Dream a Little Dream

Yesterday I joined Blog 365, and we’ll see how that goes, me blogging daily. At the moment, it’s kind of easy, because my boss is on an extended road trip for most of the month, which means that I have the time to blog. The problem with daily blogging is that I’m not all that terribly interesting all the time. Well, I am, it’s just not always interesting outside of my head.



Last night I went back to my Alma Mater to a seminar on social networking on the web. The turnout was very small, mostly other professors and alumni, and very few undergrads. There was a sort of elfish-looking junior Ted Kaciznsky with one of those Dr. Koop beards (so very, very unattractive in any century) and a beach towel across his shoulders for warmth. I guess because when you go to the University of Miami you pack beach towels and not a sweater, dog forbid.



It was sort of embarrassing, but I seemed to ask more questions and be more attentive than anyone else in the room. And I am neither a business student nor a scientist. I also had a better, albeit intuitive grasp of some of the implications of social networking on line. Maybe because I’ve been blogging since 2002, and a member of various groups on-line since almost the day I got a dial-up account.



In any event, the subject was fascinating, but not so fascinating as to take over my dreams. No. In my dreams, Johnny Depp, his girlfriend and children became my neighbors and kept hanging out at my house. They came over for dinner (I didn’t remember inviting them, nor was I ready) and he was wearing a bowling shirt in grey, black and pink with martini glasses printed on it. Then he took us over to his house and I walked around checking out his art collection. I had just come to the conclusion that he would be the perfect patron for the RLA, when I woke up. Without getting a commitment from Johnny.



I only mention this because my usual celebrity dream friends are the Bob, the Bruce and Tom. Tom Petty. Who is back on tour with the Heartbreakers, and I have tickets to see them. First time since the 80s, when I used to see him in tiny clubs. This should be fun, non?

Lifting Me Higher

It was a nice weekend at the Casita de Zapatos. We went to visit my mother on Saturday, and she was as awake and alert as I’ve seen her in months. She held my hand, and told me I was a good one, and then she delivered these two gems: “There is another life elsewhere.” Oooh-kay. And “If you want that (she gestures blindly at something somewhere over our heads), I’ll lift you up on a windmill.” And allrighty, then.



There is a new resident at my mother’s place, and she is mean. Really, really mean. She uses the N word to demean the help, and tells everyone to get the hell out of her home or her country, depending on how evil she’s feeling. A couple of weeks ago, she was really making the RLA and I feel sad and uncomfortable, when she turned to us as though we were her cronies, and asked us who all these other people were. Without batting an eyelash, the RLA and I said, what other people. It’s just the three of us here. We don’t see any other people. Then the RLA said that we were angels. God sent us to tell her not to be so mean. The nurses tell us that she’s been a lot less ugly to them since then.



Yesterday, I went to one of the last u-pic fields with Star, and picked a bushel or so of little green tomatoes. Yesh! It is little green tomato time again, and I have 18 quarts of little green tomatoes pickling away on my kitchen counter. I also have blackened, grimy nails and cuticles on my right hand which no amount of scrubbing has done anything to ameliorate.



Last night, we headed off to hang with MJ, RJ and The Other Couple (and other of The Other Couple’s friends) to watch the Super Bowl. What a game! What a great time! What good food! What a play! When Eli Manning ducked the sack (and how did he DO that?) and still managed to hurl one miles down the field only to have his receiver catch the ball on his HELMET!!!! (and how did he do THAT???) What a game. It really was super. And the best thing? (other than the baby who underestimated the creepy factor of the clown) was that the Miami Dolphins got to hold on to their record for one more season. And the next best thing? Eli Manning beat Tom Brady.

Across the Universe

I just saw this:



The Beatles are about to become radio stars in a whole new way.

NASA on Monday will broadcast the Beatles’ song “Across the Universe” across the galaxy to Polaris, the North Star.



The story is full of embedded lyrics and the author obviously had a good time writing it.



What sticks with me though, is this: it is the 50th anniversary of NASA. I grew up just down the coast from Cape Canaveral, and the space industry has been a part of my whole life. My beloved cousin Milton worked on the Gemini project doing something with the space suits. From the very beginning, when a rocket launched, my whole elementary school would be trotted out to the playground, lined up and faced north, and with the little black and white portable tv in the classroom giving us the play by play, we would watch the vapor trail, and the bright flash of the booster separating from the body of the rocket. Then back we’d go into the school, to follow the rest of the story.



Perhaps those memories are why some of the short stories by Ray Bradbury resonated so deeply with me. In books like The Illustrated Man, there seemed to always be folks sitting on their porches on a clear summer night, watching the space ships take off from beyond the corn fields. Those stories seemed to be so close, just another year or two away from what was real in my life already.



When we drove to Newport for the summer, we would stop at a picnic area in Titusville, just across the St. John’s River from the Cape. We could see the rockets on their pads, and the giant buildings where the rockets were built. They were so big, we were told, that clouds formed in the upper reaches. I knew how to spell the word “gantry” and what it meant.



Why wouldn’t there be rockets beyond the orange groves and fireflies in the trees?



Pretty Woman

I love Bollywood movies, and I especially love myself some Shah Rukh Kahn. Last night I watch Kal Ho Naa Ho. And this dance sequence just blew me away. Thankfully, in this day and age of the unlimited interwebs, I am able to let you guys see it to. Turn up the volume and rock out!





But then, there is this, later in the movie, and it also has a certain charm. Sorry about the vid quality, you’ll just have to rent it for yourself.



 



 

Bell Bottom Blues

MORNING: OPEN ON GIRLS’ DORM

We see Victorya making coffee, and calling to her roommate “Kit, are you going to have more coffee?” Except, oops, not Kit, that’s Sweet P, who kind of whines, “I’m P, not Kit.” And then we repeat the exercise, this time with a sandwich instead of coffee. Kit, would you like? I’m not Kit, I’m P.



Let’s discuss. Is Victorya being super-creepy passive aggressive and trying to get under P’s skin? Or is it just that all bleached blonde, blue-eyed white women look the same to Victorya?  Or both?



Well, it doesn’t matter, because we’re off to see the boys, where they are discussing how their apartment is the only one with all the original occupants. Do we care? Ricky is sniveling about being in the bottom two again and how nobody likes him or his work. Here’s a clue, Nellie, take off the stupid, fugly little twee hats and butch up a little. Oh, and another clue? Make something that doesn’t suck.



Off to Parson’s to see Heidi, choose models and hear about the next challenge. Christian turfs last week’s model and takes back the model that got stolen from him. I think. Really, I have no idea with these girls. I know that Jillian’s model wears glasses when she’s not on the runway and can sew by hand, and that is about it for me and the models. Maybe next season I’ll care enough to learn their names. Or not.



As for the challenge, well, Tim is taking everyone on a field trip, so scoot. And they do, complaining all the way. A field trip, Rami of the Totally Stank Attitude tells us, can be something fabulous like a trip to Paris, or something tragic, where you end up in a garbage can, trying to find stuff to make a wedding dress. He frets and pouts. Although we don’t see it, I’m sure that Ricky is crying.



ON THE WATERFRONT

Into a van and then over the river and through the boroughs, to a warehouse on the waterfront we go. Another warehouse on the river? Is this another trash challenge? Oooh, that’ll go over big. But no, there is a woman, and she is Caroline Calvin, and she is the Vice President of Design for Levi’s. The warehouse door slowly rises to reveal… well, Jillian doesn’t even want to know what’s behind door number one. But in the end what’s behind the door is a warehouse of gigantic proportions, with multitudes of clotheslines like spider webs throughout the space, on which, Tim tells us, is more than 500 pairs of Levi’s 501 jean products and bolts of white cotton. The designers have three minutes to sprint across the acreage, scooping up denim and white cotton and stuffing it into laundry bags.



P loses one flip-flop. Chris hates life. Rami-OTTSA makes a point of only taking the dark washes. Jillian takes all the lightest jackets and jeans. Christian takes the dark? and the jackets? And Victorya steals stuff from Chris, rationalizing her behaviour as being highly competitive in a competition. Although Miz Shoes didn’t think it was possible given the vastness of the space and the short amount of time, the designers manage to strip the clotheslines bare.



IN THE WHITE ROOM

In the workroom, Tim shows the designers the heaps and piles of baggies of notions from Levi’s: buttons, snaps, zippers, labels, and although I didn’t see it, I’m sure that there were spools of the signature gold thread. The designers have twelve hours to make a new iconic denim look. Ricky, wearing one of his stupid little twee hats, tells us that this is going to be fun for him (for a change) because he makes some of his hats (OH, NOES!!) from denim. And he’s going to play to his strengths (he has any?) and make a corset dress.



Jillian, riding high on last week’s spectacular and spectacularly received Apocalyptic Trench Coat (band auditions coming soon) will make a futuristic jacket and use the little red tabs as epaulets.



Rami gives us some background on himself: blah, blah, blah, Jerusalem, political hot spot, three religions, blah, blah, blah, fashion forward from the age of five because of that, blah, blah, blah.



P laments that her denim is filthy because she let it hit the ground in that warehouse, and asks Chris, whom she says is smart about this stuff, how he would recommend getting the dirt out/off. Chris tells her to make up the garment, then damp wipe it. Christian tosses in his two cents and says not to wet the fabric, because then the dirt will absorb. Then Chris and Christian proceed to get into a pissing match over who knows better and it ends just short of Christian calling Chris a big fat doo-doo head.



We are then treated to a way-too-long montage of all the idiosyncrasies of the various designers. Chris says that Christian needs to be given his bottle and sent to bed. Christian opines that he is going to and I quote: “die of barfness.” Then he whines that this is not how fashion really is. Oh, really? You think? A reality teevee show isn’t like real life? Miz Shoes has to fan herself a little and think about that.



Victorya is going to make a classic trench coat. Jillian is pissed about this and whispers heatedly that Victorya is stealing her shit from last week when they worked together on the Apocalyptic Trench Coat.



Christian says that working with denim makes him feel so manly. Miz Shoes chokes on her martini, and almost misses him announcing that he’s going to make a fierce, edgy biker jacket for women. Who wants to bet that this will include some ruffles and/or tucks and that it will be cropped?



P wants to make a denim wedding dress, and we see her wedding photo from a year or so ago, and let me tell you, that woman must have been spending days per week at the tattoo parlor, or her husband is a tattoo artist, because none of the ink she’s sporting now is visible in her wedding pix.



Christian is chirping about how only the annoying people are left, and he isn’t a happy little camper, and in walks Ricky. Schnort. Christian hones the point by interviewing that Ricky has no vision, and that he should have been sent home, not Kit. And the rest of America, hating itself for having to agree with such an annoying little queen, agrees. Ricky is then given face time to make his case, and he tell us that he used to be the Vice President of design for Vera Wang lingerie. Really? Did you cry all the time there, too? And did Vera let you wear those stupid little twee hats at the office?



P and Christian look into the other workroom, where Chris is working by himself. P asks Christian if he thinks Chris is lonely, and he says, no, not at all, he’s talking to his dress form. Cut to Chris, who is, in fact, talking to the garment, and he tells us that he’s making an iconic Little Black Dress. But in blue denim.



WHEN THE WHIP COMES DOWN

Tim enters and does his grand tour of the workroom. He starts with Ricky and says he loves it. Miz Shoes checks to see if a combination of TheraFlu and vodka is a hallucinogen.



Tim asks Chris why his dress has a raw edge on it. Chris says because he likes it. Tim says that it is incongruous and he isn’t so sure about it. Miz Shoes kind of likes it, but Miz Shoes is not a judge.



Jillian has a long way to go, as always. And her piece is looking awfully familiar. Rami has used zippers to create a binding on his seams. Tim thinks that this is terribly innovative and that this has the potential to blow away the judges. Miz Shoes calls foul and jumps up and down on the couch, saying ORIGINAL? INNOVATIVE? Have you already forgotten that Jeffrey-The-Pinheaded-Shmoo did that last year on his green awning striped dress? NOT INNOVATIVE, DERIVATIVE!!!!!



Victorya is looking a little “patchwacky”. And P? Well, Tim says that it’s looking “happy hands at home granny circle”. He tells her to “resolve the skirt”. P blanches, and then tells us that she takes Tim’s advice to heart, and promptly cuts the bottom of her wedding dress off and rethinks the whole project.



Jillian is having a nervous breakdown, whining about the lack of time, like this is a new condition, and crying and saying that she’s cut herself (on purpose? Miz Shoes wonders) and when Rami comes over to see the blood (and lap it up? Miz Shoes wonders) there is, in fact, none. She’s in a total panic and someone (Chris? P?) tells her that she can freak out all she wants in ten minutes, but to put a sock in it until the little hand and the big hand line up. Christian sighs that he is sooooo glad that he has immunity this week.



IT’S A NEW DAWN, IT’S NEW DAY

In the boys’ room, Rami is spritzing his face. The girls are getting ready to leave. Then there we are at the workroom, and Jillian is sprinting in her heels (good for her) towards her mannequin and we see the denim version of last week’s near-win. Only, not as good. Nowhere near as good. Victorya is adding an inside out skirt to the bottom of a totally off-the-rack jacket.



Ricky is cooing over his dress and doing the finishing. It may not be what the judges want, says Ricky, but it is what Ricky wants.  P is sure that she’ll be safe with her dress. She’s done some amazing stuff with the different washes, using them to define the outline of the dress.



Jillian and Victorya are hating each other and each other’s work, and whispering that the other one stole their idea. Ho-fucking-hum. Christian has made a jacket and a pair of jeans, and he tells us that he will just puke if he sees another tube dress. People are hot-gluing like there is no tomorrow. Oh. There isn’t. There also is absolutely no more time, and once again, Tim is standing in the doorway, telling Jillian to move out NOW!!!



IT’S ALL OVER NOW, BABY BLUE

Heidi takes the runway in a fabulous shimmery brown baby doll dress, and tells the designers that the competition is getting “tuffah” and so there will be no more immunity for the winners. She smiles gloriously as she says that. There are all the usual judges, and Caroline Calvin.



Chris’ dress has this sort of halter made of the raw-edges waistband, I think and it’s a cute little dress, but not a Little Black Dress. It’s too casual for that.



Ricky’s dress is strapless, with a short, pleated skirt from a very dropped hip, and the front uses and extended button fly. Meh.



P’s dress is clean and polished and the color blend with the different washes is beautiful. There is nothing hippy, Woodstock, granny or crunchy granola about it at all. See, people? This is why you should Always Listen to Tim Gunn.



Victorya’s trench coat is a huge nothing, and the skirt is way too full.



Rami’s dress has kicky pleats and zipper bindings and looks better, to me, than Ricky’s. At least there is no draping.



Christian’s jeans and jacket are as fierce and fashion forward as he thinks they are. The jeans are pencil thin, and from about the knee down, he has finished them with long, buttoned cuffs off a jacket, so that there are these big brass buttons down the back of the leg, opening to allow one’s foot through because they are cut that close to the bone. Anyone larger than a size minus two could not wear them. But by gad they are hothothot. The jacket is cropped and ruffled and there is some weird mini-leg o mutton thing going on at the shoulders.



Jillian’s Not Quite Apocalyptic Trench Coat is not quite sucky.



The judges ask the designers about their motivation. Christian says that he was going for trucker/biker/motocross chic. Michael Kors asks about the material. That isn’t stretch denim, is it? No, it is tailored to within an inch of its life.



NinaGarcia sees Chris’ Little Black Dress as dated rather than timeless. MK says if he was going to do frayed and distressed, then he should have gone wild with it, and not just a tentative little edge. Heidi sniffs that it looks a little “home sewn.” (Which may be why Miz Shoes is having such a hard time finishing that dress in her studio, fearing the curse of looking home sewn.)



Since the judges are all suffering from amnesia regarding last season, Rami is lauded for his originality and creativity by Michael Kors and Caroline Calvin. NinaGarcia is happy that he’s finally done something different and that it is sharp and clean (and just a little bit like his candy dress.)



Ricky, they declare, has made a denim cocktail dress: denim done up. He has styled his girl like Amy Winehouse (see last week’s review, where he chose a giant bouffant as his inspirational look). Caroline Calvin thinks his dress is “really cool”. MK gets the Amy Winehouse reference. The judges all exclaim over his “impeccable workmanship” and Ricky, predictably, cries.



Jillian is called out for doing the same thing two weeks in a row. And told that this weeks is a feeble attempt compared to last week. Caroline Calvin says there are too many labels and NinaGarcia points out that Jillian has managed to make her model look stumpy.



P’s dress, says Michael Kors, has the “slimming voodoo”. We’d all wear it, says NinaGarcia, well, except, you know, maybe not Michael. And Kors says, well, you know, with the right shoes? They all love the “super chic” mix of denims.



Victorya’s attempt is assessed thusly: you have glued a party skirt onto a denim jacket.



YOU’RE IN OR YOU’RE OUT

Rami is in. P did a good job, she’s in. Christian is in (and robbed of a win, even if the little twit annoys me). Chris is in. Ricky is the winner, and my notes read “Get the fuck out”. His little dress will be sold in a limited edition on the Levi’s web site. Ricky weeps but somehow manages not to say “you like me, you really like me.” Miz Shoes knows, however, that he’s thinking it.



The old team of Victorya and Jillian are left in the bottom two, and Jillian, though her work was unfocused and unflattering, is left in. Which means that Victorya and her dull, uninspired coat are out. She takes this with as much enthusiasm and verve as you would expect, which is to say none. She gives an exit interview devoid of affect.



Next week? Ricky cries and Christian is really annoyed by everyone else in the room.

I’m home this morning, waiting to see the doctor, and discuss why, after three weeks of the chest cold from hell, I had a one week reprieve, and now it’s back. Walking pneumonia? Toxic work place? TB? I don’t know, and frankly, don’t give a damn. I just want it over.



ETA: “merely bronchitis”. Antibiotics, fluids, rest. Bite me.

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