Have I ever mentioned how much I hate computers? Specifically non-Mac computers? The POS Dell on my office desk, for example, running some antiquated version of Windoze has been cutting the network connection on and off like it's trying to make a strobe light effect.

Well, you get what I mean. What I mean is that I CAN'T DO ANY FUCKING WORK because every time I try to do something like, oh, say, send a mailing list to the printer for labels, the network connection is down. Or maybe place an urgent order to our warehouse for print materials. I enter all the billing and shipping information, hit the send order button, and.... internet site not found comes up in the frame where it should tell me that my order is being processed.

All. Freaking. Day.

And I am so in the weeds, this week. Paper shuffling has never been so hard or so demanding. But they are building a wall of paper around my cubicle. Boxes of things that need to be stuffed into interoffice envelopes and shuffled off to other parts of the corporation. Boxes of papers that need to be inserted into other papers that are currently in other boxes and the finished compiled papers need to be sent out into the bowels of the building, one on every desk.

Grrrr. I cannot wait to get home and pet the doggies.

Reunion Show! Yeah! The prodigals return and we learn that:

1.) Angela is wearing a stupid purple necktie made of....wait for it....
Signature Angela Fleurchons!!!!

We also learn that:

2.) Laura has more than black and white in her closet: she also has red, and it looks fabulously glamorous on her.

3.) Robert is still boring

4.) Vincent is still insane

5.) Michael got braces, and now he's going to be cuter than ever. He was also the fan favorite (Shocked! I'm shocked to learn this.)

6.) Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo is still an arrogant ass hole and he never apologized to Angela's mother for being an abusive dick head to her. (Shocked! I'm shocked to learn this.) JTPS is still a nasty excuse for a human being, no matter how hard they try to give him a redemption arc.

Other things we learn are that Kayne and Angela are still utterly clueless as to why they lost. Angela asked NinaGarcia if her back story in the doggie challenge had been different, would she still have been so harshly critiqued. NinaGarcia, Michael Kors and Heidi all choked and tried to explain that ugly hootchie momma is ugly hootchie momma whether you are a camp councillor at Jubilee Jumbles or working 8th Avenue behind Times Square. (Well. That may have dated me. That particular section of Manhattan may be very nice now. But you get the general tenor of their replies.) Kayne asked if he'd used different fabric in his couture challenge, if he'd not been auf'ed. Except for the reference to hootchie momma, pretty much the same answer. To paraphrase the noted fashion critic Gertrude Stein, an ugly design is an ugly design is an ugly design.

Bradley cleans up nicely. (Shocked! I'm shocked to learn this.)

In other news, Keith thinks that he was set up by the producers, because HIS contract apparently didn't have the same language about design and pattern books that all the other designers had in their contracts. At least he never read it. Keith Malfoy can also do the Manson lamps. Keith also claims that the whole brouhaha over his leaving the set without leave was bogus because one of the production assistants told him it was ok. Actually, what he said was that he complained about the brouhaha to one of the PAs and they showed him where the door was. Which, if you think about it, probably did happen. As in, Dude, you are such an unmitigated ass, there's the door and don't let it hit you on the way out.

We discover that half the time the designers don't know what Tim Gunn is talking about because they only have visual vocabularies, and don't understand words of more than three syllables. Pity that, because part of what makes Tim Gunn the sexiest man on the planet is that he CAN use those words correctly.

Heidi and Laura are both hugely pregnant and took pot shots at the size of each other's bellies. Trust me when I say that the exchange was much cuter than it sounds. Laura does not own a pair of blue jeans. Tim Gunn does. Laura wears jodphers and riding boots when she goes casual. We saw that during the dog challenge and the garbage challenge and I made snarky comments about it then. But, remember, this is Laura, who came to the Atlas with matching Louis Vuitton cases. Sigh. She's my idol. In the previews we see her say, as she leaves the Atlas to prepare her show: "Oh, I've already produced a line of kids, I ought to be able to produce a line of clothes." Bwahahahaha. Oh. Laura. Will you be my BFF?

That was pretty much it. Nina Garcia's legs look better when she's sitting. Michael Kors needs to lay off the self-tanner, because he's starting to look like Jay Manuel AKA Little Orange Man from ANTM.

Next week we see Tim Gunn visit the designers in their natural (or in the case of Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo, UNnatural) habitats. Laura points out that of the four designers, JTPS is the only one with not so much as a button left to sew on when he gets back to NYC for fashion week. He is also the only one from all three seasons to make that claim. There will be drama! There will be nastiness! There will be cat fighting? Maybe? Please? Will Laura take her perfectly manicured little hand and slap the ugly right off of him? One can only hope.

It's Week Three with the bitches and the hos over at ANTM, and that means RUNWAY training with the ever-draggier Miss Jay. It was also the week that made me ask more questions (other than, tell me why, again, do I watch this train wreck?) than any previous season. So, why do I watch?
1.) Because it IS a train wreck
2.) Because Miss Jay just keeps getting draggier
3.) Because Mr. Jay just keeps getting orangier and bitchier and I hope he'll finally slap someone
4.) All of the above and

HOW, after seven seasons, can they still find girls who want to be runway models and yet have never learned how to walk in high heels? I'm not talking the Wind In Your Hair, I Am Camille And THIS is My Signature Horse Stomp. I'm talking a pair of stillettos. I'm talking your run of the mill Payless pumps. I mean, people, come on. Shouldn't you somehow be in training if you are going to apply to ANTM? It's not like you don't know the high heels are coming, after all.

But stumble they do, as they first try to walk a tightrope in the (literal) dark and then trot over cobblestone in the figurative dark as they don evening wear, spike heels and Mardi Gras masks the next day.

How sad a statement about me is it that I actually can see some validity to the exercise of a tightrope? I mean, it forces you to put one foot in front of the other (as opposed to the pigeon toes and duck walks of some of the contestants natural gaits), it forces you to have good posture and to look straight ahead instead of at your feet. Why in the dark? Who knows. Good video, maybe.

The next morning, after making some completely idiotic guesses about what the Tyra Mail meant (something about toeing a line and they're all like "OOOH, ooh, I know. It means we have to design our own clothing) they head out to a random location with uneven, but highly photogenic, cobblestones and are asked to walk a straight line (which has been indicated with duct tape). Our guest star walker is Bree from some previous season (frankly they are all starting to blur together for me, and, I think, for the judges and staff). I remember she was particularly annoying, and I don't remember her walk as being anything special, but I guess she was available. Hmmm. Top model, anyone? Anyone?

AJ proves to be the most adept at putting one foot in front of the other, and wins the challenge. The prize is actually very cool: she and two friends get to walk in a charity fashion show in Austin, Texas. But not just any old charity fashion show, the Dennis Quaid (aka ex Mr. Meg Ryan, and former total hottie if you are old enough to remember The Big Easy or the video he did with the always fabulous Miss Bonnie Raitt) old charity fashion show. AJ also proves to be a bitch in a good way when she picks Caridee and Megg (ROCK & ROLL!!!! head bang, hair toss) and not the totally begging to be picked Brooke, who was very unhappy not to get a free fly in to her home town. Meh. They were there for less than 24 hours and all looked like a hot mess when they got back.

Note to Caridee: a straw cowboy hat you buy in the airport is not a good look, ever. Not even a good souvenir. Please, buy the stuffed armadillo, it's much hipper.

Next up is the photo shoot, and the Tyra Mail hint is something about walking the plank. You guessed it, the B&Hs all think they are going to have to dress like pirates.

Do they put stupid in the gumballs and the water? Dress like pirates? After a week of runway practice, they don't think it has anything to do with walking on wood? In point of fact, it has to do with walking on a floating dock over a pool. I really must be doing too many martinis, because, again, I think this was a great shoot. And reality based, except for the part where the dock isn't anchored, and if they don't walk a perfectly straight line down the middle, the dock tips and they can (and Eugena does) fall into the pool. Which was also kind of cool, only I was sorry that it wasn't Moooonique. No. Really. I have seen a runway over a pool, here in Miami a few years ago at a fashion show for White Party Week.

Why wasn't it Moooonique in the drink? Well, because Moooonique was sick. Too sick to do the shoot. Not too sick to figure out ways to disgust the hell out of her fellow hamsters and the viewers, but sick. And if her girlyparts are producing fluids that stink and/or are disgusting enough even to her to be useful as a hate trick, then maybe she has something other than dehydration going on. I'm just saying. I'm also just saying, who the fuck thinks of doing shit like wiping their dirty underwear on someone else? Right. A child of God and a Princess of the Throne. I'm starting to think that Moooonique's momma was talking about the throne found in the back yard in certain areas of the developing world, and inside in houses with running water, if you get my drift.

Anyway, there is much sturm und drang, there is some amazingly good photography, there is a lame "walk with a bowl of fruit on your head" challenge in front of the judges (and AJ nails it again, and is starting to grow on me) and then, in judging there is the absolutely best thing ever on ANTM. I mean better than Darth Jader getting told she didn't know shit, better than the Italian designer asking Camille what the fuck was she walking like that for? Better than anything ever, and if I can't find it and download it off of YouTube, I just don't know what I'm going to do.

I'm talking about so amazing and funny it was worth putting up with Megg (ROCK & ROLL!!!!! head bang, hair toss). I'm talking about the impromptu gospel choir of Miss Jay, Tyra, Nigel and, yes, Miss Twiggy, as they sing about Moooonique don't want to be here no mo' no mo'. It was jaw-droppingly hilarious.

For the record, long after she was a super model, Miss Twiggy was a song and dance star and I saw her on Broadway starring with Tommy Tune in something involving a lot of tap dancing, and she was good. Held her own with T. Tune, even. The Boyfriend? Whatever.

The bottom line? Moooonique and her nasty juices got sent home, much to the relief of the bitches, the hos and all of us at home. At least Lisa took great shots, and had the "decency" to pee in a diaper and did not then stuff it in someone's bed.

Good times, people. Good times. Next week? I don't remember, but I'm sure it will include more stupidity.

Technorati Profile

In my never-ending attempts to keep current with technology I have:

1. installed a new stereo in my car that has both mp3 capabilities and a direct i-pod input
2. registered this blog with Technorati, which frankly, I thought I had done years ago
3. registered with something or other that lets me figure out my place in the blogospheric ecosystem

That is all.

For now. You know there will be Project Runway and ANTM reviews come morning. And can I just say now how freakin happy I am that they sent Moooonique home sooner than later, although there was a flashback to the heinous Darth Jader, and I Never wanted to see that face on the hi-def ever again.

Thanks to I Blame the Patriarchy, I have discovered that I don't need to diet or exercise to look good in photos. Nope. HP now offers this: a digital "slimming effect" on certain of its camera models.

Check it out, but prepare to be outraged.

At the Casita de Zapatos we are down with the bitches and the hos. It was all B & H, all the time, last night, what with new epis of both America's Next Top Model and Project Runway. I stayed awake for both, but would somebody please remind me why?

Last night was Make Overs on ANTM. The B&Hs were driven in their embarrassingly blinged out stretch ... uh... stretch... white limo* to some nondescript diner for brekkies with the Two Jays**. In what has become something of a tradition, one of the girls announces that you can just shave her head, because she has great hair, it grows out fast, and she don't care. Right. They give her a Halle Berry muy short boy cut, and she cries and cries and cries and hates it and fights it and whines and cries... and like that.

In fact, pretty much all of the bitches bitch about their make overs, to the point where the bitchiest of them all (that would be Little Orange Man, Mr. Jay) walks off the set, hands to Jesus in despair. But not before he lectures the girls on manners and gratitude. Which lecture, we will soon see, went in any number of ears and drifted out the others.

Kim2.0 got the boy cut and bleach job. Ashram or what ever her name is, got her hair line lifted and her hair layered. She did not complain, even when getting her forehead hair yanked out in clumps. Jaeda of the she-nis, did complain, see above. AJ (aka whoever- that-evil-corn-toothed-bitch-was-two-seasons-ago-lite) got the Linda Evangalista longer boy cut. The twins got two different shades of red. Michelle got waves, Amanda did not.

And Oh. My. God. I can't believe I've already memorized their names. I am pathetic.

Uh, yeah... the blonde with the chin went brunette. Melrose went blond (but not without a panic attack or three, and dry heaves and crying fits and whatever. Eugenia (I don't find you likeable) got one of Tyra's old wigs. Meggggg the Annoying Rocker chick got more hair to toss.*** Some other hamsters got some other looks. And then the diva of all divas, the most unlikeable of the unlikeables, the Camille of Season Seven, Miss Thing Her Own Self, Moonique, got extensions. To get them, they had to take her old ones out. This caused Much Distress. For everyone. It was about then that Mr. Jay had had enough and pointed out to Mooo-nique that she was dissing the hair designer, who is someone that people hock their houses to have do their hair, she was dissing him, dissing Tyrant, dissing the universe, and looking like ass while doing it.

They had a very cool challenge that involved Cover Girl Make Up (imagine that) and also riding an elevator, changing clothes, riding an elevator, and meeting Queen Latifah and her personal make up artist. If you missed the elevator, you were automatically eliminated from the challenge. One girl missed the lift on the first floor. Oops. Mooo-nique missed it later, and she was peeeesed. All the other hamsters allowed as how they'd be avoiding her like the plague as a result.

Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. She locked herself in the phone booth for three hours, and talked to the dial tone for at least one hour. Ashram was the only girl with the cajones (she's from Homestead, people) to walk in and hang up the phone. And also, judging by the beeped out dialog, they both cursed like longshoremen. Good for them. Didn't help, because that was done after the second hour, and Mooo-nique went on talking to the dial tone for another hour and a half after that.

Then they did Hair Wars shots. I have to say, that this season's shoots are the best yet. They actually look like real photo shoots, and are truly challenging. Can you wear the hair, or will the hair wear you was the challenge to the girls. Melrose redeemed herself from last week. Mooo-nique had mean little squinty eyes. Eugene wouldn't take direction. The twins rocked it. Jaeda, not so much. Annoying Rocker Chick, meh. Ashram, great. Kim2.0? Went home.

And that was that, except for some random heinous behavior from Mooo-nique. The two girls most likely to come to blows this season? Mooo-nique and Melrose.

*Escalade? Hummer? Who knows, who cares.

** There's a chain of really good delis in SoFla by the name of TooJays. Mmmm. Now I want chopped liver.

*** Headbanger's Ball. I bet she l-u-v-s Poison.

So the big twist, the huge surprise was... there was no decoy at the tents. We've seen the final shows by all four finalists. Excuse me while I yawn.
Such drah-mah as there was consisted of Uli taking Nazri (the model) away from Michael, and then deciding her usual schmata looked like a house dress, and tearing it apart and starting over. Why it took her til last night to come to that blazing revelation, your guess is as good as mine. But Nina and the rest of the judges (the guest judge was the fashion writer from the Wall Street Journal, a newspaper famous for its coverage of the edgy and new...and also for never publishing photos) just had to fan themselves because cutting about two feet off the hem caused them to see the same old same old as something new and different.

Michael should have stolen Marilinda from Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo, because that girl can sell the worst piece of crap on the runway as haute couture (thinking of the mustard yellow plaid Hot Topic evening gown). But he didn't, and more's the pity. Michael hit the proverbial wall last night and just sketched and sketched and sketched and finally found something to sew, but... well, let's just say that it was no Pam Muthafukkin Greer ensemble, despite a passing resemblance in terms of color.

Laura made another impeccable Laura dress, but with a slightly different colorway, one very closely related to her jet set dress. Slit down the front and back. Lace, beads, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But tailored to within an inch of its life.

Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo took time off from being all dark and edgy and shit to do something he called romantic and... provocative. He also called a horse-drawn hansom cab a rickshaw, so what the hell does he know. He made a point of telling the world that it was beautiful and hand-sewn. Meh. The blue velvet that he used for the bodice was luscious, the marble-sized pearls he stuck on the neckline, not so much. There was a giant red waistband that looked to be semi-pleated and a bubble skirt. Yes. A bubble skirt a la Angela the much maligned. In white. With what may or may not have been raw hems. Ho-hem/hum.

And then they all got to stay and Tim got all misty-eyed. Next week will be the reunion show where Keith Malfoy goes all Travis Bickle on Heidi, et. al and nobody really cares who will win on the 18th.

This just came through the in-box, from a very pissed off boss. Now, granted, he's been on a tear, just in general, for the past couple of weeks* but this is particularly biting.

Pressed repeatedly today on the NIE/Iraq at his WH press briefing, the unabashedly mendacious Tony Snow finally replied (not answered) to a question with this: “Do you think Osama bin Laden is better off today than he was 6 years ago?”

The reporter ignored the outrage and insisted Snowjob answer her question instead.

But Snow’s comment is perhaps the most heinous spinjob proffered yet by this cowardly war mongering gang o’ thugs. And IF this is the new standard by which we must measure political success/failure, then I suggest that rather than asking Osama (gotta find him first, o-mr.-dead-or-alive-commander-in-chief) whether he’s better off today, we instead ask …

Cindy Sheehan … whether her son Casey is better off today than he was 6 years ago?

Valerie Plame and truth-telling Ambassador Joe Wilson whether they are better off today than they were 6 years ago?

The grieving widows/widowers, parents, children and other loved ones of the nearly 3,000 who’ve died in Iraq to preserve & protect the Halliburton lies … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago?

The 140,000 troops currently stationed in Iraq who’ve been lied to from day one about the purpose of their mission, the length of their mission and the resources they’ll have to carry out their mission … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago?

The too-few troops on the ground in Afghanistan facing a resurgent Taliban … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago?

The World Trade Center in New York … whether it’s better off today than it was 6 years ago (especially after a certain do-nothing president did nothing with a 2001 intelligence report warning of an imminent attack involving airplanes)?

The nearly 3000 who died in those towers … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago (especially after a certain do-nothing president did nothing with a 2001 intelligence report warning of an imminent attack involving airplanes)?

The passengers and crew of UAL #93 … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago (especially after a certain do-nothing president did nothing with a 2001 intelligence report warning of an imminent attack involving airplanes)?

The folks on the plane and at the Pentagon … whether they’re better off today than they were 6 years ago (especially after a certain do-nothing president did nothing with a 2001 intelligence report warning of an imminent attack involving airplanes) (Barbara Olsen excepted, of course)?

If this is the Rove-Mehlman-Boehner-Frist Talking Point of the Day, then Democrats must not just laugh it off for the obscene absurdity that it is. They must attack. Just like Bill Clinton would do/did.

* which is also why I'm actually sort of kind of buckling down at the office and doing filing and secretarial shit.

God said to Abraham
Kill me your son
Abe said, Man, you must be puttin' me on.
God say No.
Abe say What?
God said You can do what you want, Abe, but
The next time you see me comin' you better run.
Abe said Where you want this killin' done
God said Out on Highway 61.

Yeah. Rock and roll and religion often go hand in hand around here at the Casita de Zapatos. In temple today, Jews heard the story of Abraham, although probably not too many rabbis actually quoted the Bob's version of events.

For many years, I attended a Reconstructionist synagogue, and the rabbi gave some excellent sermons. One High Holy day sermon included a reference to Jefferson Starship. Unfortunately, not the one I thought. The rabbi asked (rhetorically, as it turned out) who remembered what the Starship said? I yelled out from somewhere in the middle of the room: "Feed your head?"

Uh, yes, but the quote he was looking for was "No man is an island, he's a peninsula."

It was equally embarrassing for everyone involved.

Another year, many, many, many decades ago, I chose not to fast, not to go to services, and instead to ride my bike to art history class. After class, I got a drink of water, got back on the old ten-speed and sailed across campus. And right into the front bumper of a woman who was running a stop sign. I broke two ribs and totalled my bike. She spoke no English (how convenient) and tossed eleven dollars at me before she drove away.

My father pointed out, with absolutely no sympathy and no irony, that had I been an observant Jew, I wouldn't be nursing broken ribs and in need of a new set of wheels. I've attended High Holiday services religiously (pun intended) ever since.

Well, except for the past two years, since Daddy died and I just haven't been able to force myself back into a temple. I don't feel anything cliche, like God's abandoned me, nor have I abandoned my religion, it's simply been too hard for me to see the old men in their tallitsim, and hear the prayers in Hebrew.

This year, I was at home, and the RLA and I went in the back yard to plot out where the trees are, for the architect to plan the studio around them. And then, while I watched, JoJo ran through a hole in the fence. A hole that isn't really there. And out the neighbor's yard and promptly disappeared. The RLA and I and half of our neighbors were on foot, bike and in cars looking for her. I called her and called her. I took the Noble Dog Nails out on his leash to help me find her. Nothing. Nada. She had vanished into thin air.

I couldn't even begin to grasp the thought of life without this dog. I was walking and crying and dying. And then I heard the RLA calling my name. He had her. She'd followed a stray cat into the gated development across the street. She was perfectly fine, and, in fact, was on her way home when he found her.

I can take a hint, you know. I've taken those two broken ribs very seriously for the past 30 years. I can take this hint, too. I'll be seeing you next week, in temple.

L'Shana Tova.

Well, it was Wednesday night, so it was fuzzy bathrobe and bunny slippers night at the Casita des Zapatos. Bravo is torturing the Project Runway fans with a week of repeats, so the new CW (what ever that stands for, but I don't think it's Country/Western) came to the rescue with the two-hour premier of season 7 of America's Next Top Model. Sigh. Pour the cosmos, bitches.

I'm not going to dis the show and say that it's gotten formulaic, or anything (much) but last night we found out that there were more girls with sorrowful backstories than not. There's the girl who was in a plane crash when she was nine, and her mother's dead body kept her warm enough to survive. WHOA, doggies. Issues? A couple? You think, maybe?

There's the girl who is darker skinned than all of her other family members, and so she's the outcast for being the most colored person of color. Miss Jay, Tyra and Nigel all got jiggy wit dat. Ohhhh, I'm sorry. Slap me now. But they did. The only person on the panel who looked as puzzled as I felt was Twiggy.

There's another girl who is a cervical cancer survivor, and another one whose momma dropped her off at Child Protective Services (after they left the homeless shelter) and never came back for her. She, in her own words, went from homeless to homecoming queen. She was the Very First Person of Color to be homecoming queen in her hometown. Now, I don't remember where she was from, but children, the first Black homecoming queen in my hometown was voted in only five years after desegregation. I'm just saying. It's been a long, long, long, long time since I was in high school. I'm just sayin'.

In the role first made popular by Camille, and then improved upon by Eva-The-Diva, and continued in every season after, that of the de riguer Black Bitch, we have some ho who pretended to pee on another girl's bed, just so she could "mark [her] territory." That was after someone else had claimed the bed, mind you. Same girl also refused to take less than an hour-long shower, clean up after herself or in any other way be a nice roomie. I'm betting she gets the boot sooner than later, because Mr. Jay (who, was it just the settings on my teevee, or is he a little less orange this season?) will NOT stand for that sort of behavior on HIS sets. Hmmmph. Flounce.

Speaking of flouncing, those nasty, nasty Aswirl Twins were back, and I hope only for a two minute guest shot. Yeah... back to the bitches.

We had the stripper who wasn't a stripper, she was an ENTERTAINER, beeyotch. There's the prettiest girl in school, the delusional dog, the rocker chick. We had the mousy little good Christian girl who wouldn't do the nude shot because nobody should ever get to see her woman parts except her husband and God, and that includes herself (as one of the other hos so rightly noted). And we have our first set of twins, and as much as they have babboon noses, they turned it out in front of the cameras, and I'm betting that one or both get into the finals. The fact that they are twins confused some of the other girls who couldn't quite figure out if that made the twins one or two contestants. There's the mommy whose idea of the all-American family goes like this: I'm a model, I have two kids and my husband is in the military...in Iraq. There's an Indian girl from down the highway from me... Homestead, Florida. Indians in Homestead? Hondurans, Mexicans, Guatamalans, si... but a sub-continent Indian? How the hell did HER family end up in Homestead? And where does she eat when she's in town?

So. First we get snaps on the runway, the LAX runway. Then we do the interviews. Then we had the first rough cut and the next batch of girls get taken to an LA rooftop for some nude shots. That separates some of the chaff, but not all. Next up in our whirlwind first epi, the girls get dragged off to some warehouse or another for a fashion show. They get to see some boy models (any one of whom is prettier than any one of the girls) strut down the cat walk, then they have to take the outfits off the boys, fem them up a little and restrut. Melrose (long in the tooth) wins by a mile. This will come back to bite her in the ass. Note to next season girls: don't win in the early contests.

Short interlude where we see the cool new house, and discover that in two days these young things can make a show house look like a frat house at the end of the semester. What fucking pigs! Who raised these girls? Right. Dead mother, absent mother, and a minister.

Since we don't have Janice to kick (the girls) around any more, Tyra tried to chanel the Divine Miss D. herownself to show the girls how a real alcoholic psycho bitch diva behaves on set. Then, in what Mr. Jay claimed to be The Most Controversial Shoot on ANTM EVAH!!! (would that be even more controversial than, say... the super-hero alien shot? Or the girls on an elephant? That was pretty edgy and controversial, wasn't it?) the girls all get to be model stereotypes.

This is actually a very cool concept, and the baboon-nosed twins nail their shots of anorexic an bulemic models. The resident psycho bitch gets to be Naomi Campbell and throw a cell phone at an assistant, but can't pull it off. Go figure. Squinty-eyed rocker girl gets to be Gia (yeah, they were saying Janice, on set, I'm betting.) and cop a nod with a bottle of Jack in her hand. There's a dumb blonde (Paris?) and the girl who won't get out of bed for less than 10K, the fabulous bitch with the tiny dog and the entourage (who was made up to look like Eva the Diva, IMHO) and a handful of others too boring to remember.

Melrose finds herself in the bottom two, the other girl gets sent home. I don't remember who won. Bulemic twin? Next week, MAKEOVERS!!!!! (and, more importantly, a new episode of Project Runway.)

PS: Where's POTES over at Television Without Pity? This new guy/girl can't hold a candle to Potesie... TWOP? Call me.

So the POTUS doesn't know what "degrading to human dignity" means. I have a couple of ideas, and I'm sure you do, too. I'd love to be given the chance to show him some of my ideas, up close and personal, if you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do.

Feel free to add your ideas in the comments.
1. being forced to watch the POTUS's speaches on an endless loop

2. having to listen to Paris Hilton defend her singing or having to listen to her sing

3. being forced to watch Eraserhead on an endless loop

4. being forced to watch highlight reels from Project Runway's Santino and Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo pieced together with highlights from America's Next Top Model's own Jade-the-Delusionial

PS: Click on the image below to order your free bumper sticker.

Avast, ye seadogs, we be havin' too much fun today.

Yarr.

Oh, you all know that sometimes, just sometimes, I'm a sucker for a meme. When it has to do with art or books or music, I'm only too happy to play along. So. From Miss Bliss to me and then to five of you:

1. One book that changed your life: Walter Pater's Conclusion to the Renaissance

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: The Bushwhacked Piano

3.One book you’d want on a desert island: The Baroque Cycle

4. One book that made you laugh: The Joyous Season

5. One book that made you cry: The Once & Future King

6. One book that you wish had been written: Oh No, Ho; You Are NOT Doing That In Public

7. One book that you wish had never been written: The Celestine Prophecy (Truly, Deeply, Awful)

8. One book you’re currently reading: Hacking Moveable Type (pathetic, isn't it?)

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: The Complete Diaries of Samuel Pepys

10. Now tag five people: RJ, Mild Child, Jade, Marceeah, Larry

Boy-HOW-dee, was last night the best Project Runway, EVER, or WHAT?

They really, really had me going with Laura's reference to the Olsen twins, and the clip of Heidi saying there'd be two special guests. The fan blogs/forums had been rife with speculation about why the "special benefits to winning a challenge" line was dubbed in and what those special benefits could possibly be. Last night we found out, with a vengence.

The show opened with the three boys left standing (Kayne, Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo, and Michael) all congratulating themselves and each other about still being there. Kayne and JTPS are just ripping on Vincent being gone, and laughing and laughing and laughing about him going home. Maybe that was gloating, gloating, gloating. Whichever. And Jeffrey being Jeffrey, he has to bring up how happy he still is over the fact that Angela is gone and he won two challenges, but mostly, Angela is gone.

Over in their room, the girls are much better behaved, and Laura is just beaten down by pregnancy, the criticism of the other designers, pregnancy, stress and her last week's review on the runway. Noooooo. We love you, Laura (especially with your hair loose). Just put on a little lipstick and get back in the game.

At the studio, or Parsons, or the runway, or where ever the hell Heidi gives them their next challenges, the designers are told HA HA, no challenge for YOU today, you guys are going to a party tonight and we will have not one, but two special guests and that's when you'll get your challenge. Then Heidi, wearing a very large pink and paisley scarf as a very short dress, gives them a nasty smile and a buh-bye and they are left to ponder the implications amongst themselves. Or maybe have a day off to sleep. That's what I'd do, anyway.

Exterior, night

We are outside of a bar. Inside, there is lots and lots and lots of champagne and the remaining five designers. Doesn't look like much of a par-tay to me, but that's what champagne is for, n'est pas? Of course they pop the corks, and, in what is only his second slip of the entire show, Michael literally pops the cork, and the wine spews everywhere. Dawg, that may be the way they open champers in the hood, but the correct way is to hold the cork and turn the bottle until the cork eases out and there is a slight pop, but the bubbles and the wine stay in the bottle where they are supposed to be. Note: both Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo-and-recovering-alcoholic and Preggers Laura are tossing it back tonight.

In comes Heidi, and intros the first of their two special guests, and it's ----- VINCENT!!!!

Well, children, you have never seen pouting and stink eye and displays of blatant unhappiness and sulking and what not like we see next, since the last time someone ate the red crayon in a pre-school coloring hour. And that's just Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo. He did show enough self control to not actually throw himself on the floor and pound his heels and fists and cry. But just barely. Instead, he settled for sulking on the settee like any old spoiled teenager. And when the second special guest proves to be Angela, well, sweetiedarlings, Kayne just gets on the settee with him and the two can barely be civil to each other, much less the rest of the gang.

The special benefit of winning a challenge (and Keith Malvoy being sent home for cheating, thus leaving the producers one designer short for elimination), it turns out, is a second chance. They each won a challenge, and so they get to come back for one last ride. The only caveat is that the only way they get to continue is to win the challenge. Otherwise? Back on the bus to East Jesus.

The party ends right there and then, with the two losers coming back into the mix. Some of the designers are more gracious about it than others. Imagine that.

Back at the Atlas, Laura explains to Angela how she, Angela, is only there because she rode to victory on the backs of Michael and Laura. Angela, true to form, disagrees and totally doesn't get that she would have lost had not the tasteful twosome grabbed those nasty little Signature Angela Fleurchons out of her mitts and limited her to a couple of them as buttons. Really? she asks. You think? Laura arches her perfect eyebrows, rolls her baby blues and says, DUH. Out here in television land, another million or so folks do the same and add, Oh, HELL to the yes, Angela.

Oh, yeah. the challenge. I almost forgot about it, what with all the drama and shit. A cocktail ensemble. In black and white. Only. And PS? The designers have to use every scrap of fabric they buy. If it's as large or larger than a postcard, they need to use it, somehow.

Angela asks Tim, before they go to Mood, if they can choose one or the other... he says, uh, no. Both. Black and white. Together. Remember this.

The Night of the Living Fleurchons

There is so much going on in this episode, that we don't even get to watch the designers shop. We go from sketching and kvetching to sewing. Laura is having a breakdown. She's lost her mojo. She's lost her ego. She's lost at sea and can't tell anymore what's good and what's bad. Speaking of which...

Vincent is sure he will win with a white top that looks like the Guggenheim Museum (better than it sounds) and a black eyelet slim skirt. He's bought way too much fabric and chooses to make a really awful, vee-shaped drape, uh, shawl to go with the dress. Vincent is hamstrung, too, by the fact that his model has been in a bicycle wreck on her way to the show, and he is given a new (also previously auf'ed) model as a replacement. She is nowhere near the same size as Jia, and splits every seam on his dress and he has to sew her in as she's getting hair and make up.

Uli is working with (don't be shocked!) black and white patterned flowy silks. Guess what? It's the same fucking dress, only short, and with sleeves that look like they aren't really sleeves, but opera-length gloves with no hands, only fluttery hand openings. Yeah. I didn't get it, either. It's Uli goes to Ren Fest, and it isn't particularly pretty. She makes an ugly necklace out of her extra fabric by stuffing a tube of one fabric with wads of other fabric and bunching it up at intervals to look like ginormous bead things. Woof.

Michael makes an asymetrical white dress with a huge black cumberbund with floral cut outs and add-ons and it is, as always with our man Michael, utter perfection on Nazri. Nazri must be hot stuff, because I actually know his model's name and the rest of them are just...the models. Michael lines a purse, or stuffs a purse, I couldn't really tell, with his extra fabric.

Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo makes something that is atrocious, even by his low standards. It's black faux-pleather footless thigh-highs and a micro miniskirted bo-ho blouse. It's mostly white with black patterning.

Laura invokes the name and spirit of Josephine Baker (HEY! That's my dog's name/namesake, and now I love Laura even more than ever) and makes a white sorta mini-baby doll dress with black lace overlay, black lace trim on the square neckline and long, sleek, daggery feathers and beading along the hemline. It is, as always, impeccably tailored. Sigh. She makes a purse with her scraps.

Kayne uses black and black only to make a bat-winged, boat necked dress with no back. It's held on or held together by a white shoelace going through giant tabs all around the cut-out back. It's worse than it sounds. Tim almost bitch-slaps Kayne when he discovers that the only white material Kayne has is "trims" and the way Tim says the word "trim" makes it sound very, very dirty indeed. He makes a purse with his left-over trims.

Angela has made... a mess. She's made a micro-shrug out of black vinyl (?), and a sloppy, backless, shapeless, sleeveless hot mess of what is supposed to be a dress to go under it. The collar of the micro-shrug looks like Dracula's cape got mugged by white fleurchons on the way to the runway, and they are breeding all over it. It's eating her model's face, in fact, and it is just worse than anything else out there, except maybe Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo's pleatherette thigh-highs. She's stuffed all her extra fabric into a crocodile mini-hatbox purse. The purse is from the Macy's accessory wall. Why she didn't make one of her stupid Signature Angela Fluerchon Covered sacks, instead? It's Angela, so who knows.

Don't Cry Out Loud

On the runway, the emergency back up judge tonight is Zac Posen, wearing a silver ascot. Oh, come on. Nina points out to Angela that one doesn't need to stuff material in a stiff, box-like purse to shape it, and that as far as she's concerned, Angela bent the rules so far that they snapped.

Michael Kors, in what is perhaps his first fashion faux-pas of the season, says that everything Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo has done till now just looks like Gwen Stefani, to which I call bullshit. Gwen may make some questionable fashion choices (a bustle on a mini-skirt?) but she would never, ever, ever be caught dead in those broke-ass pleatherette thigh-highs.

Michael also does a dead-on impersonation of Uli and her mantra, "I'm from Miami, I design for hot veather." I'm laughing so hard, that I almost spilled my cosmopolitan.

Zac Posen shows some spot-on analysis of what he's seeing out there on the runway, despite the fact that he dressed himself in a silver ascot.

Everyone hates the proportions on Vincent's homage to the Guggenheim, and when he uses the awful shawl thing to add length to his skirt it looks much, much, much better. I thought about it for a while, and I think he should have done a full, gored skirt with the extra material, and I think the contrast between a very structured white top and the black eyelet and black sateen fullness could have been a winner for him. Oh, well. I'm not one of the voices in his head.

The winner? Miss Laura, but it could just as easily have gone to Michael. Once more, the judges gushed over how this guy is a fashion natural, a genius; how his presentation is always flawless, from hair and make up to accessories. I think they just didn't want him to win three.

Since you had to win to stay, Angela and Vincent go bye-bye once more. Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo and Kayne are the bottom two. Kayne is (finally) given the boot for having, in White Trash vernacular, all of his taste in his mouth. In his final interview, Kayne lets us all know that he really isn't a bitch, he just played one on tee-vee. Yeah. Nice try, Nancy. Ain't none of us believin' that shit.

The only thing that could have made this episode any better would have been to see Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-Shmoo get tossed out on his shaved eyebrow. And one other thing. Dude. The fly-eye sunglasses with the rhinestones? Did Kayne give you those, because a) they are SO not rock and roll, and b) they are SO gay.

Whew. That was exhausting. PS... the closet was finished just in time for Project Runway, and I got to sleep in my real bed last night. Like I said at the beginning of this entry, was last night great, or what.

The closet rehab is a real-life example of Murphy's Law in action. It started out so easily, and quickly descended into a domino fall of small annoyances, work stoppages and but firsts.

The demolition went smoothly, with lots and lots of bang hammering and prybar work. FUN! But the DYIers who owned this house before always did things the easy way, so when I pulled the shelves out, great gobs of concrete wall came out too. They used nails into concrete rather than drilling and using concrete mollys.

So. Off to Home Depot for spackle, and new paint (gotta paint over the big gaps where previously there hung wooden shelves and shelf supports) (also: the big patches of spackle), and a concrete drill bit, and a level, and what girl doesn't want a plumb line? and then there in the back of the tool corral was a 100-piece accessory kit for my Dremel, and maybe a little light for the closet? Yes. That was the HD run.

Did you know that at Home Depot, in the paint section, there are usually cans of rejected colors or extra cans of stuff that people brought back and it's all marked at $5 a gallon? I've bought Ralph Lauren there, in the exact color I would have had mixed, had it not been sitting in the reject pile for cheap. This weekend, I found what looked like an exact match for the shallow-end-of-the-swimming-pool aqua that is my bedroom. Once it dried, however, it's more of a robin's egg blue. A little more grayish/blueish/lavenderish color. Who cares, it's in the closet. And feel free to make your own jokes about that.

Back home, where I spackle and sand, rinse and repeat, wait for the spackle to dry and then paint the closet. It is now 10:30 at night and the end of day 2 of the closet project.

On Monday, the RLA hunts and gathers dinner for us, and after we eat, the RLA puts on the safety glasses and filter mask and has at the rear wall with the concrete drill. It is slow and painful, only partly because he is attempting to drill into 53-year old concrete, and he finally sucks it up and uses the old, 1950's drill with a cord, as opposed to the sleek, battery-powered model he loves. Whaddaya know? The old drill with a cord has way more torque and the rest of the job goes smoothly. On to the side wall, where we discover that: at the height we need to drill, it is NOT concrete, but drywall. The only thing we can figure is that the walls are concrete up to the level of the eaves, and the sloping part of the wall, where it goes to the roof peak, is drywall. Why? Ask the guy who built this dump house in 1954.

It's now 10:30 on Monday night, and we are done in. Back to the trundle bed in the living room, which is getting more comfortable every night.

On Tuesday, after his morning class, the RLA heads off to the Home Depot/Container Store for the correct anchors for drywall and the correct drill bit for same. No extra Dremel toys, boohoo. Once I get home from work, the next phase of the operation begins. We measure, level and drill. It's going well, too well. Sure enough, we hit another snag: there is a block of Dade County Pine behind the wall on the RLA's side of the closet. NOTHING drills through Dade County Pine. NOTHING. Nada. Zip. Forget it, it's only one screw, and it's not on the end of the rail. I manage to break not one, but two lamps in the closet during this portion of the evening.

Finally, I break out the wet vac and a mop, and I clean, clean, and re-clean all the plaster dust and random dog fur and regular dust from all surfaces in the closet. We wait for it to dry. We go back in. We begin to hang the vertical supports, and. There is a 4x4 cross beam that extends from side wall to side wall. We don't know why. We think it may be a weight-bearing structure, sort of like a flying buttress, but we're not sure, and we sure as hell are not going to take it down. It's in the middle of the closet, depth-wise. It, of course, interferes with installing the vertical supports.

Out comes the Dremel (I LOVE that tool) and the RLA carves out another set of notches. We hang the vertical supports. All that's left is to hang the actual shelves and clothes rods, and build and install the drawers. But, you know what? It's now 10:30pm and the RLA and I don't even have enough energy left to argue about whether or not we should continue. I'm asleep on the trundle, dog at my side (or head. or feet.) by the time he finishes brushing his teeth.

Tonight is the final push, and if my clothes aren't hung up in the closet by the time Project Runway starts, I'm just going to give up, call the trundle my bedroom and accept the fact that when I say closet, what I really mean is the pile of clothes on what used to be my bed.