Excuse me, but if you cheat, lie and bully your fellow contestants, whose fault is it if you get thrown out of the competition?

So Keith got clocked, finally. Last week he refused to dress the doggie, and lost for his arrogance. Then he complained that he should have won. Except that he didn't actually participate in the challenge. Whatever, huh, Keith? This week he also overspent his allowance at Mood, and then whined his way into a discount. Which looked like cheating to me, and probably everyone else who was watching when Kara Saun almost got tossed for using comped shoes.

For the last four weeks we've had to listen to this a-hole dis the other designers and wahwahwah about how his is the only piece on the runway with any decent construction skills. Or decent design.

This week, we found out why: he's had the cheat books under his bed. On top of which, according to the Most Excellent Tim Gunn, he also skipped off the set without permission and went to do a few hours of internet research.

Classy guy to the end, Keith left by bitching that by ratting him out to the producers, he -Keith- was made to look a fool and had his reputation ruined and is a laughing stock. Well, yeah, maybe. But it isn't like the other guys stuffed the contraband under your pillow while you weren't looking. You brought it all down on your own head. Asshat.

With Keith out of the way, the designers went about completing this week's challenge, which was to design a three piece set of separates for INC. Jeffrey-the-Shmoo and Alison were only slightly handicapped by the loss of their team leader. Laura and Michael were seriously handicapped by having as their team leader the yoyo-happy Angela. Bonnie (the other of the two sort of lumpy women who designed sportswear) was team leader to Bradley and Uli. Robert the Barbie guy headed up the final team of Vinny and Kayne.

And you know what? I thought all four teams produced some amazingly boring, trite and unattractive pieces. An ANORAK? PUH-leese. Who the hell is still wearing anoraks? The saddest part of this is that until I looked at the Bravo web site this morning, I still thought it was Bonnie's team who made that.

Angela won despite herself, but only because she listened to Laura and Michael who absolutely would have none of that bubble skirt/yoyo rosette crap. They managed to wrangle her down to only 6 rosettes. Four as buttons on the front of the cropped jacket (excuse me while I yawn) and two for no reason on the back of the popped collar.



Vincent played nice with others, even though he thought that Robert's design was lame. He just kept saying, "Well, Robert's the leader. This is Robert's vision, I'm just here to make it happen. Even if I do think it looks like a matronly stewardess." Which it did. Blouse with an overly-large Superfly collar. Pencil skirt with a slit up to the model's ass crack. And the lame-ass anorak.

Bonnie's work was so boring I can't even bear to think about it, but I will say that I last saw that cowl neck that ate Manhattan on Pam Dawber when she was on Mork & Mindy.



Jeffrey made some very nice pants, with buttons at the (tight) ankles. He and Alison also made the most disturbing top I've ever seen.



Would someone please tell me what the fuck that is? Are those leg holes? Wouldn't that make the top a crotchless body suit? Arm holes, for making the top a crop top by folding it up in half and sticking your arms through both sets of holes? Nasty. Just nasty.

Given the choices, I can see why Angela's design won, but that's kind of like saying that for a fat girl, you don't sweat much.

Next week is yet another American Style Icon Getting A Makeover. And it looked like the models got to fight it out for something. Which ASIGAM they were going to be? Which designer they want to dress them next?

I hate to say this, but I sort of don't care. Is the bloom off the rose for me and Project Runway? I hope not.

Very fast:

1. power surge on Saturday blew my internet connection at home and I haven't been able to fix it, yet. DItto on the answering machine

2. took the RLA to the ER at 2:30 AM (Sunday-Monday)

3. surgeon took the RLA's ruptured appendix out at 8AM Monday

4. I'm on dog/hospital/house/work duty until further notice

I haven't eaten, but I have had 2 martinis. All bets are off until further notice.

I wrote this last night, but upon sober reflection in the clear light of day, it's worthy of publication.

It was hardly Proust's madelaine, but after a Very Difficult Week, I poured a stiff apple martini. I poured a hot bath, and added some bath salts and a brand new sea sponge. I treated myself to a mud mask and a foot sanding by micro-bead glass "lava."

Drink in one hand, I sank beneath the water and with the other hand scrubbed my face with the wet sea wool.

And then...

"What IS that stench?" he asked, the first time he smelled it.

"Newport. In the summer." I replied, with absolutely no hesitation. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Mix two parts red seaweed, one part each of salt and mildew and hot summer grass, and you have Newport. At least the way it is in my memories.

And morning fogs. Salty. When my brother and I and our grandfather would go and pick wild mushrooms for our grandmother to fry in butter for our breakfasts.

And Daddy, taking me to the wharf, where he'd buy fried clams in little grease-stained paper bags. It was our secret, something we could never tell Grandma, who thought she kept Kosher. Or at least more kosher than anyone else (sharp look at my parents) in the family did.

And then I see my cousin Milton, from the vantage point of the front steps, looking down into the street. He is in his candy apple red Mustang convertible, with a white leather interior. There is blue hydranga in the immediate foreground, just at the lower left edge of my peripheral vision. He has come to take me to a horse show. I remember the pink and white ribbons. I didn't know that there were any colors besides blue, red and yellow. Who'd want to win anything below third place, anyway?

And of course, there are the gardens. And the raspberries. But that's another memory, and not one to be found in a sea sponge.

Just so you know, this morning I stood in front of my bathroom sink, Valium in one hand, coffee cup in the other. I took a swig of coffee, and put the emergency Valium back in its bottle.

But I am about two minutes away from a nervous breakdown.

My list of things I MUST do is about 20 items long, the list of things I would LIKE to do (such as get a haircut) is twice that.

Episode three offered us a plethora of cliches from which to choose:

1. It's a dog's life.
2. Going to the dogs.
3. Walkin' the dog.
4. Dog eat dog.
5. Every dog has his day.
6. What a bitch. (oops, maybe not)
7. Dog in the manger
8. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

That last would be Laura, whom I do so want to adore, and yet, conversely, whom I am coming to loathe for the very same pretentiousness and twee that so appeals.

To be specific, when she thought that the year's hottest fashion accessory was going to be a horse (!?!), she immediately changed into riding boots and jodphers. She had riding boots and jodphers in her Louis Vuitton cases when she moved into the Atlas? She, or the producers, are definitely streching the limits of my credulity with that one. But. It's Laura, so, maybe she did.

When she found out that the accessory is a micro dog, she got all squeamish and put it in a purse so that she wouldn't have to touch it. She has five kids, and she can't physically touch a dog? Puh-leeeze. That dog has got to have a better pedigree than her kids, and is certainly as clean (if not cleaner) than an under-5-year-old boy.

Which brings us to the subject of old dogs/new tricks. Her design, while yes, very chic and all, looked almost exactly like her cocoon coat with the giant fur collar from episode one. And her palette seems to be all down there in the white/beige/grey/tan/ecru/mushroom/taupe/toast/greige neighborhood of totally boring. If she doesn't come up with another shape and some real color in the next challenge, I see her leaving sooner than later.

As for the little bitch fight between her and Keith? Excuse me while I snore, even through her painful attempt at a little ghetto-tude while explaining that she was protecting her man. Or boy. Or what ever.

I loved Kayne's ensemble, and his matching little doggie cape. The model's coat alone was a masterpiece of construction, with the lining made from the skirt material. I thought he should have won, since his was the most matchy-matchy of all the designs, and seemingly the most meticulously made.

Robert is still going through Barbie withdrawal, I think, what with the treacly pink boucle. Still, he nailed it perfectly when he said he was going for a Jackie O slash Barbie look. His little dog suit, with the constructed slot for the leash/halter was also perfectly acceptable.

Uli's look is another one-hit wonder. Again with the rope straps. She stole the back from Vincent's Miss USA (not Miss America as I said last week. RJ was outraged that I didn't know the difference between Miss America and Miss USA. Hey, I have enough addictions, pageants are not one of them. So sue me.) The three tapering bands going to the middle of the lower back? The very features that Miss Vera Wang and Miss USA loved the most about Vincent's olive green slip.

I will grant Uli major color sense and an ability to do pattern on pattern as well as the masters of the form: kimono designers. But how many times can I see a rope neck and a halter top before I spew?

Katy made the perfect little dog hoodie. Was there a dress too? I didn't notice.

Alison's piece was edgy and hip, I could see (and I'm sorry to have to say this... I may have to punish myself) the Dread Paris Hilton trotting around in it with her matching little rat dog. Of course, it was much too long for Paris, seeing as how one couldn't see the models "pink stuff", and we know that would never do for Paris. And the material wasn't trashy or see through or a horrible color, so that would have to be redone. But if you squint enough, you could see Paris wearing that.

Vincent's design was deadly dull, and his affection for odd hats and large sunglasses is beginning to pale for me. I think I'm the last person in all of PR fandom to actually have a soft spot for Vinnie the Tool, but, hell. He may be a burn out, but he's my kind of burn out. The hat on the dog actually made me laugh a little. The part where the dog did the catwalk rubbing his head the whole way, trying to get the damn hat OFF was fulling entertaining, and exactly what one wants from one's reality TV.

Michael's set of matching dresses was under represented. We didn't see him sketch, shop or sew. There was no lingering camera work. I for one wanted to see more of that. What was up with the interwoven neckline pieces? How did that work? What kind of fabric was he working with? Why don't we get more of Michael? And was that little doggie in the matching dress not adorable?

Bradley. What can we say about Bradley? He needs a shower. He needs to shave. We saw all that trauma of Bradley not getting anything together, (and who needed that claptrap? I would rather have seen Michael.) only to have the judges rave on the runway. And over what, exactly? A blue and gold version of Daniel V's "orchid inspiration" from last season. That bubble/balloon top over a pencil skirt? Pardon me while I stiffle a Very. Big. Yawn. I hated it when Daniel V did it, and it isn't making me any more appreciative this year.

Jeffrey did another raggy, asymetrical, overly long-sleeved schmata. Done and done again. For such a freakazoid ("All I know about pageants is Jon-Benet Ramsey"? EWWWW) he really doesn't have much in the way of an out of the box vision. Maybe it's the pin-point pupils that make it hard to have one.

Finally, I come to Angela and Keith. Holy shit. Which one of those two assholes is bigger? Keith, he of the My-Shit-Don't-Stink Brotherhood, or Angela, I-have-a-story? A story? Angela had an entire series of American Girl books in her head. Or not. Maybe not American Girl, maybe more like Nancy Drew on bad acid. Which could also explain her designs.

Keith refused to dress the dog. Flatly refused to participate in the challenge. "MY girl doesn't dress her dog like a baby doll. MY girl has an exotic breed and it doesn't NEED any dressing up." Well allrighty, then. Which was a pity, because that dress really was a magnificent piece of work, and even making a wide collar out the orange fabric would have been an acceptable solution to the challenge. But no. He refused to play with others. Heidi and Nina were not happy. Miss Vera Wang was not happy. Did we get to hear Ivanka Trump tell him "you're fired?" (Admit it, that would have been great.) No. They sent poor lumpy Katy home, and she at least dressed the dog. In a HOODIE! This refusal to participate really made me miss Michael Kors. You just know that he would have ripped Keith's head off and (figuratively) pissed down his bloody neck stump. Sigh.

Let me see if I can relate Angela's opium dream. It went something like this. My girl is an English headmistress at a summer art camp for children. In Paris. And she's throwing a big picnic for her dog's birthday. The children are very young, 5-8. (Question: if she's English, are the children English, too? Because I think even the Brits would balk at sending junior to sleep away camp in Paris at that tender age.) So Angela made a million billion little hand-stitched yo-yos and applied them on a purple version of her ubiquitous bubble skirt. (Ditto for doggie shirt). This skirt, unlike Alison's entry, WAS short enough for Paris-the-girl. Hardly what a British headmistress (even at an art camp in Paris-the-city) should be wearing while out with the tykes. It had a blouse. The blouse was sleeveless, belly-bareing, and breast exposing. Hardly what a British headmistress (even at an art camp in Paris-the-city) should be wearing while out with the tykes.

The fact that even Ivanka Trump knew that it was inappropriate attire says a whole fucking lot. And Nina gave the unhappy "We are concerned about your taste level" statement that does, and should, send ice coursing through the veins of the designers. Miss Vera Wang looked like she would have been happy to send Angela back to the "off the grid" organic farm she lives on. Again, I have to ask, where was Michael Kors when we needed him?

Until next week, keep your scissors sharpened.