Being a Nice Jewish Girl, dishes which include ham hocks (collard greens, hoppin john) are not part of my repertoire in the kitchen. On the other hand, being a Nice Southern Girl, they should be. So I make broccoli rabe instead of collard greens, or I make mustard greens, or other bitter greens that can be well-made without ham parts. But for New Year’s a southerner just has to have hoppin john (that’s black eyed peas with ham and stuff) for a year of good luck. Fortunately for me, my worlds collide on this matter, because there is a traditional Sephardic dish for Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish new year) which contains, not ham hocks, but veal or lamb. It’s muy yummy. You have the time, and you have been told about its good luck bringing qualities, so make yourself a mess of this, and have a lovely new year.

Lubyeh (from Joan Nathan’s Jewish Cooking in America)

1 onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1/2 pound veal stew meat, cut into one-inch cubes

2 cups water

1 cup black eyed peas, soaked overnight in water

1 teaspoon salt or to taste

1/8 teaspoon pepper

1 teaspoon allspice

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1. In a heavy skillet with a cover, saute the onions and garlic lightly in the oil

2. Add the cubed veal and brown briefly. Add 1 1/2 cups of the water, cover and simmer slowly for 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, drain and simmer the black eyed peas in water to cover for 20 minutes. Drain and add the peas, salt, pepper, spices, tomato paste, and the remaining 1/2 cup water to the veal mixture. Cover and cook over low heat for 1 hour or until the peas and veal are tender. If the stew dries out, add a little more water. Serve warm.

Yield: 8 servings

Well, the fat dirty bastard may not have had a cell phone, but what ever was causing him to make those noises was apparently virulent and airborne, because I’ve been in bed with a stupid sinus infection for the past two days. Went to work on Wednesday and by the time I got home had a throat tickle, and sore lymph nodes and a headache and woke up the next morning with a full-blown sinus problem. Thank Dog for videos and hot toddies. Must go back to sleep.

Yesterday being Christmas, the RLA, the surrogate daughers, Star and I did the traditional thing for Jewish people: we went to a movie. Usually the traditional thing is Chinese food and a movie, but we broke tradition to grab a bite at a Cuban restaurant, and then went to see Sweeney Todd, which we were certain would be appropriate viewing for the holiday.

And it was a huge disappointment. Yes, Johnny sang. Yes, Helena was her usual brilliant self. Yes, nobody can play dark and oily evil like Alan Rickman (and I wish he’d do a little more comedy and maybe a light romance). And yes, Tim Burton is a genius and Johnny and Helena are his (identical) muses, and the sets were gloriously dark and the costumes ditto. Yes, yes, yes. Everything about the film was perfect, except the film. It was a snooze. Literally. The RLA fell asleep.

I can only think that the source material was poor, which means I must be the only person in the universe who thinks the play was lackluster and thin.

The most interesting part of the movie was the cast’s teeth. I don’t think a single actor or actress was sporting veneers or dental work. Everyone had crooked teeth. Perfect white chicklets have become so inescapable in Hollywood, that it was a notable thing to see. Now how sad is that, that the thing that impressed me above and beyond the magic of film making was crooked teeth.

Sitting next to me was a large man with a bad cold. He kept snorffling and making horrid noises. I finally asked him, loudly, if he’d care for a tissue. He said no. And stopped making those disgusting noises. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about his body odor. At least his cell phone didn’t ring.

Long ago and far away, all of the Jews in my hometown lived in one house: my grandparent’s house. Then my parents moved to their own place, and a couple of years later, my cousins moved down the street from us. But in between, the old house on the river was the nexus of our family. My Grandma Dorfman lived with my cousins, too (she was my uncle’s mother-in-law). I remember the first time I ate one of her pierogis. I was maybe 4 or 5, and it’s really one of my earliest memories. My mother had driven to the big house for something…probably the pierogis… but I refused to get out of the car. Since this was the 50s and a tiny little town, I got left in the car while Mummy went inside. When she came out, she stuck her arm in through the car window and offered me a bite of some soft, warm, pale little dumpling thingy. I was uninpressed, and tried to refuse, but she managed to stuff it in my mouth anyway.

EPIPHANY! Oh. My. God. The taste! The melting quality of the feather-light dough! The fried onions and mashed potato filling! I immediately demanded to be taken out of the car and up to the kitchen for more of that stuff. Grandma Dorfman’s pierogis were legendary (and remember, the women in my family consider cooking to be a competitive sport, so there is stiff competition for that word… Grandma Kanarek’s cinnamon sticky buns…Mummy’s macaroni and cheese…Southern Cousin’s lemon bars… anything chocolate from the Girlcousin’s kitchen… Great Aunt Annie’s green beans and aphids (yeah, legendary in a bad way: she couldn’t cook for shit, poor thing)) Well, over the years, Mummy and my Auntie Em tried to get the recipe for pierogis, but Grandma Dorfman cooked by feel and taste. Measurements were “a handful” or “until it tastes right”, and even then, that changed. A handful might be deemed not enough later in the recipe and then another pinch or dribble might be required. Or might be required to come out, if say, the eggs were small and there seemed to be too much flour on the outside of the well into which they were broken.

So the pierogi recipe exists, sort of. I have, over the years, made them with butter, with goose fat, with yukon gold potatoes and Idaho Russets. I take them to Auntie Em for taste testing, and they always fall short of her mother’s ideal. I have searched and Googled, and explored the world wide web for years, and still can’t quite find the right recipe.

Here’s what it must have: a dough made with a boiled potato. It must be kosher. Although I thought the goose fat came closest in taste, Auntie Em says that it’s a dairy dish, and therefore, could not have been made with schmaltz. Butter, yes. Sour cream, oh hell yes. But it was a dish from the poor shtetl, so it had to be minimal and cheap. Flour. Water. Potatoes. Onions.

Can anyone out there on the interwebs help a sister out? I must have pierogies. Please. I’d even knit you a scarf.

When I was a sophomore at the University of Miami, I received a nasty shock on the first day of my graphic design class. We were going to be doing photography and we would have to have a single lens reflex camera. So much for my extra cash. I had to buy a camera. I didn’t want to. I hated the very thought of being forced to take pictures when I would rather have been drawing. I complained, bitterly, the whole time I shopped for my little Pentax. I complained, bitterly, while I shot 36 frames of black and white film. I complained, still bitterly, while I learned to process my own film. I was still complaining as I pulled the film off the reel, and held it up to the light to see what I had done. Were there images? Were they in focus? Had I screwed up the processing? And the answers were yes, yes and no. And I stopped complaining. I was entranced, enchanted and thoroughly bitten by the photography bug. It became my minor. I had keys to every darkroom on the UM campus. I shot for fun, I shot for profit. I lived in the darkrooms. I even got a job years later from someone who remembered me as a girl who never had a tan, because I was always up to my elbows in the soup. My hands smelled like photo chemicals; my nails were yellow.

I can’t tell you how many rolls of film I put through that Pentax. I can’t tell you the thrill that getting my first Nikon gave me, or the heartbreak when it was stolen. I replaced it, a couple of times. I still have the F2AS, and several lenses, multiple filters, multiple focusing screens, flashes, cases and tripods. The first design for the studio that the RLA and I intend to build next to our house even had plans for a dark room. But I haven’t shot a roll of film in years. I have been shooting with a digital camera. First I had a Nikon Coolpix, now I have a Sony that is so tiny, it’s smaller than my wallet. I carry it everywhere, and if I say so myself, take some damn fine pictures with it. But.

But now I want a new Nikon. I want a digital SLR. I want interchangeable lenses. I want to be able to focus manually. I want to be able to manipulate the f-stops and exposures. I want the heft of an SLR, so that hand held long exposures are possible. I want a Nikon D40. But the cost is prohibitive, and my old equipment isn’t worth very much on Ebay. Not that I want to sell it. But it’s worth more as a memento or a film prop than it is as a working camera, and that just pains me.

I’ve been trying to ignore this desire, but it is an itch which is demanding to be scratched.

A BRIEF UPDATE

Before I start in on Project Runway, let me say that Ming has begun eating again, and drinking out of the water faucet. He’s doing fine, but now I have to put JoJo, the dog of very little brain, on a diet. She’s gained a little weight, probably from eating all the fallen avocados.

CUT TO FIT

Open on the girl’s dorm where Sweet P is missing the joy that Chris brought to the work room. And just that fast, we are over in the boy’s dorm, where Jack has a hugely swollen upper lip. He mentions that he thought he’d had a pimple in his nose, but that he’s starting to think, what with the horrendous swelling and pain and all, that it’s a staph infection. The Number One Surrogate Daughter mentions hand washing and keeping one’s fingers out of one’s nose as a possible preventive measure. I remember, but do not discuss, a dark day in the late 70s when cocaine consumption caused me to get a nasal pimple, and just the memory of that pain makes my eyes water. Trust me when I tell you that if you ever get, or think you have gotten, an internal nose pimple, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO POP IT. Or even touch it. I just can’t imagine that Jack stuck a finger up his nostril to get at something he thought was a pimple. And if he did, well, I won’t say he deserves what he got, but I will say that there is no more likely consequence than that which he experienced.

Ice pack applied, and jokes made, we are ready to head off to Parson’s. Once more, there is no model selection because the regular models will not be used. Instead, a parade of normal, off-the-street (oh, STOP, not that kind of off the street) women come onto the runway wearing grossly oversized clothes. We are told that these women have all lost tons of weight and that what they are wearing is their favorite outfit from before the loss. One woman is wearing a wedding dress. A typical, leg-of-mutton-sleeved, polyester satin, cinched bodice, train and lace and sequins and beading wedding dress. The designers’ challenge will be to take the old garments and make new looks for the woman with whom they

paired. It should be a design suitable for the everyday life of the woman, and yet still express the designer’s style.

Laura, who is the woman in the wedding dress, gets Squinty Steve. Squinty Steve is not happy with this. In fact, his words are: “Oh. Dear. God… Death on a stick.” The rest of the names are pulled out of the button bag, and as always, Sweet P is the last puppy in the box. She’s become sort of stoic about it at this point.

The designers have until midnight to work. But first, they have to complain about not working with model-sized women. Victorya starts. Then Kevin, who is straight and wants you to remember that, announces that this challenge is just for him, because he loves, loves, loves to design for real women. Christian, predictably, is not so chuffed. He gets as his model someone with as many issues and demands as he himself: no sleeveless, no color, no patterns, no skirt. Deal, darling. Steven whines about the poly satin, acetate lace, sequins and beads that he has to repurpose for daywear. They get $10 and 15 minutes. Whoof.

Jack is looking scarier and scarier as the morning goes on, and calls to his primary care doc result in him having to take more aggressive treatment for his staph. Which translates into, you gotta leave and go check in to a hospital, sweetie. He is devastated, as are we all, because this means no more shots of him waltzing around the dorm in nada but his towel or his briefs. No more piggy back rides for Christian. No more stripping off his pants in the workroom. Rami of the Heavenly Arms better step up to the plate here and supply us with more nudity or semi-nudity. Or Kevin, who, while he is straight, has some meticulously sculpted facial hair and a body that seems to have been around the gym more than not. Not that I watch this show for the hot gay men, because let’s face it, until this season, there weren’t any. Santino in a towel? Ewww. Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-shmoo? Even and especially clothed, double Ewwww. Jay McCarrol? Who are we kidding, people? And poor Daniel Franco never lasted long enough to get down to his tighty whities, and who knows how that would have worked out, anyway? But I digress. There is crying, there is hugging. There is Christian saying, with a complete lack of affect: what a nice guy. how sad.

WEIRD INTERLUDE

Ricky is wearing his pants, or his model’s pants, inside out. Rolled up to capri length. And prancing around in strappy gold sandals which he claims he is doing because he and his model are about the same size.

BUT FIRST, A SURPRISE

Tim comes into the work room to tell the designers that the models are there for a half hour fitting session. But first, gather round. We have a surprise. This elicits as much enthusiasm as you would expect by week five, which is to say there is groaning, eye-rolling and a sense of dread. Mais non! It is a happy surprise. The powers that be needed a certain number of contestants week by week, and with Jack’s unexpected departure (at the beginning of the hour) they have decided (and purely to keep the competition high, they assure us) brought back Chris! Yay! And there is much rejoicing. Since he came in late in the day, Chris gets to spend the night in the work room.

And so the models come in for their fittings. Chris is most sympathetic to this challenge, because as a person of size, he has experienced the yo-yo weight thing. We see Christian with his model, where he not so sympathetic to the issues, and is telling his model that he is not (again I must quote) “a miracle worker, lady. I can’t give you an ass.” No, but he can play one on tv. Chris sees the struggle that Squinty Steven is having with the wedding dress, and he is jealous. What he could do with that, he sighs, if only they could swap.

Tim makes his turn around the room, and showing the wit and panache we love, asks of Christian, “How fierce is this?” Very, says Christian. Yes, allows Mr. Gunn, it is very you. As is Elisa’s design. Which is not so fortunate, because her model is not a crunchy granola eating, airy-fairy space alien, but instead a normal woman who wants normal clothes. Tim tells Elisa to edit herself, to clean up her design and to actually respond to her client. Next, Tim checks up on Squinty Steven. In an understatement of enormous proportions, Tim tells Squinty Steve that not using any of the wedding dress but a little bit of lace for collar and cuffs on a black dress is “very courageous.” Snort. When he finally makes it to Chris’s station, Tim warns him about his (Chris’) tendency to design costume rather than couture. And then he says “I’ve made more bad decisions at 3 o’clock in the morning than I can count.” This makes everyone in my living room howl, and ditto for the designers in the work room. We want names, says someone.

It’s time for Christian to make one of his egotistical pronouncements. And so he says the following: “Don’t these bitches know? that I am way better than them?”

RUN RUN RUN AWAY

It’s the morning of the runway, and fear and insecurities abound. Chris, who woke up not even sure if he had worked, sees that his outfit is done, but wonders if it’s good. Squinty Steven says that he just can’t sew fast enough. Kevin, who is straight, is also confident. Jillian says that she didn’t want to use the material she was given, so she was able to find the exact same shade of red at Mood, and she bought that and has made a dress (which is, admittedly, kick ass). Christian is confident that he’ll be the winner and then says that what Chris made was pure costume, and that what Elisa and Steven made was godawful hideous. And, damn but I hate when that little emo elf is right. Ricky cries that Penny (his model) made him remember what he loves (other than those awful twee little hats that I wish he’d 86 already). Then all of the designers pitch in and help Squinty Steven pin, glue and staple his dress onto his model and get her shoved out the door for the runway.

The guest judge today is Patric Robinson, the head designer for the GAP. Really? It takes a designer to make cheap chinos?

The first model out is Sweet P’s. She has on a nice olive halter dress, made from her old tent. She looks happy and good. Jillian’s red dress is hot. The only part of the original garment that she used shows up as black piping along the seam lines. Ricky has retailored his model’s clothes into skin tight capris and a gauze-y tunic top with some nice trim. She too, looks happy. She is not wearing the strappy gold sandals Ricky tried on. Chris, bless his little heart, has made a fair enough top and a pencil skirt. With a floppy red bow at the waist and a red fishtail godet in the middle of the back. Oh well, you can take the boy out of drag, but you can’t take the drag out of the boy. It fits the woman, though, and is nicely made. Kerry is a fierce walker. That would be Christian’s model. She is fierce in her fierce ensemble that looks remarkably similar to the fierce ensemble that he made for Bitten and for the three-bad-trends-in-one challenge fierce ensemble. In fact, I will go so far as to say that for all her bravado, Christian is a one-trick emo pony, and that trick relies heavily on the sense and sensibility of Miss Vivienne Westwood’s atellier.

Victorya has made a lovely bottle green velvet/silk sort of tank dress for her model. Elisa has made layers and layers and layers of crap and accessorized with some really awful boots. I think they are the same awful boots that Brittney Spears is always photographed wearing. Yeah. Those. Kit’s model comes out in a fresh little short dress with a chiffon under-layer that sticks out below the hem. Kevin has made a strapless, architectural bustier with black leggings. The woman wearing it is thrilled to pieces with the look and her smile and her walk make it absolutely clear how she feels. She sells it. Squinty Steve’s nasty, glued together dress comes next, and nobody looks comfortable or happy. The final look belongs to Rami, who’s been hiding the arms lately, and it is a simple, tailored skirt and a top with some interesting draping. Draped, and yet fitted. It’s a nice top.

LINES FORM ON THE LEFT AND RIGHT

Six designers are pulled from the line. Squinty Steve, Christian, Chris, Kevin, Jillian and Elisa. Without Heidi saying it, we know that these are the top and bottom scores. Kevin gets the first critique. When asked, the model says that she feels incredible in her outfit, and Michael Kors says that they could tell. That she looked like she loved it, and isn’t that what fashion is all about? And in my living room, the girls and I say “Amen and hand to god.” Elisa explains her outfit for her model thusly: she is a mom, and so I wanted to create a “day trousseau” for her. Now, ignoring for the moment that that phrase makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, it is still an awful mosh up of nothingness. Heidi and GAP guy point out that the look looks nothing like what the customer would wear. Michael Kors says that one never, ever wants to chop up a figure like that, and certainly not someone who just lost a ton of weight and is trying to show a new, sleek figure. NinaGarcia puts in the final nail by saying that this outfit is ALL Elisa and NO Tracy.

Jillian is called out for not using her material, but as she hoped, the workmanship of what she made and the fact that she was able to match the color so accurately overshadows that little faux pas, and the dress gets raves. “Sexy without hootchiemama” is what the judges call it. Sexy and tasteful. Two words that one so seldom hears together on a reality show.

On the other hand, Squinty Steven is not praised for what he did when he ditched the original garment. MK says that his model looks like a French Maid. NinaGarcia says that she looks like a French Maid at a funeral. There is nothing anyone can add to that.

Christian and his model get points for fun. The judges say that the design is pure Christian, and yet purely commercial. The model says that she’s not taking it off. Ever. Good lord, woman, don’t encourage him.

Chris hopes that his look is sexy but sophisticated. His hopes are dashed when Michael Kors says that all that’s missing is a beret and a cigarette and the woman would look like Shirley Maclaine back in the 50s playing a French hooker with a heart of gold. Ouff. That’s harsh. Accurate, but harsh. And we roll right into deliberations, where the recap goes like this: Kevin’s model was loving her look; Christian used his model’s clothes to make a Christian outfit; Jillian made an impeccable/beautiful dress; Elisa has stumpified her model; Squinty Steven disappointed the universe by not taking advantage of those miles of poly satin and acetate lace; and Chis made a nice top for a Paris Hooker in the 50s.

YOU’RE IN OR YOU’RE AUFF

Jillian is in. Kevin is in. Chris is in (huge sighs of relief are heard from Miz Shoe’s couch). Christian is the winner and gets immunity in the next challenge. Christian interviews that: “Winning is great? Because I can be a commercial hack if I want to.” The last part may not be an exact quote. This means that Elisa and Squinty Steve are the bottom two, and although Elisa’s piece was more about her than about her client, Steve committed the unforgivable sin of turning something joyous (a wedding dress) into something fit for a funeral. And even worse than that? It was boring. So say goodbye to Squinty Steve. Awww, he was funny. Good thing we have Chris back. Next week looks like it’s going to be one of those recyled/organic/not known to be suitable for sewing materials challenges.

The night we’ve all been waiting for is finally here: the night that we find out who will be America’s Next Top Model and mumble her way through an agonizing year of Cover Girl commercials. We open on a Tyra voice over recap… will it be Jenah, the tomboy with a bad attitude (and honestly, compared to the stank hos of this and other seasons, I still am not seeing what is so awful about her attitude. She didn’t bitch about the rat weave, she didn’t wipe dirty underwear on anyone, she didn’t torture Heather, she wasn’t an obvious pig in the house, she quit smoking when they told her to, she didn’t roll her eyes at judging, she took direction and gave great photos, so where’s the bad attitude? More like bad editing, if you ask me.  Will it be Salacious D, who has been cast as the commercial girl, even though she is clearly Tyra’s pet and the Cover Girl sponsor’s pet and the photographers’ pet? Or will it be Chantallobotomy who is so unmemorable that I can’t even remember what they said about her, but who has confessionalized at least once an episode that she was destined to be a model, that it has been her life-long ambition to be a model and that it is God’s will that she be a model.

Whatever. TYRA MAIL! Yeah, yeah, yeah, tomorrow’s the big day. Salacious D says that she’s come so far, Jenah says that going home is not an option and Chantallobotomy with the astuteness and clarity of thought that she has come to embody says that somebody will be going home. For now though, they are going to the Cover Girl shoot where they meet Brent Poer (the Cover Girl rep) and their lip gloss du jour. They also meet someone who is familiar with being a Cover Girl. That would be last year’s winner, Jaslene, so maybe he’s just familiar with being a Cover Tranny. In any event, any words of wisdom she imparts are unintelligible, so what’s the point?

First up for filming is Chantallobotomy, who says that she isn’t 100% ready. Mr. Jay tells her that her delivery is like: “I’m reading lines and I’m a dumb model.” Well, do I say thank you for the honesty or get all sarcastic about the obviousness of the observation? She is going to embody the essence of a color. She loves delicious fruity lip gloss. Uh huh. Next is Jenah who steps into the frame and promptly goes blank. We hear the crickets. After eleven takes, Mr. Jay calls for the cue cards. But Jenah says no to that, that she isn’t going to be that girl. So on the next take, she nails her lines. She is doomed, I say, because she has been given the old lady up-do, and we are seeing some major roots action. She wants to embody a happy me. Mr. Jay says that Jenah doesn’t read as shy and insecure, she comes off as a snot.

In comes Salacious D, and she is greeted by Brent Poer with enthusiasm, favoritism and a fawning show of love. He totally fluffs her. She gets on the mark and promptly sucks. She keeps bugging her eyes. On Take 12, Mr. Jay tells her that they need the bright smile and twinkle that she has shown in her photos. She interviews that she just can’t put the words together right. On Take 17 Salacious D gets sad and needs a minute to compose herself. Proving that she has taken all of Tyra’s wisdom to heart, she walks off set to cry (and not ruin her eye make up). Then she comes back and I guess does fine, because we don’t go back to the commercial, we cut to the still shoot. The photographer is Jim Deyonker and hes asking for sexy and fun. Chantallobotomy is asked to give flirty eyes. Jenah takes a nice shot, except for the horrible up do. We don’t even see Salacious D’s shoot. But we do see the judging, where Tyra says that this is the second most important judging of the season. The guest judge is Qi Gang, the designer in whose show they will stomp to the death on the runway of fame and fortune.

It is time for the annual and excruciating question: Who has the most, and who has the least potential in the house… Salacious D goes first and says that of course, she has the mostest, and that rude and disrespectful beeyotch Jenah has the least. The least personality, the least hope of winning, the least potential, the least of the least. Chantallobotomy predictably announces that she is the girl with the mostest, hands down. And yeah, that Jenah is the pits. Chantallobotomy wouldn’t want her to win, because she wouldn’t want her little sisters (or anybody’s little sisters) to have that dour old puss as a role model. Jenah respectfully disagrees with both of the other girls and says that just because she isn’t all bubbly all the freaking time, that doesn’t make her an evil person or a bad role model. And for good measure, she says that Chantallobotomy has the least potential because she is so painfully amateur.

Now the judges judge: Nigel says that Salacious D is stiff, but that she managed, despite that, to smile with her eyes. Mr. Jay reported that it required 20 takes to get a usable chunk of footage. Gang says that she makes him believe in the fruity lip gloss. Tyra shows how to give a variety of smiles, which apparently, Salacious D did not do. Chantallobotomy has natural charm says Twiggy, but Nigel says that she was technically bad. Mr. Jay says that she is so tewtally the girl next door, and completely believable. Jenah is told that she was so unbelievable that the judges think she was mocking the commercial. She was dissing the client. Once more Jenah tries to defend herself by saying that just because she ain’t spewing rainbows everywhere she combs her hair she isn’t a bad role model. She cries. She tells Tyra that she had to raise herself and her sisters. Tyra tells her that she, Jenah just had some sort of break through and just found herself, the real Jenah on the other side of the Great Wall of China. And they finish the flaying of Jenah by telling her that she took a great photo. Which she did, except for the old lady hair and make up. Commercials.

Jaslene gargles her way through a recap of her year as a Cover Girl, and we see that she has made great strides in learning to talk, which means nothing because going from 20 marbles and a mouth full of oatmeal to only 5 marbles and a mouth full of oatmeal still means that you can’t understand a word she says. She is also wearing a pair of the hootchiest, chonga earrings this side of Little Havana. I see that her personal style hasn’t changed an iota. More’s the pity. Back to the judging room, where the final two will be determined.

Chantallobotomy gets the first picture, and she weeps that she’s been dreaming of this moment for a long time. Snore. Salacious D and Jenah step forward. Salacious D, you came in with experience and yet girls like Jenah here totally outshone you. But we believed in you, and we kept you and you got stronger. Jenah, you came in with no experience and took amazing photos that rival today’s top working models. Today you had a breakthrough in now we know the real you. There’s a career out there for you that can be kick ass. Leave us now, and go get real work, because Salacious D is the

other girl in the top two.

Yet another photo shoot, this time for the cover of 17 magazine, and the editrix, Ann Shoket is back to bore us senseless with her innocuous babbling. But first, we have to listen to Chantallobotomy do a rundown of her greatest hits: meant to be here, my destiny, God’s plan, blahblahblah. Give it a rest, already. And finally and at long last, we get to the fashion show. It will be held next to the Forbidden City, and there will be a cast of extras dressed like Ching Dynasty warriors filling the enormous courtyard. The runway is long enough for a 747 to take off from. Backstage, we see that Jaslene will be in this show too, leading off. She is sitting in a make up chair, fanning herself. Please, girl. Salacious D and Chantallobotomy ask Jaslene for some words of wisdom. Confucious-like, she tells them that when she first won, she’d be in the bathroom before a show, talking to God. Here is an exact quote: “I’m like oh my god, God, I’m still weeping in fear before a show.” Words fail me.

Salacious D has some great hair and make up, as does Chantallobotomy, who also has the better dress. Chantallobotomy declares that this is her moment, and Salacious D says that no, it’s now her destiny. The show opens with Miss Jay, Twiggy, Nigel and Tyra (former top models and/or runway coaches all) strutting the runway to their thrones at the other end of the courtyard. Nigel, pervy though he may be, still has it. So do Miss Jay and Twiggs. Needless to say, Tyra throws down some serious shade for her proteges to try and live up to. Jaslene goes first and works it, at least according to Tyra. Salacious D is looking good. Chantallobotomy is meh. Salacious D does her second pass and confessionalizes that people watching her? is the best, and I quote: “People watching me? Life just don’t get no better than this.” The Number One Surrogate Daughter notes that Salacious’ grammar, however, can and should be better. Chantallobotomy comes out in an amazing dress with about six miles of train, and promptly ensnares one of the stilt walkers who are accompanying the models down the runway. He takes a major tumble. She cries, but continues walking. She cries about her destiny again. She says that she “broke character”. Who knew that models, when they stomp down the catwalk, were in character. You mean to tell me that the vacant stare and bitch face is character, and not nature? I, for one, am stunned by this revelation.

And it is time for the final judgment. Miss Jay says that Chantallobotomy took baby doll steps and walked too fast on the runway. Twiggy says that Chantallobotomy got too nervous, and that Salacious D owned the runway. Nigel calls Chantallobotomy weak. Tyra says that Salacious D was using too much shoulder and booty, as opposed to Chantallobotomy, who was too stiff. Miss Jay says that Chantallobotomy has a high fashion body, but can’t work it. Salacious D can control her body. Tyra says that she didn’t think either of these two would be finalists, she thought that they were too commercial and would go home early. Tyra says that one of them came from Austin and the other from LA, and that explains their inner beauties. Hey, listen, I gave up trying to understand Tyra years ago. And so, the winner of this year’s ANTM is (and I know that all of you are as shocked as I) Salacious D, aka Baby Tyra, graduate of Tyra camp, believer of all things Tyra, and chosen winner somewhere around week three when the guy from Elite met her and said she had the total package.

As she weeps for the final time, Chantallobotomy tells us that God still wants her to model. And God want Miz Shoes to ridicule the shit out of people like Chantallobotomy, so we’re all fulfilling our destinies, Luke.

According to the vet, that’s the only way I’ll lose Ming this time around. The diagnosis is pancreatitis, and the body’s response to it is anorexia… which no matter what affects me, I cannot develop, and lord knows I’ve tried. So. Ming gets to go to the day spa (aka the vet’s office) for feeding and observation, and I get to take the five-hour emotional exhaustion nap. But the little fuzz ball is back home for the night, complaining as only a Siamese can complain, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes everything all right in this world.

It is also the finale of this season’s America’s Next Top Model. Since Binaca is out of the running, and Salacious D isn’t such a hobag, it won’t be ANT Skankho. It won’t be anyone memorable, either, but this is what we expect. Surrogate Daughters 1 & 3 are coming over for the fun, so the RLA is going to have to run for cover, or at least testosterone, because the squealling and trash talking is going to be formidable.

And so another episode of let’s freak out Miz Shoes and make her smoke like a chimney has come to an end. Thank you.

Ming is still not eating, not drinking, not using his litter box. I have canceled my trip to Ratville. He’s just a little cat, and he’s getting thinner and littler by the minute. As much as it sucks, it is the ticket that we punch when we take this ride: allowing something to live with us and rely on us. He gives me unqualified love, and I protect him and send him on his way to the sunny meadow where the mice are fat and slow. Maybe this isn’t his time, but I’m not out-sourcing his guardianship while we find out.

Ming the Merciless is home today, having undergone an exploratory surgery Saturday. Where the vet found absolutely no reason for Ming to have stopped pooping. That’s both the good and bad news. No thread wad, no tumor, no adhesions from previous surgery. Just an immobile intestine, which the vet massaged, saying that often that will jump start the peristalsis. Anyway, Ming is home and the dogs are respecting his space. He’s drooling, which is both unattractive and suspicious, but again, the vet assures me this means nothing. Ming has used his litter box to pee, but we await the tootsie rolls of feline health.

I have delayed my trip to Mouseville another day. I have updated my etsy shop, where you can now find a lot of vintage knitting books, and a scarf and a shawl that were hand knit by yours truly.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the pool deck to watch Ming and knit a purse, not necessarily in that order.

Heather Mail!!!! And we miss her already. Binaca, however, only misses that there is no Heather to emotionally abuse any more. In her usual charming way, Binaca interviews that since Heather was always in her own world anyway, there’s really no difference with her gone. Have I mentioned that I loathe that beeyotch, Binaca? I have? Good. It deserves repetition. Jenah interviews that she just can’t see herself going home. Chantallobotomy can see Jenah going home, and she described the vision to the viewing audience: Jenah is just falling apart. However, and there is alway a however with the lovely yet clueless Chantallobotomy, she, Chantallobotomy is not falling apart. She is getting stronger, and more beautiful, and closer to that which is her destiny: being America’s Next Top Model. She was born to win this, even though the show wasn’t even a twinkle in Miss Tyty’s eye when C. was born. Binaca comes back in to say “Shut the fug UP, Chantallobotomy.” Binaca says that Chantallobotomy is always so cheerful and perky and happy and that just twists Binaca’s knickers into a very big and annoyed knot.

After that recap, we head out with the girls to a park somewhere in Beijing. In come a couple of pallaquins, holding Twiggy and Miss Jay. The girls are going to get a culture lesson about the four greatest, legendary beauties of China. There is the girl who made the flowers bow their heads, the girl who made the moon disappear and the girl who caused something else to happen and yet another one, ditto. Binaca pays less attention to this than I did, and makes eye-rolling what evs, and says yeah, yeah, yeah four girls/four beauties I get it, next. Kulchur ain’t her thang, it seems. So having paid little to no attention to the lesson, the girls go to their new home and find Tyra Mail and four boxes. In each box is one of the costumes from the four beauties. The challenge will be to update/modernize/accessorize these dresses and make them their own. To this end, the girls are sent off to a ginormous shopping mall and given a couple of hundred dollars. They have one hour to shop and chop and then they will have to walk a runway to show off the look.

Off they go. Binaca tells Jenah (in the previews I thought it was Salacious D) that across the street at the other side of the mall is some really hot stuff. There is only 35 minutes left, Binaca has already scoped out the other side and there is absolutely nothing nada nil over there. She says that fucking with Jenah and seeing her head off on a wild goose chase really made her feel better. Charming girl, that Binaca. Curious isn’t it that even before we knew how stank she is the name I gave her was one of an anti-stank breath spray? Stank just oozes on a subliminal level, I guess.

The guest judge for their impromptu runway is Ann Shoket from 17. Salacious D is first and she has accessorized well, and her walk is fierce. Chantallobotomy is smooth and natural. Binaca had a cute idea to hoist her skirt up with fleurchons and show off her great gams, but the overall look was a leetle too hip hop. Jenah has shortened her dress to a modern cocktail dress and unbuttons her overcoat as she comes down the runway, doing something (GASP! SHOCK!!!) that actually looks like a real model on a real runway. She is the clear winner. She is going to get a custom made traditional Chinese gown and she can include a friend in the prize. She chooses Chantallobotomy (SHOCK!!! GASP!) on account of she isn’t a backstabbing ho. She also gets private runway lessons from Miss Jay. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the prizes this year are better than in past years, even if there isn’t a $40,000 diamond bracelet in the mix. The lessons seem to do her some good.

And back we go to the gilded hamster cage for Tyra Mail.

Binaca gets more screen time as she interviews that old Chantallobotomy and Salacious D think that they are going to be in the top two, but they don’t realize that she, Binaca the Stank Ho from Queens has come here to win, and she ain’t leavin’ till she does. Ohhhh, hubris where is thy sting? Cut to Jaslene gargling something or another about her life as a Cover Girl and this is the Latina Magazine cover…. Which was in my dentist’s office in June… Still, it was a cover of something other than 17. I guess. There was some talking but, you know, it came out of Jaslene’s mouf, so it could have been Russian for all I could understand it. Speaking of Russian, what ever happened to Natasha? I miss her. She was sweet and cute and made cat noises in the cell phone for her husband. Anyway, the next shoot will be at the Great Wall of China. They will be Mongols trying to invade. They must have strong faces. Tyra will be the photographer. Salacious D says that she’s going to be Xena, Warrior Princess. Jenah says she misses her family and she’s going to cry. Chantallobotomy, predictably, loves the challenge, loves the enormous, gigantic sideways hair bun, the clothes and the model lifestyle of jet-setting around to cool places. Binaca, predictably, says the other girls can eat the corn from her shit and that she doesn’t care or think about anything but her own self.

Jenah is first and Tyra asks her what’s on the other side of the wall for her. Jenah says that Jenah is. That she’s losing her sense of self. She is wearing the same sideways bread loaf bun that Chantallobotomy is wearing. I’m just going to throw this out here: In the disappearing girls photo, Jenah and Chantallobotomy are standing next to each other. They are wearing the same color wraps. They were given the same make overs. They are being given the same hair and make up here. Do we think that there are going to be two winners this year? Did the show get such mileage out of the twins that they made a set? I’m just asking.

Binaca comes out and sucks. Tyra and the Little Orange Man say that the first 40 shots were “painful” but that the last 20 were good. Ish. Salacious D rocks the house, jumping and posing and looking edgy and fierce. This is her best shoot evah, and she even used the environment…whatever that means. Then, Tyra gets all four models together and does a group shot. Salacious D says that she kept telling herself that she had to stand out. Binaca says that Salacious kept sticking that damned bun in her face and blocking her from view. The world out in teevee land says, Thank you Salacious D. But alas, this absence of stank doesn’t last, because we are back at the house and there is Binaca, psyching everyone else about how scared are you guys about going home because I’m not scared at all. Chantallobotomy isn’t scare either, because she is sure that this is her birthright. Her destiny. God’s will. Binaca, having lost Heather, now starts up on Chantallobotomy and Salacious D. She has this to say about Miss Salecia: She has a lot of experience, so for her to not be outstanding really sucks for her. Jenah just says, tearfully, that she is not going home.

And, panel. There are Jenah and Chantallobotomy in their matching custom Chinese robes. Except (is this a hint?) Jenah’s blue dress has a magnificent stand up collar, sort of like the evil queen in Snow White. Ann Shoket is the guest judge. Jenah is first, as she was the challenge winner. Tyra says that even though Jenah did a good shoot, she (Tyra) couldn’t remember a thing about it when it was over. Except that Jenah looked like the costume was wearing her. Not good. Jenah cries and talks about missing her family and wanting to be a role model for her two baby sisters. And for baby sisters every where. Sniff, sniff. Girl, you don’t cry at panel, you are supposed to cry in your one on one with Tyra before the fashion show, and then tell her how she has changed your life. Do you girls not watch this show?

Miss Jay says that Binaca was as stiff as the wall, and almost scary. The main thing that Tyra took away from working with Binaca was that she is so NOT a natural model. Chantallobotomy was perfect, and she was the only one who really understood the concept. My head just exploded when I typed that. Ann tells her that she’s (Chantallobotomy) is so pretty and happy. Binaca seethes in the background, and you can almost see her head explode. Salacious D was great with a capital G and she jumped around. And she looked at the camera.

In the group shot, each of the four judges found a different girl to be the standout. Tyra likes Binaca and says she looks sort of like a boy. Do you think it might be the shaved head? Twiggy likes Jenah, and Nigel says something really pervy about why couldn’t you look at ME like that about one of the two blondes. Time to discuss who’s getting the boot back to the US of A. Nigel says that Jenah’s little speech sounded like her swan song, like she’d already lost in her head. Twiggy says that Binaca is the least natural model she’s ever seen. Chantallobotomy has begun channeling her inner diva, but Miss Jay says (and redeems himself with me despite that dopey Afro he’s been sporting) that she looks like a boat show model. You know, the girl who stands around and points to the Evinrudes. Salacious D has finally found the high fashion model inside her.

And the winner this week is Chantallobotomy who gets two pictures: the group shot and the single. Salacious D is second. Jenah and Binaca are the bottom two. Jenah was strong from the start, but is starting to weaken. You didn’t sound like a winner when you talked to us today. Binaca, this has been a long journey for a girl from Queens, but we feel that the only way you can do a fashion shoot is with constant coaching. You still have your training wheels on. You can’t do it on your own. So go the fuck back to Queens, you stank ho. Jenah, we’re giving you another chance.

And so it is the two dim blondes and Salacious D. I think it’s too early for another Battle of the Blondes (Carideemented and Melrose who wuz robbed). Unless they are going to give us a twin win, it’s Salacious D in the cat bird seat next week.

Over at the NEW GOTHAM apartments, Kit Pistol and Sweet P are talking. They were sad to see Carmen leave, but well, screw it, more closet space and Sweet P says, you know? better her than me, so wtf. In the boys’ room they are talking about what a Project Runway perfume would smell like: fear and Chinese food. Nice, I can’t wait to see that on the market. We head back to Parson’s and right in to a model selection. Jack can choose to stay with his girl or take someone else’s. So he does. He takes Ricky’s model. This means that Ricky now has Jack’s former model. Ricky manages not to cry. Heidi tells the designers to head to the workroom where they will find Tim and some old friends. True to reality shows everywhere, the designers immediately hit upon the totally wrong solution to the puzzle. OLD LADIES!!! We’re going to design for geriatrics! Whee! Actually, no. They find Tim and NinaGarcia and a bunch of photos from old Elle Magazines that display some of the most egregiously ugly fashion trends of the past. One of them is overalls. Jillian is wearing overalls and there is a moment of sweet embarrassment for all concerned.

Tim tells the designers to choose an ugly trend, and out comes the button bag to determine order. Jack as last week’s winner goes first. He chooses Brittney Spears on cracked out pleather. The rest of it goes like this: Victorya/underwear as outerwear; Christian/a Zoot Suit (playing to his strengths as a Vivienne Westwood drone); Rami/Poodle skirts; Kit/fringe; Elisa/cut outs; Jillian/overalls; Ricky/neon; Kevin/70’s elephant bell bottoms; Chris/Joan Crawford shoulder pads (oh, come on, could you please be a little less of a drag queen cliche Chris?); Squinty/dance wear as day wear; and Sweet P wonders if her button is glued to the bottom of the bag, that she’s always last as she takes the baggy, oversized sweater.

The challenge will be to update the look. The twist is that the designers have one minute to organize themselves into teams of three, and the three bad trends must be combined into a collection. They will show together, and they must use all three trends in all three looks or figure out some other way to make the three pieces into a cohesive collection. They must choose a team leader. They have $250 to spend and two days to work. Your minute starts now. When the dust settles, the teams are: Kit, Christian and Jack (fringe/zoot suit/pleather); Rami, Kevin and Jillian (poodle skirts/bell bottoms/overalls); Ricky, Victorya and Elisa (neon/underwear as outerwear/cut outs}; Squinty, Sweet P and Chris (dance wear/baggy sweaters/shoulder pads). I have bolded the team leaders.

Christian names his team “Team Star” because they are all FABULOUS!? There is the usual scrambling at Mood, with team leaders making bad choices and worrying about time and money. Ricky chooses duchesse satin for his team. Chris picks some horrible beige knit. Jillian’s team is into denim and Liberty of Londen tiny floral prints (also with a beige base). Christian’s team is working the black and white pattern on pattern to death.

In the work room, Sweet P is going for a sack dress to update the baggy sweater. Chris is doing some little bolero/shrug with what looks like black and brown upholstery cloth all the while telling SquintySteven that “Girl, this jacket is going to be fabulous!” I hereby request a moratorium on the word “Fabulous”. Ricky interviews that he isn’t concerned about working with Elisa because he used to be a dancer, and so he has lots of experience in talking to people who sound like they just smoked an ounce of sensimilla. You just have to speak to them in a language that they can understand, he says, and promptly does, talking about centering to Elisa and showing her how to mark her fabric with a pin as opposed to spit. She has a Helen Keller “water” moment, and it is a beautiful thing.

Over in Jillian’s corner, Rami is doing a denim dress, Kevin is making bell-bottom, high-waisted hot pants (Hey! I think I had those in the 70s!) and Jillian is being a nag about fitting the muslin to the mannequin and time management and whispering shit to Rami about Kevin. Don’t you miss high school sometimes? I know I don’t. SquintySteven does a Tim impression that lacks the spot-on tonality of Santino, but has better text: “Designers?” he says “I’m here to tell you that you are all screwed.” I howl. I love SquintySteven. He’s Miss Personality this season, at least for me, and it isn’t some toxic, evil thing like The Pencil-Necked Shmoo or Satan-ino.

Victorya is up and interviewing that her team decided to put all three looks into each piece. And she is micro-managing Ricky, her team leader, in a passive aggressive manner that we all can agree is inappropriate and annoying. Tim comes in to give the designers 30 minutes with their models. When she sees her design on her model, Victorya hates it, decides to completely redesign and redo, and dissed Ricky all at the same time. She neglects to tell him her choice to redo, and since he’s the team leader and will have to take the hit if everything goes wrong, this is rude and bad form. Jillian doesn’t think Kevin is working fast enough. She doesn’t say anything to him though, she whispers away in Rami’s ear. Since this requires her to lean up against those yummy arms of his, who can really blame her, except me, who thinks that if you have a problem with someone on your team the most efficient way to manage it is to speak to the team member in question. Rami inviews that Jillian should have been pushing Kevin harder. Maybe you should have said that to her instead of the camera and instead of nodding your head and continuing to whisper in the corner with her. What do I know?

Over at Team Jillian, the look is coming together nicely. It all looks like something Jillian herself would wear. Is this a good thing? Discuss amongst yourselves.

At Team Ricky, nothing looks finished or refined. Victorya is telling Tim that she’s decided to change the sillouhette. Tim asks her why she’s making these decisions when Ricky is the leader. So then there is a scene where Ricky and Victorya are talking, and Victorya is saying that she ‘s glad that Ricky’s the team leader, she just thinks that he sucks at it. Nice. They continue to bicker over his leadership skills.

And it’s Runway Day.  Ricky and Elisa are finished, but Victorya went ahead and changed her design (see above) and is now doing final fittings on the bodice. It’s flat. Ricky steps in and with his expertise in lingerie, adjusts the whole thing. The model says it feels better. Everyone in the room can see it fits and looks better. Victorya says that she likes it flat, despite all opinion and evidence to the contrary. Then she sulks about it for a while and until she finally admits that Ricky helped. Kevin is still working on his bell bottom hot pants and saying that he has to pull a magic rabbit out of his

hat. With two hours for hair and make up, we see SquintySteve worrying about Chris’ bolera jacket, which, it must be said “Girl? Is not so fabulous.”

Cut to Christian being a queen about his collection. I L-U-V it so mush. I L-U-V our collection. In all honesty, he says, Ricky’s is awful and Chris’ not much better. He may have a point, but that doesn’t mean I have to like hearing it from him. And cut to the runway where the guest judge is (without any ado or fanfare) Donna Karan.

Team Jillian goes first and they have put all three bad things into each piece. All three are made with the same denim/Liberty combination. The Liberty print is used as binding/finishing on the denim ho-down dress that is Rami’s interpretation of a poodle skirt. The high-waisted bell bottom hot pants are coupled with a shirt that looks like Daniel V’s blouse from his taken-from-nature challenge. (Remember the weird, poufy collar?) And Jillian’s overalls are adorable. High waisted, bell bottomed and with a sort of v-collared bib. In my youth, I either had them or would have worn them. If they were age appropriate, I’d still wear them.

Team Chris has chosen to unite the collection with their fabric choice. There is a wonderful sack dress from Sweet P, an Asian-inspired tunic over leggings from SquintySteve and a long dress with the awful bolero from Chris. Not so much a collection as three things in the same fabric coming down the runway at the same time. Meh.

Team Star (Christian) is a forgettable melange of black and white and stripes and nothing.

Team Ricky is a mini-ballerina tutu with a very nice boned bodice from Victorya, a hot mess from Ricky and a simple black sheath dress with neon splashes looking like cut outs from Elisa. Worse than meh.

The judges don’t even waste time on toying with the designers. The clear winner is Jillian’s team, since they had a vision, cohesion and well made garments. Done and done. The only thing left to do is to savage the crap from the rest of the designers. Christian escapes with his team. While there was no there there, there was also nothing to make Donna Karan or Michael Kors lose their lunches. Unlike, say, the designs of Team Chris and Team Ricky. With Team Chris, the pieces were seen as sort of OK, but not from the same show. There was a clear discrepancy of visions. The dance wear wasn’t fluid enough, the shoulder pads not modern enough, and hello? A bolero/shrug should be tight? Donna loved Sweet P’s dress, as well she should, because it looked like it came from one of her own collections; drab beige and black and knit and slouchy.

As for poor Team Ricky, NinaGarcia thought the concept was good, but badly sewn. Victorya actually stepped up and gave the credit for her fit and design to Ricky. Elisa jumped in to Ricky’s defense as well, saying that if his garment was poorly made, it was because as the leader, he had spent so much time helping and guiding her. But then it is the “Who goes home” question and Victorya gladly pushes Ricky under the bus. Elisa offers to sacrifice herself (of course) because that’s just the way she is. And Ricky glares at Victorya and opines that the workroom would be a better place without her passive/aggressive behaviors. Over on Team Chris, Steve says that Chris should go because he was the leader, Chris says he should go because he was the leader and Sweet P tries to take a pass. When pressed, she sort of squeaks out that Steve should go, but I forget why. Because he turned on Chris? Because his garment was weak? Because he squints?

The judges don’t like Victorya’s attitude (neither does Miz Shoes). They say that Chris failed as a leader by not making the collection cohesive, while Ricky failed by making bad choices and making decisions that made the challenge more difficult (Hel-lo? Duchesse satin? Are you mad?). Michael tosses out the Mother of the Bride insult for the millionth time and we hear the judges verdict: In are Sweet P, Elisa, Steve, Victorya (boo) and Ricky (who manages not to cry, which brings the total to two shows with and two without, weeping). Which means that Chris is out. Well, we’ll always have the salad dress.

He’s not a stray, he’s Ming the Merciless and he’s 14 years old. He is my beloved little Siamese and three days ago he stopped eating. He’s throwing up. He’s lost weight. He hasn’t pooped in two days. I’m waiting for the vet to call and tell me why. They wouldn’t let me stay with him, I had to drop the little fuzzball off. I’m crazy with apprehension. I just know that despite my watchful eye and care to close the door to my sewing room/studio, that Ming has gotten in there and eaten thread. I just know that he has an intestinal blockage and will require surgery, if that can even save him. I’m fretful and stressed and waiting for the phone to ring.

Think good thoughts, and help me get my shtinky puddin home safe and healthy.

UPDATE: Yes, it’s an intestinal blockage. No, he isn’t in mortal danger. We’re bringing him home overnight and he’ll go back in the morning, and most likely have surgery. Thank you for the good thoughts.

DEC. 9 UPDATE: He had surgery yesterday. The good news is that there wasn’t a tumor, scar tissue or a lump of thread. The bad news is that there was no reason for him to have had that blockage. The good news is I have the best vet in the world. The bad news is that he doesn’t know why Ming got sick, or if this will have gotten his intestines moving again. They just stopped. Lack of motility. The thing that has scarred me forever is that prior to the surgery, they gave Ming an enema. Now all of you cat lovers out there know how nigh onto impossible it is to give a cat a pill. The very thought of going in through the other end of the cat has me hiding under the bed in terror. One friend suggested that perhaps they knock the cat out first, but I don’t know if even that would help. Four paws full of claws, even clipped ones and an angry head full of teeth at the other end? I just can’t imagine the process, and every time I try to think about it, my mind skitters away like a droplet of water on a hot frying pan.

Oh, you people think that the only thing I do is watch Project Runway and ANTM, don’t you? Because I have been so very, terribly lax about posting these past couple of months. But you are wrong, wrong, wrong. I do so much more than that. For instance, I surf the internet aimlessly, I knit and ravel (un-knit) and I cook. Some of these things make for a nice synergy along the way.

Take for example, the aimless surfing and the food. When I was but a little shoe, my parents bought me a subscription to the Time/Life Foods of the World series for my birthday present. They were a wonderful introduction to the techniques and flavors of world cuisine. They were full of pictures and narrative and I still have every one of them, albeit a bit sticky, dog-eared and in some cases, a little water damaged. In one of the volumes about America, there was a two page photo spread on apples. I don’t remember what the title was in 1969, but today it would be heirloom apples. They may have been described as antique or lost varieties, or maybe just regional, but there was one apple in that spread that captured my imagination: the Sheepnose apple. It was longer, and somewhat more conical than a Red Delicious. It resembled, in fact, the nose of a sheep. Living in South Florida, there was no option of going around from orchard to orchard until I found one. Even today, with heirloom foods a major foodie trend, and boutique green grocers popping up, I have never seen a Sheepnose. BUT! In my aimless wanderings around the interwebs a couple of weeks ago, I Googled “Sheepnose apple” looking for pictures. Instead, I found Apple Source, a little, family-run business that sells varietal apples and ships them anywhere in the US. The lovely lady owner convinced me that I really didn’t want to eat a Sheepnose, because they are a fruit which is better in theory than in practice. She allowed as how one could find a really great Sheepnose, but only rarely, and then they don’t keep or travel so the only way to really and truly enjoy one would be to find an orchard having a good season, pick it and eat it right there. Sigh. But I did order a box of mixed heirlooms and the RLA and I have been doling them out like treasured jewels. And I ordered a box for the GirlCousin. And another for the David Lee Roth clone that is my brother-in-law. And now that the season has gone on and the varieties are changing, I may order another box for me.

Real apples. The smell alone is enough to make one swoon. The variety of tastes, and textures and colors is mind blowing. They are tart and sweet and tangy. The skins are rough (russets) or smooth. They are green with a rose colored blush, dark red, pale cardinal, yellow and green. Some of them are crunchy and others more mealy. None of them have been anything less than delicious. The RLA, who grew up in

Rochester, New York tells me that this has unleashed memories by the bushel. So go visit Jill and order yourself some apples. You’ll thank me.

The raveling and interwebs have intersected here at Ravelry.com. Ravel and unravel, like flammable and inflammable would seem to be opposites, but are actually synonymous. Anyway, you need to sign up for Ravelry (sounds like revelry, not to be confused with reveille) before you can get sucked in to the endless delights for yarn junkies. I have never seen a greater (in every sense of the word) time suck than Ravelry. I have entered my knitting needles and crochet hooks into a data base. Why? I can look over at the jar on my desk and see what I have. I’ve uploaded photos of my knitting, I’ve created a library of my reference books, even though they are on a shelf to my right (see WHY? above). I’m surfing patterns and yarns and looking for yarn junkie friends and looking at other people’s stashes. Yeah. I know. It’s yarn porn.

But there it is, and here I am, stuck to my laptop like a leech.

And then there is my love/hate relationship with “Tin Man”. And the never-ending garage sale plans. And a few bits of sewing that have yet to be finished, and did I mention that I’m heading to Disney World at the end of the week? Must commune with the mouse. More later, I think my boss has noticed I’m blogging and not working…