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Review: House Ep. 8×13, Caveman Of The House

DAHLINGS –

Much like the doctors vying for the title of team leader, the writers of “House” are striving to see who can write the worst script before the series’ end. Sarah Hess and Liz Friedman have a strong lead with “Man Of The House.”

This script is a strange mix indeed: a cauldron of outdated sexual politics, sitcom, and…what was the third thing? Oh, yes, the patient of the week, a marriage counseling motivational speaker named…um…er…Biff. Sorry, but it’s easier to call them all Biff.

A professional speaker who urges men to be more like women and get in touch with their feelings, Biff collapses and falls off the stage.

House announces that because of evolution, it is impossible to change the way men act. (Does devolution explain the change of his character from tortured genius to bullying baboon?)

It seems that Biff had a life-altering experience three years prior, when he was beaten up in a fight in a sports bar. Since then he became a changed man, from hard-driving corporate shark to someone with very strange hair and moist, sensitive eyes. Biff claims his wife has changed “my life and my diet.” He’s gone red meat and gluten-free, which means he can now only eat cardboard. She beams.

For no other reason than for wacky shenanigans and false conflict, House starts a contest among his team for highly undesirable position of team leader. Why anyone would want a job that humiliated Foreman for years is beyond me, but it’s going be hilarious!

Whenever the camera pans around the diagnostics room, I’m distracted by the redecoration, including the mysteriously vanished garage door into Wilson’s office. Who directed this episode, Greg Yaitanes?

But wait! There’s more! Flying in from Sitcom Land it’s the long-lost Dominika, House’s green-card bride. She’s adorable. Her accent is adorable. Her long brown hair is adorable. She needs to keep her adorable self in the country, which means to pretend having lived in marital bliss with House for the past six months. So they need to learn every fact possible to each other, coached first by Park, then by Wilson. He has seniority because he has been married three times.

(Side note: in an interview prior to Season 8, when asked if they were going to bring back Dominika, David Shore said no. Apparently he felt the show needed more breasts now that Lisa Edelstein is gone. And in the new world order, they have to be nonthreatening breasts. Dominika’s breasts are adorable.)

She offers House $30,000 to pretend to be her real husband as opposed to her pretend-real-husband—they are married, yes? So isn’t he her real husband? My head aches already. God, she’s adorable. She dances around House’s living room to Amy Grant songs. As much as I actually like the character, this woman needs to get a fatal disease.

Oh, dear, your faithful correspondent forgot the patient! There’s been some diagnosing, wrong naturally. Do you really care if I recap the diagnoses so far? No, neither do I. I’ve watched the episode twice, and I don’t know if I have the stomach to do it again.

House goes to Biff and asks if he was hit in the groin during the bar fight. The answer is yes. While they discuss it, House drops things, asking Adams and Chase to bend over to pick them up. Biff never takes his eyes off House. Which either means he has no sex drive, or he’s a fanboy who can’t stop staring at HL.

The blow turned Biff’s testicles purely ornamental, which is why he is so sensitive and preaches feelings and makes pottery. And has no libido, even though his wife is the hottest woman on the show. Although less adorable than you-know-who.

House orders injections of testosterone. Biff’s wife obviously hopes that among the side effects will be getting laid more than every six months. The shots make him leaner, meaner, craving hamburgers, and cracking lascivious remarks about her ass.

The oh-so-funny B-story has House and Dominika posing in various outfits in front of a green screen, which can then be made into travel pictures. For the Las Vegas picture, they don huge Elvis wigs.

Taub asks to talk to House alone. Taub feels the team should be friends, not competitors. How long has he worked there? House announces that Taub is no longer a man because he is raising children. (Huh?)

And House is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a giant Elvis wig.

GOOD GOD, WHAT ARE THEY DRINKING IN THE WRITER’S ROOM? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SIT THROUGH THIS NONSENSE? A CHIMPANZEE TAKING A CRAP ON A NEWSPAPER WOULD BE BETTER THAN THIS!

Oh, dear, pardon my outburst. So unlike me!

“Who can turn the world on with her smile?”

Meanwhile, the patient gets jaundice. Don’t they always? By the end of the episode, he’s so yellow he looks like Big Bird crossed with Donald Trump.

House and Dominika welcome the immigrant agent, Nate, to House’s apartment. Nate doesn’t find it strange that a beautiful young woman is married to her creepy uncle. Everything is going beautifully until Nate asks to speak to a neighbor. He opens the door and—there’s Wilson! Wearing a silly hat! Wilson has dropped in from Sitcom Land to pretend to be the wacky British neighbor. But the real occupant of the apartment shows up. Ruh-roh!

Nate orders House and Dominika to be in his office at ten the next morning. Dominika might be deported! House is threatened with jail for the 35,000th time! What’s going to happen?

Long story short, the judge is so impressed by how adorable Dominika is that he’s going to let her stay for six months. But she has to live in marital bliss with House full-time. They will be spot-checked at all times of the day or night. I was hoping for deportation, but that would have been so season two.

Biff now has turbo-nads. For starters, he tells his wife that “he’s going to be the man in this relationship.” In fact, he’s going to make some kind of deal whether she likes it or not. In two viewings I did not get what the deal was, but it doesn’t matter. He’s Doing What He Wants, Damn The Torpedoes, Because That’s What Men Do.

“Can you believe anyone watches this?” “No one does. That’s why we’re cancelled.”

After viewing some old videos of Evil Corporate Shark Biff, House has some kind of epiphany. House and Taub go see Biff. House announces that chronic hoarseness is a symptom of chronic thyroiditis. Biff’s not hoarse now, but he was three years ago. And chronic thyroiditis comes and goes. The Magi-Cam goes into Biff so that House can rattle off some gibberish that means, “you’re sick.”

They’re going to treat Biff with steroids. Testosterone and steroids! Biff will Hulk out! Maybe Chase will get stabbed once more! House says, “Kicked in the nuts is kicked in the nuts.” I rewound the scene to see what that had to do with anything. I still don’t know. Enlighten me in the comments, won’t you?

But Biff spoils the fun by refusing the testosterone, despite the health risks. “I’m a better man without it,” he sighs. His wife leaves the room to hang herself because now she will never have sex again.

Cut to wacky C-story: House is putting the team, save Taub, through a series of idiotic contests (suturing pigs’ feet) for the bafflingly coveted position. Taub gets it by offering to split the difference in his salary with House.

At the end, as Amy Grant blasts on the soundtrack, House comes back to his apartment to find it immaculate and hideously decorated. Adorable Dominika is doing adorable dance aerobics in the kitchen. Cut to House making a series of facial expressions until he says (and I want you to know I said this with him): “Honey, I’m home!”

Ruh-roh.

Ciao,
Elisa & Fletcher

Tim Gunn Takes Us Behind The Scenes of Ep. 3

DAHLINGS –

Here is Tim Gunn opining about the “Unconventional Challenge,” Casanova, and so much else. He is a true delight, and I cannot BELIEVE he will be going on hiatus until the Emmys!!!

I would have very much liked to write up a review of Episode 4, but to honest, it’s beyond me right now. However, I am certain many other bloggers have interesting things to say.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Woolly Animal Balls, Project Runway, Ep. 3 Part Two

DAHLINGS –

Again, the show was so long I needed two posts!

Tim Gunn (my BFF) is overwhelmed, in a good way, when he walks into the workroom. He stops at Kristin’s table, and picks up a package…he announces it’s labeled “Animal woolly balls,” and loses it completely, as does Kristin and nearly everyone else in the workroom. Why, Tim! He picks up a bag marked “Real balls.” “I prefer the woolly balls,” he manages to choke out, crying with laughter. Oh, God, I worship at Tim’s shrine. (One is sure there are a lot of shrines to Tim Gunn out there).

Valerie is making a dress entirely out of black and white napkins. As for being in the Top Three twice and losing to Gretchen, she said, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” Get over it, woman, it’s only three episodes in.

Besides Casanova, there is a little man, Michael Costello, who is CONSTANTLY alone on camera, bitching everyone out. I had no idea who he was until I looked at the website. Again, fodder for the reunion show! Speaking of Casanova, he and Tim have the inevitable clash because CASANOVA WASN’T LISTENING when Tim said “no tablecloths.” What did this stubborn idiot do? Bought boatloads of tablecloths.

We had glimpses of other people working feverishly, including Peach, who was really sweating this one. Gretchen is being foregrounded, as the Evil Bitch. (Rumaki started being thrown by my guests whenever she was onscreen. Thank God for the plastic over the flat screen.) Obviously she is being set up as the Bad Guy, ‘cause, as we all know, everybody hates a winner.

Then, the inevitable Twist: just as the designers are completely exhausted, their models enter carrying goody bags of detritus such as ribbons, cupcake holders, etc. The poor designers have to make a smashing accessory to go with their outfits. The screams can be heard across Manhattan.

Andy is making an impossibly complicated dress out of ribbon. Peach and April, their garments done, come to help. That is so sweet. Tim comes in to get everyone after the “Garnier hair salon and L’Oreal Paris makeup room.” He is still riding on the high of “woolly animal balls.”

On to the runway. Heidi is glowing; I’m guessing she found someone on the crew to suck the lifeblood out of. Her eyes have the feral gleam of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting rodent. But all is forgiven, because BETSEY JOHNSON is the guest judge! Perfection! “Who IS that?” asked one of my guests, so I threw a deviled egg at him. Forgive me, the Cosmopolitans had reached their level. Please forgive me if I cannot remember what the dresses were made of.

Andy’s dress was an unqualified WOW. He made black ribbon look like finally tooled leather, accessorizing it with a black half-glove made from…balloons.

A.J.’s dress was a disaster: a Bizarro world child’s party dress, with crotch fringe. If he has ever watched the show prior to this, he should know that crotch fringe=very unhappy judges. Betsey Johnson tried to make him feel better about it, but to no avail.

Ivy’s dress is a beautiful compilation of petals. I cannot believe she did not make the top three.

Michael Costello, as much as he irritated all of us, sent an amazing red flamenco dress down the runway. The photo does not do it justice. It moved fluidly.

Gretchen sent down an…odd combination. The skirt was gold and silver tinsel, the top a cropped black jacket made from paper bags. It looked like two different outfits, neither of them particularly good. Betsey Johnson pegged it as “Dreamgirls on the bottom, Mad Men on the top.”

Speaking of flamenco dresses, Casanova sent yet another unmitigated disaster down the runway. Words fail me, but a picture will suffice, one hopes.

Sarah had struggled with a palm tree she had cut up, and ended up sending a rather bland little dress with unfortunate cardboard cutouts on top of it.

Casanova, A.J. and Sarah were in the bottom three; Valerie, Gretchen, and Andy were in the top three. Gretchen was preening, expecting to win. When they were all back in the waiting room, she bitched out A.J., sending a flurry of caviar at my flat screen. Really, if it hadn’t been for the bartender cleaning it off, I doubt we would have seen the end of the show!

Andy was the winner! Gretchen looked, let’s put it politely, miffed.

I was so afraid for poor little A.J., because I knew Casanova wouldn’t get the auf. So it turned out to be Sarah, mostly for lacking enough charisma.

At the end, poor Ivy caved in to all of the pressure and had to be taken to the hospital. Ah, well, that’s show business.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Woolly Animal Balls, Project Runway, Ep. 3

DAHLINGS –

Wasn’t last night’s Project Runway fun! Yes, by the end of the evening, my flat screen was covered with rumaki, but one has to take the rough with the smooth.

The 90-minute format still feels forced and bloated. However, it was an Unconventional Challenge, and those bring out the real creativity in the designers. I am always amazed by what they manage to accomplish.

The opening juxtaposed Nicholas sobbing in his comrades’ arms with Heidi, gleaming with evil, announcing the opening of the show. The contrast felt as abrupt as the little girl’s head spinning in “The Exorcist.”

Gretchen was cast as the Evil Bitch this week, and she did her best to live up to it. Blissfully unaware of her colleague’s hatred, she hectored them in the workroom. Probably followed the female designers into the lady’s room to spout some drivel: “Your dress just isn’t good.” One knew we were in for a bitch-fest when, in the workroom, Gretchen announced to a fellow designer, “You’re going down.” Way to endear you to your colleagues, Gretchen.

The group met at Party Glitters, which is exactly what its name suggests. The challenge was to create an outfit entirely out of party favors, eschewing tablecloths or anything else that could be construed as fabric. Mondo, for some reason, was wearing hot pants. However, I forgive him. He has decent legs.

A.J. was in his element, squealing with delight. I love A.J. I want to put him in my Coach purse and tote him around.

Sarah At Party Glitters


Back at the workroom, Casanova took his cue from Heidi and disemboweled small stuffed animals. Although Heidi uses the real thing. Being a professional moron, he took tablecloths for his dress. Is the man incapable of listening? Apparently yes. The gods of reality television gifted him with a thick accent, annoying personality, and a big presence, which will assure that he stays on the program until fairly near the end. Now that Jason is gone, I officially despise Casanova. As did most of my viewing party, except the guest who thought his accent is “cute.” There is something about Casanova that makes me want to punch him in the face. And I am rarely one who stoops to violence. It’s vulgar.

Speaking of which, has the phrase “sexy but not vulgar” become the mantra on this show?

(To Be Continued)

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

Infinity And Beyond: Project Runway, S8, Episode Two

DAHLINGS:

Bloated, long-winded, and faintly aggravating; no, I do not mean Rush Limbaugh. Rather, the new format of Project Runway. The ninety-minute episode.

What do we get for our additional half-hour? The only good thing I can think of is no more Models Of The Runway. Instead, we get more of the designers talking trash about each other, * footage of them in their rooms at the ATLAS (as is constantly pointed out), extended footage after the aufs, and most important, many, many more commercials. Second in importance is that none of the designers are particularly interesting people. A message to Bunim/Murray: Absence of footage makes the heart grow fonder.

There is little that can keep my attention for ninety minutes other than fantasizing about Alec Baldwin naked. However, I threw myself on the sword for you, my darling readers. Here is my “recap” of Episode Two.

Another change is that the Bluefly Wall (“Designers, use it very thoughtfully”) has been replaced by the Pipelime.com Wall. At least Tim Gunn doesn’t have to choke out “Macy’s” any more.

Right off the top, one of the designers nails the essential paradigm of the show: “Public torture of designers on television.” I hadn’t thought of the program that way, except for Heidi Klum’s new vampire teeth. (I still maintain she tortures small animals in her spare time.)

This week’s challenge is to create a look for a Marie-Claire Times Square billboard. Joanna Coles, an editor of the magazine, reels off a series of meaningless adjectives to describe “the Marie-Claire woman.” As opposed to the “Marie-Claire bedroom set” or “Marie-Claire baked beans”. I can’t remember them, but I’m certain they were along the lines of “strong, modern independent, feminine, has a vagina,” etc.

A.J., who obviously has his pulse on what the strong modern independent woman of today wants, decides to devise a “grunge/punk Courtney Love look”. Okaaaay.

Would Courtney wear this? Probably. She is on drugs.

Jason, wearing his bowler as per his persona, wants to create a dress of “infinity.” Because, really, what’s better than infinity? It left his peers shaking their heads. Throughout the program, the contestants in short interviews continue to tear apart everyone else’s designs. It gets as tiresome as one of those “Real Housewives” things, except less Botox and false breasts.

Mondo, despite having possibly the most irritating personal style, turns out to be extremely shy, so my viewing party didn’t have to hate him after all. (They get vociferous when the gin reaches its level.) Christopher, despite or perhaps because of being from San Francisco, looks like a Chelsea Boy clone through and through. Sweet little A.J.’s claws come out when Casanova asks him for help. If the tension level is this high on Episode Two, there will be blood on the workroom walls by Episode Five!

When Tim (God) Gunn, my BFF, enters the workroom, as per usual they skip some of the finale garments. Casanova has gone from stripper un-chic to country club matron, with a puffy black jacket and conservative white skirt that would not look amiss at the bar of a restricted private golf range.

“Henry, I think there’s an octoroon in the woodpile.”

Apparently when Casanova is alone with the other designers, his English is perfect. But let Tim or the judges be present, and he pretends to barely speak the language! One admits, the moment he’s “outed” this season should be well worth it.

Jason baffles Tim with his “infinity” dress, a gray-green thing with a lot of large curves that are safety-pinned together. For some insane reason known only to the denizens of his universe, Jason feels that safety-pins are excellent closures. As opposed to, say, buttons. Or hooks and eyes. (Has no one told Jason about the 80s?) In an interview shoehorned in, Jason feels that he is being punished for being a straight man, that Project Runway is heterophobic. No, Jason, you’re just an idiot.

Inevitably, as the designers rush to complete their garments, the Twist comes. The Twist has become such a PR trope that I simply can’t believe the designers have the capacity to be genuinely surprised. This week’s Twist is that all of the clothes will be part of a photo shoot. The designer’s choice of shot will also influence the judging of his design. As Karl Lagerfeld is the only designer who is also a photographer, I’m not sure I trust this batch’s judgment.

My guests cannot decide if Valerie looks more like Tracey Ullman (in which case the wig-like hair is appropriate) or Juliette Lewis (ditto). Peach made an unfortunate choice of fabrics at Mood and she knows it, ending up making three dresses in the time allotted. The final product is uninteresting, but at least it doesn’t get her booted off.

By the time my viewing party is quite ready for the show to be over and the serious food to be served, the guillotine/runway show begins.

Heidi again appears in age-appropriate attire. Is this a sign of the end of days? Blood trickling from her fangs, she runs through the usual opening, and Joanna Coles is this week’s guest judge. The models have either been swapped out or mercilessly drilled in how to walk. They do a far better job than Episode One.

Nicholas’s design is, as they say, a “hot mess,” but very well made. What was he thinking draping that circle of heavy cloth over a backless silk blouse?

Jason’s satin dress is the disaster we all thought it would be, both in the photo and the runway. If a “modern, strong, independent” woman wore this, it was probably because she had been unexpectedly been struck blind.

Ummm…er…yes.

Gretchen’s jumpsuit, while not my cup of tea, is extremely well made. I liked the shoulder and neckline the best. As a very tall, long waisted woman, I can tell you that jumpsuits are one of the banes of my fashion existence. I pull one up to my waist, then pull it over my shoulders and…

Ouch does not begin to describe the sensation.

Kristin sends down a strange mess of fabric that is gathered, bunched and draped, but does not resemble anything your faithful correspondent would call “clothes.”
Mondo’s creation is a bizarre combination of black and tweed with a pink lobster bib.
“For the seafood lover in you…”

Despite looking like an 80s prom dress made of upholstery fabric, I rather like Michael’s garment.

It is a considerable surprise when Mondo’s blob of stuff makes the top three. To cut to the chase (which the show seems unable to do), Gretchen is again declared the winner. This time, two designers are “auf’d”: Jason, who deserves it, and Nicholas, who does NOT. Nicholas breaks down in tears. His outfit, while badly styled, was finished and creative, if a bit on the not-well-thought out side.

This was the weekly “WTF?” moment in which all of my guests scream and throw things at the flat screen. (To guard against an onslaught of deviled eggs, I cover the flat screen with a thin layer of plastic before my viewing parties.)

Jason did not stick around to have Tim see him off, but Nicholas did. The other designers were stunned, as were all of us.

At the end, we watch Gretchen squeal at the billboard, which has Coco Rocha capering in the jumpsuit.

I’m guessing Ms. Rocha is short-waisted.

* This footage will be very useful for the “reunion” show.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Project Runway Season Eight Premiere, Part Two

DAHLINGS –

There is simply so much to cover in this season premiere, it had to take two posts!

When we last heard, there were 17 designers instead of the usual 16, and they had five hours to create a garment out of someone else’s piece of clothing. And this was considered an audition for the show itself; it was guaranteed that one or more of the contestants would be going home. And you just finished packing and had that big going-away party. Bummer.

We watched them sweat, freak out, etc., the usual workroom scenes, except for the small amount of time. I’m guessing that Jason isn’t going so much for a signature look with that idiotic bowler, he’s probably bald.

Now to the interesting part: the runway. What a delight to see that the Bright Orange Oracle of Fashion, Michael Kors, was in his rightful place! Next to him was Nina Garcia, who has actually started to sprout a personality. (I love how Heidi pronounces her name with a heavy inflection, the way politically correct folk in the 80s used to pronounce Nicaragua “Nee-haw- wagrah”.) Heidi was actually wearing an age appropriate dress for a change. Are the Four Horsemen here yet?
The special guest judge was actress Selma Blair. Not to worry, nobody in our viewing party could place her, either. She resembles a squinty Katie Holmes.

When Heidi came out and greeted the designers before the execution–er, runway show–the contestants were wetting themselves even more than usual. She rattled off “you’re in or you’re out” in rote fashion before the show began.

A side note: the models tonight were terrible. The way they clumped down the runway, they would make a Dior look bad.

Valerie made this eye-bleeding monstrosity from, I believe, Casanova’s Dolce & Gabbana trousers.

Afghanistan hooker dress, made of combat material w/ false blood for added piquance.

McKell fashioned a cute little number from a blue button-down shirt.

Ivy took a pair of flowered, matronly pants and transformed them into–flowery, matronly capris! Along with a sloppily made silk top that was supposed to match in some way not meant for this universe.

“Oh my God, there’s a sale at Pathmark!”
Unlike the judges, I liked Nicholas’s long gown, made out of a pleather bomber jacket, using the bottom rib trim for the neckline.
April “deconstructed” a tuxedo jacket by…well…deconstructing it, which consisted of turning it inside out. Mighty Goth there, dahling!


This dress is for when Wilma Flintstone wants to get down with her bad self.

Gretchen sent out a glamorous dress that moved well on the runway, with small beaded fringe on the shoulders. Don’t ask me what she made it out of, because I don’t care.

Jason’s dress was made from a black kimono. Although impeccably styled, the actual garment looked like a monk’s habit hastily pulled on backwards by a monk fleeing a medieval monastery.

Casanova’s “dress”, if you can call it that, was made out of a small blue blouse. Tim had tried to talk him into making something halfway less acceptable. But Casanova stuck to his guns, describing his creation as “sexy but not vulgar.” According to my notes, my first reaction was: JESUS!

Since I usually only use that word when I am actually addressing Jesus when he stops by, you can see how shocked I was. The judges agreed, and I simply cannot top the Duchess’s assessment: “a pole dancer in Dubai”. I love that neon orange bitch! Casanova’s English is terrible, so we actually got the treat of listening to Nina speak to him in Spanish. I wish she would do all of her critiques in Spanish, it’s so much more expressive. Then we wouldn’t have to hear “questionable taste” and “chic” repeated in every show.

During the commercial break, I knew that Bunim/Murray had calculated who would not go home, regardless of talent, because they are perfect reality television personalities.
Casanova ? Check. He won’t get the boot if he sends a dress made of cat turds down the runway.
Peach? Check. Not only did she make a lovely dress but she is also a lot of fun, rather like Paula Deen would be if she were sane.
Jason? With that hat? Of course. Check.
In the end, Gretchen won.

“I won, bitches!”

Poor little McKell was auf’d. But at least I don’t have to look at those dreadlocks any more.
One more thing to be grateful for: no more Models Of The Runway! If I wanted to listen to skinny ninnies babbling about nothing, I’d watch Kathie Lee and Hoda.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
(all images courtesy of mylifetime.com)

Project Runway Season 8 Premiere

DAHLINGS –

It began. not with a whimper, but bangs. Meaning Heidi Klum’s terrible new pixie cut.

Believe me, it doesn’t look this good on the show.

The new opening style was truly execrable. First, Tim Gunn (my BFF forever) and Heidi driveled about the 17 designers, or at least some of them. At this stage in the game, who knows? Who cares? It reminded me of the staged “chats” backstage on that awful Isaac Mizrahi program.

It went precipitously downhill from there. Designer contestants were forced to “meet” each other on camera, saying their names and parroting their biographies. It reminded me uncomfortably of “The Bachelor.” “Hi, I’m April, I’m a designer and I love Goth!”

Speaking of April, she is a 21-year old airhead who is a completely newcomer to fashion—we all remember how well that worked out last season, don’t we? Like the vast majority of people her age, her fashion interests are “Goth, decay and destruction.” Yawn.

However, two designers instantly captured my heart. A.J., a nervous young man who said, “Anyone who says they’re gonna win, they’re gone.” Since this was followed by a parade of contestants bragging that they would win, I found his honesty refreshing. My second favorite is Peach, an older blonde who announces she’s 50, “Hell to this yes!” Oh God, I hope she sticks around for a while.

Peach yelling “Hell to the yes!” Or something.
A.J. (left) and Jason (right), hump firmly on head.

Most of the designers blended into a mass, save for an idiot named Jason wearing a bowler, which he called “a hump on my head.” I could not have said it better. And Casanova, whose accent was so thick he said “(?) take New Chork by de ballz.” There was Valerie, who wore an odd hat-shaped black wig.


Casanova, ignoring Tim Gunn and reality at the same time!

Valerie (right) and some other designer vying for worst hair. *

They met at Lincoln Center, soon to be the home to Mercedes Benz Fashion Week, and one of my favorite spots in New York. For one thing, it is close to my fabulous apartment.

Tim and Heidi waited (that haircut looked even worse outdoors), and announced that this challenge was actually an audition for the show. Which was why there were 17 designers, not 16. Heidi warned that more than one might go home. One member of my viewing party thought this was a great idea for a challenge, but seeing the designers gape in disbelief and dismay, I found it sadistic. Especially after forcing them all to go through that ludicrous “meet and greet.”

Heidi certainly thought it up. I swear to God, that woman has been watching too much True Blood. Probably went out and had prosthetic fangs made, with which she intends to tear out designers’s jugulars and feast on their blood when the cameras are off.

However, the challenge was excellent and actually novel: Heidi asked them to take their favorite piece of clothing out of their suitcases—and hand it to the contestant to their left. Who had to make a different garment out of it in 5 hours.

*Another contestant for “worst hair” was McKell, a young mother with blonde dreadlocks. I gather the way to keep dreadlocks dreaded is not to wash them, an instruction she followed faithfully. (Ugh)
More to come later!!
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog