See what to eat this week.

I figured I’d get back to that new year’s resolution I made in January…now that it’s July. I’m in LA today for another shoot. Been here for over a week. Room service gets old (not to mention costly…um, $42.00 for eggs and toast?!). So here are some other options for those of you who are here or who will be:

Animal: Great food if you’re a meat lover. If not, run! As the name suggests it’s all about the pork belly, ox tail, foie gras, and steak.

Beso: I skipped dinner at this place to go to Animal (sorry, Eva Longoria). That sums it up.

Urth Caffe: The best LA café in my opinion. Great food. Good vibes. And with fresh roasted whole bean organic coffee and a huge assortment of teas, they had me at Bubble Tea.

Il Ristorante di Giorgio Baldi: About as old-school Italian as it sounds.  Fun to do once if someone else is paying. Have the ravioli because that’s what they’re known for. This place is everything you might imagine a famous, authentic italian ristorante to be: cramped, pricey, and including highly efficient, but grumpy service.

Tavern: Last but not least on my list. I will be hitting this place tomorrow night. I’ll keep you posted (hopefully not in another 6 months!)

That’s all I’ve got for now (besides Kraft Services).

EAT THIS:  foie gras on a biscuit with maple sausage gravy and a beer at Animal 435 N. Fairfax Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90036. (323) 782-9225

Summer 2000, the revolution began.  With the first opening sound of a primitive horn, Survivor began and so did the tradition of the mid-summer replacement reality show.  Monday night, as I was hunkering down to watch Obsessed (a very special episode with two women, one suffering trichotillomania and the other with a ridiculous oral hygiene fixation), my guest James 3.0 had something else in mind.  Dating in the Dark.  

New to the ABC summer line-up Dating in the Dark is a lot like the Springsteen song “Dancing in the Dark” only without so much Courtney Cox and way less sexy.  The show brings together three men and three women of questionable attractiveness (none were overtly fugly, but rather they were all kind of …meh) all in their 30s (which used to be the new 20s, but now seems to be the new age of desperation and disgust).  The women live in one wing, the men another and in the center (oh, the wonder!) a room completely devoid of light equipped with night vision cameras (which gave all contestants seriously creeper eyes).  This is the only room where the men and women will interact.  It’s like the creator sat down with some serious cheeb and listened to Springsteens Greatest Hits while searching Match.com.

On the initial group date, the trios sat in complete blackness and talked, after which true grossness occurred - the folks were allowed to go through each others luggage (I guess to make sure there were no fatties among the group or anyone with false limbs or teeth).  The men went straight for the bras.  Typical.  Based on voices and underpants (because, really what else do you need?), 1:1 date pairings were made which seemed to stick… 

Matt, who had the face of a silly putty man and the hair of a poodle was in to Megan, the aspiring sommelier even though she was “a little thick” (maybe a size 8).  The first date showed them uncomfortably touching each others faces and talking about - - oh God knows what!  I was curled into a cringe ball and rocking by this point in the show.  He brought an indoor surfboard on the second date and made her climb upon it so he could “keep her steady” (feel her up).  I guess he liked what he felt enough because they ended up making out.  Classy. 

Chrystee the God fearing black beauty tried on Jason, the man from Boston with no distinguishing traits, for size and proceeded to rub in his face that she loved Jesus more than him while he felt out of place, because let’s face facts, most people who sign up to get it on in a dark room on national television don’t follow the letter of the Lord.   On the second date each of them brought 2 alcoholic beverages in the room with them.  2!  EACH!  Not for each other, but rather to stay liquored up, after all in the dark no one can see how much you consume!!!!  They also ended up making out. 

Lindsey, the butter face blonde with a serious need of Proactiv, was all about Doug, the St. Louis Cardinals pitching coach and #1 douche bag.  Especially after D.Bag Doug brought melted chocolate and encouraged her to place his chocolate-covered finger on her body part which he was then allowed to kiss.  SKEEVE!  I was now under my couch screaming, “I am going to throw up when they see each other!!!” and James replied “this show makes my stomach hurt!”  Of course, making out ensued. 

Final date, men cook dinner for the women (Culinary King Doug made shrimp and hot dogs - sick) who were instructed to give the men the best massage they could, happy ending optional.  What happened, friend-os?  That’s right.  MAKIN’ OUT!   

This, this is when true reality show spectacularocity occurred.  THE REVEAL!  Each couple stood with a 2 way mirror between them.  One at a time, a beam of light, like something out of Star Trek shone upon them as they stood as good as naked to be appraised.  There are no words for the faces which were made (I simply projectile vomited my John Daly all over my coffee table at this point).  The couples then reflected on their epic quandary: To walk out on the balcony and the arms of the one they are meant to spend their lives with (after 3 dates – seriously, folks, if I ended up with the first dude I swapped spit with in the dark I would be well into my 14^th year married Colombian named Alejandro)… OR to walk out the front door (that YOU CAN SEE FROM THE BALCONY!) down the longest driveway ever conceived never to think again of the hideous beast they lovingly embraced for the past two days?  Truly, a query worthy of Hamlet.   

Matt and Doug, met the ladies on they balcony after they figured out they could close their eyes as they banged in the back of the Bentley which drove them away to a night of doin’ the do in a new opaque love nest followed with empty promises and faking of entering the girls’ numbers into their cell phones.  Jason, although his bone felt a quiver for super cute Chrystee made the tough choice to not convert to her cult, and walked out of the house as she watched from the balcony, rejected. 

The moral of the story?  I guess like the Boss so poignantly articulated, “You can’t start a fire without a spark, this gun’s for hire even if we’re just being tea bagging in the dark.”  

p.s. for all dates, everyone dressed to the nines.  REALLY?  Comon’!  They can’t see you!!!  I would’ve worn a dress made out of a lion pelt and waited for my date to ask, “What is that?  Velvet?”

Live Music + Booze = Love.  This I know is true.  I have been on both sides of the coin at such events (which I am sure my little Meg M would be happy to share with the larger population with little coaxing) and a few weekends ago I was reminded the lasting connection of Aphrodite and Dionysus. 

My meandering Midwest mind took me the city of by birth and my heart.  Chicago.  Occasion: a birthday bash with some besties. Event: World’s Largest Block Party starring Ben Folds.  Now, if you’ve not picked up Ben Fold’s latest album, do so immediately.  I was turned back on to Mr. Folds during a recent trip to Florida and immediately picked up ‘Way to Normal’ upon return.  It’s nerdy and pop-y and catchy and fun.  Ben’s back as what he always was and should be the white boy who plays the piano like a white boy, sings like a white boy and curses like a white boy.  It’s all-around good Caucasian music. 

The day I arrived in Chicago I immediately saw a local newscast hyping the block party I was to attend as the “meet market of the year” the place where the young-ish and slightly desperate of the windy city go to find their one and onlys.  It seems that a large kegger hosted by a catholic church could be nothing less than Bonerfest ’09.  Convincing my friends it was still worth going wasn’t difficult.  Immediately upon arrival decree was handed down to play games of “find the douche” (52) and “how many girls are wearing the same dress from H&M” (4). While I was there to see Benny and his band, the rest of the party, it seemed, was there to introduce a member of the opposite sex’s Benny to their hand.  All in all it proved an invaluable study in human sexuality. 

The crowd was comprised of 60% men in button downs and shorts and 40% women in sundresses and oversized sunglasses all ages 25-34.  The beer was free with admission at two dispensaries and the night went a little like this… 

7 PM Groups of ladies and groups of men arrive, stand around and drink trying to look neither desperate nor attached.

8 PM Small circles of men and women start to migrate closer to the beer/wine dispensaries and each other and the volume of the fake laughter grows a bit louder as the hour progresses.

9 PM Swaying slightly, blatant eye contact is made.  Circles slowly start to merge as questions float into the night air like “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” (Bobby) and “WHAT PART OF TOWN ARE YOU FROM?” (Wicker Park) and “HOW MUCH DO YOU MAKE?” (A lot)…(all lies).

10 PM Girls agree with anything the guys say.  Lots of hand holding…lots… this is the first stage of concert foreplay, after all.

1030 PM The slightly less (and by slightly, I mean a lot) attractive girl of one group realizes she’s been paired with the slightly less (and by slightly, I mean a lot) attractive man of the other group – both start drinking profusely.

11 PM The couples with the lowest level of hotness according to hotornot.com start full on making out during the song “Brick” (poor taste, uglies).

12 AM Promise filled goodbyes by the movie-star couples…or not…depending on the amount of booze consumed.  Sloppy stumbling towards the el hand-in-hand by the drunk, sloppy, last choice couples.

The next morning, perhaps there were some lasting connections.  More often than not there were probably some quick getaways and awkward brunches.  I like to think at least one Midwest WASP couple fell in love.  The old adage is true, it doesn’t take much time to fall in love, but it does take a few drinks.  As we grow as a culture we grow with alcohol.  It loosens inhibitions, it starts conversations, it drops panties, at the end of the day it makes you something you’re not which gives you free reign to talk to someone they are not and then once you’re dating and figure out who each of you are, the hard part’s over, take it from there.  And if it doesn’t seem to be working out, there’s always an AA meeting or a bar around the corner.  

P.S. The majority of happily married, suburban couples I know met while he was taking a tequila bodyshot out of her belly button at a college “Golf Pros and Tennis Hos” party…the couple who drinks together stays together, I suppose.  Cheers.  

ps. I had this jacket in 1983. 3rd grade was a really groundbreaking fashion year for me.

Obviously Michael Jackson’s death has been the big news this summer, narrowly edging out pandamonium in Iran and Demi Lovato being revealed as a cutter. The biggest shocker for me about his death was that the autopsy report said poor Michael was bald. BALD, JERRY. BALD. That must have been really effin’ scary to run into him in the middle of the night. Without his hair or nose on he must have looked like the Crypt Keeper. ZOINKS!

The upshot is that he was also listed as 5′10″ and a lean, mean 112lbs. I mean, where does a girl sign up for that? Note to self: Turn into a self medicating black guy STAT.

It’s been a few weeks since Michael Jackson died, and predictably Michael mania is everywhere. My local CVS is selling Michael Jackson CD’s at the register, right night to the Chapstix and eyeglass screwdrivers. Oh, America! I think the real reason people are so affected by his death is that we all feel a little bad for treating him so poorly, even if he had it coming. He never got a chance to vindicate himself, make a comeback, turn chocolatey again.   Regardless of where the truth lies about him and his shady past and unusual demeanor, it was really easy (and therefore enjoyable) to treat him like a soulless freak. The weirder he looked, the easier it was to consider him inhuman, unfeeling and possibly evil. I strongly believe that since its been confirmed  he was addicted to anesthesia for the past 20 years, its possible all his scandalous ”sleepovers” merely consisted of Michael laying in a quasi-coma next to a bunch of kids who were eating candy apples and playing Sega Genesis. Plus, if he’s guilty than so are the kids’ parents. No one lets their 10 year old son have a “playdate” with a 45 year old man. I mean, really.

The good news about his death is that his record sales are up, more people are moonwalking again, Tito and Jermaine are back on the scene, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross’s flat line careers just saw a little blip and Michael Jackson went from inhuman weirdo to misunderstood, tortured soul and loving dad.

What does Michael’s death teach us? Dont take your loved ones for granted. Always keep your i-pod full of classic American music. IV’s are not for home usage. Have an iron clad will. Tell your family to wear coordinating outfits to your funeral to express their solidarity even though most of them haven’t spoken to each other since 1987. And most importantly, do not, DO NOT die on the same day as a more impressive person. Sorry, Farrah and the other person I can’t remember. So sorry.

I apologize to everyone I’ve not yet had a chance to visit in my few weeks back in the States.  Truth is, I’ve been spending far too much time with my new friend, Hulu, who is unfairly not available in Australia.  Hulu’s been showing me not only what I’ve missed in my year abroad, but introducing all sorts of new oddities.  As an experiment that can only be derived from summer boredom, I subjected myself to the pilot episodes of three programs I’d never heard of. Sure they’re bound to be awful, but at least they’re free and so is my time.
 
‘The Crow: Stairway to Heaven’
Goths everywhere are probably still crying mascara-blackened tears about how this ruined their favourite non Tim Burton movie.  It’s similar enough to the first half hour of the film, except the acting is the only creepy thing about it, Eric Draven lands in Mexico for some reason instead of crawling out of his grave dramatically, and everything is PG-ified.  The menacing Tin Tin now looks like David Cross in a bad Jew-fro wig and Funboy appears to be a Midwest gym teacher.  A lot of the mystique is taken out of it when the undead rock star we all know as The Crow screaming in pain at his beloved Shelly’s unfair death is interrupted by a thirty second yogurt commercial.  I’ll admit that I skipped forward several minutes after Eric’s signature makeup grew on his face (WTF?!) because I couldn’t stand the dialogue straight from an unrequited, angst-filled Aiden fan’s poetry Livejournal.  Naturally, the end was not a bad-ass action sequence where justice is served with loads of martial arts and shattered glass.  The baddy is left spazzing on the floor not full of bullets, but ‘all the painful memories you caused those you hurt and their loved ones,’ mumbling “Do you want fries with that?”  LAME!  Although, this marks yet another unintentionally hilarious and food related demise for the record books.
 
‘Camp Woodward’
At first I thought this would be some Disney Channel tween ‘Twilight Guy and Miley Cyrus Visit Prague on Summer Vay-Kay and Totally Fall in Love!’ type crap, but was gladly wrong.  Instead, ‘Camp Woodward’ is a reality show about those mini Lords of Dogtown who always breeze by whenever I go snowboarding and make me feel super old.  I knew I loved this show as soon as one camper, Tyler, shared the sage wisdom that “You can’t be Johnny Depp one day and Spongebob the next!  Just be yourself!”  I want to adopt all these little skate punks, or as they say in boarder lingo, ‘cheesy tots.’  If I can’t do that, then I’ll be fine if their parents (all of whom are awesome) adopt me then.  I love you Mom and Dad, but they have huge professional quality ramps in their yards and give their kids rad nicknames like Taco.  Dibs on being called Pony Girl.  My inner 14-year-old especially digs Cody, the rebellious skater with fabulous hair who says things like “Dude, I forgot a helmet, but I brought ‘101 Dalmatian’ elbow pads.”  Future heart-breaker alert!  I know I said I’d watch just the first episode, but I was hooked and ended up seeing the rest of this unfortunately short series.  Does anyone know if Camp Woodward accepts 21-year-olds who love to watch extreme sports but fall down pitifully every three minutes when actually attempting them?
‘Simon & Simon’
Yet another show proving all men in the early ’80s had porn ‘staches and few women of the time bothered to wear bras, it’s things like this which make me feel fortunate I hardly remember that particular decade.  My parents (my real ones, not my Camp Woodward ones) assure me this was a very popular show, but the only actor in it I recognize is the pilot from ‘Airplane!’  The basic premise is the Simon brothers, a quintessential Felix & Oscar pairing, are private detectives in San Diego who for some unexplained reason are located directly across the street from another detective agency run by their sexy law student secretary’s Daddy.  Hey, if the dozens of salons that seem to make up my well-coifed town all manage to stay in business, I guess they can.  The Simons bumble about ‘solving’ a missing person case that naturally calls for them to take several trips down to Mexico.  Young Simon whines about his car every other line, while Older Simon (who has a Southern accent when he’s supposedly from California and the rest of his family talks normally) makes bad puns and says, “Galdarnit!” a lot.  Eventually, their secretary solves everything and the Simons take the credit, arresting henchmen in a college library after much careless pushing over of bookshelves.  This particular scene struck a chord with me because my heart went out to the poor librarian tasked with picking up and reorganizing that mess.  Detective shows never think about those kinds of victims.  Maybe it’s because this was only the first episode, but I have no idea how ‘Simon and Simon’ stayed on air for so many seasons.  Did anyone actually like this show?  I mean, Scooby Doo solved mysteries more effectively than these two.

Tuesday, July 14th was a momentous day for comedy fans around the dome…”The State” was finally released on DVD.

Like most tweens in the early 90’s, I was addicted to MTV. And MTV was only beginning its moral decline during that epoch…so there was still hipness and street cred to be had by watching “The Real World” or “Unplugged” or “Just Say Julie.” Or heaven forbid, young readers, the top 20 countdown which showed 20 music videos (nearly) back to back. Who didn’t love Yo! Mtv Raps or Buzz Bin?!

“The State” was a bizarre, dada-like comedy sketch comedy show with 11 actors,; 10 dudes, 1 chick. (Fact: Castmember David Wain went to my high school and he used to come visit our Theatre classes and give us tips about the biz they call show biz.)

They had annoying recurring characters that stuck with you— that at 13 were HILARIOUS.

Like,  Doug (played by Michael Showalter, later of “Stella” and “Wet Hot American Summer”) who played a parody of an isolated teen. “Whatever, Dad! I’m outta heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!”There was Louie, who dipped his balls in everything: “I’m going to dip my balls in it!”

I’ve been reconnoitering the early 90’s and watching the show off and on over the past few days.  I forgot how good combat boots look with colored tights and mini skirts! I forgot how much I like seeing little dudes dress in drag! I forgot how kick ass Ugly Kid Joe songs are!

If nothing else, you can recognize most of this troop in their later, more successful work like “I love the…” series on VH1 and “Reno! 911.”  Less successful spin offs include the lame “Viva Variety” and “Stella.” And one must not forget the brilliant, underrated film “Wet Hot American Summer.”  One of my favorite lines to dump someone?

Paul Rudd in WHAS: “You taste like burger. I don’t like you anymore.”

Hie thee hence to thine Netflix queue! Hit up your local Blockbuster! Oodles of giggles await thee.

If you’re anything like me, you’re a bit of an anglophile and a tad geeky.

I was that quiet girl in English class swooning over “Pride and Prejudice” and “Wuthering Heights” and I would recite Monty Python skits from their extensive record collection (yeah, what?!) with boys who suffered from virulent acne and a love of cheese fries.

I ain’t ashamed. It was 1997. Things were different back then.

You know what else I’m not ashamed of? My IMAX tickets to “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince”, tonight.

I’m kinda hoping that there are freaks dressed as dementors or wearing round, black glasses.  Maybe some quidditch brooms, if I’m lucky. I hope people clap when Harry and Ginny make out and I hope people cry when some fucking epic deaths happen.

Also, the  dude who plays Draco Malfoy? Looks and acts just like my old roommate. Lucky me, huh?

That being said, the Harry Potter series is successful because it appeals to dorks and cool kids, alike. You can read for Rowling’s witty word play, for the love stories, the plot twists, or the magic element…you can read just to have a point of view on the culutral phenomena (it’s why I read Dan Brown’s drivel…I can’t make fun of it if I didn’t suffer through all of the dumbed down nonsense), or you can read so you have something to talk about with your Mom.

There’s a huge hole in my pop culture heart because this series is finito. Good thing there are two more movies to wait in line for (the last book, “The Deathly Hallows” is being broken into 2 parts as there is much ground to cover).

I’ll be 30 by the time this shit is finished and I will be crying next to some dude with acne scars who can recite “The Dead Parrot” sketch, VERBATIM.

Jean-Charles de Castelbajac, you read my mind. You knew what my wardrobe is missing! A Muppet tux. And a tiny, severed Kermit head to wear as a jaunty piece of scalp flair.

But if I already have the Kermit cap, oh, I simply must have a coat to match.

(I love how all of the Kermit dolls have hideous grimaces, as if they are in terrible pain, or at least realize how stupid they look).

I’ve also always wanted to stick my hands inside a cozy Muppet muff. Preferably one with a unibrow.

A coordinating cap with ear flaps the size of ceiling fan blades would be amazing.

Would it be too much to say the hell with it and just cover my crotch with a giant Muppet face?

Maybe too much; Animal is not amused.

I know you’re thinking, Who would wear that, really? Who would encase her nether regions inside a surly Muppet head? But if you stop for a moment, breathe deeply, and clear your mind, I bet the answer will come to you.

Lifetime has posted photos and videos of the season 6 contestants for Project Runway! And because I am committed to being a good recapper this year, I am starting early at handicapping their chances. There is a retarded amount of video online here if you want to watch it, but I already did, so you don’t have to. (FYI my “first impressions” were recorded before I watched any video, so are based solely on the photos you see here):

First impression: If Delta Burke, Dixie Carter, Jean Smart and Annie Potts had a baby….without the aid of Anthony.
Annoyance level: Low. Althea is bubbly and cute without being too ditzy and seems pretty self-aware.
Style: S&M Barbie. A lot of leather, but not Stella leatha. More like Forever 21 faux leather.

First impression: Why is Samantha Ronson on this show? Shouldn’t she be DJing or filing restraining orders against LiLo?
Annoyance level: Low. She reminds me of basically every person that went to Wesleyan: artsy, smart, probably bi. You’d want to have dinner with her, but at a restaurant, not at her house. She’d make you eat spelt pasta and probably wouldn’t serve booze.
Style: LL Bean Couture. Everything is reversible with this girl. Her life’s dream is to make “a jacket that turns into a backpack that turns into a tent.” Direct quote.

First impression: Never trust a girl with two first names.
Annoyance level: Medium. Has a tendency towards sorority girl inflections, not terribly articulate. Goes by “C.H.” Also, no points off for this, but video makes it look like she is homeless and lives out of her car.
Style: Structured and girly. Pieces you’d immediately want to wear, but very mainstream.

First impression: Token straight guy.
Annoyance level: So low! Midwestern gay, exceedingly cute and witty. Shops at Walmart for fabrics, has partner named Ronnie with whom he collects adorable knickknacks.
Style: Pieces for young women with interesting details like inside-out pockets and fur. Not too daring but the recessionista vibe will win him points, as will his cute tee-shirts.

First impression: Be frightened of New Yorkers with one name.
Annoyance level: Very low. Has adorable family and is much less scary than his photo. Still goes by only one name, however, which is always annoying (but perhaps understandable since first name is Rodney?)
Style: High fashion. Had piece at Museum of the City of NY already; Tim Gunn and Laura from season 3 think he’s too good for the show. Gauntlet officially thrown down.

First impression: Best name ever. Am pronouncing it with a hard G no matter what. Take-no bullshit European.
Annoyance level: Low. From former Yugoslavia, lives in SC with two teenage children. Has boutique, obviously hardworking. Will be pissed when she is auf’ed in favor of a 24 year-old fashion school grad (Althea, Carol Hannah, I am looking at you).
Style: Very feminine pieces with a lot of detail.

First impression: Kim Kardashian. Is that racist?
Annoyance level: Medium. Has a poodle named Princess, which is an immediate black mark. Also uses the word “Oriental.” But seems capable, if a little JAP-y. Even though she’s from Republic of Georgia. Do they have Jews there? I think so, it’s a former part of the Soviet Union. I should have consulted Wikipedia before typing.
Style: Structured, feminine clothes, plus she makes hand-tooled leather handbags.

First impression: OK, no this is the token straight guy. Or the guy who lost the role of Turtle on Entourage to Jerry Ferrara.
Annoyance level: [First, DAMMIT, wrong again. Are there no straights on this show??] Realtively low. Very earnest, has tried out for show four times already, seems like a nice guy.
Style: Lattice-work detailing and punk-rock damask silk jackets. Pretty cool.

First impression: Asshatus Maximus
Annoyance level: High. I could barely watch his audition tape to the end because I had to fix my douchebag meter, which had exploded. Narcissistic, pretentious… Logan is, at least, a good foil for all of the relatively nice people we’ve seen so far. Think Santino but without the sense of humor. Ugh.
Style: Rocker chick, but retro and pretty. Although he did create an acid-wash denim puff skirt for his casting session. With elastic pockets.

First impression: Diablo Cody meets Janeane Garofalo’s character in Reality Bites, looks-wise. Let’s hope her personality matches.
Annoyance level: Medium-high. She’s quirky in a vaguely creepy way, like keeping tons of antique doll heads in her apartment. Her audition tape, which consisted of Louise awkwardly reading cue cards with her head sticking out of a homemade cutout, made me cringe.
Style: Vintage/retro (she loves the 17th century), but with her own couture twists. Based a really cool top (made of opera gloves!) on Winona Ryder’s Beetlejuice character.

First impression: Fresh out of Parsons, likely obnoxious (pensive hand on face pose = dead giveaway)
Annoyance level: Medium-high. Definitely believes he “deserves” to be on the show at 24, and lists his favorite designer as “Myself”. Is, however, well-spoken and cares a lot about social change and using fashion as a tool to reflect the changing culture.
Style: Loose, androgynous pieces (think slouchy hoodies and shapeless dresses). Very of-the-moment but not terribly memorable.

First impression: Dexter meets Emmet from Season 2. Either gentle giant …. Or psycho killer.
Annoyance level: Low. Neither gentle giant (he’s a charismatic Southern boy, like Kayne from season 3, but if Kayne were on Xanax and stopped dyeing his hair) nor psycho killer (fox-pelt rug notwithstanding), Mitchell is polite and well-groomed and the kind of boy you’d take home to Mom (but only if you also are a boy as Mitchell is gay as the day is long).
Style: Ethereal tops and dresses in neutral colors (he’s red/green colorblind). Interesting textures and great workmanship. So far Mitchell’s are the clothes I’d most want to wear.

First impression: John Hodgman in a very bad wig.
Annoyance level: Low verging on medium. He’s actually pretty likeable and charismatic, but definitely thinks highly of himself and his work (albeit with good reason: he’s had pieces featured in W magazine and does “featherwork” for Marchesa). Faint Euro accent (he’s Russian, and lived in London for years) could swing Nic either way on my annoyance meter. Only time will tell.
Style: Sequins! Sparkles! Feathers! It’s part old Hollywood glamour, part disco flash, and it’s really rather fabulous.

First impression: LOVE. HER.
Annoyance level: Low. She’s just what you’d think from her photo: Bubbly, down-to-Earth, easy to like.
Style: “Plus-sexy.” Qristyl has designed for Queen Latifah and tends towards colorful fabrics in classic shapes like A-line swing dresses and sheaths. Sadly I have a feeling that the plus-size specialty won’t serve her well, unless she gets a plus-size model.

First impression: Oh, black Clark Gable, you are fahhhhhbulous, darling.
Annoyance level: Low with a chance of medium. His throaty voice and flamboyant wardrobe make Ra’mon-Lawrence someone you want to watch. He seems poised to be Jerell-esque, only more fierce, but could turn out to be a dick. It’s hard to tell.
Style: With the most range of the group (at least judging from what he showed during his casting), R-L can pull off everything from a simple white shirt to an evening gown with panache. He loves prints and embellishments, like dyes and texture treatments.

First impression: Looks too much like Irina. I know it will take me weeks to tell them apart. Shit.
Annoyance level: High. Uses air-quotes, wears tiny Peter Pan hats, brags about excelling “at this stage” in her career (she’s 24). If only she had a tugboat captain father and a bunch of tulle, she could give Kenley a run for her money.
Style: Cute multi-use pieces with crafty details, but at casting the judges commented that she wasn’t pushing herself enough (I volunteer to push her … off of something high).

FINAL ANALYSIS: With its cast of mostly adorable characters, along with the requisite d-bags thrown in for flavor, this season seems as promising as can be. All of the designers are incredibly skilled, and I for one am looking forward to the change of scenery that the LA setting will bring. I am going to recap this shit out of this show. Just watch.

According to Style.com, only two designers have shown couture collections for Fall 2009. Let’s take a look, shall we?

Christian Dior (helmed by saucy leather pirate John Galliano) appeared to have forgotten something in its styling…

I can’t put my finger on precisely what’s missing…

But, clearly, the hat pulls it all together. Check out the hot mess below—practically naked!

Let’s see if she can catch a cab in that.

Sadly, the lingerie theme seems to be catching. The other designer, Alexis Mabille, was inspired by his vision of “a girl waking from a languorous night of dreams tangled in her bedclothes.” If the below photo is any indication, this bitch actually broke into my “dress-up chest” circa 1988 (and the joke is on her because our cat Brassy totally peed on all of that stuff).

Still, I would sooner wear a pee-soaked rag than the monstrosity, the scourge on humanity, that is the following:

Fitted. Formal. Satin. Is it a romper or a jumpsuit? Is it a rompsuit? You know what. it doesn’t matter. BECAUSE THIS IS NOT RIGHT. IT ALSO—oops, sorry, got carried away with the all caps—it also appears to have pieces of butt flair. I would demand a rear view but I’d rather not bleed from the eyes.

When viewing this next ensemble, keep in mind that this is for fall.

Now, I’m an East Coast girl. So I don’t really know what goes on out West. But I would bet my buttons that satin booty shorts and a dust ruffle do not constitute proper apple-picking attire anywhere.

Of course, the good news is that fall fashion recognizes the recession. The designers are saying it’s OK. If you can’t afford pants, just don’t wear them! And if you’re forced to revisit your mother’s peed-on silk nighties, at least you’ll be a la mode! Best of all, Mabille has helpfully included a DIY option….

Just gank a tablecloth and some duct tape and you’re good to go. Work!