathers in her hair. P is cutting threads. Everyone is nervous.



Heidi is on the runway, looking as amazing as ever. Sigh. I think I have a little bit of a girl crush on Heidi. The guest judge tonight is Roberto Cavalli. Wow. He requires sub-titles.



Chris’ giant collar and drapery and bows comes out. Then Christian’s over the top androgynous black and white. The hat on his model comes down all the way to the middle of her nose. So much for her exaggerated eyebrows. Rami’s draped grape. P’s sorta cool dress which is hardly haute, and not couture. Jillian’s sharp looking jacket comes off to reveal a mini-toga in gold lame.

Cavalli is impressed with Christian. He knows how to show. He is impressed with the whole male/female play. He loves when the jacket comes off to show the puffy shirt.

Cavalli is more impressed with Chris. He flat out says to Chris that he is the most artistic of the five designers. I can see you in Paris doing haute couture. The other judges are all, Meh. Seen it. Roberto stands by his statement, and praises Chris once more. HAH! Take that!

NinaGarcia says of Jillian that she consistently surprises in a good way. Cavalli offers her a position on his staff. Jillian says she’d be honored…because being on Ralph Lauren’s staff is a shit job, right?

Cavalli is disappointed in P. It is too commercial. This is what you put in your showroom, not on the runway.

And Rami of the Totally Stank Attitude and yet still Heavenly Arms gets his drapery handed to him on a pita bread platter. Too normal, says Cavalli. Kors expected more, not more predictable draping. NinaGarcia wanted to see him come out of his box.

The designers are sent backstage and the final confabulations take place. Jillian gets more praise for her jackets. Christian is seen as having the whole package: he can give you an over-the-top, emotional piece for the runway and turn it into a workable, real life garment. The judges agree that for an obnoxious and still green little twit, the boy has some serious and enviable style chops.

P can make dresses that every woman would want to wear. This is called damning with faint praise.

The other judges want to toss Chris out for doing the same outrageous collar that they saw in the couture challenge, but Roberto is having none of that. I saw ART, he states. He is my number one. He has drama in his blood, admits NinaGarcia, grudgingly. He IS a showman. And Cavalli just says again, that this, my friends, is real couture, drama and fashion. Ppppbbbbbbttttt.

Rami can drape and make a technically good design. But he doesn’t take risks. So.

THE ENVELOPE PLEASE

Christian wins, and (although it hurts to admit it) rightfully so. Jillian and her never-ending series of coats and jackets, is in. P, although the judges love her and believe in her talent, is out. So. Rami has consistently safe and well-made work. Chris brings the dram llama, but he did the same thing twice, and the judges wanted to see change. Not so much change that they ever said anything even once to little Princess Puffy Sleeves. She of the fierce, cropped, ruffled and slightly leg-o-mutton sleeved jackets.

Although they would rather he not be, Chris is in. (Thank you Mr. Cavalli.) But, since Cavalli wouldn’t budge on Chris, and the other designers wouldn’t budge on Rami, there is a deadlock. Both Rami and Chris will go off and produce a line, and when they all get back to New York, the judges will look again, and see who gets to have a real show, and who gets to be a decoy.

Miz Shoes is a little disgruntled about this, but thrilled that Chris gets a show, one way or another. Next week? Reunion, and everybody talks smack to each other’s face. Good times.

And let me say right now, that the results of this are pathetic.

The 123 Rules:

  1) Pick up the book nearest you with at least 123 pages. (No cheating!)

  2) Turn to page 123.

  3) Count the first five sentences.

  4) Post the next three sentences.

  5) Tag five other bloggers.

Here goes:

Blog Design Solutions

On a typical site, you might then assign a template groups to a particular section, or weblog.

Upon install, a blog caled weblog1 is already created for you. It will contain one sample article and three sample categories, and you write your entries using basic entry fields.

So, now I have to tag five other bloggers, huh? OK.

1. RJ

2. Solonor

3. Dancing Brave

4. Miss Bliss

5. R80o

Really. And the best part? Page 123 is actually in the section for which I purchased the book; the chapter on Expression Engine by the delightful and erudite Simon Collison. Whee.

But there was no need to wonder how far off, because the windows were open and we could smell the sizzle and ozone. Lightning! Thunder! Pounding rain! I love Florida weather.

When I was in college, my dorm had a patio between the two wings, so even though it was on the 7th floor, and open, it wasn’t exposed. It faced east, and late at night when the thunderstorms would roll in from over the bay, I’d go out on the patio and sit in the cool and the mist and watch G*d’s own light show. Those are some of my fondest memories of the University of Miami. It wasn’t the same campus as it is now. There were more open spaces, and yet, less landscaping and lushness. The coral pit over by the art department was surrounded by banyan trees, and filled with ferns. Rumor had it that satanic rites took place down there, but the truth was it was just a great place to smoke dope between classes. If you didn’t mind the mosquitoes eating you alive down in the cool, damp shade.

In the past couple of years hurricanes wreaked depredation on the pit, and now it is a sunny, albeit sunken, rock garden with a park bench. The enormous royal poincianas were also taken down, and the old wooden art department is itself an empty and condemned hulk. Sad. The hours and hours I spent in darkrooms, weaving studios and the life drawing classes in that old building are the heart and soul of my college experience. The friendships I made, the professors who had the most impact on my life, they all were connected with that building.

Even my husband, the Renowned Local Artist, and I first met and became friends there. I’d go to his studio and watch him paint. We’d share books. He gave me Dahlgren, which I hated. I gave him Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which he stole.

Amazing how much memory a single flash of lightning can unleash.

For the past twenty years, I have referred to my ex-husband only as The Anti-Christ. There were and are many, many reasons for this. He was verbally and emotionally abusive. He was a border-line sociopath. He was a man who, as my father of blessed memory was wont to say, would rather climb a tree to tell a lie, than stand on the ground and tell the truth. We were married for four years and it took another two to complete the divorce because he played the system like a fucking Stradivarius. I have never used his name because I was afraid that, like Beetlejuice, it would cause him to appear in my life, and that was not something I wanted. Ever.

He has a public reputation as an honest man, and a good man. This is the opinion of people who only know the public facade. They weren’t there to see him kick me under the table when I said something he didn’t like. They weren’t there when he told me that if sex was something I wanted in a relationship, I should take a lover and leave him alone. They weren’t there the night our home was broken in to, and I arrived home while the mud was still wet on the floor, and he wouldn’t come home to help with the police report or calm my fears because it was the night he was getting inducted into Iron Arrow, and what would people say if he didn’t go to the football game to be presented with the other inductees at half-time.

Last week karma caught up to him. I don’t know anything about this case, only plenty about the man. He is guilty as charged, no matter what happens in court.

Are you ready to rumble?  What I wouldn’t give to be in New York City this month. First we had Fashion Week, and tonight and tomorrow it’s the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Last year a PBGV won the hound group and almost had an upset win for Best in Show. Almost.

Tonight is opening night, and as always, I’ll be on the couch with my Jack Russell and my PBGV and we’ll just be going crazy for the doggies.