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.