The first of my auctions are up on e-bay. Knitting patterns from the 40s for babies. Knit and crocheted hot pants patterns from the 70s. Emboridery kits in the original packaging from Germany, looking like the 60s...linen tea towels, no less.

There are only five up, so far, but feel free to look and even bid. You KNOW you want those hot pants.

I have this phrase running through my head, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. Turning it around, looking at it from all angles.

The phrase is "unconditional love".

I know that I loved my parents unconditionally, but to be quite honest, it took a long time to get there, and a lot of therapy to achieve a place in myself where I could do that. I think that to truly love unconditionally, one has to love oneself the same way, and first.
In the context of my current contemplation of the phrase, I wonder, however, about the difference between unconditional love and enabling. Is there a difference? Is it so easy to mistake the two?

What are the differences? Unconditional love means accepting the flaws of the other. Enabling means, maybe, ignoring them. Or... or what? Approving them?

Is youth a flaw? Is it possible to be young and not blame your inexperience on others? At what point does youth become adulthood? Is it age or knowledge or experience, or just a mental switch?

Are you an adult when you think you are? Or when others look at you and say you are? The late, great Satchel Paige said "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was?" By that accounting, my own age is somewhere around the mid-twenties. But the calendar tells me otherwise. My bank accounts, my responsibilities, my life-style choices, the amount of time I have left in the workforce, all tell me that I am fast approaching senior citizen status. And yet, in my head? I still heart rock and roll. I still like to go out and shake my groove thang. I have no understanding of the fact that my knees won't let me ride my bike for 20 miles at a clip.

I graduated college on my 21st birthday, and had no doubt that I was an adult. I had a degree, I was of legal age in any country on the planet, and it was time to leap into the world and see how strong my wings were. In hindsight, of course, I was still green and in many ways still the child I had been when I entered school. But I didn't think so then.

In going through my parents house, I have found letters that I wrote them from that far away point in my life. I told them not to worry about me. I told them that I believed that my wings were fully fledged and that I would fly. I told them that I knew I was green, but I was hopeful. I believed in myself. (God only knows why. Maybe I was high when I wrote the letter.)

I still believe in myself. The world has never shaken that belief out of me. It has tried, it has shaken it to the core, but it never shook it out. I love myself unconditionally, which means that I know my flaws. I even try to improve them. But there are things about myself I cannot change. There are other things I could, but would not. The rest? It's all just smoke and mirrors.

Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo won.

To paraphrase him: This TOTALLY sucks.

Uli was robbed. Laura was robbed. Michael was mugged on his way to Bryant Park by some thugs frontin' Yo Hoochie Momma's House O' Bling.

He was an odious, mean-spirited hack and still, he won. Ugh. PR may have just jumped the shark. I knew I couldn't trust that whole redemption edit. And one final thought: what's the point of rehab if you are still a loathesome twat?

On the other hand, part of me rejoices in the thought that the too-cool-for-rules Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo will have to spend the next year being mentored by people he thinks are sell-outs and hacks, designing pret a porter for women who are shaped more like his baby mamma than the swizzle sticks in skinny pants he so clearly prefers.

Still and all, the fact is that he made an older woman cry, just because he didn't like her daughter, and I don't care how they paint Angela's mom as a whiny, passive-aggressive; the fact is that he gloated about it to the daughter and bragged about what an atrocity he made her mother wear; he heaped incessant hateful abuse on Laura (Why doesn't that woman have a stroke and die?; Moth balls and chicken soup, etc.); the constant "I'm a genius and the rest of these guys can't hold my crusty jock strap"... all of that makes me despise him.

I know a lot of folks out here in the blogosphere, especially on the Bravo site and on Blogging Project Runway think that the producers demanded he win for ratings. Maybe. Maybe not. But the editing surely didn't help the viewers believe that JTPS won for his show.

Uli and Laura were both praised for having 12 pieces that made a cohesive collection. Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo was criticized for not. He ran over budget and had to give up the blonde Barbie wigs. Michael Kors rolled eyes over that. Fern Malis pointedly told Uli not to leave Miami, that her work could go in stores tomorrow and race out the doors. Nina Garcia said that someone stopped her at the tents to ask where they could buy/contact Uli. Of all the interviews of celebs and fashionistas shown, only one preferred JTPS's collection.

And as for that collection, all I can say is sand-blasted, acid-washed denim is fashion-forward? Would you really trust a man who dresses himself in plaid cuffed manpris to dress you?

In the words of my beloved, departed grandfather (a tailor): Feh. Dun't vaste yer money.

The other day I received an e-mail from The Boss. Not my boss, but The Boss, Mr. Springsteen. OK, so it wasn't from him, personally, but that's the name that showed up in the "from" field. Bruce Springsteen. I also get e-mail from The Bob, that, however, is irrelevant to this story.

See, I'm on Sony's mailing list for news about Springsteen, so when Dave Marsh's new book, a photo history of 20 years on the road with the E-Street Band, was released, Sony was kind enough to let me know.

I already knew the book was in the works, because nine months ago or so, The Coolest Person In the World told me that she's been approached by Dave about using her photos in his latest project. Needless to say, when I got that e-mail I started hopping up and down because this had to be the book with her pictures.

So I called her to congratulate her on this latest achievement. Her response is why she is The Coolest Person In the World.

"Oh, yeah. I have two pictures, but they're small. And really old. They sent me a copy of the book. It's really big. Have you seen it?" (me: no) "Me neither. It's still in the envelope."

First, a little business announcement: I am moving this blog from Movable Type to Expression Engine. The primary reason is EE's built-in commerce module (I said I was going to start selling my quilts and the RLA's paintings on here, and I mean it.) The second reason is its better spam commenting protection.

Anyway, until I master the new software, we're going to be losing the hot pink shoes, and entries may be sparse. Just so you know.

But never fear, I'll be back with the snark full-on by the Project Runway finale. In the mean time, here's a little something 'bout the bitches and the hos over on ANTM.

ROCK & ROLL!!!! Head bang, hair toss. That would be Megg, happy to see the last of Moooonique, who turned out to be unique in her delusions, her psycho bitchiness and her total lack of focus on the modeling portion of the competition. It's hard to focus on modeling when you are so completely focused on being a psycho bitch, plotting to rub your crusty undies on the girl you like the least.

This week the girls learn to pose like contortionists, helped by an actual contortionist and one of Canada's Next Top Model Judges. S/he claimed to be a top Canadian runway model, but that was one scary individual.

The girls all try to stick their feet in front of their faces from over their shoulders, and other very attractive, edgy, editorial-style poses. Anchal proves to be the most flexible, despite also being the only girl with hips, tits and body fat. This pisses off Melrose, who has, with the departure of Moooonique, stepped up her bitch game and taken the position of alpha-delusional bitch. If AJ is Another Jayla (but without --at least so far-- the loathesome personality and yellow teeth), the Melrose is channeling Lisa, but without the humor the quirky charm and the ability to take a fierce shot.

So. Melrose gives Anchal all sorts of unwanted advice about exercise, body fat, charm, beauty, quantum physics, posing and anything else that runs through her mind and out of her unregulated mouth. Anchal takes it with the sort of grace we have seen her display before: she tells Melrose to shut it.

Dinner with Twiggy. This a very short sequence, because unlike the divine Miss Dickenson, Twiggy doesn't get falling down drunk or abuse the girls. Melrose sucks up, big time. The other girls all glare at her and talk trash about how she's always sucking up.

Next is the challenge, to put into practice what they have learned. They trot off to an art gallery, where they are stuck in some really bad hair and hats, and told to pose on pedestals, to show off 30K worth of jewelry. I don't recall the jewelry at all. Did we even get to see it? (really, really need to stop pounding down those cosmos during the show)

Eugena wins, which means she gets all the jewelry. This makes her very happy, and pisses off Melrose (imagine that). Melrose responds by giving the girls another modeling lesson, a la Tyrant, in which she insists that two identical faces are dramatically different, if only you had the eyes to see.

At the house, there is much trash talking about Anchal, who cries and needs ego-boosting as a result. Her extreme neediness is going to get her tossed soon, you just watch. There is unwatchable drama. There is the visit by Tyrant who tells thinly veiled stories about how mean Naomi Campbell was to her when they were baby models. Melrose sucks up. The other girls glare at her.

The next day's photo shoot is somewhere out in the sort of junkyard waste land that can only be found in proximity to abandoned movie lots. It's a turn-of-the-century (last turn-of-the-century, not the one four years ago... we're going to have to come up with another way to say that soon, or people will start getting confused, you know?) broke down circus theme. The girls are all going to be side-show freaks, so this ain't going to be much of a stretch, is it?

Caridee gets an elephant snout, which means that everyone gets to blow air and pretend their arm is a trunk at least once during the episode, even Tyrant and Miss Jay. Anchal is the giant lady, Jaeda is the strong man, Megg (ROCK & ROLL, head bang, hair toss) is the bearded lady. AJ is a cannibal, Eugena is the bird lady, Melrose (are the art directors mean or what?) gets to be the 100 year old lady face with a rockin' bod. The twins are, shockingly, Siamese twins joined at the head. There are two more girls and I can't remember what they were. That's a bad sign, girls. Brooke and... Brooke and....and the guest judge is the editrix of 17 magazine. She has jet black hair and a chin that puts Jay Leno to shame. She scared me.

AJ rocks the shot, so does Melrose, to everyone's dismay. Ditto Caridee and the twins. Eugena sucks, but not as badly as Megg (ROCK & ROLL, head bang, hair toss). Which is really a shame, because she, Megg, has the biggest, bestest smile ever. She just never smiles on the set. In fact, she doesn't do anything on the set except suck. This is noted by all the judges, and she is mercifully sent home at judging.

And while I'll miss her big old smile, I sooooo will not miss the endless ROCK & ROLL, head bang, hair toss.

I'm just going to go straight there. I don't like Jeffrey-the-PInheaded-Shmoo. I don't like his designs. I don't like his television persona. I don't like his haircut, his tattoos, his girlfriend's haircut or the fact that he wears manpris. I don't care that he's a recovering drunk, rehabilitated junkie or a failed suicide. I particularly don't like the redemption edit he's gotten the past couple of weeks. In fact, the nicest thing I can say about him is that he makes Santino look like a sweet-talking charmer by comparison. Now that we got that out of the way, let's take a look at last night's show.

We open on the final four being told to take their 8K budget and go home and create a line of twelve looks. See you back here in two months. Then Heidi and Tim Gunn walk off the runway giggling like two school girls and trading very stiff banter about running away together on holiday. Although, I have to say, the thought of Tim Gunn in a Speedo with about half a dozen frozen piña coladas under his belt makes me giggle like a school girl. I'd pay to be on that Windjammer.

The designers pack their bags, and yes, Laura packs with the same attention to detail and meticulous fitting that she uses to design her clothing. Laura cracks the joke about producing a line of clothing being no more difficult than producing a line of children (I love that) and ignores the cabs in front of the Atlas in favor of sauntering down the avenue in her high heels, dragging her Luis Vuitton behind her. Really. She has to be the most fabulous contestant ever.

Michael bids a fond farewell to all, assures us that he WILL win, and blows. Ditto Uli. Jeffrey is left on the street waving for a cab. One can only hope that nobody picked him up.

Then Tim goes visiting. First is Michael. He lives in a very nice house. He says that he's doing a safari theme for his show, and has some swatches and samples and a beautiful laced-bodice dress on a mannequin. The overall look is sort of Ralph Lauren (several seasons ago) meets Diddy in the Hamptons by way of Yo Momma's House of Bling. Meh. Except for that white dress, it isn't really calling out my name. Or Tim's.

They go to visit Mikey's family, because Michael wants Tim to meet his family and he also wants to cook for Tim. Is this guy for real? I hope the stories of Brandy and him hooking up are true, not because I know anything about Brandy, but because he is the nicest guy ever and he should have a famous good-looking girlfriend to walk around showing off his clothes. And also? I bet she could get him into a Diddy/Hamptons party.

Daddy Knight turns out to be an Army lifer, and probably the only one in the history of the military to speak the following (paraphrased) sentence: By the time Michael was nine, we knew he'd be a hairdresser. But what ever made him happy and whole, we were behind him 100%. Jeez. A whole freaking family of sweet and nice. And military, as if that isn't the biggest oxymoron of them all.

Then it's off to see Uli in my hood. The truth of the matter is that Miami always looks good on film. It's just living here, with the humidity and the idiot drivers and the abusive service workers, and the mosquitos that dims it a little in reality.

Still, Uli gives a great interview about growing up poor in a tiny village in East Germany (EAST? Germany) and how she always watched Miami Vice on t.v. (I'm having a hard time with the whole East Germany/Miami Vice dichotomy) and dreamed about America. Then, one day, the wall came down, everybody was free, and she was on the next flight out to Miami Beach. Now she's a finalist on Project Runway, and dreams come true in America. All she has to do is stick out her hand for the little blue birds to land on her palm.

Her line looks, well, like pretty damn near every other thing she's shown since the beginning of the season. There is flowy. There is pattern. There is not a set-in sleeve to be seen. And instead of the ever-present halter tops, she's holding her hippydippy chic up with what looks like a belt under the armpits and a bone hook and eye. Her theme, she says is Safari. Oh.

Next we travel to LA to visit Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo. He has a wife, girlfriend, you know. It pains me to say this, but she seems to really care about him. She also has a two-tone mohawk and a baby by Jeffrey, so maybe her judgement is a little off.

JTPS talks at great length (and with absolutely no appropriate self-consciousness) about his abusive father, his childhood drug addictions, his alcoholism, his failed suicide, his mad parenting skillz, his something or other. I don't know. His mouth was moving but all I heard was quack, quack, quack.

They head over to what he coyly refers to as his "little sewing space" and they trudge down a dirty hall to a dirty door and open it to reveal a cavernous room the size of my entire house. There are racks and racks of clothes, and 10-foot long work tables and in short, a working fashion production facility.

JTPS tells Tim that the inspiration for his line is Japanese ghost stories (traditional, not anime). Yeah. Whatever. We see lots of Japanese woodcuts with women in kimonos and frankly, I'm still not seeing it, but whatever. Quack, quack, quack.

Tim is very excited by the pieces he's shown, and just goes batshit over this green striped thing that has open zippers defining the seam lines on a halter-topped, full-skirted dress. Which, I hate to say, is pretty cool. Except that the seams are describing a giant oval over the belly of the dress, which if one is not concave, will make the wearer look like they lost the strap-on pregnancy belly that so obviously goes on that oval. Quack, quack, quack and off we go to see Laura.

Laura interviews that she's surprised herself with how competitive she's become over the course of the show. Oh, yeah. Pull the other one, woman, it has bells on it. Like you weren't competitive before. Then she says the second greatest thing (second to the line of clothes/line of children) which is that she wants to win so badly, if for no other reason than to keep Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo from winning. Except, she leaves out the Pinheaded-Shmoo part.

Laura lives on what looks like an entire floor of a New York City sky scraper. Bitch. It is a gorgeous space and if she wasn't totally my imaginary BFF, I'd hate her for the apartment and all the art in it. One of her personal basketball team tries to hand Tim Gunn a lump of turtle poop. Can we get that on You Tube, yet?

Turtle: $25
Turtle food: $5.
Turtle wading pool: $15.75
The look on Tim Gunn's face: priceless.

Off to the cramped little corner of her spare room, where Laura shows Tim her line. Just as Uli does Uli, Laura does Laura. But my god. It is soooo beautiful and elegant. The grey and chartreuse dress is stunning. I want it. The red, with the bling inside the seam along the skirt slit, so it only shows when the wearer moves is another stunner. Each of her evening/cocktail dresses is more beautiful than the last. Literally. The last dress she shows is so not Laura, that even Tim asks: Is it even pretty? The answer is no. No, it is not pretty. It isn't even acceptable.

Finally they all meet back at Parsons, or their new hotel or someplace in Manhattan. There is much designer love all around, except for, you know, Jeffrey-TPS. They are shown their Macy's supplied workspace, which is about one fifth the size of you know who's warehouse.

Out come the tools, the dresses, the pins, the fangs, and everybody gets to work putting the final, finishing touches on their lines. Everybody except Jeffrey-TPS, who seems to have completed everything down to the last stitch. Even when they get their models and do the final fittings, it seems that the only thing JTPS has to do is smoke cigarettes, twiddle his thumbs and make snotty comments about Laura.

Laura doesn't take kindly to that and takes a peek under the plastic drapes at JTPS's line (which she also notes seems to consist of more than 12 pieces). Surprise, surprise, surprise. Every piece is well made. Much more so than the work he did during the challenges. Michael weighs in on it, too, saying something to the effect of Dawg, when did YOU learn to sew so good? And Laura, pithy to the end, says that you don't pull that kind of workmanship outa yer ass. So she takes it up with Mr. Gunn, and he takes it Very Seriously.

And then, it's over. We're shown a clip of Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo crying piteously while Uli pats his narrow little shoulder, and we hear Tim say "Unfortunately..." and then there's something else on my tv.

Is he in? Or out? We don't know. Until next week, keep the scissors sharp.