Thursday, August 31, 2006

Angela's Travelling Tonight On a Plane, I Can See The Red Tail Lights Heading Away From Kayne



The challenge this week is yet another in a continuing series of brilliant contest ideas for the designers: They have to make an "international jet-set" travelling outfit--for themselves to wear and model! Yippee!

They get, like , fifty cents and three Q-tips from Mood to work with, and then they rush back to the Parsons workroom. Everyone's design is pretty predictably in line with their personality, except for crazy ole 401-K-casher-inner Vincent, who decides to go very plain and basic for his v-neck sweater-n-dark-pants ensemble. Uli, to no one's surprise, goes for crazy prints and a "hippie chic" look; adorable Michael puts together a P. Diddy In The Hamptons ensemble (with seersucker pants! wheeeeeeee!); Laura, Our Pregnant Lady of the Frightening Breast Plate, goes for a simple, well-structured flesh-toned jersey wrap-like dress; Angela, the Bubble-Skirted Wonder, starts making her granny circles as fast as lightening and of course decides to incorporate a pair of satin cargo capris; Kayne picks out a Versace-esque butterfly-wing-ish print at Mood, and I'm immediately concerned that he is about to design a tribute to Buffalo Bill's cape in "The Silence of the Lambs," and will prance down the runway rubbing his nipples with his twig-n-berries tucked under his frontal region while "Goodbye Horses" by Psyche plays softly in the background; and Jeffy Dahmer, AKA Mr. Hardcore, naturally starts dropping the dreaded "Rock-N-Roll" references left and right and straight down his horrible crotch. GOD I HATE JEFFY.

The cutest part of the whole show is when Michael shows Kayne, of all people, how to work the runway. So sweet!

Back at the workroom, Tim Gunn is worried about Kayne's outfit, which on the one hand has thankfully not turned into a satin moth-themed cape over a suit of lady skin, but on the other hand has morphed into a gay Elvis costume, and not in a good way. The thing is, I think this is Kayne's taste--this is, to him, a great outfit and I think it hurts his feelings to hear Tim and everyone else who sees this design talk about how bad it is. He is a southern formerly-fat gay man who makes pageant gowns, and this is what a southern formerly-fat gay man who makes pageant gowns dresses like when he travels to pageants, carrying tiaras and double-stick tape and diuretics and whatnot for his clients. I'm not saying it isn't a terrible outfit, I'm just saying he is being very (perhaps too) true to himself, and that has its own merits.

Angela is furiously sewing granny circles like a craft woman posessed. She also holds up the satin cargo pants to Tim and shows off what at first appears to be a circle of ruching emanating from the crochtal region, like a camel toe had been put into a spin-art machine and rendered in fabric. (Did Angela just blow my mind? Mabye.) It is, to say the least, alarming in its hideousness. And she apparently plans to attach a ginormous granny circle to each ass cheek, and then place a million gazillion tinier fleurchons to every other surface of the outfit. Dear God.

When the time comes to walk the runway, we find that the special guest judge is Francisco Costa, creative director of Calvin Klein Women. Friend of Felt Up TrAngela almost peed her pants when she saw her fashion idol on the panel, as did most of the contestants.

Uli walks like a Teutonic linebacker, and the judges are not thrilled with her design, which they think looks appropriate only for Miami Beach, the South of France, L.A., the Bahamas, Hawaii, the Virgin Islands, the Dutch East Indies, or any other glamorous sunny clime. I really didn't understand why they thought that was a drawback; the challenge was for a "jet-setting" outfit, and why would she particularly want to jet off to Siberia? They rightfully point out, however, that she's something of a one-trick pony and they're getting tired of that trick. The viewing party thought the dress worked nicely--until it got to the point just past the mid-thigh where the cute mini-dress ended and the the nightmarish hippie patch-work gown began. Here's Tim's Take:
Uli is flirting with becoming a caricature of herself. That is, she’s pummeling us with Caribbean hippie dresses in riotous prints. In spite of her dexterity in execution, I was fearful that the judges would declare that they had seen this dress too many times before. Furthermore, her design limited the possible destinations of her international jet setting. Thankfully, she survived this challenge with only some soft admonishments from the judges. Heed their words, Uli!




The judges were uniformly appalled by Kayne. He made a black shirt with the Versace-y fabric on the back, put on a sparkly "KAYNE" belt buckle, and made some black pants with bell-bottom vents. They all stood and yelled "J'accuse! Vous êtes Elvis!" over and over again like an angry French mob carrying torches and trying to break down Dr. Frankenstein's castle door. (Don't ask me to explain why the mob is French, I just like using "J'accuse" whenever possible.) Again: Hideous? Yes. Elvis? Perhaps. Kayne? Definitely.



Then out comes Jeffy's ridiculous "rock-n-roll" outfit. He made a jacket with purple lapels, a t-shirt with an oh-so-original sparkly skull on it (oooooooooooooh! skull! so hardcore! no one in the whole world wears skulls except the rockers! wow! I'm so impressed!), a pair of skin-tight black pants, and worst of all, some kind of silvery embellishment (more hardcore skulls, perhaps? I'm not sure, but whatever they are, they are FUGLY) in place of (or on top of) the zipper, so that he drew special attention to his crotch. All eyes were drawn to it. All eyes immediately wanted to be plucked out after seeing it. The judges do not agree with me or any other sane person and loooooooooooooove it. They act like it is the coolest thing they have ever seen, and the "edgiest" and--dare I even say it?---most "rock-n-roll." These judges have obviously never been to a Hot Topic store in their lives, or they would know that this entire outfit could have been had there five or six years ago for $47.99. Get thee to a mallery, Nina Garcia et al, and see what goes on in the real world! Also: GOD I HATE JEFFY.



Of course Angela is a mess. She looks so bad that I almost wish she had made a bubble skirt. It turns out that what had seemed earlier to be a ruched camel toe was, in fact, a ruched fan of satin emanating from her ass, just below the huge granny circles. Her top is constructed entirely of granny circles, as is her bag, her sunglasses, her jewelry, and her hair--or at least, that's how it seems. The judges are nonplussed. Tim says:
Few fabrics are as travel unfriendly -- it wrinkles instantly and behaves (or misbehaves!) as though those wrinkles were heat-pressed into place. Then, use the linen to make a cargo pant? For an international jet setter? Add to that the granny circles -- oops, I mean fleurchons -- and you had one hot mess.




Vincent comes out and schlumps his way down the runway in his dull, plain but thankfully not wacky or insane (insane in the membrane) sweater and pants combo...and yet...even though it's technically incredibly tame, there is still something about it that says "I just knocked Nurse Ratchet out with a hammer and dyed my hospital gown grey and turned it into a two-piece travelling suit." I can't put my finger on it, but Vincent just has a special gift for making everything he designs seem like it came out of a psychiatric ward, even this totally boring outfit. Maybe it's because it fit him so poorly, like he just made a run for it after the latest round of shock therapy? Tim says:
Vincent, stymied by the prospect of designing menswear, took the safest route, understandably. His fabric selections were dark and staid. For the design of the pants, he used his own pants to do a rub-off. (A rub-off is the use of an existing garment to create a pattern. In the case of most menswear, using a rub-off is smart and efficient.) There was nothing striking or innovative about Vincent’s design, but, thankfully, it wasn’t a float in a parade either.

NOTE TO TIM GUNN: DON'T EVER USE THE TERM 'RUB OFF' IN CONNECTION WITH VINCENT EVER AGAIN. EVER, EVER AGAIN. THANK YOU, THE WORLD.



Laura looks nice in her dress. Her hair is down for the first time ever on the show, and that makes her look softer and prettier and less Severe Scary Lady. My only critique was that I thought the color kind of washed her out, and Francisco Costa pointed out that the knot in the back might be uncomfortable on a long plane ride, but she came right back with "I can tie it in the front, too, because I am an architect."



Michael is cute as a button in his Hamptons hip-hop outfit. I'm not in love with the hangy thingies strapped to his pants, but the pants are made of seersucker, so that kind of balances it all out in my mind. He looks chic and summery and I just want to eat him up with a spoon. As does Michael Kors. I did find it odd that the judges made no mention of the fact that his outfit--just like Uli's--was inappropriate for an Arctic expedition or wintering on a Scottish cliffside hut, but I'm glad they liked it.



After the judges have their say, Heidi Klum makes the dramatic announcement that now they will see how the outfits they have designed will hold up after actual travel, and they have one hour to get packed and get to the airport. Wheeeeeeee! They are, of course, going to Paris, where there is apparently another outpost of Parsons. Laura is extremely relieved to find out she won't have to travel coach for the first time in her life and that her vintage Louis Vuitton luggage won't have to co-mingle with the hoi-polloi. Everyone clinks champagne with Tim Gunn and seems giddy with excitement, except Jeffy, who is too busy rolling his eyes, feeling superior, and being hardcore to enjoy himself.

Once at Parsons Paris, they meet their extra-special guest judge, fancy pants French designer Catherine Malandrino, who talks in an extreme Pepe Le Peu accent and is very pretty. Her scores will be added to the New York judges' scores to determine who will win and who will be OUT. They do a little ersatz runway show on the floor of the workroom for Ms. Malandrino, and she has much the same opinion as the NY judges. Catherine ees not crazee about Uli's St. Tripez The Light Fantastic dress--but Uli is safe. She ees not een love weef Vincent's boring outfeet, but he, too is IN. She veddy much likes Laura's design, and she is IN.

The top two are Michael--hurrah!--and Jeffy--gag, sputter, puke. Catherine says that Michael looks like a "heep-hop" star who ees on zee road, and Jeffy looks like--wait for it, wait for it--a "rock-and-roll" star on zee road. Apparently they don't have Hot Topic in France. And the winner is...sorry. I can't say it. Ummm, how about, "Not Michael"? Does that do the job? I'm sorry, I need a few moments to collect myself here and clean up the little bits of vomit that are still lingering in my mouth...

...OK. I'm back. Older, smellier, a tad more bitter, but back. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject of who won this week's challenge.

As to who lost...it was down to Angela and Kayne. You could have cut the tension here at the viewing party with a knife. We were rooting for Kayne to stay IN with every fiber of our being...willing the TV to do what we wanted...we channeled the energy of Friend of Felt Up Michele S.'s dearly beloved late mother Esther, whose 66th birthday would have been yesterday...we used the power of The King (Elvis, not God) to hear our prayers and not let his good name be used for evil...we used every ounce of vodka, champagne, and beer that had been swilled down our pieholes to give us strength to shout at the screen...and...and...IT WORKED. Kayne was IN. Angela was told to pack her bubble skirts and leave, because she had been AUF'D.

I must say that as much as Angela has been a figure of much derision, she was never as mean-spirited to the others as say, Jeffy, and and was really more of a weak, deluded sadsack with terrible taste who was waaaaaaaay out of her league rather than a truly bad, awful, hateful person like, say, Jeffy, who I want AUF'D as soon as possible. Farewell, Angela. May you spend the rest of your days in peace and harmony making dreadful bubble skirts and bizarre granny circles in every color of the rainbow. Here, let's get Tim's take:
In the words of Catherine Malandrino, “Ahnschaalaa, you are not of this world. You are out.” It was truly difficult to say goodbye to Angela, especially given how excited she was to be in Paris, but what choice did we have? And, only too fittingly, Angela receives this week’s Jubilee Jumbles Award. Everyone scream, “FLEURCHONS!”

FLEURCHONS!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

The Mayer of The Sunset Stripper

Well, I hate to be the bearer of terrible news, but it looks like not only were our prayers from yesterday regarding Jessica Simpson being permanently voiceless not answered, but she is also all over today's celeb gossip like a bad suit. As Friend of Felt Up TrAngela would so cunningly say, le sigh.

First up, the Sadder Simpson is supposedly dating John Mayer. According to People Magazine:
Jessica Simpson is embarking on a not-so-public affair – with singer-songwriter John Mayer, PEOPLE has confirmed.

"She's tiptoeing back into the dating world," a source tells PEOPLE. "It's the first stage. She's never been happier."

Mayer, 28, began a co-headlining tour with Sheryl Crow on Aug. 24, and Simpson, 26, is expected to attend his concert in Jones Beach, N.Y., on Wednesday night.

Simpson is currently in New York promoting her new album, A Public Affair, which was released Tuesday – although a bruised vocal cord has quashed any planned performances. Similarly, Mayer had to cancel his Hartford, Conn., appearance with Crow on Saturday due to laryngitis, the Associated Press reported
.
They both had simultaneous "laryngitis"? Uh, huh, right. You just know they gave each other some kind of oral thrush or throat gonorrhea (which I didn't even know was possible to get until Boyfriend of Felt Up Chepo P. made me watch a Very Special Episode of the new "Degrassi High" which dealt with this subject in its sensitive, Canadian way). Either way: Shuuuuddddder!

The other "big" story about Daddy's Newly-Crowned Second Favorite Simpson is that she got a little too close to K-Fed, and Britney Spears went into one of my all-time favorite celebrity modes, A Jealous Rage. At least that is what I was led to believe by gossip site The Bosh:
Pop tart Britney Spears went into a jealous rage when her hubby left her to cozy up with Jessica Simpson at the Teen Choice Awards. According to sources spilling to Australia's NW magazine, after Kevin Federline's critically panned debut performance, the aspiring rapper got cozy with newly single Jessica Simpson. Federline was all smiles as Jessica held his hand to tout his performance

Sources say, once Britney Spears got wind of the extra hand holding she was fuming.

Luck going her way, Britney Spears got her revenge on the same night

Jessica allegedly asked, pregnant Britney Spears to kiss her belly.

An eyewitness claims the 'Toxic' singer responded to Jessica's unusual question by saying: "Hell no!"

The witness added to Us Weekly magazine: "Jessica was really insulted, but Britney refused to let her do it."

Jessica, 26, hosted the awards ceremony and 24-year-old Britney attended to introduce husband Kevin Federline's debut live performance.

Jessica has revealed she lost eight pounds in just two weeks so she would look her best at the glitzy event.

This piece was a tad poorly-written; I think Jessica asked if she could kiss Britney's ginnormous pregnant belly, not the other way around like it makes it sound. Either way: Huh? That's her "jealous rage"? And did Jessica just hold K-Fed's hand onstage? Harrumph. I wanted nothing less than Britney Spears bursting in on Jessica Simpson and K-Fed en flagrante (I know--ewwww gross!) in a fancy hotel room, and then going berserk, breaking lamps, throwing Louis Vuitton luggage around (including Jessica's dog-carrier), shrieking like a banshee, pulling out Jessica's extensions and K-Fed's cornrows right off their heads, and finally going into trauma-induced premature labor right there on the sexed-up crumpled sheets of the bed, and a bellboy being forced to use one of K-Fed's torn-off cornrows to tie off the umbilical cord (which would all turn out fine for mother and child, of course, except for the fact that they are related to K-Fed). Now that's a jealous rage. My standards are high, people. I am not pleased with you, The Bosh. Not pleased a'tall.

Oh, and it looks like those eight pounds Jessica lost for that awards show have been pumped directly into her oral gonorrhea partner John Mayer's face:



Le Sigh...

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Sometimes Mireacles DO Come True!

From CNN:
Talk about bad timing. At the start of a media blitz to support her new album, "A Public Affair," Jessica Simpson is on vocal rest.

"It is true that she has indeed lost her voice," Simpson's publicist, Rob Shuter, told The Associated Press on Tuesday. "She's been ordered to rest. ... She can talk, she can croak out a few sentences. She sounds a little off, but, you know, she can't sing."

Simpson, 26, fell ill Friday and has "a strain, a bruise on her vocal cord," Shuter told the AP.

She canceled a planned appearance on CBS' "Late Show With David Letterman" this week but was to appear on MTV's "Total Request Live" on Tuesday afternoon to promote the album -- but not sing, Shuter said.

Simpson hopes her condition improves by Friday, when she is scheduled to perform on NBC's "Today" show, he said.

"She's trying," Shuter said. "Everybody is hoping and keeping their fingers crossed."

Oh, everybody is hoping and keeping their fingers crossed all right--that she never utters another word again.

Maybe, just maybe, if every man, woman, child, and Scientologist alien baby in the whole entire world could join together and in one desperate voice cry out to sweet baby Jesus (the version that Ricky Bobby prays to--the one wrapped in swaddling clothes in the manger--or perhaps even Cal Naughton, Jr's "mischievous badger" Jesus): "Lord, we are weary, and problems we have many! Please, we beseech Thee, let this brief respite from Jessica Simpson's voice last unto eternity and lo, we shall forever weep with joy and gratitude!" then perhaps that sweet little mischievous badger swaddled in the manger will use His infinite power and wisdom to keep that blonde bimbo's piehole shut forever and some tiny, yet important, measure of peace can be brought to humanity.

I think we should at least give it a shot.

Friday, August 25, 2006

New Post! On Another Blog.

Yes, it's true, there's actually a new, albeit rather wee, post over at lonely, neglected Felt Up sister blog Thrifty Cent. You see, when your humble blogette moved into the new Felt Up HQ, she lost her digital camera, and so it was harder to put up photos of the thrift crap (uh, treasures) that she found, so blah blah blah, the camera is now found and Thrifty Cent should (hopefully) be more regularly updated from now on.

We now return to your regularly scheduled Felt Up post. Which will not be updated until later today. Maybe. I'm sorry! Stop looking at me like that! You're not my father!

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Jeffreys


Sigh. I'm having some issues both with my interweb and with my actual computer, so I'm unable to access all of Tim's Take or most of the pictures from the Bravo website. I was able to get some stuff, though, before The Crash, so please bear with me. Now, let the (not-entirely-complete) rehash begin!

This episode put me in a quandry. On the one hand, the challenges they've come up with on this season of "Project Runway"--especially this one--are the best so far. On the other hand, the judges' decisions are making me want to pull my hair out, weave it into a noose, and strangle Nina Garcia and Michael Kors until their eyes pop out, so then they might be able to see better with the new, improved "Six Million Dollar Man"-style robotic eyes that Heidi Klum would make Seal buy for them. Because right now, I'm fairly certain that they are blind.

The brilliant challenge was that the contestants would have to design for "everyday women"--something I have longed for since the show began--but not just random people pulled off the street or Rosie O'Donnell. No, they would be making outfits for the mothers and sisters of the designers! The women came out on the runway, and were a good cross-section of Normal Womanhood: Some were average-sized, some were slightly overweight, a few were very overweight. The twist was that the designers would not be making clothes for their own relative, but had to choose who they would be designing for.

Michael got to go first, and he chose Robert’s sister, Teresa, who had come over from England to participate, and was pretty svelte. Laura, Our Lady of The Frightening Breast Plate, went next, and got Pam, the rather elegant mother of Jeffrey, AKA Mr. Hardcore, AKA Mr. Designer To Rock-N-Rollers Like J. Lo. Nutty 401K-casher-inner-who-should've-been-kicked-off-ages-ago Vincent went for Uli's elegantly Teutonic mother, Heidi. Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Wonder, chose Laura's mother, Lorraine, who looks like a cross between Laura and Anne Meara. Kayne, bless his heart, took Michael's mother Pamela, who was on the zaftig side and cute as a button. Uli got Kayne's mom, Judy, who was plumpish, and Robert got Vincent's fairly sane-seeming and rather overweight sister Judy. Because everyone hates on Angela (whom I'm beginning to soften towards because she's kind of a sadsack and compared to some of the beyotches on this show is practically Mother Theresa), her mother Darlene was the last to get picked, and got stuck with Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey, who was none too pleased. (How awesome would it have been if Darlene had shown up in a bubble skirt? Ah, perchance to dream....)

The whole group dashes off to the Tavern on The Green restaurant, where they get to meet the special guest judge: Joan Kors, Michael's mother! WHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEE! She looks and dresses and talks exactly like her son. Put a wig on Michael Kors and you'd get the picture. Oh. My. God. Genius! Just a brilliant idea on the part of the producers, I must say.

Then, as if this wasn't awesome enough, the moms bring out photos of the designers when they were kids! WHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEE! Michael, was, of course, adorable. The big surprise was that Kayne was an overweight child/young adult and has lost 110 pounds; it was very moving when he said he picked Michael's mom because he understood what it was like to want to look good while being overweight. Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey was a total dorky dweeb as a 'tween, ha ha and HA. My only criticism is that I wish they had shown way more pictures (really, I could have watched a whole episode of nothing but the moms showing us photos of the designers in their awkward teen years) and had shown at least one of each contestant. No, wait, my other criticism is that I would've killed somebody (say, Jeffrey) to get to see Tim Gunn's mom.

Oh, and Laura let it slip that she discovered while on the show that she is pregnant with her sixth child. Her sixth starving, scrawny child. Her mom was like, "Huh. That Laura is always full of surprises!" Sadlly, she is not also full of milk for her unborn baby. That breast plate can barely support the drape of skin that hangs from it, much less any kind of productive mammary glands. But I digress.

The challenge is to come up with an "everyday" outfit for the women to wear, not anything too fancy pants--Kayne, this means you! They consult with the designers about colors and styles that they like and then the contestants got $150 to go to to Mood and buy fabrics and whatnot. Back at the workroom, there is immediate tension between Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey and Angela's mom, Darlene. She doesn't like the color fabric he chose, and instead of trying to calm her fears that she will look "matronly," he very quickly turns surly and mean, and soon Darlene is in tears. Now, some in our our viewing party thought Darlene was too sensitive and was acting like a baby, but personally, I was aghast at how horrribly Jeffrey treated her. Even if she was over-dramatizing a bit, imagine how scary it was for her to be on tv and face the prospect of walking down a catwalk in front of Michael Kors et al, and then get stuck with a guy with the most ludicrously hideous neck tattoo of all time who openly despises your daughter designing a powder-blue muu-muu for you. I mean, please. She was within her rights to get upset, and he should have treated her with kid gloves, or at the very least, some respect for a fellow human being's mother. GOD I HATE JEFFREY!

Angela came over and basically told her mom to make sure and be super-honest on the runway (nice way to turn the situation into a scheme for your own win, Angela, instead of putting your mom's feelings first, but maybe they edited it that way), while Jeffrey's mother tried to smooth things over. Jeffrey's mother seemed very proud of her hardcore son for overcoming alcoholism and junkiedom to rise to the rarified heights of designing on "Project Runway"--it's just too bad he left behind all his manners and human decency back on the mean streets before he cleaned up.

Here's Tim's Take on the end result of all this drama:
Jeffrey’s design for Darlene (Angela’s mom) receives this week’s Jubilee Jumbles Award. It was a monastic, floor-length atrocity. (A holy mess, pun intended!) If he intended to seek revenge upon Darlene for the infractions he perceived she committed towards him, then he succeeded with this outfit. It’s one thing to declare that you don’t understand plus-size women (which he did declare), but it’s another to design a mortifying sack of a hideous dress. I applaud Darlene for being the good sport that she was and having the guts to wear it.

As usual, Tim is right on the money! Boo, Jeffrey! Hiss! Hisssssssssssssss!
(Here is where I would like to have a photo of Jeffrey's horrendous design on Angela's sainted mother, but you'll just have to take my word--and Tim's--that it was an unflattering monster of a sack dress. And sure, they may be all the rage in this month's issue of Lucky Magazine, but Lucky lost its mind about two years ago.)

Kayne did some odd capri pants for Michael's mom Pamela with a patented Kayne Sherbet-Colored top. I got what he was going for--overweight people can be kicky and free-spirited, too!--but the whole effect was kind of yucky and didn't do justice to Pamela's beauty or style.

Uli did a fantastic job with Kayne's mother Judy: She used some of her trademark patterned material and made a gauzy, flowy top over some pants, and the effect was really nice. Age appropriate, flattering, but still stylish and fun. Uli's was one of the few pics I was able to download:



Vincent did an OK job, for once, but I thought his dress was kind of boring and had a weird Vincent-y collar. Also, Uli's mom would have looked good in anything. Tim says:
Let’s begin with his model, Heidi (Uli’s mom). She could be a model; Heidi’s tall, gorgeous, and has a great figure. So Vincent was not even remotely challenged by the prospect of working with a new size, shape, or set of proportions. Therefore, his only challenge was design…and what was that?

I think the judges should have given extra points to the designers who worked with the "real" women, and been a tad harder on those who worked with more "fashion"-type bodies. That's just the way I roll, people. Here's Heidi in Vincent's dress:



Angela, who got Laura's mother Lorraine, tried to do an Audrey Hepburn-esque classy black dress (because Lorraine asked for something along those lines), but, being Angela, she had to craft it up with some flapper fringe and a big horrible purse. The total look was kind of Upper East Side Crazy Lady, like Lorraine had just escaped from Grey Gardens on her way to a "Great Gatsby" theme party.

Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey's mother Pam had told Laura that she might like some "cruise wear" clothing, which in my mind means long, white pants, Pucci-print halter tops, head wraps and huge sunglasses, since apparently "cruise wear" means Jaqueline Susann crossed with "Swept Away" costumes to your humble Felt Up blogette. But to Laura, Our Pregnant Lady of the Frightening Breast Plate, "cruise wear" seemed to translate into "severe businesswoman in a sailor outfit":



Not bad, and as usual for Laura, very well-constructed (did you know she's an architect?! snort, guffaw), but kind of dullsville.

Robert's model, Vincent's sister Judy, had explicitly told him that she wanted to feel comfortable and didn't want anything too form-fitting, as she was self-conscious about her weight. Sadly, Robert took these instructions to heart, and constructed a giant black muu-muu with a bright red loose-fitting flowy jacket. I think Judy liked it, but it wasn't doing her figure any favors, and once again, Robert's design came off as pretty damn boring. Which makes me very sad, because all of his comments on this show have been either bitchy-in-a-good-way, self-deprecating, funny, or just plain sweet. He seems like a very likable guy--the kiss of death on this season of "Project Runway."



It's hard to do justice to just how bad Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey's outfit was for Angela's poor mother, Darlene. If he'd pulled off some kind of great-looking dress that did wonders for Darlene's figure, I might have been able to forgive at least some of his outrageously mean, boorish, bullying, and rude behavior towards her. But noooooooooooooooo. The "vision" he so viciously crammed down Darlene's throat until she gagged and cried and begged for mercy was a monstrously uncute bag that made her look like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon that had become unmoored and had been strapped down with a gigantic fake mortician's suit (you know, those fake suits that are cut down the back for dead people to wear in coffins?). It was that horrible. And Darlene went right on down that runway with her head held high and even managed some sass and spunk as she strutted before the judges. I have a lot of respect for Darlene, despite the fact that she raised a daughter who wears and makes bubble skirts in every color of the rainbow.

Michael designed a super-nice black shirt dress for Robert's sister, who, granted, was slim and svelte. At first everyone thought the outfit was a tad on the boring side, but then it turned out to be completely reversible, with a black-and-white floral pattern on the other side. Oh, Michael. Mwah!

The judges were the usual suspects, plus special guest judge Joan Kors! I swear, she and Michael spoke in one voice. It's like she had a male clone made of herself in a petrie dish 46 years ago. (Yes, Michael Kors is only 46. I had totally thought he was in his 60s before he got de-puffed at whatever fat farm he shipped himself off to mid-season.) They liked Michael, Uli, and Vincent's outfits; were kind of on the fence about Laura, Kayne, and Angela's; and they loathed Robert and Jeffrey's.

I thought Uli should have won--especially since she had a plus-size model--but in the end the judges lost complete leave of their senses and awarded crazy ole Vincent the win. Tim was not pleased:
Vincent wins (note absence of exclamation point)...From my point of view, he made a simple sheath and adorned it with an oversized pilgrim-collar, and a collar that merely stood out on the front of the dress and didn’t even exist on the back. Huh? I didn’t get it and it certainly wasn’t my taste. But it suited the judges’ taste and that’s what matters. Congratulations Vincent, whatever you are.


So the bottom two were Robert and Mr. Hardcore. And who lost? The jackass who made someone's mom cry (who, by the way, was technically his "client") and designed a dowdy trashbag-like dress, or the sweet, sensible person who listened to what his model wanted to wear and made something dull, but wearable? Well, I think you know who was Auf'd, and I think you know that it is a total effing travesty: It was Robert, who must go back to face that haughty bitch Barbie who will be so goddamned smug at his loss--you just know it!--and continue to design for her until she's in her 80s and has been renamed "Paris." Or maybe he will decide not to go back to Mattell and will pursue something with live humans. Whatever his course, I wish him nothing but good fortune.

As for Jeffrey: Once a dweeb, always a dweeb. You are poseur, a turd ass, and a terrible, terrible person who doesn't deserve such a classy mom, and you make me want to tattoo "Jeffrey Is Puke" on my neck.

Good day, sir.

I said good day!

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Let Them Eat Wedding Cake

I have been bored to tears by the so-called "gossip" of late! Today the "big" news is that Tom Cruise got dumped by his studio for being a nutty nutball. Yawn. Although I will say that this little exchange between gazillionaire head of Viacom Sumner Redstone and Cruise's production partner Paula Wagner did make me giggle:
Sumner Redstone, chairman of Viacom Inc., Paramount's parent company, stunned the Cruise camp Tuesday when he told the Wall Street Journal that the studio was not renewing its pact with Cruise, which was due to expire August 31, because, "As much as we like him personally, we thought it was wrong to renew the deal. His recent conduct has not been acceptable to Paramount."

Said Wagner: "That came out of nowhere. It seems erratic. Paramount needs to spend more time identifying its goals and what films it wants to make. This is Hollywood's oldest film studio, with a legacy to uphold."

Paula Wagner, I salute your incredible balls! Calling Sumner Redstone's company "erratic" for getting rid of Tom Cruise is like a really crazy pot telling a ginormous kettle that it is, in fact, black. Yowza! What chutzpah!

Here's an artist's rendering:



There is nothing else of much interest (besides the gag-inducing rumor that Paris P-Hole Hilton is sleeping with oily oil heir--and inventor of the "Fire Crotch" craze that is sweeping the nation like a bad case of herpes--Brandon Davis: All together now! EEEEEEWWWWWW!), except the fact that I would give my left arm and a kidney to attend the lavish, three-million-dollar Beyonce Knowles/Jay-Z nuptials, which, according to Star Magazine, will be the awesomest event in the History of Humankind, and will put to utter shame such small-fry affairs as the under-reported, lacking in star-power Big Bang of the universe, the kinda low-brow birth of Jesus Christ, the boring ole sacking of Rome by the Vandals, the dinky Louis XVI/Marie Antoinette wedding, and the rather paltry Lady Di wedding to Prince Charles:
The former Destiny’s Child member is planning a late November wedding on the Caribbean island of Anguilla, reports the tab. Guests at the bash will dine on $300,000 worth of Beluga caviar as well as lobster and Italian truffles and will wash it down with $200 bottles of Dom Perignon. Knowles’ wedding dress will be modeled after Princess Diana’s, reports the Star, and among the guests invited are Oprah Winfrey and U.N. head Kofi Annan.

I'm in a Marie Antoinette kind of mood (as usual), so here's a picture of her for the hell of it:



Finally, on a personal and yet still Frenchy note, some loyal and perhaps extra-attuned Felt Up readers may remember that I have long held as a point of personal pride the fact that I have never succumbed to seeing twee French movie "Amelie," and vowed never to do so. Well, "never" lasted approximately three years, as I broke down in a moment of weakness and watched it on TV this past Sunday. Why did I not want to see this movie? Because it seemed to be so full of whimsy and charm, that's why. Whimsy, I say! Charm! Ugh!

I hated the ad campaign, the poster, the pixie gamine look of Audrey Tatou, the very name "Audrey Tatou" itself, the very name "Amelie" itself, the whole Frenchy-frenchness of it all. To paraphrase Lou Grant upon meeting Mary Richards on "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," "Amelie" had spunk. I hate spunk. However, I have to say that I enjoyed the film very much. It may very well be the perfect movie to watch on a Sunday afternoon, nursing a hangover and suffering from a touch of ennui. All right? Happy now? Satisfied? I have to go now and give up my membership in the Cranky Curmudgeons Who Refuse To Submit To The Charms Of "Amelie" Club. I believe there is some kind of shame ceremony involved, where they make you stick your hand in a barrel of legumes, eat brie, and drink a tiny glass of port. Quelle horreur! Somehow I will survive...

Friday, August 18, 2006

Compare And Contrast

It's really just too bad that pretty pixie sprite Alison, who was auf'd from "Project Runway" this week because she made her "zaftig" model look "plus-size," couldn't have had Nicole Richie walk the runway for her instead, because maybe then she'd still be in the running and Vincent could go back to bothering Nurse Ratchet at the nuthouse. The new Star Magazine has a front-page story on Nicole's continuing efforts to keep her body Hollywood Normal, ie, at death's door, by getting some much-needed exercise:



Compare Nicole with cute lil' Alison's disgustingly obese model, Fattie McChubberton:



Yes, Richie is definitely The Fashion Ideal to which all young girls should aspire, and could have made Alison's sculptured origami paper bag dress a smashing success with the judges and fashion forward fuglies the world over, while McChubberton should a) hire a crane to lift her gigantic tub of guts out of the fashion business for good and drop her down in the same "spa" that de-puffed Michael Kors and then b) commit hari kari for bringing great shame and dishonor to the fashion industry and offending Heidi Klum's delicate sensibilities with her disgusting lard ass.

(Sorry. This episode of "Project Runway" is going to bug me for quite some time, like a bad rash.)

Thursday, August 17, 2006

What Garbage!



Ooooooh, I do so love these kinds of challenges--you know, where the designers have to make a dress out of Q-Tips, pencil shavings, Band-Aids, and a pile of banana peels or whatever. This week, the contestants had to make an outfit out of recycled materials--plastic, paper, and metal--from New Jersey! Ewwww, so unfashiony! Each mile they got further away from Manhattan, Laura began melting, meeeeellllllting, because apparently Newark is to Laura what water is to the Wicked Witch of The West in "The Wizard of Oz."

The designers gathered up all sorts of interesting crapola while wearing hard hats, goggles, coveralls, and gloves. Tim Gunn in his hazardous materials outfit was a delifghtful sight to behold and will be one of my Precious Memories, right up there with seeing my baby nephew Memphis for the first time. Do I see Halloween costumes being hatched in the minds of gays everywhere? I hope so!

Then they were given $25 dollars to buy art supplies like glue and tape, and for Kayne to spend entirely on glitter.

Back at the work studio, Kayne put together a really amazing dress--and by "amazing," I mean "hideous"--with a green metallicy top and giangantic "Gone With The Wind" conical hoop skirt covered with green bottle caps and various doo-dads. I could see what he was going for, and really, it almost maybe might have sort of worked, but in the end Tim had to throw a fit and make him lose the skirt. From
Tim's Take
:
One of the many factors that confounded me was that while at Waste Management, Kayne had obsessed over a huge container of plastic bottles with caps. He removed dozens and dozens of caps with the intention of making a bustier. Fabulous. So where did they end up? On the stupid skirt: randomly placed and embellished with a dollop of green paint (like the paint on the top). I screamed, literally, and told him to lose the skirt. The final outfit used the same top, but the skirt was modified – paper and mylar and knee-length. It was better, but it was still a hot mess. Frankly, it looked like it was going to Pattycake’s birthday party at Angela’s art camp. Oh my. Maybe we should inaugurate a Jubilee Jumbles award?

Oh, Tim! What a genius you are. What a way with words. I would never have thought to inaugurate a Jubilee Jumbles award (in dubious honor to Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Wonder), but now that you've said it, I think it should become a hallowed tradition on "Project Runway." They could do it at the reuniun show, and give out a small trophy wearing a patchwork, quilted top and puff skirt covered in granny circles and Skittles to the designer with the most ridiculously-Angela-like outfit of the season. Kind of like winning "Miss Congeniality" at the Miss America pagaent.

Kayne's final dress:



Later, tempers flared between Kayne and Laura, Our Lady of the Frightening Breast Plate; Laura took it upon herself to question Kayne's "choices" (which is beyotch-speak for "taste"), as if she was genuninely concerned for his future on the show, and Kayne was having none of it. He shot right back that he questioned Laura's character, which he thought was far worse than having no taste, and then said something to the effect that he would not be "berated on television." Good for you, Kayne! I love a take-no-guff gay!

Jeffrey, AKA Mr. Hardcore, AKA Mr. Designer to the Rock-n-Rollers Like J.Lo, AKA The Guy With The Tatoo That Draws Needless, Unflattering Attention To His Odd Neck, kept going on camera to complain about how terrible everyone else is--he even had the nerve to dis Michael's winning design from last week--when he, Mr. Hardcore, is so awesome and more deserving of all of life's riches and glories. He really went on and on. Also, lots of eye-rolling from him, although it's hard for me to look at his borderline-Down's-Syndrome-looking face when all I can do is stare, mesmerized, at his hideous neck tattoos.

When the designs hit the runway, it looked like a lot of the contestants used silvery mylar in their outfits. I can understand why--it does look fashiony--but it was kind of repetitive after a while. Uli's desing used it, but she wove it with white paper, and the result was pretty impressive:




Robert finally managed to not be boring, and though it was cute and retro-y, his silver dress didn't thrill me or anything:



Laura did a nice, 1960s-style A-line shift dress with a little black flower on the side; she also pleated the material so that the back read "For Nuts Only." (And she knows from nuts, let me tell you.) I liked it, it was well-made and pretty, but it was also kind of dullsville.



Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Wonder, made a terrible, terrible dress, of course. At least I think it was a dress. It might have been a pair of overalls from outer space. Tim said:
It was all so basic. And it looked like an elementary school craft project for a production of Camelot to boot. But Angela’s still in: Chacun à son goǔt.

I looked it up, and "chacun a son gout" means "Nina Garcia is crazy" in French.



Jeffrey's dress was pretty well-done, I have to admit, albeit it was fairly artsy-fartsy. He painted newspaper and really made it look like fabric. According to Mr. Gunn:
Jeffrey masterfully pleated newspapers to create a stunning top and he continued the material, unpleated, to make the skirt (the newspaper was applied to a muslin infrastructure). He painted the entire look in a somber palette and even painted a trompe l’oiel belt. It was very well-executed, and I admired it for that, but it was not for everyone’s taste. It was an in-your-face kind of look. But with this level of gustiness, I knew his look would receive an “it’s editorial” nod at the very least.

I looked it up, and "it's editorial" is Gunn-ese for "Nina Garcia is crazy."



Michael did a great job--yet again!--with his bustier top, skirt, and clear plastic wrap. Tim was ebullient in his praise:
He used a vinyl-coated burlap peanut sack for his skirt and frayed the seams and hem for more interest. He used the reverse side of some mylar tubing, which was gold in color, to make a little bustier of a top. Over this was a clear plastic organically formed shrug. It was glamorous. It was elegant. It was fabulous.

Huzzahs for Michael! Huzzah! Huzzah!



Alison the pixie wood nymph made a fairly ugly dress out paper, but I thought that a fashion-fowardy-type (say Chloe Sevigny or some other High Priestess of Fug) would probably wear it. It wasn't my bag, as it were, but it was well-made and had a lot of originality and was the kind of thing that the judges might have gone gaga over on this crazy show. She also had the Tresomme hairstylist put a weird Minnie Mouse bow of hair on the model's head, which was ludicrous, but then so was that giant pompadour she did one time, and the judges practically plotzed with joy over that, so what do I know about Fashion Hair? Tim's take:
Her design was an origami and sculptural masterpiece in my opinion. Foolish me, I thought she could win. Neither of us anticipated that the asymmetry of the design would bug the judges.

In the workroom, Tim kept telling Alison that her model, whom he described as "zaftig," would not look good in the dress, and this whole "Alison's model is a fat ass" ended up coming into play in the judging. I honestly had not noticed her model had a weight problem, but now that I look at her closely, I can see that she's a grotesque obese monster who is probably at least a size 2 and thus should be immediately shunned by all of society for her extreme porcinity:



And, finally, crazy ole 401K-casher-inner Vincent made a horrible monstrous tube dress covered with bits of crud that he thought was "artsy." It looked like a schizophrenic's interpretation of that horrible prom dress Molly Ringwald made by ruining Annie Potts' perfectly nice '50s gown in "Pretty in Pink," and for all I know, that's exactly what it was. Maybe Vincent escaped from a mental hospital, where he used to do art therapy while watching John Hughes movies, and he smothered a nurse with a pillow to make his getaway and somehow managed to jabber his way onto a design contest reality show. Whatever the case may be, he once again produced an absolute horror of an outfit that should have caused him not only to be thrown off the show, but back into the padded cell. Tim didn't mince words:
In the end, Vincent is Vincent and there’s no stopping him nor advising him. His look was god-awful in my opinion. And his model could barely walk the runway in his preposterous creation. But I guess Vincent has the last laugh; he’s still in. WHY?




The judges were made up of a still de-puffed Michael Kors, crazy Nina Garcia, and special guest judge Rachel Zoe, the Stylist To The Stars who is solely responsible for the tanorexic skeletons running around Hollywood with giant sunglassses, head scarves, and ginormous handbags.

For some unfathomable reason, Angela was safe. So were Uli and Robert. The best and worst were: Michael, Jeffrey, Vincent, Alison, Kayne, and Laura. It quickly became apparent that the judges lurved Michael, Laura, and Jeffrey, and the rest were on the choppping block.

In the end Michael won again! Two times in a row! Whoo-eeee! Mr. Hardcore Jeffrey could not contain a full-on eye-roll to the heavens on the runway, as he beseeched the Gods of Rock-N-Roll: "When, o when, will these moronic Philistines realize that I am superior to everyone who exists under the sun? When will my hardcore genius finally be understood? Why must I suffer fools when I have designed outfits for such rock-n-rollers as J.Lo?" And then he pouted his way offstage.

Kayne was given a stern lecture, which he took like a man, but thankfully he was safe. Then it was down to crazy ole Vincent and gorgeous pixie nymph Alison. And pretty much only because the judges thought Alison's dress was not only ugly, but made her model look "plus-size" (a description that Heidi whispered in a tone most people reserve for speaking of cancer or leprosy) they chose to keep Vincent and his unbelievably horrific--and poorly-made--design "IN," and Alison was "OUT." People, I am sad to say that fat trumps crazy every single time. ARGH!

Although I am bitter that we still have to watch Vincent go off his meds and babble on about his non-existent 401-K, we should all be comforted by the fact that Alison was sent back to scamper among the butterflies and bunny rabbits in the nearest forest glade, where she will happily sing Bjork tunes in her adorable lisp to the woodland flora and fauna, and where she will surely be discovered by a Hollywood agent and will soon be starring in her own reality show, "The Log Whisperer." Farewell, lil' Pixie!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

We've Loved And Lost Bruno Kirby

Your humble Felt Up blogette is very sad to report that one of her favorite actors, Bruno Kirby, has passed away. From the Associated Press:
Bruno Kirby, a veteran character actor known for playing the best friend in two of Billy Crystal's biggest comedies, "When Harry Met Sally" and "City Slickers," has died. He was 57.

Kirby died Monday in Los Angeles from complications related to leukemia, his wife Lynn Sellers said in a statement Tuesday. He had been recently diagnosed with the disease.

Although all the obits mainly mention his work in "City Slickers" and "When Harry Met Sally," I will always love him best in "The Godfather, Part 2" as the young "Fat" Clemenza--especially the scene where he and Robert DeNiro steal the rug--and also for his role as the Frank Sinatra-loving limo driver in "This Is Spinal Tap."

He was always memorable in everything he did--from "Where The Buffalo Roam" (starring Bill Murray as Hunter S. Thompson) to Barry Levinson's "Tin Men" to his role as Marlon Brando's nephew in "The Freshman," and even the incredibly creepy pedophile basketball coach in "The Basketball Diaries." He was the character actor's character actor, and he shall be missed.




"You know, it's just that people like this...you know...they get all they want so they don't really understand, you know...about a life like Frank's, I mean, you know when you've loved and lost the way Frank has, then you uh...you know what life's about."

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Soul Of A Moth, The Brain Of A Dead Trout, and The Tongue of a Semi-Alive Andy Dick



There are some pretty good D-list, minor-league non-news stories today, so let's hit it!

First up, the lead story from the NY Post's Page Six:
KOOKY comedian Andy Dick went bonkers at the Comedy Central roast of William Shatner on Sunday night - licking the faces of Farrah Fawcett, Carrie Fisher and Patton Oswalt before biting Post reporter Mandy Stadtmiller on the hand during a bizarre backstage meltdown.

Dick's face-licking frenzy began after Oswalt made a crack about the scraggly star's rollerskate-licking turn in Jessica Simpson's video, "A Public Affair." Dick retaliated by unleashing his tongue on Oswalt's face before turning it on Fawcett, Fisher and "Star Trek" actress Nichelle Nichols during the taping at the Radford CBS Studio in Studio City, Calif.

Backstage at the after-party, a drunken Dick groped an appalled Stadtmiller, tried to kiss her, proclaimed his love for her and finally bit her hand.

"Baby please," Dick repeated six times. "Put in something nice," he said after urinating in front of the horrified journalist in his dressing room and offering her cocaine.

"They're so mean," he ranted. "I'm not weird. Maybe I'm a little weird, they make me out to be a monster, I'm not a monster . . . I just want to have fun, baby please."

Dick, who performed his roast routine dressed in full Trekkie regalia, said that he downed two vodka cranberries to give him the courage to talk to fellow roaster Fawcett - of whom he said, "I'm going to [bleep] the [bleep] out of. Put that in Page 6, 7 and 8, that's how big my [bleep] is."

Explaining to Stadtmiller why he urinated in front of her, Dick said, "You know why I don't close the door? Because then people think I'm doing drugs, and I want you to know I'm just normal."

And why did Dick go on his licking spree? "I was doing it because I was desperately trying to tie the show together like a fisherman with tuna, and you're a little piece of fresh tuna," Dick told Stadtmiller. "But thanks for asking. Do you want me to lick your face now?"

No, Stadtmiller said - "but he can pay for that tetanus shot," she told us. Dick's camp had no comment.

Well, it seems to me like your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill encounter with Andy Dick, so I'm not sure why it's such urgent, top-story non-news, but I do love that he licked Farrah Fawcett's face. Speaking of which, D-Listed has some pictures of Farrah from that night, and boy has she had some major construction on her face and bod! Her face--while being tighter than than the security around Suri Cruise's caged spacepod--actually looks better than it has in years past, when she looked like she was getting facelifts from backalley amateur plastic surgeons with the DT's in a darkened basement in Cambodia. Yes, her face is improved, as long as she doesn't mind not looking at all like herself and looking more and more like Jane Fonda. But her boobs! They are totally off-kilter: one points one way and the other points another and they will hypnotize you if you're not careful, like that spinning wheel that John Waters used to "cure" Penny Pingleton of loving black boys in "Hair Spray." I did manage to find the least-flattering face shot, however. I know my readers have needs:



Here's a more flattering face photo, but beware the spinning, hypnotic boobs! BEEEEWAAAARE!



Who would ever thought you'd have trouble telling Farrah Fawcett and Jane Fonda apart?

Moving on, we have some news on
The Ickiest Relationship Of The Year, the one between 59-year-old nutty nutball James Woods and the skanky 20-year-old daughter of his golfing buddy. According to the NY Daily News' Gatecrasher column:
Memo to Hollywood powerbrokers: The trouble with having 20-year-old girlfriends is, like, they're 20.

Youthful Ashley Madison made the gossip pages in June when she parlayed her relationship with James Woods, 59, into a role on "Entourage."

But the romance spectacularly soured when Madison showed up at Woods' brother Michael's July 31 funeral "in a 3-inch miniskirt and chain-smoking."

"At the funeral she was concerned about the amount of magazines she was in," says Woods' pal Scott Sandler. "Jimmy was on his knees with tears staining his shirt, and she was showing pictures of herself."

The actor has known Madison, the pal of a golfing buddy, since she was 5. "She's the anti-Christ," says Sandler. "She truly has the soul of a moth and the brain of a dead trout."

Woods stars this fall in the new CBS legal drama "Shark," directed by Spike Lee. But he decided to end his May-December fling after stress sent him to the ER.

"Jimmy was so overcome by grief his blood pressure went through the roof early last week, and he had to go to the hospital," said Sandler. "When he came out, it was like he had seen the light."

Why do I get the feeling that when James Woods' grieving period is over, he is going to remember that sweet, sweet bird of youth, rush back into the be-miniskirted-loins of recent 5-year-old child Madison, and kick the crap out of his friend Scott Sandler for talking trash about his special girl?

And finally, Gatecrasher also had a wee blind item of interest:
Which fashionable reality-show contestant recently made it with that closeted actor who has very specific oral specifications about his hookups?

Could it be a reference to "Project Runway"? Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! Any guesses or funny rhyming names should be left in the comments box. Make it work!

Monday, August 14, 2006

Boy George Once Again Sweeping New York!


The Grey Lady keeps on dipping its refined toes into the filthy swill of celeb gossip by reporting on poor Boy George, who began his community service today in NYC:
With a city-issued broom in his hand, Boy George started his court-ordered community service early Monday, sweeping leaves and trash off the sidewalks of New York.

It took less than an hour for the former Culture Club frontman to get into a spat with the media.

''You think you're better than me?'' he yelled. ''Go home. Let me do my community service.''

Boy George took to the streets of Manhattan as a Department of Sanitation worker wearing an orange vest, dark capri pants, shoes without socks, and without the wild makeup and androgynous style that made him so recognizable as the '80s icon who sang ''Karma Chameleon'' and ''Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?''

''This is supposed to be making me humble. Let me do this,'' he said. ''I just want to do my job.''

The singer, born George O'Dowd, was ordered to spend five days working for the Department of Sanitation after pleading guilty in March to falsely reporting a burglary at his lower Manhattan apartment. The officers who responded found cocaine instead.

At 7 a.m. Monday, a sport utility vehicle pulled up at a Lower East Side sanitation depot. The agency planned to issue the singer a shovel, broom, plastic bags and gloves for the job of picking up trash on the city's streets.

In June, Manhattan Criminal Court Judge Anthony Ferrara issued a warrant for O'Dowd's arrest after he initially failed to complete the requirements of his plea deal. When O'Dowd appeared in court 10 days later, Ferrara called off the warrant but warned the singer he could not escape his community service commitment.

''It's up to you whether you make it an exercise in humiliation or in humility,'' Ferrara told O'Dowd.

O'Dowd, 45, initially envisioned a service project more in line with his status as an '80s icon.

He petitioned to spend the time helping teenagers make a public service announcement. Among his other proposals to the court: holding a fashion and makeup workshop, serving as a DJ at an HIV/AIDS benefit or doing telephone outreach.

How mean of that judge to deprive New York old ladies (like, say, Joan Rivers or me) the privelege of taking a free "fashion and makeup workshop" with Boy! Boo, hiss!

But really, I'm of two minds about this story. On the one hand, Boy George needs to realize he is not Dame Elizabeth Taylor and has to take whatever punishment he gets, and stop throwing diva hissy fits about picking up the garbage. On the other hand, the judge knew he would be subjected to constant, interfering, embarrassing press coverage in performing such a public public service, and could have let him sweep floors inside a building or something similar. On the other hand (yes, I have three hands!), he could have also thrown Boy right into the ole slammer. So, maybe you should count your blessings, Mr. O'Dowd, while you gather up the slimy used condoms and crumpled, urine-smelling hot dog wrappers and greasy, maggoty pizza-stained paper plates and all the other things I imagine New York trash consists of, like....let's see...hardened, ant-ridden bagel crumbs...spat-upon "Taboo" theater tickets...crack-laden egg-cream soda containers...vomit-covered broken bag pipes...burned and broken props from Suzanne Somers' one-woman play "The Blonde In The Thunderbird"...soggy falafels/loofahs outside Fox News headquarters...

Am I the only person on Earth who read Take It Like A Man, Boy George's autobiography? He said Mr. Gwen Stefani, Gavin Rossdale, had a long-term affair with Boy Marilyn back in the day. Ha, ha Gwen! And, no, this doesn't have anything much to do with Boy George picking up trash, but ha, ha Gwen!


The man certainly does have a type...

Friday, August 11, 2006

How Much Blacker Could Gwyneth Paltrow Be? None. None More Black.

Somehow I missed seeing until today the new ad by insufferable holier-than-thou sourpuss Gwyneth Paltrow, who manages to make even a campaign for African AIDS relief almost unbearably pretentious and enraging:



Luckily, Gawker had the bright idea to invite Photoshopped mockery of the ad, which led to these submissions:





The Swayze one is a reference to his being the latest celeb to defend M.A.D.D. Max's meltdown.

Here's my wee entry into the fray:



Sometimes less is more. Of course, with Paltrow, less is usually just less.


UPDATE: Just for comparison's sake, here is another ad from the same campaign, featuring Liv Tyler:



Same concept: Rich, white, famous actress dons African Lite adornment, claims to be African, all for worthy cause. But without that indefinable, elusive Paltrow ick factor, the irritation level is about a 4 instead of a Gwyneth Level 10. It's all in the eyes: Liv Tyler looks into the camera with a sweet, wide-open, sort of innocent-but-knowing look (which is part of her whole persona), while La Paltrow is physically incapable of anything other than a haughty, I AM YOUR SUPERIOR IN EVERY WAY look.

Plus I hate everything about Gwyneth. EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING! I don't care how much money she raises for African children with AIDS! I HATE HER! AAAAAAAH!

Pet Bites Hand That Never Remembers To Feed It



Well, it's Friday, so of course it's Exotic Animal Bites Paris "P-Hole" Hilton Day." From the NY Post:
BABY Love - the adorable little kinkajou that Paris Hilton adopted last year - attacked the hotel heiress early Tuesday and bit her on the arm, TMZ.com reports. Hilton was playing with the monkey, which normally roams the rain forests of Central and South America by night, when it took a chomp out of her. She was treated at an emergency room and called her publicist, Elliot Mintz, at 3 a.m. to report that she'd survived the ordeal.

That poor little raccoon-like mammal. I hope Paris didn't give it rabies.


Next time, aim for the neck!

And in other non-news, TomKat have invited Posh-N-Becks to their Scientology compound/supermax prison to visit--but under no circumstance to coo over, cuddle, burp, touch, or look at--their animinatronic alien stunt baby. From FemaleFirst:
Tom Cruise has invited Victoria and David Beckham to meet baby Suri.

But the 'Mission Impossible' star and fiancee Katie Holmes have issued their British friends with a list of instructions of how to behave around their daughter.

A source told Britain's Daily Star newspaper: "David and Victoria are honoured that Tom and Katie have asked them along.

"However they were a little shocked by the list of rules they'll have to follow.

"Apparently they can't take any photographic equipment, they're banned from touching Suri and they're not allowed to do any baby-talk around her.

"It will be very difficult for Victoria, because she just loves babies and is trying for a daughter with David at the moment."

The 'Top Gun' star is a devout follower of Scientology which does not allow cooing over babies as they believe it may effect their development.

Well, yes, that all seems to be in order. Some of the first visitors allowed to encounter one's baby should of course be a chav English soccer player and his tanorexic freakmonster of a wife, and naturally, no one should be allowed to coo over said baby, since sweet sounds of affection are obviously dangerous and counter-productive to the development of a normal, healthy, stable alien robot baby.

Bringing Posh Spice in for a royal audience with L. Ron's turkey baster spawn is kind of a genius move, when you think about it, because on Suri's planet, all the females look just like Posh.


Posh.


Suri Cruise's paternal grandmother, Xon.

Suri will be all, "Grandma! Grandma!" and reach her adorable little tentacles through the bars of her cage towards the stick-like elongated orange being trying to refrain from cooing; then the men in black suits with dark glasses will rush in to stun-gun a confused Posh and give her and Becks some Hubbard 6000 Memory Blackout Pills, stuff them into plastic bags and drag the pair back to their limo, where they will wake up with their usual hangover, none the wiser. In the mean time, a hollow-eyed Katie Holmes will be led by her keepers back to her padded cell to resume her "treatments."

Just another day in paradise!

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Snakes On A Phone!

Yes, this is an advertisement, and yes, it's very silly, but it's also kind of awesome. If you would like to have the voice of Samuel L. Jackson call a loved one and tell him to get off his or her ass and go see "Snakes On A Plane," then go here.

Samuel L. will leave a personalized message, full of details, on their cell phone after you fill in the information. I tried to get Samuel L. to say Boyfriend of Felt Up's name Chepo, but he couldn't or wouldn't. He had no problem with Jennifer, though, so I guess commoner names are better. Minutes and minutes of promotional fun!

I Would Totally Buy A Dress From The House of Save-A-Ho


(Since I wasn't able to do a rehash for last week's episode, please feel free to jump over to the Television Without Pity recap, whose author Jeff brilliantly coins my new favorite phrase Team Jolene to describe Kayne and Robert.)

This week's episode began with a switcheroo: The models got to pick their designers! It was nice to see the models have something a little more interesting to do than stand around in black slips and look blank. The only sucky thing (at least for the models) was that the last two names Heidi Klum pulled out of her black bag would have to be eliminated, since both Bonnie and Keith were out last week.

Then Heidi announced that the challenge this episode was to update the look of an international style icon--and the models got to choose the designer's icon! The anorexics have taken over the asylum--huzzah! The designers were totally freaked out that the models were going to ruin everything, but they actually did a very good job. They put the models in the workroom with a bunch of large photos of the icons--people like Katherine Hepburn, Jackie O., Twiggy--and then let the stampede begin, as the models trampled over one another like the bulls running the streets of Pamplona, pushing, fighting, clawing to get the photos they wanted.

When the dust settled, it was remarkable how well they did: Jeffrey, of the Unflattering Tattoo That Draws Attention To His Odd Neck, got Madonna (which naturally demanded an "I Am The Rock-n-Roll Designer To The Stars" patented quote from Jeffrey); Robert got Jackie O.; Uli was paired with Diana Ross; lovable Michael and his gorgeous be-Afro'd model got fabulous Pam Grier; wacky old 401K casher-inner Vincent got Twiggy; the model for Laura, Our Lady of the Frightening Breast Plate, ingeniously picked Katherine Hepburn; Angela totally lucked out and had Audrey Hepburn handed to her on a silver, puff-skirted platter; and Kayne nearly peed his sherbet-colored pants when he found out his model had snagged him Marilyn Monroe. The only two designers who were non-plussed by their icons were Alison, who, being 12 years old and too beautiful to ever read or look at television or really do much of anything except learn to scamper around the woods like a Southern California Bjorkian pixie nymph, seemed to have little idea who Farrah Fawcett was. And poor, Spin Doctors' lead singer lookalike Bradley acted like Cher was an alien from another planet dropped on him to make his life miserable. Which, of course, is entirely possible.

During the design process, there was some drama as Jeffrey, AKA Mr. Hardcore, AKA I Design For Rock-N-Rollers Like J.Lo, had a complete hissy fit because he thought Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Nightmare, messed up his sewing machine. Now, I'm not in love with Miss Angela by any means, and I do think her constantly sewing her little crafty crapettes probably did eff up the machine, but Jeffrey is such a complete poseur turd ass that I took Angela's side in the argument. Laura jumped in and either called Jeffrey "Jeff" or "Jack-Off" (we couldn't decide at the viewing party). If I'd been there, I might have called him Lil' Jeffwy, or possibly Jeffy, in a nod to Jeffy Dahmer in "The Ringer"--but quietly, and behind his back. (By the way, I haven't felt the need to call someone a "poseur" since approximately 1984, but in this case I think it is an entirely appropriate description. As is "turd ass." Jeffrey is totally the new Keith! And the new Angela!)

The best part of this tiff was that Michael (remember him? the black guy with charm to spare and incredible talent who has been mysteriously ignored thus far?) stepped in to add his two cents and defend Angela and Laura from Mr. Hardcore Neck Tattoo, which resulted in what will surely become a Classic Project Runway Catchprhase, on a par with "Make it work!" and "You are either In or you are OUT": "I wasn't trying to be Captain Save-A-Ho or anything." I think I hear a new MySpace headline calling my name! (Sorry, but that means "I dare not even ask about poor little Stanley" will have to be Auf'd.)

Finally the designs hit the runway. Laura's Katherine Hepburn outfit was really well-tailored and did a good job of updating the look, but as Tim Gunn said in Tim's Take:
It was all impeccably constructed, perfectly proportioned, and completely believable as Kate Hepburn 2006. The old fart in me thought the look was stunning, but the modern fashion educator in me thought it was a little flat.

The old fart in me agrees with both opinions.



Mr. Hardcore's design for modernizing Madonna was not good. I saw where he was going, but it wasn't anyplace I wanted to be: An ill-fitting, unflattering "Pirates of Penzance"-style corset dress with Santino-like layers and layers of crap hanging down. Ugh. Tim said:
He responded to my raised eyebrow queries with, “It’s stagewear.” Does that mean that it’s okay to design clown clothes? I guess in his vocabulary that means that it is.

Ha! The old fart in me agrees with that, too!



Angela's Audrey Hepburn dress wasn't too bad, although I do think it would be hard to go wrong once you've had the idea to update a classic black cocktail dress. Tim's Take is brilliant, of course:
Angela designed for Audrey Hepburn. All that I could think was, “How is the divine Audrey going to look in a bubble-skirt?” Thankfully, Angela didn’t go there...I was encouraged by her choice of black fabric for her design, but I became concerned when I saw her layering a heavily textured chiffon over another fabric. This was adding too much volume to the silhouette, and I feared that Angela’s model Clarissa was going to look like Audrey after too much pie and cake. But Angela tamed herself and a sleek silhouette emerged. Although she left out the bubble, she couldn’t resist the fleurettes, AKA “granny circles” (thank you, Laura). Thankfully, they were confined to the hem of the skirt, and owing to the texture of her fabric, their impact was mitigated.

It really wasn't half-bad. But if she'd won a second challenge in a row, I would've had to cut someone, namely Angela. Luckily, she didn't and now I don't have to fly to New York and slash her bubble skirt to bits. Then again, it's still early in the season.



Robert's outfit for a modern-day Jackie Onassis managed to be both perplexing and boring. He chose this weird sack-clothy material that was so not Jackie O. As Tim says:
It was such a burlap-y, farmhand look, made even more homely by his decision to use a rope(!) for the jacket’s belt. What’s Jackie doing, making a guest appearance on The Simple Life?

Heh. After last week's near-Auf, Robert should've tried extra hard not to be boring, but maybe he's physically incapable of creating exciting oufits for non-Barbies.



Tim liked Alison's updated Farrah Fawcett outfit, but I didn't think it looked very Farrah-esque at all. The only thing that said "Farrah" was the hair-do. The dress itself was nice, but it didn't fit the challenge, and looked a little figure-skater-y.



Crazy old Vincent came up with an asymetrical plaid mini-dress for his Twiggy look. The model had huge fake eyelashes painted on her face that didn't so much scream "Twiggy" as much as "Help! Why did I pick Vincent?!?" The dress was sort of cute (some in the viewing party liked it more than others), and if it was $21.99 at Forever 21 and came in jumbo, I might buy it, but being a Vincent design, it was a tiny bit on the wacky side for my taste. Tim reaaaally hated it, and thought that he should've been in the Bottom Two.




Kayne did a beautiful job with his Marilyn Monroe dresss. It was a sheer, gauzy black plunging gown over flesh-toned fabric, and you could envision a modern-day Marilyn in it. It was very glamorous and impressive and didn't say "Oklahoma Beauty Pageant" in the least.



Bradley, the self-described squid without an ocean, had no idea what he was doing or who Cher was or why he is a designer or what day it was. He is so sweet and clueless and adorable, but boy he pooped out a terrible design. The top was some sort of silvery metallic midriff-baring box, which he paired with low-rise white pants with a be-fringed crotch. Tim's Take:
Bradley created a poorly sewn basic top out of a preposterous iridescent silver fabric (Tin Woodsman, look out!), and accompanied it with a plain white pant, also poorly made and with serious crotch issues. Ugh. There was no way of rescuing this tragedy. Bradley, get thee to a record store and find the “C” section.

I thought Tim meant "C" for "crotch" at first, but I'm pretty sure he meant "Cher."



Uli did a fantastic job with her Diana Ross update. Uli always does these bold, bright patterned dresses, and I have to say, she does them well. The model looked great in her purple-y, swirly halter dress, and was a believable Diana "Call Me Miss" Ross.




And, of course, there was Michael. Yay, Michael! He actually got a pretty decent amount of on-air time this week, and we were privy to a sweet phone call to his mom, whom he says cries with tears of joy at everything he does in life. I Heart Michael And His Mom! His Pam Grier outfit started off as a deep-plunging halter top and a matching skirt, but with, like, two hours left, he completely changed gears and went with a hot pant. Even though Tim admitted that he is not Mr. Hot Pants, he recognized that it was a good idea and encouraged Michael to make it work. The whole thing was made of a bright magenta silk, and was gorgeous. I could imagine a modern-day "Foxy Brown" kicking ass in that outfit, let me tell you.



Then it was judging time, and thank sweet baby Jesus, Michael Kors was back from getting the Sleep Cure or whatever he did to de-puff his face, so no more scary Very Wang haunting my nightmares in Kabuki makeup, at least for the time being. Michael and Nina Garcia were joined by Diane Von Furstenburg!!! O, joy. O, rapturous, rapturous joy!

Right away they pronounced Alison the Pixie Wood Nymph, Laura, Our Lady of the Frightening Breast Plate, and Jeffy Dahmer "safe." Then it became pretty clear that the top designs belonged to Michael, Uli, Angela (!), and Kayne, while the bottom belonged to Vincent, Robert, and Bradley. Both Kayne and I thought Kayne would be the winner, but it turned out to be....Michael! Huzzah! Kayne was second and Uli was a close third.

The judges loathed Vincent's Twiggy dress (and when they were defending their designs, he kept referring to Twiggy as if she were dead--and got bitch-slapped by Diane von Furstenburg for his trouble!), but the bottom two were Bradley and Robert. Even though Robert's outfit was deemed an insult to the memory of Jackie O. and to the honor of the United States and all first ladies everywhere, they could not overlook the hideous monstrosity that Bradley had created, and he was OUT.

Poor, sweet Bradley was just too delicate and sensitive for this show. Maybe he should try poetry, basket-weaving, and/or selling weed, if he hasn't already.



Captain Save-A-Ho!!!