Pink Navy

A Gay Fatwa on Patti Stanger’s Head; She Must Be Tarred and Marabou-Feathered

2009-03-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

Possums, perhaps it’s just because today the California Supreme Court heard oral arguments on Proposition 8 (with Ken Starr, the semen-stain Savonarola himself, leading the charge for gay-marriage foes), but this evening our tolerance for idiotic bullshit, no matter how well-intentioned, is exceedingly low.

So just imagine what an effect the following video of Patti Stanger, from Millionaire Matchmaker, had on us:

We’ll let one of our capable Sapphic sisters (Dorothy Snarker, darling, are you listening?) handle the issue of whether lesbians “U-Haul it” because k.d. lang is one of only three visible lesbians, and because in this Ellen-and-Portia, L Word, Rachel Maddow world, it’s less socially acceptable to come out as a lesbian than to be gay.

So let’s get to Patti’s theories on the lads, shall we?

Stanger sayeth:

If you are a gay man, you’re still susteptible [sic & sick] to oxytocin bonding, because you have a lot more estrogen in your body than a straight man does, ‘kay? There’s not a lot of testosterone there. So the truth of the matter is you can get emotionally bonded, same as a straight female. You gotta be careful.

Possums, where does one even start? To paraphrase Mary McCarthy on Lillian Hellman, every word she says is a lie, including “and” and “the.”

Because of course anyone who’s been around gay men knows that the number-one complaint is that they get “emotionally bonded” after having sex.

For heaven’s sake, possums, just look at her. She doesn’t know—cannot possibly know—any gays. And if she does, the fact that they let her leave the house looking like that proves that they hate her guts.

As these things go, it’s almost preferable to be called a “homo” by one of Satan’s silicone dingleberries, Tamra Barney of The Real Housewives of Orange C*nty. At least you know where you stand with her.

Is that an ad homo-nem attack? Perhaps. But we blame it on all that estrogen in our system.

Oh, and “AIDS [is] still available”? “Get involved in memorandums”?

Uh, memorandum to Patti: STFU.

Laura Bennett: I’m a Republican, and Jo de la Rosa’s Skin Looks Like Hell Under Those Harsh Lights

2008-09-05T10:49:00.000-07:00

Laura, possum, you are a uniter. We find it wonderful that, whatever one’s differences of political opinion, we can all agree as a country about Jo de la Rosa’s skin. We have watched, rapt, as the Bravo cameras exposed every pebbly path of acne on her face. At times, we wondered if we weren’t watching the “before” section of a ProActiv infomercial. We think someone at Bravo secretly hates her, and is filled with self-loathing to the depths of their soul at having to work on such a show, a show that exhibits such utter contempt for its audience that, if there were any justice in the world or in America (sorry, didn’t mean to get all political again), it would make the viewers rise up and storm Bravo headquarters with pitchforks and torches and lay waste to it brick by brick.

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 8: “A Benihana in a Trailer Park”

2008-09-05T08:10:00.000-07:00

And he's back, ladies, gentlemen and possums. A week that simultaneously thrilled and dispirited our gimlet-eyed, whip-and-wisecracking, resident curmudgeon and gay éminence grise, Hughman. And so, without further ado:

Have these contestants been frozen in time? Seriously. I’m shocked at how ignorant they are of the world of fashion and time.

Three things to know about Diane Von Furstenberg:

1. She’s the most famous export of Belgium since Belgian beard, er, beer. Oh, what the hell. She’s rumored to be the “beard” for Barry Diller, media mogul and faggo dei faggi of the Velvet Mafia. As Cityfile puts it, “She has been very close to the media mogul for more than three decades—he famously gave her 29 loose diamonds in a Band-Aid box for her 29th birthday—but the union still raised eyebrows considering Diller has been in gay relationships most his adult life.” So, ok, wife, companion or whatever. Point is, he’s filthy rich and has financed her fashion company, so she’s not crying about her income.

2. She, if not invented, revolutionized the Wrap Dress. It was a staple at Studio 54 in the Seventies. It was a dress you could throw on at 2 AM and go out and look fabulous in.

3. She’s renowned for her use of bold prints.

Tim Gunn was kind enough to mention the last point. Did anyone listen? Hardly. Apparently black and concrete gray are the new prints. Why, why, WHY would you go for black with DVF?? Because you are an ignorant newcomer, that’s why.

Also, Marlene Dietrich:

1. Infamous film star.

2. Known for her androgynous looks, most notably her tuxedo in Josef von Sternberg’s Morocco:

3. Understated to the nth degree.

Where were the print tuxedos? Where were the 40s looks? Where was the reach to a past era?

Not here. These kids are just on some trip that has nothing to do with fashion. It has to do with self-promotion and exposure. I like many of the results (many of which were in the top spots) but they had little to do with the inspiration given them. They were like an MTV recap of Madonna minus the timely references.

Ugh, I was so frustrated.

The best -

Korto’s dress was at least a great pattern - the one, in fact, featured in Diane’s American Express commercials.

I don’t love a weird jacket over a long dress (which goes for all of them) but at least it was bold and not all drab and monotone. Kenley’s dress, while supposedly simple, was at least cute and accessible. I actually loved the dress she was personally wearing better with the feathered epaulets. Where was that dress on the runway?

Leanne wins. Her dress was chic on its own. Again, I wasn’t so crazy about the jacket but I’ll just call this a Jennifer Hudson on the Oscar runway moment. I could actually see Marlene wearing this with long gloves and a cocktail in hand. Good for Leanne, two in a row.

The worst -

All the ones I have grown to hate in one showdown. It was so good it was evil because I could have seen any of them go in a heartbeat.

Joe has some weird idea about his designs which is laughable. This was like something a hostess at a Benihana in a trailer park would wear. So sad and so badly made. He really needs a reality check. Suede’s outfit was what the high school slut on Planet of the Apes wears to the prom. A vest over a long dress? Really? Even if the dress hadn’t been so weird, the vest was just freaky.

Poor Stella. She obviously thinks inside of a very small box. Her outfit could have been very Amelia Earhart and aviatrix to adapt to her point of view. Instead it was like badly fitted office drag. That vest looked like something the model stole out of her mother’s closet when she was six. And a cape? She had been destined to go, but this was her shining moment of poor choices and ignorance and refusal of the judges’ input.

So no cute guy, no older rebel hat without a cause. What have we left?

Marlene Dietrich in “A Foreign Affair”

2008-09-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

Just in case you were curious, possums, about the film that was the touchstone for the DVF collection.

Shazia Kirmani Earns Brownie Points with Us by Using Words Like “Centimeter,” “Ornate” and “Rectilinear”

2008-09-04T22:56:00.000-07:00

“Hey Stella!!!!”

2008-09-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

Incredibly enough, we're actually going to miss her.

“Top Design” Preview (Yes, Possums, We’re Going Back to Our Roots and Covering This Season)

2008-09-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 7: “I take (a probably unhealthy) joy in seeing cute, humpy guys bawl like babies”

2008-09-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

Possums, first of all, please, please accept our apologies for the lateness of this recap. The faithful Hughman whipped it up in record time last week, but unfortunately we were out of town for our beastly day job and unable to blog or post. The fault is entirely ours. But all good things are worth wait. And so, without further ado:

I’ve been so busy watching the Democratic Convention Speeches. HA HA! Democratic Convention = Project Runway and speeches = this past episode. Ok, I watched both so let me get all Andrew Sullivan and distill this down to talking points:

1. I’m so sick of seeing that Olsen girl on the cover of Elle at the newsstand shot. Yeah, we got it. Nina Garcia used to work at Elle but for Christ’s sake, was this the only cover ever made?

2. Tonight is all about Product Placement. No, seat belts. No, Product Placement. Thankfully Saturn cars place money into this show and not, say Valtrex. I shudder to think what genital herpes leaves behind in its wake. In the end we get seat belts all the way.

3. Models, this isn’t Brain Surgery. Brain Surgery, is, like, SO hard! If you get a paying job versus a job based on some know-nothing designer who may dangle a spread in a dying magazine, what do you chose? THE PAYING JOB. DUH. The drama about this choice was retarded. It’s about the rent, Kenley, not you. Oops.

4. We have the winners, and the losers:

Heidi proclaims (twice) that she would wear Jerrell’s Judy Jetson outfit. Yeah, we got it. On Planet Seal this is what women wear. Here, back on Reality, not so much. It was OK but not what every woman is dying to be seen in every day. It would, however, have been FAB last week for the Drag Queens which says a lot. Heidi is a secret Drag Queen! Duh. Case closed.

Korto’s woven jacket was fab, as usual. She’s so my fave in a very Angie Stone way. Very smart and it didn’t look like it was made from the dreaded seat belts to her credit. I wish it had opened to show something underneath but so be it.

Leanne wins with her shaped short cocktail dress. It was a bold move into the world of shaped garments and was not so bad. Not a Comme des Garçons statement with detachable pieces, but outside of the box. At the least it tried to reshape the model’s stick thin figure, which is a good thing.

The losers:

Kayne’s dress was Drag-worthy too but not in a good way and as noted on the show, fit horribly in the bust. This queen may have ideas but fit ain’t one of them. He took the seat belts and made them seat dolts. Drag wear for a Mexican Bar. Big market for him and Daniel.

Keith gets auf’d. From the front, his dress was OK but from the back it was a meshed mess. I do, however, take (a probably unhealthy) joy in seeing cute, humpy guys bawl like babies. I have in the past made a Personal Trainer burst into tears and cry like a six year old girl when I told him I wouldn’t be seen in public when he was wearing Lycra pants. I made him go to a Gap and buy chinos right away. It wasn’t PERSONAL, it was what he was wearing! We all have standards! So watching Keith weep in his dismissal gave me a cheap thrill. Plus his outfit was shitty and I don’t know if I could live through another shredded atrocity.

All in all, not bad results (to our shock). This was an idiotic challenge which produced above average product. Yay! Valtrex might have resulted in a lot more coverage which could only be a good thing. I’m just saying.

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 6: “What Mormon Dust Busters Wear on Halloween”

2008-08-23T08:22:00.000-07:00

Sweet readers -

Tuck your junk between your legs or lower your voice an octave or two. This week is supposedly smokin’ and I was all over it like white on rice.

1. Drag queens, unlike most models, have personality. Big time. Usually demonstrated by their name. The stereotypical drag queen name is “your first pet” + “the first street you lived on.” Mine is Choya De La Roche, FYI. Try it now!

2. Finding shoes ain’t easy. As I told before in my story about my foray into drag, it’s an event. Bluefly.com isn’t probably going to have a lot of size 14s. This could be a problem.

So the challenge begins. Chris March, the Gay Voice of PR (despite the other “Gay Voices” on PR) comes out in a fierce outfit. “OH!,” the contestants exclaim, he’s dressed like a Gay Viking! No, retard, he’s making fun of Wagner Operas. Duh. Welcome to the new century. The two most prominent Drag Queens on the runway are Hedda Lettuce and Varla Jean Merman (who I’ve seen in a revue and is SO worth seeing. She was also in the musical Chicago on Broadway).

Basically this was designing for shapes that weren’t “normal” model types. It was yet another redux of a past challenge where they designed for the contestants’ mothers who weren’t the usual sizes the designers are used to working with. They needed a vision outside of their comfort zone. Their comfort zones are apparently teeny tiny little squares listed in Dullsville. THESE ARE DRAG QUEENS, PEOPLE! For fuck’s sake, pad everything you see! Work the fierce accessories!

Oh child, this week was so disjointed. Joe (who espoused the most hetero, moronic, unrelated memos about this week’s challenge) almost delivered, which on this season means he won. His costume was a tribute (oddly enough) to the Drag Queen he chose. It was showy and could be worn in a revue any time. Yes, it was supposedly based on a sailor outfit, but where were the white ribbons on the collar? Where was the purse shaped like an anchor? Where was the belt shaped like a Sperm Whale, for God’s sake? I was shocked. He mentioned he designed for his daughters and I only assume they’re the most fab girls ever. Too bad they have him for a dad. So Joe won. But I still loved me some Korto. 1 - She made a dress and not a jumpsuit (which I think is bit of a drag copout). 2 - Loved the colors. It was like Krakatoa Kamp and the tear-away skirt was genius. Every good act needs a prop and here one was built in.

Keith’s costume must be what Mormon Dust Busters wear on Halloween.

His idea that all women want to dress like a Swiffer is misguided and a little weird at best. Darling, Lemon Pledge isn’t a scent by Chanel. Stella’s dress was “Mother of the Bride” at a Scottish wedding. Snooze. Blayne has clearly just lost his mind. Star Trek-licious and not in a good way. Take it from someone who’s actually heard Varla Jean Merman sing the Star Trek theme while eating (a highlight of her act)!

Daniel FINALLY gets auf’d. Let’s face it, he was hanging by a string for many weeks now and if he couldn’t face up to this week’s Gay Challenge, what hope had he? His costume was drab and wishy-washy; it was like a hostess outfit at Outback. His interests in wanting to be classy and whatever were silly here. The answer was to take what the client wanted and to multiply times ten. This is a dress for a DRAG QUEEN, queen! How many times did that have to be reiterated? What planet are you on? The bigger the better! Fail, yuk. It was boring and safe, two things going out in Drag in Public ain’t.

RuPaul was surprisingly astute and on point in her judging. Gotta give the girl some credit, she knew what she was talking about and delivered like Domino’s. If anything, she could have been a little bitchier (as I know she can) and torn down some of the more boring designs.

Overall, I wanted more Show for this show. I wanted more glitter, more glamour, more va-va-voom. I wanted more Chris March. Instead, as usual this season, we were only given more closeted, dull gayjects. Come out of the closet, and soon, or we’ll just give you up for done and throw you on the bash heap. Boring is so ugly in a young gay.

Oh the Hughmanity! Preview: Look What the Catty Drag-ged In

2008-08-20T12:15:00.000-07:00

As you may remember, possums and queens, our very own Hughman recently laid down the law to Joe Faris, rapping Joe forcefully on the knuckles with a glitter cane and making the ageless pronouncement,
"Unless you've been in drag and heels in a crowded gay bar (which I have once), you have no right to use the Q-word." And now, in anticipation of tonight's Project Dragway, Hughman is giving us details of just how well he knows whereof he speaks. Please to sample and enjoy:

Get ready, girlfriends. This week is going to be a veritable stuffed bra of goodness. I feel compelled to preface my usual recap (which will come in a few days) with this little historical disquisition.

Let me start by saying I’m no rube from the sticks about Drag. On the contrary, over the years I lived in New York City, I was sort of a Drag Groupie. I even did drag once in the late 80’s, ironic since I was a steroided Chelsea Muscle Boy at the time. You can read about it here (Ed: Oh do, possums, do; it's well worth it).

In addition, I was friends with many of the Drag Stars of the time.

1. Lady Bunny - I was a denizen of The Pyramid Club in NYC’s East Village when Lady Bunny was a go-go dancer on the bar. Once she called me over and said “HONEY, WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” “The South,” I answered honestly. “ME TOO!,” she exclaimed, “WE’RE SISTERS!” True to her word, we became occasional friends afterwards. She also was the Mistress of Ceremonies for the infamous Wigstock, which originally started in the East Village too. Almost all of these Drag Queens performed at Wigstock while hundreds of guys (and gals) stood around shirtless in the sun with wigs on. Fun!

2. RuPaul also performed at The Pyramid and at another East Village haunt called Boy Bar. Once a friend and I were watching her on her talk show and my friend remarked “Remember when we used to push her out of the way to get to the bar?”

3. Joey Arias - I first met Joey at another lounge called Bar D’oh where he’d perform on Wednesdays. I’d often go and see him and we would chat endlessly, and he even met my mother, who whispered to me, “He’s wearing make-up!” Later Joey went to Las Vegas, where he headlined the Cirque du Soleil show called “Zumanity.” He does a flawless imitation of Billie Holiday.

4. Raven-O - worked in tandem with Joey and later became the emcee at the popular NYC cabaret called The Box. He also sang (as a woman) in his natural voice.

5. Lypsinka - lip-synched and acted in several acclaimed revues. I met her when I styled a shoot she did for Italian Vogue photographed by Albert Watson. She performed her whole act on tape while Albert shot pictures and I was an enraptured audience of one in his studio.

6 Other Drag friends included Mona Foot (who also worked at Patricia Field’s old shop on Eighth Street where we’d go hang on Saturday afternoons), Hedda Lettuce and The Duchess who was Susanne Bartsch’s assistant and event doorperson. They were all royalty in their own right in the Drag Scene of the time. Joey and Mona were also both in the movie To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.

So you see, I know the gig.

In my opinion, there are two types of Drag Queens. Those who wish to “pass” as real women and those who were more performers, pushing the limits of their presentation towards Art and less concerned with being seen as a possible secretary in the work force. Naturally, I leant more towards the latter. They were always hilarious, glamorous and I hope to think flattered and excited that someone like me (and some of my friends) were willing to have fun with them and not be restricted by boring old stereotypes.

So let’s tuck in (ha ha - get it?) and get ready for the challenge.

Preview: Watch Straight-Guy Joe Faris Go All Queasy in the Presence of a Runwayful of Queens

2008-08-19T08:30:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Nicole Kidman, Rodrigo Santoro & Baz Luhrmann for Chanel

2008-08-19T00:09:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Versace Woman

2008-08-18T00:50:00.000-07:00

Pink Navy Girl in Every Port: Dita Von Teese (No Explanation Needed)

2008-08-18T00:49:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: David Lynch for Gucci

2008-08-17T00:36:00.000-07:00

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 5: “Dipstick Bungle, Dipshit Stumble?”

2008-08-15T10:27:00.000-07:00

So this week, possums, Project Runway stumbled into the jungle, but little did they know that what awaited them there, the thing that goes bump and meow in the night, was none other than our own Hughman. And so, without further ado, we present the Bumble in the Jungle:

I gotta hand it to Bravo. They have officially upended my fucking world.

Here I thought, After building the Project Runway brand based on its loyal gay viewers and then losing PR in an ugly, adulterous divorce to frowsy, housecoat-wearing Lifetime, Bravo will surely go gently into that good night.

HELL NO!

(Clearly, I had forgotten the Angela Bassett approach from Waiting to Exhale: taking lighter fluid and a lit match to the whole damned thing, and sashaying off with pert breasts proudly ensconced in a lace teddy.)

At any rate, Handy Andy and his gay elves at Bravo Headquarters (gelves?) have instead decided to troll the bottom of the barrel for this last season in order to parade before the huddled gay masses yearning to be freaks the most confused, childish people on Earth who’ve ever touched needle or cloth. This season’s contestants make The Real World look like the Antiques Roadshow. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some crazy. But though Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear, he didn’t then go and draw outlines around his hand and call it Art. This season, with a couple of exceptions, is all Hand Turkeys. It frankly makes me want to be naked all the time just so I can say “Clothes? Oh no, I’ve never tried them.”

This episode brings us the esteemed Brooke Shields of the possibly fictional TV show Lipstick Jungle. I mean, c’mon. Sure, ‘twas oft-mentioned on this episode, but has anyone really seen it or wanted to? (Well, aside from Kelli Martin’s Nana?) Enough to mention it 10,000 times? Suddenly Susan might have had as much resonance with this bunch. That said, the winner’s outfit this challenge will be shown on JAG! Uh, no! On Lipstick Jungle, or America’s Next Tranny Model, or at some craft service table somewhere.

After pitching clothes and pitching fits, the finalists are chosen for whatever reason and have to pick someone to work with them. Most choose in some blind parallel universe which is AWESOME for our interests. It’s the tasteless leading the tasteless, and the blind leading the lame. Translation: disaster. OMG, so fun! Jerell and Stella - please fail, please fail. The collaborative “process” between Korto, my fave, and Joe, my not fave, is not pretty. Clueless Daniel and Blayne are thrown into their combos where they can relive Madonna circa 1998. Done and over.

Ultimately, deciding what some crazy-ass fictional character on a dying TV show would wear is a no-win situation. It’s like designing an outfit for a character on The Little Mermaid—impossible and weird. The character, if they had listened to Brooke, is a movie executive. Plus she’s FUCKING BROOKE SHIELDS! You could hear the crickets in their teensy heads debating the parameters.

Daniel just turns into the whiny queen who asks every three seconds why you’re walking too fast when you’re late for a movie. His one task is to design a pencil skirt - IN BLACK - which is like drawing a Hand Turkey in fabric and he still fails. And after he claims on the runway to have “impeccable taste,” you’re just left with, “Queen, lay off the K.” Just ‘cause you daydream you’re Karl Lagerfeld doesn’t make you German.

As for Blayne, I really don’t get the obsession with shorts (or skorts) on this season. It’s currently on the runway with the men folk - misguided at best - but with women? Not so much. It comes across as a bizarre reach to the past, and not so original. Like a Three’s Company flashback. Blayne’s design was a nightmare. Step away from the Cul-nots. Day to night does not mean going from your job at Strawberry Fields to doing Jell-O shots at TGIF’s. Ok, maybe it does in Washington State where Blayne hails from, but not on the genius that is *drumroll* LIPSTICK JUNGLE!!! Perhaps he misheard. Dipstick Bungle, Dipshit Stumble? Who the fuck knows? It was fugly all over. Also, can we say “hippy,” as in “makes your hips look huge”? Ew all over.

The loser was, again, a worst of the worst. Kelli’s vision of dressing versus the unflattering shorts is a dice throw of design. Frankly, I would never choose the shorts because I’m not stupid. On a 40+ woman, shorts like this are retarded. They make women look too short and trying to be some age they aren’t. Kelli’s was at least a dress, which an adult woman would wear - especially one who is a supposed Studio Head.

Kelli is out, which I hate. And after reading her interview from when she was booted, I know why. She’s everything posers like Blayne and Jerell aspire to - she’s opinionated and most importantly she’s funny. This season could use a big honking dose of funny because so far it’s just crunching my buzz.

In Case You Missed It

2008-08-15T09:58:00.000-07:00

Kelli Martin Grows Lipstick-Jungle-Red Claws on Her Way Out

2008-08-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, the love child of Brittany Murphy and Lorraine Bracco did not go down without a fight. No sirree.

To wit, have a look at what she said in an exit interview:

I have never seen Lipstick Jungle, but my grandma has watched it. [!!] I always assumed it was a cut-rate Sex in the City. [!!] Brooke Shields? Sadly, all I know about her are her Postpartum Depression issues, not much real work since the early ‘80s. [!!]

....

...working with Daniel was kind of like working with the town drunk dressed in a fancy suit ... [!!]

....
Bravotv.com: The judges’ comments questioned your taste level -- what is your response to that?

Simple. Our taste levels are different. Mine is on the wavelength of appreciating fashion, but also realizing that the majority of it comes from people like me. My generation is much different than the 50-year-olds judging me, particularly the different subcultures. You might think that you know what the kids are wearing, but you don't. You know what rich kids are wearing, and honey, we aren't all going to the Oscars. So the slam on taste was a joke. Nice try man. We didn't all come from money and weren't able to use that “in” to make us somebody.

To which we say: BITCH! But only because we wished we'd thought of some of these putdowns. Never mess with a Columbine, possums (or whatever people from Columbus are called); they're scrappy.

Pink Navy Summer Camp: Jean-Paul Gaultier's "How to Do That"

2008-08-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Ruslana Korshunova for Nina Ricci

2008-08-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Brooke Shields in the Day

2008-08-13T10:23:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Dominique de Villepin's Daughter for Givenchy

2008-08-13T00:08:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Zarah Zhesseecah Parkair

2008-08-12T00:02:00.000-07:00

Pink Navy Summer Camp: Carmen Miranda Becomes Amtrak Spokeswoman

2008-08-11T00:58:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Agyness Deyn for Jean-Paul Gaultier

2008-08-11T00:23:00.000-07:00

Pink Navy Summer Camp: Miriam Hopkins and Claudette Colbert Bitchslap It Out

2008-08-10T00:47:00.000-07:00

In Ernst Lubitsch's The Smiling Lieutenant, Miriam Hopkins is the wife, Claudette Colbert the mistress. The circle each other, bitchslap, cry, sing about their lingerie, and stage a makeover. Don't say you weren't warned, possums.

Stinky Spot du Jour: L'Air du Temps

2008-08-10T00:16:00.000-07:00

The Heterosexual Jen & Zoi of “Project Runway”

2008-08-09T07:13:00.001-07:00

The last season of Top Chef had lesbian couple Jen and Zoi, and this season of Project Runway almost had Judy & Grant. Like Jen and Zoi, they're from San Francisco, and despite Grant's girly delight at the loveliness of elephant-printed crepe de chine, they claim to be sleeping together. Oh what might have been....

Dispatch from the Department of WTF: This Guy Didn't Make It to Season 5 But Blayne and Stella and Jennifer Did!?!?

2008-08-09T07:03:00.000-07:00

Ok, we'll give you Blayne and Stella because what they lack in talent they obviously make up for with good television, but Jennifer Diederich? This fellow who was doodling stripper shoes as a three-year-old in Armenia is somehow less interesting and less talented than deer-in-the-headlights, mousier-than-mouse Holly Golightly at that goddamned Salvador Dalí exhibit? No comprendo.

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 4: “Unless You’ve Been in Drag and Heels in a Crowded Gay Bar, You Have No Right to Use the Q-Word”

2008-08-08T21:58:00.000-07:00

08/08/08, the luckiest day of the year, possums, because Hughman’s claws are in Olympic form:

So this week on Project Runway,

WE INTERRUPT THIS POST TO BRING YOU THIS SPECIAL MESSAGE

Have you seen Million Dollar Listing? I assume you have because you’re a Bravoholic like I am. In the realm of wacky, fucked-up craziness, this show has it in spades. Barely legal, self-centered, greedy young boys hopped up on hormones.... boo-yah!

Why, you may ask, do I bring this up? Well it seems there are certain points which remind me of PR. Over-groomed, egotistic imp and 2005, Misfits, Peggy Moffitt hairdo (Chad Rogers on MDL). Uh... BLAYNE! Ambisexual, butch (relatively) sane one sporting Playgirl looks and non-threatening masculinity (Madison Hildebrand on MDL). Hello Keith! Dull, over-styled bore with spiked 2006 hair and three-day beard who hasn’t shown much talent - plus with his arresting art theft credentials and being BFFs with Jason Davis, the fat slacker brother of hated Brandon Davis - (Josh Flagg)? Jerell, perhaps the lamest gay black ever! Check, Queen(s), Mate!

It’s like some odd parallel universe. Cutting prices vs. cutting brown satin. Coincidence? I think not! Rather some cocktail-induced plot by Andy Cohen to ease us from one show to the other. For what it’s worth. I am SO THERE.

END OF MESSAGE

Anyhoo, so this week on Project Runway...

Obvs. the object of PR this season is to get us to just hate everyone. Sure, I was grossed out by Stella at first (as it seemed a lot of other people were). Worn hippies with one leathered look aren’t my favorite. Especially with that voice.

Yet now my disgust has expanded. Suede still has a level of conceit that is hard to stomach, not abetted by the whole calling himself by the third person thing. Blayne continues to whine endlessly about tanning or lack thereof. Tanning should be the least of his problems. Jerell has jumped on the Hate-Wagon due to his snarky comments and bad designs. To me, it’s like a hair stylist. Would I allow someone who dresses me to wear a Boogie Boy hat and jodhpurs? Ew. Finally “straight guy” Joe is just whiney and petulant.

”There are too many queens”. Uh, hello? “Queens” is to me like the n-word. Unless you’ve been in drag and heels in a crowded gay bar (which I have once), you have no right to use the Q-word. What did he expect? Fashion isn’t exactly an enclave of lumberjacks. Complaining about “queens” on a show like PR is frankly ignorant and stupid.

The winning designs were iffy. Joe showed a “skort,” which is the “brunch” of fashion, a word made up to bridge a gap between two meals that stand on their own. Even his skort was questionable, more like an apron over shorts - like a shorpron. Ehn. He was there as the best of the worst, not because it was so great. Terri’s design was a study in separates. The jacket was nice, I guess, but did anyone else notice the boobs popping out over her “corset” during the runway that were later covered up by that weird scarf?

Korto wins. Yay! I have to admit I’m all Team Korto so far. The story she shared about her background this episode was actually interesting and compelling, not some crazy-ass shit about her current dilemmas. The outfit was sleek and modern and could easily be adapted to male athletes as well. Good for her.

The losing outfits - what a fucking mess. Jerell’s result was freaky weird. That hat? It was like Mary Pickford on mushrooms. Throwing the Bluefly belt on the skirt was just wrong and stuck out like a sore thumb. Daniel’s dress was made for a stewardess on IHOP Airlines. Word to the wise for the designers (which comes a little late): STEP AWAY FROM THE SHINY SATIN! It shows all flaws, puckers and rarely lays right. His dress looked like a drag outfit for French sailors. So awkward and unsophisticated. Finally, poor Jennifer. I actually liked the skirt, although I thought the color choice was wrong. It was well made and fit kind of cute. The jacket, however, was crossed signals all over the place. One minute it was a bolero and the next it was a jeweled sweater your grandma would wear. It just looked heavy and not athletic or Summer Olympics in the least. I thought other outfits were worse, to be honest, but in the end she had to go.

Previews warn us of Daniel’s petulant breakdown. God forbid someone question him about his level of “taste”. Honey, taste ain’t like the SATs. Real designers get questioned about their taste every season and don’t go into melt down. Joe goes against Korto. OH NO YOU DI’NT! IF he wants to inflict his lameness against someone, I’d suggest Blayne, who’d crumble like a card house during Katrina.

Battles, people. Learn how to pick them.

Stinky Spot du Jour: Eva Green & Wong Kar-Wai for Dior

2008-08-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

Pink Navy Does Lines with Women

2008-08-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

Dianatics: The Wit and Wisdom of Mrs. Vreeland

2008-08-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

“If you want the girl next door, go next door.”

—Diana Vreeland on conventional physical beauty

“Well goodbye, Dalí, and goodbye Dalí, it’s so nice to have you back where you belong!”

2008-08-07T05:34:00.000-07:00

We, we will miss her, possums, since our source of surrealism jokes has now gone. On the other hand, it's videos like these that have permanently cured our insomnia. Five seconds, and you're out like a (Holly Go)light.

Stinky Spot du Jour: Monica Bellucci for Dolce & Gabbana

2008-08-07T00:36:00.000-07:00

Pink Navy Queery: Gayest Song in the World?

2008-08-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

Composed by Stephen Sondheim, produced by the Pet Shop Boys and sung by Liza Minnelli--we think we have the trifecta, but if you believe you can beat this, possums, please prove us wrong.

For Your Annoyance and Extreme Discomfort

2008-08-06T05:41:00.000-07:00

Stinky Spot du Jour: Charlize Theron for Dior

2008-08-06T00:31:00.000-07:00

The Devil Wore Mainbocher: Confidential Advice to Nina García Before She Begins Her New Job with “Marie Claire”

2008-08-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Ponga atención, Señorita García. Not that you need lessons, but perhaps a refresher course from the master would not be amiss. And then, just to prove that plus ça change, the more things stay the same, we have (and we suspect Meryl Streep did all her own foreign-language dubbing):

Stinky Spot du Jour: Flower by Kenzo

2008-08-05T00:27:00.000-07:00

Ohno!: Pink Navy Presents an Exclusive Preview of Tomorrow Night's Episode

2008-08-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

Dianatics: The Wit and Wisdom of Mrs. Vreeland

2008-08-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

From Cecil Beaton’s The Glass of Fashion:

The terms of Mrs. Vreeland’s human appeal are liberally peppered with an astonishing slang. One would think that she spent hours in ambiguous Times Square drugstores or Fifty-second Street night clubs, absorbing the highly coloured range of pimentoed expressions that are an integral part of her linguistic repertoire. Nor is her slang ever out of date. She will innovate expressions long before they have become popularly known. This gamey speech, combined with her personality, inevitably sends her friends off in gales of laughter at almost every sentence. “You’ve got to give it a lot of pezazz!” she will roar; and to an assistant who was working on a fashion article Mrs. Vreeland cried, “Tassels! Don’t forget tassels! Lots of tassels from Tasselville!” Anecdotes are underlined with a terminal, “It was but to die, my dear!” Once, when the word “amortization” appeared in a fashion article Mrs. Vreeland was supplied with a lengthy definition by the writer and finally commented, “Listen! Any word that’s got amor in it is okay with me; let’s use it!” On another occasion, when Mrs. [Carmel] Snow [, editor of Harper’s Bazaar and, not coincidentally, her boss] came back from Paris wearing a Dior suit with very sloping shoulders, Diana Vreeland observed, “Carmel, it’s divine. It makes you look drowned.”

Christian Siriano, Blayne Walsh—this is how it’s done.

Stinky Spot du Jour: Eva Mendes for Calvin Klein

2008-08-04T21:21:00.000-07:00

Keira Knightley to Fart-Face Her Way Through Yet Another Costume Drama

2008-08-04T06:56:00.000-07:00

On the plus side, Charlotte Rampling is around to shred the taffeta with her customary hauteur, and the wigs do look fab.

And now, Mrs. Vreeland shows you how it's done.

Confidential to Jennifer Diederich: This Is What Surrealism and Dada Is All About

2008-08-04T00:23:00.000-07:00

Salvador Dalí Meets the Fetishist of Icy Blondes

2008-08-04T00:02:00.000-07:00

Have a look, possums, at this snippet of the Dalí-designed sequence in Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound, starring Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck, and tell us whether this has anything to do with what Jennifer Diederich designs. Indeed, the more we think about it, the more profoundly annoyed we are by the whole “Holly Golightly goes to a Salvador Dalí exhibit” shtick. Now, Tippi Hedren or Kim Novak goes to a Salvador Dalí exhibit—that is something we could really get behind.

The Fashion Show to End All Fashion Shows

2008-08-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

Salma Hayek's Brother Does an Oldham on an Ad(ler)

2008-08-03T23:19:00.000-07:00

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 3: “Nightlife in Salt Lake City Involves Corn Pellets and Fresh Eggs”

2008-08-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

‘Tis a pensive, gnomic, almost Trappist Hughman we bring you this week, possums, as he vows, out of boredom as much as out of propriety, to follow the example of Mother Superior García:

“I have nothing to say” - Nina Garcia on Episode Three.

Oh Nina, if only the contestants followed your lead. In fact, since Bravo has seemingly run out of original challenge ideas, here’s one I could fully appreciate - the designers have to make an entire outfit without saying a word. “Leathuh” SSHH, Stella. Corset your lips together if you have to but just shut up. Blayne, “Muffle atcha blather.” Suede, “Block on.”

Granted, we’d be spared stories about Keith Bryce’s Mormon upbringing with his (assumed) 60 siblings and 12 moms. A household so crowded that when cutting his hair, they got to that last long strand in the back and said “eh... fuck it.” I’ll admit, while that rat tail might get him better seats at an Indigo Girls concert, it kinda freaked me out. What kind of Fashion Magazines are the gays in Salt Lake City perusing? The kind that made chicken costumes for school plays and then later recreate them as “night life looks”? I guess night life in Salt Lake City involves corn pellets and fresh eggs.

Of course the whole “Holla Atcha Boy”-gate would also go away, which could only be a ratings booster. We’d be saving poor Tim from having to wrap his wise mind around an impossible amount of stupid. Later Blayne remarks he “hates his life” which is something we can at least agree on.

Last week’s “eco-friendly” theme continues with a recycled competition. It was a pretty lame challenge the first time around, not very structured towards any particular direction, where they all take some Sponsor cameras out to take pictures of whatever. Stella has a John McCain moment and asks the Einstein of the bunch (Blayne) for help with her camera. Eventually they all get some banal pics to inspire them. None of which had much to do with the original directions to emulate NYC at night. Haven’t these people ever seen a movie? People, taxis, neon lights... hello! Who goes out at night in Manhattan and looks at a clock, for God’s sake?

I’ve read several reports wondering why Sandra Bernhard was a judge. There are more reasons than you’d think:

1) Known Lesbian. In the Gay Ballpark.
2) Supposedly slept with Madonna. Gay First Base.
3.) BFFs with Isaac Mizrahi. Gay Babe Ruth.
4) Goes to all the Fashion Shows. I’d see her at shows in Bryant Park all the time with ex-Interview editor Ingrid Sischy. Gay World Series.

So yeah, in terms of the Gays, she scores more than most. Otherwise it’s hard writing about this episode because frankly it was so boring. Banal pics = banal clothes. No shock there.

And for the final results, we naturally get a mixed bag. Stella hammers her “gay little grommets” into something Jackie Warner might wear to a S&M club. It was ok, but not really an outfit you’d see on a Fashion Week Runway. Keith presents his Big Bird Burqa. Blayne’s dress looks like a uniform for Drag Flag Football. Terri’s outfit is like Mother of the Bride over pants and I just didn’t get it. The judges loved it but sorry, Michael Kors, a dress over pants isn’t groundbreaking.

The winner is Kenley with a cute dress but one that was pretty much done before on runways everywhere. It was finished but didn’t knock me out. I much preferred LeeAnne’s cleverly constructed skirt and top. It just seemed different and so much more thought out than everything else offered.

Emily’s dress was the loser even though it was really only a half step below Blayne’s. It was like something you might serve margaritas in and those ruffles were wacky, like she used an Etch-A-Sketch to decide their placement. As I noted before, Nina said, “I have no comment,” and really, how do you judge a dress that has no reason to its Helter-Skelter logic? I blame the lame headbands.

Federico Fellini: Project Runway to Hell

2008-08-02T21:08:00.001-07:00

Simon Sez!: Jonathan Adler Fiancé Tells You How to Look Like a Fairy

2008-08-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

N.B. Once it starts playing, it goes and goes, possums, in different little segments, with Simon telling you about neon and the 18th century and so forth. Don't say you weren't warned.

“Leanne, can I ask you something? Is life on an LDS compound the way they show it on ‘Big Love’?”

2008-07-31T01:33:00.000-07:00

Keith Bryce Takes Sides in Deadly Salt Lake City Gang War Between the Anemics and the Craps

2008-07-31T01:20:00.001-07:00

Bright Lights, Big T...Er, City

2008-07-31T01:17:00.000-07:00

“OK, this is where the batteries go. Oh, and girl, you have to stop using that line about Holly Golightly and Salvador Dalí. Seriously.”

2008-07-31T01:09:00.000-07:00

Tim Gunn’s Guide to Pronunciation

2008-07-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

Guest Judge Sandra Bernhard Whets Our Appetite and Wets Our Lips for Tonight's Episode

2008-07-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

Dispatches from the Department of “That Explains a Lot”

2008-07-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

From Stella Zotis’ MySpace page:

Oh, so that’s what that morning potion was for….Does it also contain formaldehyde? Because, possum, you don’t look a day over 101.

“I see dead people. In leatha.”

Pink Navy Photoessay: Hair-Band Production of “Macbeth” Missing a Weird Sister

2008-07-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 2: “Ribbed for No One’s Pleasure”

2008-07-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

Possums, it was the Roman playwright Terence who wrote, “I am a man. Nothing human is alien to me.” However, had he survived into the modern age, and were he a viewer of Bravo and a reader of blogs, there is no doubt in our mind that he would have written, “I am a gay man. Nothing Hughman is alien to me.” And it is in that spirit that the redoubtable Hughman brings you his take on the second episode of Project Runway:

Jeezy creezy.

I so want to believe everything Tim Gunn says. Honestly. “Pencil skirts are in.” Hell yeah! “Glamour is the new black.” Hot-cha! “The Eighties are back!” Um, ok I guess. They weren’t that inspiring the first time but whatever.

So it seems particularly telling that in his first rooftop appearance, instead of telling us, as he usually does, that “this season has the best designers we’ve ever seen,” Tim says that this is the most “diverse” group of designers in the show’s history. “Diverse”?! Really?! That’s really damning with faint, meaningless praise. The thing is, though, I think his scrupulousness is showing through; the man is trying to tell us something, and not for nothing has he been bitchier than on any season past.

Maybe it’s just me but this season of PR already seems like the Presidential Primaries, no end in sight. And it’s ONLY THE SECOND SHOW!! Maybe I need to drink more but I feel like I’m sitting through a long boring movie (cough*The English Patient*cough) and desperately need to pee.

Why? Maybe it’s the lack of the “Speech in Berlin” moment thus far. There’s been no Gay Gasp like when we first laid eyes on Laura Bennett (who in my movie is played by Rosalind Russell). No jovial Chris March. No annoying yet strangely magnetic Christian Siriano. Not even a Wendy Pepper hovering around the edges like a soccer mom on a meth binge. We barely know anything about this season’s contestants, so when they’re booted, the best we can manage is “meh.” No thanks to Bravo, who’ve been as tightlipped about this season as Condi Rice at the Dinah Shore Classic.

The one thing the designers do most creatively on Season 5 is be Reality Show Contestants. Fortified by years of Real World, America’s Next Top Model and I Love New York, they eagerly jump into roles as Stereotypes. Talent be damned, this is about what the camera loves or what some people have decided the camera loves. The rest of us know the camera adds ten pounds to your ego and usually not where you need them.

So we get second-rate, crazy hippie, an overcaffeinated small gay, and a misplaced straight guy. All they need are “Hi, My Name is That One” nametags and we’re all set.

Even the clothes are meh. On this episode they could have all come from Forever 21 and we’d never know the difference. Short, nondescript little numbers from the wardrobe of The Hills. Twenty or so outfits thus far and frankly, I don’t think I could pick one of them out of a lineup.

Bravo tried to shake it up. First, all material had to be “eco friendly,” a vague enough term slapped onto everything these days to try and assuage our TV-addicted guilt. I still don’t really know what it means and I doubt any of these kids do either. In a perfect world, we’d get bamboo leaves and recycled glass. As if.

Second, we were treated to the Models being forced to buy the fabric at Mood. It was like watching the Valet Parker being made to buy your car. Just let them do their job, get a check and go back to smoking and drinking bottled water. I can tell you firsthand, models really don’t usually give a shit about what they’re paid to wear. It’s a JOB, not a stint volunteering to stop world hunger.

The results spoke volumes about what Models think of designers. Apparently designers are like crows with bad taste, attracted to shiny things in dull colors. Brown satin was the main draw. Perhaps the Models thought it was made of recycled camel dung and the remnants of lip gloss. (Eco Friendly!)

Stella ain’t having it. She declares in her best Penny Marshall voice that she’s Urban and all about leather. No shit. If Squeaky Fromme were a dominatrix, Stella would pretty much be her Doppelgänger. Oddly her final design didn’t exhibit any of these two qualities, unless Urban means we’re about a half inch from seeing the model’s “Lower East Side.” One-armed hookers everywhere are drooling over her product.

In what may go down in the records as Most Ironic Statement Ever on PR, Blayne calls her “leatherface.” I was hoping Stella would slap that kumquat he calls a head right off his shoulders (which Korto could snatch off the floor, splice in half and call a brooch.) Instead, the Gay Gollum takes the one-sided dress idea and applies it to his “Licious,” making yet another “I’m a little teapot” concoction. The result was also very Pretty in Pink/Flashdance, complete with a side ponytail in case you weren’t yet convinced it was retro enough.

Finally we got our requisite shockers.

Suede wins! Bisexual Kewpie dolls everywhere are crying with glee. I didn’t personally think it was the Best (I favored Kenley’s shift with the dramatic neckline which I could see Pat Buckley wearing to a cocktail party) but if you were a milkmaid going to a milkmaid prom, you could do worse.

Poor Wesley. I’m not into Conspiracy Theories but I’m just gonna go on a limb and hope (to his credit) that he was overwhelmed with Puppy Love. This is always the way it works. First the sultry looks, next the stolen kisses then suddenly you find yourself forcing your model into a brown satin condom while you whiteknuckle through frustration. The dress was too tight, too short and ribbed in a way that brought no one pleasure. Here’s hoping he can release some of that tension by the reunion and it’ll all be doe-eyed moonlit walks on the beach once again.

“If Squeaky Fromme were a dominatrix, Stella would pretty much be her Doppelgänger”

2008-07-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

“Top Design” Breaking News: See You Later, “See You Later, Decorator”

2008-07-27T18:36:00.001-07:00

Hallelujah, Praise the Lady Bunny, and any other religious ejaculation you can think of. In the above clip, Raggaydy Andy Cohen announces that on the upcoming season of Top Design, we will no longer be hearing Jonathan Adler say, “See you later, decorator.” What the new send-off will be remains to be seen. We’re counting on you, Simon Doonan, to save the day.

Miss XaXa Cries (Gay) Uncle

2008-07-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

Our Miss XaXa tipples with fairy godfathers Ted Allen of Top Chef and Nick Verreos of Project Runway at last night's Gender Public Advocacy Coalition event at the Chopping Block in Chicago.

Both of These Men Have Sex with Women; Pink Navy Suddenly Sympathizes with the Plight of the Modern Heterosexual Woman

2008-07-24T10:04:00.001-07:00

“Project Runway” Shocker!!: Two 20-Something New York Gay Men Get It On! Can the Apocalypse Be Far Behind?

2008-07-24T09:50:00.000-07:00

We know, possums, we know. What are the odds of this happening, right?

At any rate, the rumors that Wesley Nault, he of the Paul Rudd visage and the Hitlerjugend-meets-80s-Mexican-boyband shorts, and Daniel Feld, he of the greasy hair and the upholstery blazer, are in a relationship have now been confirmed.

We love it when the sodomythical becomes the sodomitical.

Is Colombia’s Fourth Most Famous Export Using Its Most Famous?

2008-07-24T07:35:00.000-07:00

What else would explain her saying, “I like this dress,” and then having it win?

And, in case you were wondering, possums….

Colombia’s Most Famous Exports:

1. cocaine
2. Shakira
3. Gabriel García Márquez
4. Ninotchka “Nina” García de Castellanos
5. emeralds

“Project Runway” Shocker! Suede Turns Out to be a Double-Sided Fabric

2008-07-24T06:48:00.000-07:00

Yes, possums, it happened to us too. Drinks were spilled, pictures fell off walls, and cracks appeared in the ceiling—not, mind you, because we happened to be in California….

“The earth slipped off its axis,” interjected a visibly shaken Miss XaXa.

Oh, possums, it did more than that. The earth convulsed as though getting rid of a hairball.

For, you see, Suede is…oh we’ll let him say it:

“Suede is a bisexual Sagittarius….”

Miss XaXa, recovering from her stupor, asked, “Isn’t that half man, half horse?”

“Or horse’s ass. And I’m not even sure about the half man part.”

“How on earth would he ever get a woman to sleep with him?”

“Uh, catch her in a web of bias-cut satin strips?”

Fortunately, though, the female panic button seems to work. The very thought that that might be interested in women activated Miss XaXa’s alarm, and her ladypart-panic room clanged shut with the finality of a Swiss bank vault. Jodie Foster is not getting out, and Suede is not getting in, anytime soon.

“Yeah, we’d only pay 49 cents for that, too.”

2008-07-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

Miss XaXa’s reaction: “That’s what happens when you’re from Sacramento.”

“It’s a young Quentin Crisp! No, no, it’s the ghost of JonBenet Ramsey! No, it’s Austintacious!”

2008-07-23T07:16:00.000-07:00

To which Miss XaXa replied, “If Blayne is not allowed to say ‘girlicious,’ you can’t say ‘austintacious,’ ok?”

What we are allowed to say, though, is that success definitely agrees with Miss Scarlett. Never have the golden locks or the opera pumps possessed such luster and sheen.

Oh the Hughmanity! Week 1: “A Brazil Wax for a Smurf”

2008-07-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

Possums, we have never been able to resist a cri de cœur, and a cri de cœur is exactly what we heard after the first episode of the final season of Project Runway. (As Shakespeare might have written, we come to bury PR, not to praise it, and we will chime in presently.)

Indeed, it was a veritable chorus of cris de cœur, and our favorite baritone voice crying out in the fashion desert belonged to the inimitable Hughman. When we asked him to give us (and Bravo) a piece of his mind—à la mode, as it were—he was gracious enough to cut us a generous slice. Spoons at the ready, then, possums, as Hughman dishes it out:

Project Runway has been for many years now a constant in our lives. Indeed, it has been with me longer than many of my relationships. I can point to when Heidi Klum first appeared in my life, when Tim Gunn gazed lovingly at me and the first Lover’s Spat I had with Nina Garcia. Like you, I looked forward to the return of our beloved show before it was shot along with Bruce Willis into deep space (aka Lifetime), where no one can hear you scream—unless you’re Valerie Bertinelli or Tori Spelling.

Well, fuck me, is all I have to say thus far. Judging from the premiere, this time around the relationship is going to be a bumpy ride.

First things first.

Let’s all place one gloved hand on the September issue of Vogue and swear to Coco Chanel we will never ever, ever—EVER—mouth the “word” girlicious again. EVER. If I could invent a time machine, possibly the first thing I’d do is go back and slap the concept right out of Blayne’s orange, red-hatted teeny head. It’s not a pun, it’s not funny, it’s not clever and Blayne is certainly no Christian Siriano. Also, if you hear a friend say it, you are authorized to just dump them on the spot. No good can come of this utterance and you are certainly, by your mere presence on this blog, far too glamorous to have people like that surrounding you.

It says in his Bravo bio that Blayne was voted the Most Stylish Man in Seattle. So to all the men in Seattle and the blind nuns who voted for him, I say, “Poor you”. As for the outfit he created, I’m sure it will make a dramatic conclusion to The Vagina Monologues : The Musical.

Then we come to “Suede”...eh... Pleather. He has managed to take the standard fauxhawk of Bravo contestants to the next level. Here it’s like a Brazil wax for a Smurf. Thankfully he talks of himself in the third person, which I can only hope is a stilted attempt to distance himself from whoever BeDazzled his jean vest with his nom de douche. Supposedly he’s monied or somesuch and owns a dairy in Pennsylvania or somewhere. Perhaps all the milkmaids there are wearing dull gingham frocks and giggling about all the cute fabric nicknames they’ve given to the bulls. “Cashmere! Poly-blend! Uh... suede.”

Speaking of trash, we shan’t forget the Bag-a-lencia stylings of Stella, the Patron Saint of Bad Choice of Drug Use in the 70s. If Donatella were barefoot and pregnant and living in a trailer, this dress would have been what J-Lo would have worn to the Oscars. Would it have killed her to make a bra out of some of the other crap she threw away? Also, word to the wise : do not wear your circus costume in the supermarket. No one wants to worry that a circus hippy in pigtails is going to rip a box of Glad Wrap out of their hands in Aisle 3.

Other dribbles that caught in my eye:

Man shorts like the ones Wesley wears are fine. On the Von Trapps. Yes, they’re supposedly fabulous fashionable now and all that but really... c’mon. They make a reasonable adult look like Pinocchio, and do we really need to compare ourselves to wooden toys that live with old mustached men? I thought they looked silly on the runway and now that I see them on an actual person and not a model, I realize I was right. Just assume we believe you when you state you shave your legs.

Finally, all the brouhaha about Jerry’s Morton Salt Girl outfit is grossly exaggerated. American Psycho?? Please. Patrick Bateman wore Armani, fer Christ’s sake! I actually went and looked at Jerry’s fashion line “Form”. And it was NOTHING like what he did on PR! They were, uh, t-shirts. See, if Gristedes sold t-shirts, this would have been a no-brainer. Oh well. Sigh. Better luck in the reunion show!

Pink Navy Hair-oine of the Day: Wendy Williams

2008-07-22T17:50:00.000-07:00

Ladies, this is how it's done. Watch starting at the 3:49 mark.

A Packet of “Crisps”: Marlene Dietrich

2008-03-16T17:06:00.000-07:00

Possums, while going through our library recently, we re-read with great pleasure a collection of essays by Quentin Crisp, gnashing our teeth all the while over how neglected he has become of late.

In an effort to remind ourselves of just how perceptive a writer he could be (in addition to being endlessly entertaining and peerlessly bitchy), we will bring you a few of his best tidbits about the subject he knew best: as Countess DeLave might have put it in The Women, "Oh glamour, glamour."

To start, let Mr. Crisp tell you, possums, about Miss Dietrich:

“Miss Dietrich’s early Hollywood movies were the most immoral ever generally released. She did not reveal any more of her body than other screen sirens of her day, nor was she seen behaving in an any more explicitly sexual way, but the plots of nearly all these pictures showed her living a life of total degradation. In Shanghai Express, for instance, she forever plied her trade back and forth from Shanghai to Peking until, after a great deal of mileage, to say nothing of footage, she re-met her former fiancé quite by chance but without, one must add, the slightest sign of embarrassment. Here as elsewhere, her costar was chosen from among the most boring actors that the casting office could supply. This was done to make it clear that matrimony was inevitable.

Though on one occasion she sank so low as to wear a hat—the brim of which was weighed down with artificial cherries—Miss Dietrich never seemed to pay the smallest price for her sins, but perhaps I have read the message wrongly. It may be that the ultimate punishment for a lifetime of unremitting fornication is that you become too weak to defend yourself from marriage.”

Operatic Carmen Webber Undone by Baller, the Tiki Barber of Seville

2007-11-29T06:34:00.000-08:00

Scarbo Speaks! Pink Navy Listens, Becomes Convinced of the Wisdom of “Pistol”-Whipping

2007-11-15T09:57:00.000-08:00

Don’t worry, possums. We took plenty of notes and will be toiling madly on our addled recap tout de suite. However, we couldn’t let the morning pass without giving some kind of award to the best, choicest, lowest-hanging-fruit speech of the night.

We were treated to the spectacle of Miss Kit “Pistol” Scarbo do-declaring, “‘Kit Pistol’ is kind of like my Mark Twain.”

Our eyebrow twitched. Where could this possibly be going? Sure, we were impressed by the literary reference, but our minds raced to complete her thought—was a Huck Finn reference forthcoming? Folksy wisdom? Scathing wit?

Nah.

“It’s my alias.”

Oh. Well, we knew she didn’t exactly look two fathoms deep.

“Or sharp as a pistol,” agreed Miss XaXa.

(Oh, and Kit, possum, Mark Twain is really more of a pen name or pseudonym, but don’t let that stop you.)

Really, though, we spoke too soon, for there was, indeed, folksy wisdom to come.

Wearing a little number from the Courtney Love for Blowup Dolls Collection—

“Oh, come on,” said Miss XaXa, “it looks more like a costume from a tv sitcom, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?: The Early Years.”

—Be that as it may, Miss Scarbo proclaimed, “I believe that the clothing that you wear represents who you are and life is too short to have on a bad outfit.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, we looked at Miss XaXa and promptly hit the ground. When the lightnin’s a-comin’, you don’t want to be the vertical one.

“Good God,” we said to Miss XaXa from our crouching position. “If life is too short to have on a bad outfit, this woman’s lifespan must be measured in minutes.”

“Out of the mouths of Baby Janes,” Miss XaXa gnomically replied.

Alas, lightning did not strike, and this is really a pity. No, possums, no; it’s not what you think. It’s just that we foresee we’re going to have trouble telling her and Sweet P apart—was it really wise, oh producers, to have two tow-haired punk chicks on the same season?—and we were just hoping lightning would take care of that little matter for us.

Oh well, perhaps next week. Lightning may not strike twice, but we can always hope it will strike once.

Mrs. Vreeland Declares

2007-11-14T15:23:00.001-08:00

Possums, in the spirit of "Why Don't You?" Wednesdays, which will continue, and in honor of a very dear friend, we will also occasionally bring you bits of memos Diana Vreeland wrote to her Vogue staff, and which we think will put you in the right frame of mind. Without further ado:

August 16, 1967
Re: Hair

I think it is really essential that you all re-think these terrible looking curls next to the face...we agreed long ago they look dipped in salad oil...they also look like poor white trash people with hair all broken off and they can't get the front to the back...

I am all for the cut around the face as you know--that is to say down the side of the face to give a good clean guiche...

But, I really don't think we ought to carry on with these awful-looking curls--they do nothing for the clothes and nothing for the girl--it all gets depressing...

I assure you this association with people with broken hair, no hairdresser, no money, no vitality--and the will to live is gone...

Pinking Shears at the Ready, or Apocalypse and Anticipation

2007-11-14T13:55:00.001-08:00

Possum (or, one hopes, possums), we will, indeed, be covering Project Runway 4.

There was never any doubt, of course, but perhaps we ought to explain the absence of posting. Due credit ought naturally to be given to the tedium and rigor of real life, including those pesky wildfires you may have read about.

But, really, possum, it isn't real life that you read us for, so let's cut to the chase.

Aside from simply needing time to let our claws grow back, we confess that all this while we just couldn't bear to go on the Bravo website and be faced with that damned countdown clock, ticking off the days, hours and minutes until the premiere of PR 4.

We were having none of it, for, as a matter of principle, we refuse to be browbeaten into enthusiasm, but this seemed somehow more egregious than that, as if it were nothing less than the Second Coming. Talk of the Second Coming inspires in us either a) jokes about the refractory period or b) a desire to wear our favorite tee shirt, the one that says, "Jesus Is Coming! Look Busy!" So you can see how this sort of apocalyptic vibe wouldn't really work for us.

And really, this does a disservice to Project Runway itself. How can it possibly live up to such hype? What if Tim were one of us, just a slob like one of us, just a stranger on the bus....

"Oh, honey," Miss XaXa interrupted, "if Tim Gunn isn't on the bus, no one is."

And that, possum, is the Gospel truth. Welcome to Project Runway, Season 4.

Pink Navy Recommends: Design Flaws in the Human Condition

2007-07-25T17:39:00.001-07:00

Well, possums, if Bravo can engage in an orgy of promotion tonight, why shouldn’t we?

And so, we’d like to tell you about Paul Schmidtberger.

Paul is a droll writer friend of long standing, and our friendship has, at various times, involved Jean-Paul Gaultier’s hand, Lenny Kravitz’s favorite falafel, the Père Lachaise cemetery, and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven (though, bien sûr, not all at once).

And now the bitch has gone and gotten a comic novel published. And by Doubleday, no less.

And did we mention that Publisher’s Weekly described the novel as “a promising debut about love, friendship and anger-management” and “an assuredly entertaining romp”? Like we said: Bitch.

Paul, one of the funniest people we know, hails from deepest, darkest New Jersey. Schooley’s Mountain, to be precise. As Paul notes, that’s near Hackettstown, which “is famous because the remains of a wooly mammoth were discovered there,” transported to Harvard, and given the misnomer “Harvard Mastodon.” The mastodon, Paul assures us, was “the last candidate from Hackettstown to get into Harvard.”

Paul himself went to Yale, then did the whole Lost in Translation thing in Japan before Sofia Coppola made winsome, quasi-comedic, Tokyo-based anomie fashionable. Then, of course, he cornered the market in anomie by going to work for an international law firm that was like the collective hallucination of Stanley Kubrick, the Marx Brothers, and the now-deceased Supreme Leader of Turkmenistan.

Paul’s travails at the law firm ended thus: “Typically, the decision to leave a law firm is one that’s undertaken after careful consideration and reflection. In my case, the firm made things easier by firing me, marching me downstairs, and throwing me out onto the street. Me and the apple I'd been planning to have for a snack that afternoon. Hey, thanks.”

And now, Doubleday has published Paul’s first novel, Design Flaws in the Human Condition. The back of the book tells you all:

Set in Manhattan - the conniption capital of the world - a riotously funny and fresh debut novel about anger, infidelity, and friendship.

Through a hilarious series of events, two strangers find themselves railroaded into an anger-management class, where they soon become fast friends. Iris is there because of an eminently justifiable meltdown on a crowded flight, whereas Ken got caught defacing library books with rude (but true!) messages about his former boyfriend - the boyfriend that he caught in bed with another man on the same night he got fired from his job proofreading in a law firm.

Needless to say, Iris and Ken were cosmically destined to be friends. What follows is a strikingly original comedy of (occasionally bad) manners as Ken enlists Iris to infiltrate his ex-boyfriend’s life in the hope of discovering that he’s miserable. And Iris reciprocates, dispatching Ken to work himself into the confidence of her own boyfriend who she suspects, is starting to stray. But what if Ken's ex isn’t crying himself to sleep? What if he’s not the amoral fiend Ken wants to believe he is? And what should Iris do when her worst suspicions start to come true? Exactly how perfect do we have the right to expect our fellow human beings to be?

Anger, betrayal, loyalty, and friendship - Design Flaws of the Human Condition explores these universal themes with wisdom, compassion, and a wickedly irreverent sense of humor.

And did we mention Paul is single?

The current issue of Out magazine had this to say:

“Debut novelist Schmidtberger’s take is very funny, and his hilarious observations about contemporary urban life, from its escapable therapy-speak to the damage done to the skyline by Donald Trump, play well alongside this ultimately sentimental story about the virtues of friendship. ... Schmidtberger’s wryly wrought characters lend authenticity to this confection of a summer novel.”

Doesn’t it sound like just the sort of thing to get you through the dog days of summer (or the rainy days of summer if you’re on the East Coast) and boring patches of Top Chef?

So get thee to Paul’s website, and to Amazon or Barnes & Noble or your local book emporium and get thee a copy. And write to Paul and let him know how much you liked it, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll explain about Jean-Paul Gaultier.

And now, as an amuse-bouche from Amuse-Biatch, to whet your appetite, here is the first page of the novel:

PROLOGUE. In Which the Peace and Tranquility of Manhattan Are Disturbed by an Unusual Meteorological Phenomenon.

Helvetica Carlyle, née Fahrtstaller, had never gotten a cab that quickly in her entire life, and Helvetica Carlyle, it has to be said, was an extremely demanding woman.

Was being the operative word.

At thirty-two feet per second, it took only about 3.8 seconds for her body to plunge from the seventeenth floor of her Park Avenue co-op down onto - or more precisely, through - the roof of the taxi that had just pulled up to the awning outside the building. The cab driver, one of three Bangladeshi brothers who shared a single studio apartment, a single driver’s license, and a single counterfeit green card, panicked and clawed his way out of the car, leaving the passengers, a well-dressed elderly couple, sitting face-to-face with the corpse. They exchanged a long look before the wife finally sighed, leaned forward, bent back what remained of one of Helvetica’s ears and peered behind it.

“Oh, that lying little such and such,” she said. “She did have work done.”

Absence makes the heart......

2007-04-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

Oh Possums! Please forgive our silence!

Contrary to public opinion, we have not:
1.) fallen victim to the Matt Lorenz drinking game and entered rehab
2.) joined (formerly Teflon) Don Imus in a crusade to bring civility and non-meanness to the airwaves
3.) joined the rogue gypsy bunch known as the "Travelers" to escape the wrath of Alexis Arquette

This Miss is completely covered-up (as we say in the South!) planning a permanent relocation back to California and Charlus is in the middle of an extended business trip.

We will see you all (y'all!) next week. Oh, how I love to make Charlus cringe with my abuse of the written word! Well, that's what happens when the "hourly" are in charge!

Bravo Representative Looks Into the Future, Sees Pleather, Misogyny, and Fat Feet

2007-04-05T07:03:00.000-07:00

We feel old this morning, possums. And it's not just the hangover from hell after playing the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game last night.

Well, maybe it is, because we have begun wondering whether, pace Michael Kors, bitchery isn't a young man's game.

We pondered this as we read the Assistant's Blog on Bravotv.com and discovered, in the timeless tradition of Bette Davis in All About Eve, that there is always someone younger and bitchier. And he nests like an asp in Bravo's bosom. Get a load of this:

"Everyone has an Achilles heel when it comes to members of the opposite sex. Women like Andrea vex me." [We suspect he's seen 300.]

"Oh, dear Carisa. What can I say? Every reality show needs a villain and she graciously stepped up to the plate this season. She's a classic archetype that exists in every group of friends, everywhere for all time. Once a summer, she'll paint her toenails fire engine red and go salsa dancing with her girlfriends. Her plump feet screaming to break free from their pleather straps. Her face will get flushed with each successive mojito and the volume of her voice will escalate as the night rolls on.

If she wins "Top Design," she'll do all of the quintessential slight taste of fame missteps. A geeky guy from high school will come up to her at a bar. As soon as he turns around, she'll roll her eyes and say, "Ew. Gross." She’ll talk loudly on her cell phone in public and make sure everyone is painfully aware of how stressful an interior designer’s life can be. “We needed those door frames five days ago. I CAN’T WORK LIKE THIS!” Ugh, I can see it all too clearly. And her penchant for horizontal striped tops? Don't get me started. Can someone please talk to her about that?"

Ugh indeed. Or, as the kids say, Wow, just wow. (Or, as Miss XaXa put it, "Dayum, boy has issues.") Do you see what we mean, possums? Because we have no trouble calling Carisa a bitch, but we would never call her a fat bitch.

Oh, and maybe because of (in spite of?) his being half Puerto Rican, the Assistant's "mojito" and "salsa dancing" cracks about someone named Carisa Perez-Fuentes are just precious, adding a delicious soupcon of potentially self-hating racist condescension to the delicate blend of misogyny and disgust at the overweight. Neil LaBute would be proud. Freudians, start your engines!

Frankly, we can't imagine why he's no longer working as a lawyer.

Never Mind. THIS Is the Official Photo of the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game. Most Tags Still Apply.

2007-04-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

And if you're not passed out from playing the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game last night, you might have a wee hair of the dog that bit you after seeing just how "fashionably" thin Matt is, and after you learn from Kelly Wearstler's blog that:

"Poor Matt lost 17 pounds during the course of the competition; 17 pounds! Who knew stress diets were so effective?"

Miss XaXa concurred--"Bitch is gaysting away"--and sipped her Bloody Mary.

This Week's Official Photo of the Farrah Fawcett, Er, Matt Lorenz Drinking Game, Which Nearly Gave Us Alcohol Poisoning

2007-04-05T06:40:00.000-07:00

“Why Don’t You?” Wednesday

2007-04-04T13:25:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, it’s our penultimate Wednesday with the decorating wisdom of Diana Vreeland, and we certainly hope it has been valuable and useful for you.

And so, without further ado, Why don’t you…

* In a white room drape the enormous bay window with machine-embroidered broderie anglaise dyed bright green, and held here and there with black pailletted butterflies?

* Clutter, not pile, on a Chippendale butler’s tray table all the newest books, some flat, some on their ends, some like fans?

* Have your telephone-message pads, scratch pads, and menu cards all the same, such as white with red printing and initials or blue with navy blue?

* Put on the guest-bathroom shelf a set of medicine spoons and at least three glasses? One is never enough.

* Give a new note to your sitting-room by introducing a Victorian chair upholstered by Jansen in bright emerald green cotton, buttoned in white with little white chenille earrings on either side?

* Or place beside a low sofa Jansen’s little Victorian table of polished metal encrusted with a collection of precious shells?

First Reaction: “Bland Hotel,” Starring Goil “I Don’t Vant to Be Alone” Garbo

2007-04-02T11:21:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to believe, possums, but for possibly the first time in memory, it was minutes before we were able to take a drink pursuant to the rules of the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game.

We first had to sit through the usual blather about how they’re down to the final four, and Andrea’s statement that it was always a “huge goal of [hers] to make it into the final four.” It makes no sense; why the final four as opposed to the final three, or the final two, or, indeed, the winner? Color us a little incredulous.

At last, the designers are driven to Santa Monica, and the Viceroy Hotel, decorated by Kelly Wearstler. Matt nearly hyperventilates, telling us, “I pulled these images out of a magazine, and now I get to see all of it in person.” We snicker. It isn’t as if we were expecting the Kelly images that Matt pulled out of a magazine to be from Playboy. We take our first well-deserved drink.

Uncle Todd is waiting for the designers, along with guest judge Linda O’Keefe, director of design at Metropolitan Home Magazine. Dressed in black and having apparently dyed her hair with cherry Kool-Aid, she is working a sort of Vivienne Westwood does Run Lola Run personal aesthetic. “Don’t you mean Run-Down Lola?” asked Miss XaXa rhetorically.

“I would like to be just like her,” says Andrea. Well, possum, keep hitting the hair dye and you’ll soon have what you want.

The challenge is to design “a high-end suite focused on today’s travelers’ needs.” Unlike the subject of fine dining, Goil knows a thing or two about hotels, having been in a few of them.

But there’s a twist! The rooms will have to be based on one of the four elements.

Just as in the Bacardí challenge, when he spelled out what the five senses are, Uncle Todd can’t help but do the same for the four elements. We roll our eyes—it’s not as if we’re dealing with the four humors, or the seven wonders of the Ancient World here. Perhaps this is a sly commentary by Uncle Todd on the state of the American educational system?

Fate decrees that Carisa gets “hot air,” Matt gets “what’s in the water?”, Goil gets “where’s the fire?”, and Andrea gets “what on earth?” Andrea is suitably distressed, reassuring us (and herself?): “I’m not earthy, I’m not crunchy.”

When he draws fire, as it were, Goil confesses, “My initial thought was, ‘disco.’” But of course. We always think of The Trammps and disco infernos, too.

Of water, Matt says, “I think it was meant to be; I’m a Scorpio, it’s my sign.” We’re quick with the trigger finger on the bottle, but we got nothing. Water Boy is determined to keep us dry.

“Wait,” says Miss XaXa. “A straight guy who knows about astrology, and knows that he’s a water sign? Hmmmm.”

“Maybe he’s a Mormon.”

“Do Mormons believe in astrology?”

We find it as profound a question as, “Do androids dream of electric sheep?”

A quick bitch through Wikipedia gives us this:

“…water signs are characteristically intuitive, imaginative and deeply emotional (unlike the shallow emotional character of fire signs). Water signs are believed by astrological theory to often possess a much more penetrating insight into the true nature of other people than other zodiac signs: they are supposed to be remarkable in their ability to judge people. Water signs are seen by astrological theory as sensitive (often hypersensitive) people, and to possess a great desire to help others. Although they are not seen as intellectually weak, water signs are occasionally referred to as mute signs because they supposedly rely so much on non-verbal communication rather than logic. At their worst, water signs are supposed to be withdrawn, secretive, possessive, and pessimistic, often withdrawing into their own private world rather than facing difficulties. They are also often unforgiving if injured or even slighted.”

Hmmmm. Judging by the previews for next week, Carpenter Sarah is in for a doozy of a time.

The designers go back to the PDC to design and shop. Matt stares (quizzically? provocatively?) at a water bottle laid flat in his palms. “Is it enough for a drink?” asks Miss XaXa. We fear it’s not. But then he says “grasping our element,” and we take a quick sip.

Matt then tells us, “I think everyone does have their unique design style. Mine just happens to be better than the rest.” Mee-ouch! Certainly doesn’t sound like a “mute sign.”

After a design-and-carpenter-and-shopping montage, during which we are not allowed a single drink, we find ourselves back at the loft residences, where Matt and Carisa are discussing their designs for the hotel rooms. Alas, they’re not asking Goil for his opinion or input, and he turns to the camera and says, in his husky, Swedish-Thai accent, “I don’t vant to be alone.” Actually, he stamps his foot and complains that the others are not perceiving him as a threat.

Based on the extraordinarily-deceptive-even-for-Bravo preview—what with Goil’s cries, whirring saws, and blood on the 2x4’s—we were expecting Goil to demonstrate just how much of a threat he is: Saw meets The Shining—“Here’s Goily!” Alas, it was not to be.

Andrea flashes a metaphorical thong of bitchiness by saying, “I hope somebody tanks.” Finally!

It’s Day 2, and Carisa is already badmouthing Carpenter Carl: “Carl does not play well with others.” We begin to feel sorry that we’re not playing the Carisa is a Bitch Drinking Game. It does take that little something extra to be so condescending about a man 20 years your senior.

We get to wet our whistles soon enough, though, as Matt confesses, “I’m a total floor snob.”

“Gayest line ever,” exclaims Miss XaXa.

“Well, for this episode, at any rate,” we caution.

“Let’s make it a double, then,” says Miss XaXa, “just in case we don’t get anything else.”

Carisa tells Matt his room looks like a nursery, Matt calls her a bitch, and we take a drink. (Sure, straight men call women “bitches” all the time, but the inflection on this occasion was drink-worthy.)

When told of Carisa’s comment, Andrea concurs, “That’s a bitchy thing to say.” Which the editors immediately undercut by having Andrea bitch to us that, honestly, she’s surprised Carisa’s in the final four. We love it. In terms of bitchery, this is more than merely flashing a thong; it’s lifting her top and flashing us for Mardi Gras beads.

And then Andrea tops herself, worrying that her room looks like “a bad Smurf Neapolitan thing.” To which we say, That’s not nice, Andrea. You’re taking quips out of the mouths of hungry bloggers.

Carisa has warned us that this is not The Carl Show or Top Carl, but it threatens to turn into EdTV as Matt’s carpenter, Ed, cuts his finger on the circular saw, dribbles a little blood on the 2x4, and is taken to hospital.

Matt frets because Ed has cut his finger, telling us repeatedly how upset he is. Finally, he says that if he has to go home because his carpenter cut his finger, so be it. It sounds nice, but if you parse it out, it would actually blame the carpenter for his loss. According to the preview for next week’s episode, he seems to be making the same argument to Carpenter Sarah. Very interesting. It’s the water sign all over again.

But Ed is just fine, and comes back, leading to this touching dialogue, worthy of Shakespeare, or Cameron Crowe:

Ed: Matt, I’m back. You’re gonna still have me?
Matt: Would I want anyone else?

We swooned. We sighed. We drank.

We drank a good deal more once we saw Matt’s room. Lucite tables?! Is there anything gayer than that? Lucite is right up there with sequins, gold lamé, and mirrors as a gay material par excellence. And wouldn’t you know it? Matt incorporates mirrored side tables, too. It shows that Matt is thinking of the high-end clientele for the room, since the side tables are perfect for cutting lines of cocaine.

Carisa was right. The room does look a little like a nursery, but a nursery in space, since it reminds us of that room at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, where (spoiler alert!) David Bowman turns into a baby. (Incidentally, Keir Dullea, the actor who played David Bowman, is the subject of one of our favorite Noël Coward quips: “Keir Dullea, gone tomorrow.”)

Carisa is very confident about her own room, and being the great historico-political theorist we’ve come to love, she quotes President Bush as she says that she’ll be “shock and awed” if she gets sent home.

She doesn’t get sent home, but she does lose to Matt, in whose room the judges, according to Jonathan, will be having a slumber party (be sure to share the fairy dust on the mirrored table, boys and girls!) Poor Goil gets sent home by Jonathan Adler, is embraced by Todd Oldham, and then bursts into tears. If that isn’t the definition of Disco Inferno, we don’t know what is.

Carisa DeVille Too "Close" for Comfort?

2007-03-30T07:24:00.000-07:00

As always, trusty on-ship photographer Ensign Laz has obtained the photographic evidence of what previously we had only suspected. And using his telephoto lens he found the most shocking evidence of all: Carisa obtained the white part of her coiffure after scalping Carl the Carpenter!

This Week's Official Photos of the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game

2007-03-29T06:50:00.000-07:00

Is Carisa a Bitch Who Kills Puppies While in Diet Coke-Fueled Rages?

2007-03-29T06:17:00.000-07:00

We've heard a lot of things about Carisa Perez-Fuentes, but this was a first for us. And yet, that is what the Assistant implies on his blog -- well, except that it's more attempted murder than actual murder of puppies. See for yourselves:

Crazy moment #2 involved Carisa and a puppy. Our Production Coordinator [had] just bought a brand new "Puggle" puppy two weeks earlier. It's a mix between a pug and a beagle. [...]

Anyway, he was cute as hell and [...] lived in a cardboard box in the office with a blanket and a wee pad. He made the rounds, mostly suspended in thin air, and was loved by cast and crew alike.

Around 3:30 p.m. on elimination day, a horrible, puppy shriek filled the air. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I ran down the carpeted hallway of the PDC and saw Carisa, with her mouth wide open. She'd dropped the puppy the equivalent of ten dog stories and he was lying on the floor motionless. Luckily, he lived. Let's just say it wasn't the most endearing thing she'd ever done.

Truth be told, Carisa was already on thin ice with her handlers...and this didn't help. Right around episode 6, she'd started to display "diva like" behavior. Stories began to circulate about gruff demands for Diet Cokes (I NEED one like ASAP, ok!?) and other similar offenses....

Gruff demands for Diet Cokes? Well, perhaps she thought her demands for a Diet Coke wouldn't be taken seriously unless a puppy's life hung in the balance. But truthfully, we have a hard time getting worked up about this. And it's not just because we're cat people rather than dog people. It's more a function of our practical nature. Really, how are you supposed to make a coat out of puppies if you don't kill them first? Think about it. A coat of living puppies w0uld truly be a Cruella DeVille maneuver.

Hair Soft as an Easy Chair: "Angels in America" Meets the 1976 "A Star is Born"

2007-03-28T20:58:00.000-07:00

“Why Don’t You?” Wednesday

2007-03-28T13:53:00.000-07:00

It's Wednesday.

It's Diana Vreeland's day.

What more can we say, possums?

And so, without further ado, Why don’t you…

* Trim the beige quilted satin petticoat of a dressing-table with two wide flounces of black lace, mounted with big flat jet beads?

* Line the shelves of your closets with old-fashioned sweet-smelling grass matting, as Herman Patrick Tappé has done in the closets of his shop?

* If you are tired of your pine farmhouse furniture, paint it white picked out with gold, and with red satin ribbons tie little cushions of leopard plush on the chair seats?

* If a guest arrives at your house after a long motor trip, have the bed turned down and lay out a white shantung dressing-gown tailored like a man’s and monogrammed with your own particular monogram on the sleeve, so that she may rest while she is being unpacked?

* Remember to put an eye-shade on your guest’s bedside table, as the chances are the sun will wake her up?

* Have your cigarettes stamped with a personal insignia, as a well-known explorer did with his penguin?

* When you are buying black in any material, see that it is very black?

Breaking News: Husband of "Deeply Cynical Truth-Avoider" Jonathan Adler "Grab[s a] Ball-cock"

2007-03-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

Oh come on, possums, cut us a little slack. We've been gone for a bit, and our other headline was going to be "Jon's Problems with the John," so we think that what we ended up with is really quite restrained by comparison.

And no, this is not another tale of marital dissolution in the ranks of Bravo reality-show judges.

Instead, from today's edition of The New York Observer comes news of what head judge Jonathan Adler has been up to, and it doesn't sound quite crappy. Apparently, Jonathan and his merry Mary mari, Mr. Simon Doonan, had a recent stay at the Canyon Ranch spa in Lenox, Massachusetts, a city once inhabited by Edith Wharton (we'd pay good money to read Simon's version of The House of Mirth). From Simon's column:

When the john in our suite started spontaneously gurgling and overflowing, I surprised my husband with my knowledge of plumbing. I sloshed through two inches of water, removed the back of the toilet, grabbed the ball-cock and saved the day.

Recalcitrant toilets aside, my Jonny and I had a lovely weekend at the legendary spa. Canyon Ranch remains a great winter getaway, not just for New Age truth- and wellness-seekers, but also for deeply cynical truth-avoiders like myself and my Jonny.

We wonder what truth Jonny is so desperate to avoid.

First Reaction: The Cook, the Editor-in-Chief, the Hollywood Regency Wife, and Their Potter

2007-03-27T17:45:00.000-07:00

Self-indulgent, self-important apologies, possums, for our silence during the past week, and thank you to those of you who wrote in to inquire whether our bodies were to be found at the L.A. morgue with the heel of Alexis Arquette’s Nine West peau de soie pump lodged in our skulls.

Alas, it wasn’t anything that John Waters, merely the wren-brown call of duty and work obligations.

So we’re late to the party this week, and will consequently have to make this quick and dirty and a little disjointed, but bear with us. (Also, our apologies to Peter Greenaway, but with Eric3000 claiming the best recap title of the week, we had to stretch.)

We took our first drink, completely unrelated to the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game, when we realized that this episode meant one week less of having to hear that blasted opening theme. The episode began with a voice-over from Matt himself, saying, “Jan Brady” (in mocking reference to Goil’s meltdown on the last episode), and the drinking game was on. “Jesus,” said Miss XaXa. “I think Liberace sounded more butch.”

Goil tells us that he’s “just desperately hanging on to the competition,” which we take to mean that he’s desperately hanging on to his sanity, and it shows, as he has another meltdown later in the episode.

Matt proclaims himself Marcia, and Michael says he himself is more like Cousin Oliver. We were about to drink during Matt’s speech, but Miss XaXa wouldn’t let us. “Please,” said Miss XaXa. “No self-respecting gay man would be caught dead in those socks.” We reluctantly put the bottle down.

Given the state of epistolary culture in our society (where, as Eric3000 intimates, Tyra Banks is our Madame de Sévigné, the U.S. Postal Service is in financial straits, and TyraMail is as close as most people get to an actual letter), it is no surprise that the designers are terrified when a “letter from Todd” appears on the kitchen table.

(And while we’re ranting about the state of our society, we’ve been wondering of late whether we ought to bemoan the fact that we live in a country that cancelled Arrested Development or celebrate that we live in a country that produced Arrested Development in the first place. Given that we’re “glass half empty” people, the answer should come as no surprise. Then Miss XaXa reminds us that, given our drinking habits and the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game, we’re really more “glass fully empty” people.)

Indeed, the designers’ terror is palpable, and is emphasized by the camera work—ominous, Hitchcock-worthy close-ups where the letter threatens to take up the whole screen. Perhaps 1950s horror films would be a better comparison, with the letter growing in menace as if it were the Blob. You’d think it was an audit notice from the IRS, or that Todd is sending the designers anthrax. We were shocked when Goil managed to pick up the letter from the table. “You mean it’s actually normal-sized?” asked Miss XaXa.

The letter, allegedly from Todd, displays excellent penmanship, as well as perfect grammar and punctuation (commas inside quotation marks and everything!). The text contains some cliché about how people in Hollywood say, “Let’s do lunch,” and tells the designers that a car will be by to pick them up for lunch. Goil is as baffled as if he had to interpret the Book of Revelations—“What does it mean?” However, Michael comes through with a feat of near-Talmudic scholarship—“It means that there’s a car coming, and that we’re going to lunch,” or words to that effect.

And lunch it is. (Though with some of the glassy-eyed, vaguely beatific stares, you might think it was luncheon on the grass, but since Padma Lakshmi is not around, this is simply scurrilous and unfounded speculation.) Andrea puts on tight capris and geisha sandals, and they meet Todd for lunch at Norman’s on Sunset Boulevard, which Todd shillingly and laughably dubs “one of L.A.’s premier eateries.”

(Jonathan Gold, of LA Weekly and Gourmet praised the restaurant’s “Floribbean” cooking—e.g., French toast piled with seared foie gras—but, unsurprisingly, the restaurant is now closed. Really, who wants, or expects, luxury food from a place called Norman’s? It sounds too much like a diner. But we digress.)

Goil treats us to a little syllogism: from his understanding, Sunset Boulevard is fabulous, and Norman’s is on Sunset Boulevard, so Norman’s is fabulous. Goil, possum, we think that, in terms of fabulousness, you may be confusing Norman’s on Sunset Boulevard with Norma (Desmond) of Sunset Boulevard.

(Jonathan Adler offered the winner of the week’s challenge a $2,500 gift certificate to the Jonathan Adler stores (poor Ryan is probably kicking himself; here was his chance to win some vases), but we hereby offer Goil a gift certificate good for two months in the Pink Navy Gay Finishing School, which is located—where else?—in Mary-land, just like Annapolis. By God and Glinda, Goil, possum, when we’re done with you, you’ll know what a cabana is, and you won’t just be able to quote from My Fair Lady, you’ll be Eliza Doolittle. On her blog, Margaret Russell wrote that someone ought to take you out to restaurants, and by George, we’ll do just that.)

Todd, wearing a blue-striped sweater, informs the designers of their new challenge—to design a chef’s dining room for an unnamed, internationally renowned chef. The challenge is up Andrea’s alley, since she teaches restaurant design at Otis College of Art and Design, and Michael tries to narrow down the field of potential chefs: “Julia Child is dead; we know it’s not her.”

Goil again declares himself “a bowl-of-noodle kind of guy,” and gives us yet another opportunity to promote the Pink Navy Gay Finishing School. Speaking of which, watching Matt at the chef’s table while they lunch makes us consider nicknaming him Toothy Tile (for those of you who ever read Ted Casablanca’s gossip column), but it was his eyebrows that made us drink and ponder, “Good God, is Jonathan Adler’s eyebrow twitch contagious? And is Kelly immune because of the Botox?”

The designers are informed that the mystery chef likes the Arts & Crafts aesthetic (which should have been a big hint, as the chef turned out to be Tom Colicchio of Craft, Crafsteak, and ‘wichcraft), but it is Carisa who really puts things in perspective, telling us that Arts & Crafts was “this whole, you know, thing that happened in the 20th Century.” We start applying this formulation, and are delighted with the results: World War II / Watergate / Vanilla Ice’s career was this whole, you know, thing that happened in the 20th Century.

The designers are given $40,000 to shop in the PDC, and are allowed to use Yahoo.com for their “tableware needs.” But of course! That’s what we use Yahoo.com for. No wonder those crap Top Design features have been appearing on the Yahoo! front page.

A montage of shopping, the best part of which is Matt asking a shop assistant, “Are those tops reversible?” Miss XaXa squealed in delight. “Make it a double, baby,” she said to us, as we filled her glass. And Matt, possum, if you’d attended the Pink Navy Gay Finishing School, you’d know that the correct term is not “reversible” but “versatile.”

Miss XaXa was cutting limes for the tequila when she heard Matt talking about installing a leather floor, and how it would look “really hawt.” Caught unawares by the subject and the Paris Hilton inflections, she had no choice but to drink straight from the bottle.

The designers did a little unintentional shooting of their own feet, with Michael describing his own project as “simplistic,” and Carisa describing herself as “plastic, colorful, and artificial.”

Todd, meanwhile, channels Judy Garland while worrying about the “clang, clang, clang of these pots.” Unfortunately, we can’t get the song out of our head: “‘Clang, clang, clang,’ went the trolley….”

Then Matt tells us that he’s “trying to think outside the box.” Miss XaXa laughed so hard while trying to drink that she dropped her glass, and we couldn’t look her in the eye as she muttered, “Isn’t he better off adopting the Taco Bell slogan?” She had to get another glass when, later on, she heard Matt say, “Well, you wanted to lay tile,” “I was going to take all of this off and cover it with plastic,” and “drapery treatment.” We hate to expose her like this, but she passed out from the final bout of drinking when Matt kept talking about how his room was inspired by a “dark, wooded area.” Her last words were, “Where are the ‘rest stop’ signs, the state troopers, and Jim McGreevey?”

She thus missed Matt talking about his wife and daughter, during which we refrained from drinking. And she missed guest judge Tom Colicchio and his bare ankles, and his admission that he loved leather, and his praise of how Matt “worked the leather in.” All of which is just as well, as it might have led to alcohol poisoning.

She also missed Jonathan Adler’s weekly groaner (“This week’s challenge was delicious”) and the call and response between Jonathan’s eyebrows and Goil’s (it’s contagious, we tell you). She missed Kelly turned out as a Gibson Girl cum Restoration fop. And she missed Margaret’s laugh line about Carisa: “I love banquettes, but hers is a little bit big.” It made the judges laugh uproariously, and we think we know why. There’s nothing inherently funny about the line, so why the laugh? Well, because it sounds like Margaret is talking about Carisa and her derrièrre. Now let’s be clear. Of course, Margaret wasn’t actually talking about Carisa or calling her fat or J.Lo-butted. It just sounded that way.

Miss XaXa also missed Andrea winning the challenge, and Michael being sent home, but by passing out, she missed the most important story of all. Granted, given Bravo’s shenanigans during Top Chef and Clippergate, we may be a little prone to donning the tinfoil hat, but we think we’re on to something. We’ve read that Michael has a twin brother, and we suspect that, as with Folger’s Crystals, he was substituted for Michael somewhere in the middle of this episode.

The proof? In the second half of the episode, “Michael” looked more put together than usual, in a flattering shirt and tie. When Carisa complained to him about her carpenter, she was wearing leggings or stretch pants, and not a single nasty comment passed his lips. He simply didn’t take the bait. That’s not Michael. During the judging, he refused to answer the judges’ question as to which contestant’s dining room he wouldn’t eat in. He simply refused to be catty. Again, that’s not Michael. And after he was “latered,” during his final interview, he was conciliatory and mature, and talked about what he had learned, and about “living happily ever after” in a “bubble of splendor.” WTF? This is either splendor on the grass or it’s not Michael. We’re convinced it was the Good Twin. J’accuse! (Or should that be, “Nous accusons!” ?) Well, either way, you get the point. We demand answers. What say the Minions?

“Why Don’t You?” Wednesday

2007-03-21T11:07:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, Spring has sprung, and on Wednesday to boot, and in our own Rite of Spring, we turn, as ever, to earthy goddess Diana Vreeland for suggestions on better living through sheer fabulousness. In honor of Spring, today’s edition is dedicated to all things floral.

And so, without further ado, Why don’t you…

* use up a long ugly table by cutting the legs off short? Pickle it, put it against the windows and litter it with ten or twelve square glass vases of every size, filled with every kind of fresh garden flower.

* if you have a shining parquet floor, have potted cinerarias of every color of blue, banked around the sofa at one end of the room?

* pin edelweiss on your little white boater, as Suzy does?

* whitewash a pair of old linen-closet steps and use on a porch for finger bowls and jars full of flowers or as a child’s bedside table for a lamp, books, and pencils?

* wear a gold flower stuck with an infinitesimal watch?

* put gloxinia in beautiful white porcelain jardinières as Sirie Maugham does in her King’s Road house? They come in exquisite Aubusson colors and are superbly decorative.

* wear yellow diamond flowers in your ears, a flower clipped to the hole of one ear, another flower clipped to the top of the other?

* remember the beauty and smell of white stocks in the garden and in the house?

* consider for your beauty, the creams made by Brother Carolus of Salzburg, who is an apostle of the Apollonian Creed, which advocates bodily beauty as the first duty to God? The creams are made of Alpine herbs and flowers.

* look up the deep mauvish-pink rose which came out in Paris at the time of the devaluation, optimistically called “Better Times”?

* get from Floris their wonderful rose mouthwash?

Sisterhood of the Traveling Totes

2007-03-20T11:46:00.000-07:00

Coming Attractions

2007-03-20T11:37:00.000-07:00

Fresh Off His Triumph in “300,” Goil Amornvivat to Star in Rome-Com, “Hang On There, Spartacus!”

2007-03-19T11:06:00.000-07:00

First Reaction: When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Bacardí Limón

2007-03-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

Possums, in honor of this week’s sponsor, the official drink of the Matt Lorenz Drinking Game is not tequila but, rather, Bacardí Limón, which seems rather fitting, since the company’s logo features—wouldn’t you know it?—fruit bats.

We begin with Carisa doing a little obligatory exposition, reminding us that we are halfway through the season. Wait, half is like “middle,” right? Does that make it middling? The midway point of these reality competition series is very important, of course, because it is then that the sleep deprivation, overwork, isolation from the world, confinement with the other contestants, and (as we see this week) access to alcohol combine to create their own form of magic—the catfights, the breakdowns, the Brady Bunch allusions.

In the usual example of Bravo Hubris™ that becomes Bravo Foreshadowing™, Erik tells us, “I’m in the final six, and I’m ecstatic about that. I’m pushing through and seeing how far I can go. My goal is to be here till the end.” Our favorite part of this is not the inevitable result of such pronouncements (similar to the way characters in Lifetime movies always seem to invite leukemia or a drunk driver at the wheel of a city bus whenever they announce how happy they are to have found the long-lost daughter they gave up for adoption after their daddy made them give up the baby when they were teenagers and their unfeeling husbands pooh-pooh’d the importance of the search). No, our favorite part is that Erik tells us he’s “ecstatic” in the most matter-of-fact, sensible, nice-Chicago-boy tones you can imagine. Paging the Pointer Sisters! We can’t wait to see “hysterical.”

Comme d’habitude, the designers are gathered in the “Plaza” of the Pacific Design Center, which, being big and blue, is commonly known as the Blue Whale. Todd announces their next challenge, a party for Bacardí Limón. Excuse us; we seem to be mispronouncing it. Apparently, it’s “BaCARdee LeeMAWN.” And then Todd’s always-freaky voice-over: “Hosted by Elle Décor.” (We’ll get to how odd this really is, but later.)

But the Archangel Todd bears glad tidings indeed, telling the designers, in reference to the place where they are standing, “This is the exact same place where Elton John hosts his annual Oscar bash. So you’re starting out on sacred ground.”

In an episode that had its share of good lines, this may be our favorite. Like the designers, we had no idea that Todd was the Sister Wendy of the PDC, or that we were on such sacred ground. Istanbul that was Constantinople has the Blue Mosque that was the Hagia Sophia; West Hollywood has the Blue Whale that is the Fagia Sophia. And that fountain we’re always seeing shots of, it must be like the spring at the Shrine of Lourdes (Ciccone-Leon); unfabulous pilgrims come from far and wide to be healed by its waters, or to pray at the Blue Whaling Wall. The lame leave lamer, with a penchant for bad hairpieces, magenta suits, near-bankruptcy, royal funerals, and catfights with George Michael. Oh, and does that make the rival Vanity Fair Oscar party at Morton’s, a hop and a skip away, the equivalent of the Church of England?

The BaCARdee LeeMAWN party will be a team challenge. Matt tells us, with slightly odd, Yodian syntax, “These team challenges I’m so completely over, because you have to deal with a bunch of crazies on your team.” We take a drink. (The Matt Lorenz Drinking game has grown so sophisticated, and we have grown so bibulous, and Matt has grown so gay-acting, that we take a drink whenever he speaks or laughs.) And then we see him standing next to Erik, both in matching yellow-green tote bags. Totes fab, totes faggy. This deserves two swigs.

The teams are Carisa, Michael and Matt on Team Dis’ and Andrea, Goil and Erik on Team Function. Put ‘em together at a BaCARdee LeeMAWN function, and you get Dysfunction Function, that’s your junction.

Continuing the slight Star Wars feel and demonstrating his very steady grasp of 1970s American cultural tropes, Goil tells us, “Since I got here, the one person I wanted to work with is anDREA. She’s like a better model of me. Like I would be R2-D2 and she would be R2-D345. She’s many, many models ahead of me.”

Todd tells us that BaCARdee “describes themselves as being sensorial.” So that’s where that came from. And like a good teacher, he defines the word indirectly, telling them their design will have to involve the five senses, which he then has to go and list, because we might not know what the five senses are.

Long montages of the designers preparing their designs—Goil referencing Dorothy Draper, Michael shuddering at the thought of “a Disney World of lemons,” Andrea telling us she wants their party tent to resemble a “supermodel party in Iceland.” It’s also not the only time Andrea references parties in Iceland during the episode. Does Reykjavik have a reputation as a party city or a supermodel breeding ground that we don’t know about? Has Andrea watched Die Another Day one too many times?

More montages to demonstrate that three may be a perfect number, but it’s also the most unstable number, always turning into two primes, two against one. In this case, it’s Matt and Michael against Carisa, who, paradoxically, is butcher than both of them put together. And we have Andrea and Erik against Goil. It’s a bitchfest.

Before sending them out to do their tasks, Todd tells the designers, “To help you out with communication, we’ve hooked you up with some phones.” Hey, Todd, as Margaret Russell herself says in her blog, how about hooking them up with some therapists? Maybe that would help them with communication.

Erik and Carisa go fabric-shopping. Matt and Goil go to Wolfgang Puck Catering to pick out hors d’oeuvres. And Michael and Andrea go to a party rental store. Of course, they go in style, in a new! 2007! GMC Acadia! And again, the camera snakes lingeringly over the logo on the car’s curves.

At the fabric store, Carisa peruses—what else?—fabrics, at one point asking, “Are these flame resistant?” We stopped breathing for a second, and Miss XaXa said, “Meow! Is she talking about Matt and Michael?” But then Erik helpfully explained that in California, the law requires flame resistant fabrics at outdoor events.

At Wolfgang Puck, Goil is introduced to the wonders of caviar and truffles, and is endearingly overwhelmed: “I am used to a small hole in the wall in Chinatown. And so this food is all very foreign to me?” Realizing that she’s got a couple of live ones, the Wolfgang Puck lady preens to them about how truffles are thousands of dollars a pound. To which we wanted to say, as Edina Monsoon once did, “You only work in a shop, you know. You can drop the attitude.” Then Goil asks, “Can I take some to-go bag?” And we said, “Good for you, Goil.” Gauche? Perhaps. Understandable? You bet.

Andrea lets it slip that the party is where the staff of Elle Décor is going to be hanging out. Ah. That explains a lot. It may make sense (to someone) for Elle Décor to host a party for a lemon-flavored rum, but a party in the middle of the afternoon? Not hardly likely, as someone we know used to say. So it’s two tents for staffers and hangers-on to hang out (and on) for a bit in the afternoon (who’d say no to free booze and free Wolfgang Puck catering?) while the show is filmed.

Actually, Erik seems to put his finger on the matter when he compares it to “kind of like a Polish wedding in the backyard of Mom’s house.”

After repeatedly talking over Carisa and putting down her opinions, Michael, abetted by a giggling Matt, tells Carisa, “We all should be able to express our opinions without being talked over and put down, and that’s something you’re having trouble with. So please just step back and breathe.”

Wow, just wow.

We hadn’t thought about it before, but Michael is entirely wasted in the design world. His true calling is politics. He’s like a younger, thinner Karl Rove. Need someone to insinuate that John McCain fathered a black baby, or that triple-amputee Vietnam War veteran Senator Max Cleland is a coward and a supporter of terrorism? Michael’s your man. Forget Todd Oldham; we want Michael negotiating with Iran on the enrichment of uranium. After all, if anyone knows about going nuclear, it’s Michael. We hereby withdraw our endorsement of Todd Oldham and propose Michael Adams as Special Ambassador to Iran.

Todd does his supportive walkabout, discussing his “casket concerns” with Carisa and Matt. (Don’t worry, Todd; we’ve got issues with mortality, too.) More footage of Andrea and Erik ignoring or being condescending to Goil. Erik does get off a rather nice line (and as with a lot of what Erik says, it’s all in the delivery and the accent): “Yeah, hang on there, Spartacus. Everybody remain calm.” It becomes even funnier when we see Goil in the White Room sporting a sort of vest that looks very much like a Roman leather cuirass.

(“Shouldn’t we take a drink?” asked Miss XaXa.

“It’s cuirass, not queer ass, and Matt didn’t say it, so no, we can’t drink.” Miss XaXa looked suitably disappointed.)

It turns out Matt had the idea of hiring go-go dancers for their party. We took a drink, which was difficult because we were snickering. Alas, it turned out to be female go-go dancers, and Michael was in charge of hiring one.

Getting on the phone with the danseuse, Michael chases away the carpenters, so the professional shimmy-er wouldn’t be frightened by thoughts of banging and hammering. Tactful as ever, Michael immediately casts aspersions on her ladyship, telling her that he wants her classy, well, “as classy as a go-go dancer could be.”

Matt sends Carisa to make sure Michael isn’t “putting [the go-go dancers] in gold, gaudy stuff.” Carisa—aka the woman with whom we’d most like to play poker—can’t keep her reactions out of her face. Michael summarily dismisses her, pointing a terrible, damning finger at her. He then makes a scene, accusing Carisa of making a scene while he was “on a professional phone call.” And he pursues her with more of the same, again stressing that it was “a professional phone call.” For the sake of argument (the Michael Adams motto?), let us assume that phoning a go-go dancer counts as a professional call, but just how professional is it to tell said go-go dancer that she isn’t classy? But hey, that’s why we’re blogging and not plotting to have U.S. Attorneys fired.

It’s the next day and time to set up the party tents on the homo-hallowed ground of the PDC Plaza. Andrea and Michael go shopping for flowers, and Andrea buys “furry” flowers. More footage of Goil being ignored and seething as he risks life and limb, including the crushing symbolism of being nearly crushed by one of Erik’s wooden wall components. (Apropos of nothing, Goil has great calves.) Goil is especially peeved at being ignored and overlooked because he is some kind of “halfling—half human, half carpenter.”

It’s time for the judging, and we meet guest judge Ben Bourgeois. Been bourgeois, done that, so we won’t snicker, but Ben’s claim to fame is organizing said homo-hallowed Elton John Oscar party, which, we suppose, makes him the equivalent of Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, and whoever built the cathedral at Chartres.

Jonathan—trying, as always, not to be self-consciously cute—greets the designers thus: “Hey, party people.” The judges will go down to the tents and join the party to appraise the designers’ work, but, in perhaps the saddest words Jonathan has ever uttered, the designers “will have to party from afar.” Then, again trying not to be self-consciously cute, Jonathan says, “It’s time to partay!”

At the after-party in the White Room, everyone has had time to spiff up, including Erik, whose shirt cuffs are undone and at a rakish angle. The judges first address the Matt-Michael-Carisa tent. Kelly, who—surprise, surprise—is a daughter of South Carolina, tells them that her favorite “assessory” was Doc Holiday, the objectified black “doorman” at the entrance to their tent. Ah yes, doesn’t everyone think of black men as accessories?

Matt reveals that they were originally going to hire go-go dancers, but opted for the bouncer because the team felt the go-go dancers “might come in distaste.” We definitely took a drink.

Michael takes credit for the variation of sitting arrangements, which struck us as rather funny, since, during the design process, he had—using his self-proclaimed expertise as a resident of New York, attendee of such parties, and expert on the BaCARdee LeeMAWN aesthetic—shot down Carisa’s idea of sitting arrangements because “people at these things don’t like to sit.”

Michael then admits as how “sometimes being a little nicer is better.” Carisa can’t help interjecting, “And you’re the spokesperson of nice?” Why, yes, Carisa, and that’s why we want him as Special Ambassador to Iran.

Kelly asks if the team had high-fived as a whole, and Michael and Matt perform a high-five that is utterly horrifying to behold, something out of “Men on Film” from In Living Color.

Then the other team airs out its laundry. Andrea gets taken to task for her flowers, Erik takes credit for the overall vision, and Goil complains about Andrea and Erik excluding him and becoming “a kind of club that I cannot join.” This leads to a debate on Confucianism versus Western individualism between Goil and Jonathan. Or maybe it is Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 they are debating, where if you are a team player you lose for not being an individual, and if you are an individual you lose for not being a team player.

While the judges deliberate, the Stew Room is indeed stewing. Goil bursts into tears, saying that he felt like Jan Brady. Andrea apologizes for being a leader. And Michael, of all people, puts his arm around Goil. In the White Room, Jonathan calls Erik “an old-fashioned decorator,” which, coming from him, is a left-handed compliment indeed. Margaret “Quip-O-Matic” Russell (there’s a reason she went to Brown) drops her bon mot of the week: “Flowers shouldn’t be furry.”

Team Carisa-Michael-Matt is declared the winner, and Matt the individual winner, so he will have an extra hour to complete the next challenge. Bravo Foreshadowing™ bears fruit as Erik, having taken the credit for the failing design, is sent home. Goil begins to cry, and Margaret surreptitiously gets a little verklempft.

In the design room, Todd continues with the left-handed compliments, praising Erik’s “old-school skills,” and confirms what scientists have known for a while: “the designer gene is in your DNA.”

Well, that definitely explains a lot.

Exclusive! Andrea Keller Reveals Diet Secrets, Blows Lid Off Underground Reality-Show Barter Economy!

2007-03-16T17:07:00.000-07:00

No wonder the bitch is so thin.

As she reveals to Fishbowl LA, during the show Andrea Keller was “living on G-star energy drinks and M&Ms.”

But that’s not all. Due to being sequestered, unable to shop or stray, the contestants turned to each other for the things that mattered the most:

“Each of us had brought things so we shared a lot, trading mint julep face mask for eye cream, giving little haircuts.”

Our money’s on Matt as the original owner of the mint julep face mask.

Jonathan Adler, Lavender Lover?

2007-03-16T16:51:00.000-07:00

The commenters on Pink Navy have bandied about one or two theories about Jonathan Adler's hair, but the people who write in to Gawker are clearly of a different order, as witnessed by this tip a reader sent in:

"i run a nursing home in denver so i rarely come across anything tipworthy. however, one thing i know is elder hair and i believe jonathan adler had a lavender wash in his hair last night on top design. eighty is the new forty?"

What say ye, Pink Navy sailors? We say, Only his hairdresser knows.

Paging Edward Said: Who Maid Goil Cry?

2007-03-15T19:14:00.000-07:00

Far be it from us, possums, to set the cat among the pigeons (a euphemistic way of saying "stir up sh*t"), but something is making us a teensy bit queasy, and it ain't the smell of cut lemons.

So picture this (it's actually quite easy to picture, since it's part of the bonus footage on Bravotv.com). It's the night of the first day of this week's challenge on Top Design. The designers are back in their "loft," drinking Bacardí Limón, and then playing party games, with Matt asking "if" questions.

After Matt and Michael more or less call Carisa a slut (but we'll get to that later), Matt asks Carisa, “If you were to be granted one wish, what would it be?”

After Carisa answers, Michael interjects. “See, you know what my one wish would be? For Goil to get U.S. citizenship.”

There is uproarious laughter from the cast members.

The camera pans to where Goil is cleaning the kitchen table and looking flushed. Is he laughing? It’s hard to tell, but he looks uncomfortable to us. Erik throws his arms around him and says, “As long as he keeps cleaning, we won’t send him back.”

Goil says something that we couldn’t understand over the laughter, but which sounded defiant, albeit jokey, and goes upstairs.

Matt asks Erik, “If you could change one thing in the world right now, what would it, what would you alter?”

“What would I alter?” repeats Erik.

Goil’s voice is heard from upstairs: “Michael’s face.”

Michael: “Goil’s mad at me. I was trying to help him.”

Unidentified Male Voice (Erik?): “You really hurt his feelings.”

Michael: "I wish for U.S. citizenship."

Erik: "Go up there and give him a kiss and you make up."

Michael: "He tried to do that with me last night, I don’t want to do it again."

Charming, n'est-ce pas?

Now take a look at this passage from this week's edition of The Assistant's blog on Bravotv.com:

Speaking of sad, ready for the tearjerker line of the season? Goil talking about Andrea and Erik. “It was a club that I cannot join.” Awww, present and past tense mixed with a foreign accent and tears!?? Are you kidding me? Is there anything more endearing? Goil has this weird pseudo-Elvin-android-Tamagotchi quality about him. I LOVED his other gem about Andrea? “I’m like R2D2 and she’s like R2D345.” That’s pure gold.

Honestly, if he walked onto the Planet Endor, I think the Ewoks would lose their minds. Put another way: If giants owned humans as pets, Goils would be a very popular breed. “Smart and playful–but don’t feed them after midnight. Otherwise, they sob uncontrollably.”

Naturally, we're not accusing anyone of racism. After all, those Asians, they're so cute and small and endearing. They're pets. They have accents. They're all, like, emotional, like that chick in Madame Butterfly who kills herself (that is, when they're not inscrutable math machines). Or when they're maids.

Remaining Designers Mourn Felicia Bushman in Their Own Way

2007-03-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

Possums, we nearly wept ourselves at this. (Do notice that "p," as it were.)

On Bravotv.com, there is a gold mine of bonus footage, including two minutes of Matt and Carisa painting and giggling and squealing. Actually, Carisa was preparing to paint. Matt was painting and giggling and squealing.

In the midst of this, Matt felt the pang of loss that one feels when thinking of departed comrades. He decided to pay "latered" contestant Felicia Bushman an encomium:

"I miss Felicia walking around in her high heels and skirts." Which is exactly what a straight man would say.

Carisa was similarly wistful: "Jesus Christ! Fucking Prada. Who paints in Prada?" Which is exactly what a straight man would say.

"And then the aliens!" continued Carisa. "That whole thing threw me off, with the Scientology. That shit freaked me out. I knew they had aliens, dude, I knew they had aliens. Crazy. "

Requiescat in Prada, Felicia, possum. May we all be so fondly remembered.

Pink Navy Word of the Day: Sensorial

2007-03-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

Possums, far be it from us to look askance at people using two-dollar words, but we have to admit that we shook our heads in confusion and fear during last night's episode as Gay Uncle Todd pronounced the word "sensorial."

First of all, in light of what happened to Jonathan Adler last week as he tried to pronounce "socio-political," we were worried that Todd, too, might suffer a mini-stroke. Gay Uncle Todd did just fine, though.

And then we thought, "Sensorial?" WTF?

At the risk of being hoist with our own petard, this seems a case of using an uncommon word for its own sake. (It's, of course, entirely possible that "sensorial" is a term of art in the design field, but we doubt it. There has to be footage of Goil admitting he doesn't know what the word means, or of Todd preempting this by telling the contestants what it means. We'd stake our nonexistent souls on it.)

"Sensorial," Merriam-Webster will have you know, is a variant of "sensory," and means "of or relating to sensation or to the senses." So, you know, why not just use "sensory"? Is this a Gunning for Timhood by Todd?

The problem is that "sensorial" and even "sensory" seem like such vague, almost non-sensical terms to use as directions for a party, along the lines of "digestive" or "adjectival." Yes, they're adjectives, but they don't really tell you much.

Perhaps the people who, in playing with their Roget's, came up with "sensorial" meant "sensuous," which Merriam-Webster defines thus:

1 a: of or relating to the senses or sensible objects b: producing or characterized by gratification of the senses : having strong sensory appeal
2: characterized by sense impressions or imagery aimed at the senses
3: highly susceptible to influence through the senses

In addition, Merriam-Webster includes a note stating that "sensuous implies gratification of the senses for the sake of aesthetic pleasure." Doesn't that seem more the idea?

Perhaps they were worried that people nowadays have a difficult time distinguishing "sensuous" and "sensual." Bravo, afraid of the sensual? Say it ain't so.

But what do we know? For a moment, when we first heard "sensorial," we thought of "censorious," which the Encarta dictionary defines as "highly critical: inclined or eager to criticize people or things."

Hmmm. Wonder why we thought of that?

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