film noire

Part of my problem with the dress was the model; she had severely sloped shoulders and that kind of dress (and material) needs a 'seventies' build to wear it well -- straight shoulders, long legged, trim but not delicate -- and she was all hipster bangs and ladylike limbs. That dress fitted on a different model would have (maybe have) fallen more elegantly over the body.

Me, too -- if I were a seventy year old nun who entered the nunnery out of fear of my gay sexuality and then, forty- five years later, decided to leave the order -- and got a job as a temp working one of the last secretarial pools in existence and met a sweet woman ten years younger, selling sandwiches to office workers, who grew to be my lover and lynch pin -- and we became engaged and planned a scandalous lesbian wedding ceremony in Rome itself (sneaking in to see Francis) but before we left, I tried to turn my former habit into a wedding gown but failed and in a despondent mood I went to the mall for a fro yo and there it was: my wedding dress in the window of a mass market chain store! Comfy and covered up and as sexless as a habit -- but with a bit of lace (so racy!) and showing my knees which are still hot at seventy -- yeah, Helen's gown is PERFECT for that. (And wtf with the mini-Marchesa chick invoking spaghetti and sexy – a la Sophia Loren?-- Girl, slap some water on your face and snap out of it.)

I think Giada is royally screwed, because the by-product (at least for me) with all the hyper-branding of food celebs is that once the white picket fence has graffiti scrawled all over it, the person (who has long disappeared behind that image) is left naked, and without any reason to cook (because it's not about cooking anymore, but the lifestyle/brand/ etc.) So live by the brand, die by the brand (Paula comes to mind, obviously.) Who the hell is Giada, anymore? Divorced Hottie? (Ick) Pretending to ignore the elephant in the room? (Crazy.) I'd be up for a show based on her real life ("Today, I'm cooking for one. Like a lot of people, life handed me an unexpected challenge, and some days, the only thing I can do is eat well. And that's no small thing. So when you're having one of *those* days, cook these dishes to remind yourself that life goes on.") I would watch that -- but the Giada who could pull that off (from the first season of her first show) is long gone, and would likely try to hump the camera while "branding" her hotsexylemony now-single-self everywhere.

Unzipped, imo is a great documentary for anybody who digs fashion and how it's created (Remove that belly ring, Naomi!) You can also find clips of his hit off Broadway show, Les MiZrahi, on you tube. I think he's between his second and third acts; he'll likely bust out a stunning collection or two & have a moment again, maybe end up hosting an oddball hybridized make-over show. (Mizrahi giving personal advice while noshing and sketching something for the makeover subject du jour -- "Don't bite your nails, it's absolutely stubby-making, darling! Anyway, this sketch is very like the one I did for Audrey H. one gorgeous, wintry afternoon in '88. We were drinking Russian cherry tea and I felt very Zhivago, so I threw a whirl of fabulous deep blue duchesse satin -- the exact blue of an Imperial Easter Egg, that color Faberge loved -- all around Ms Hepburn's perfectly articulated shoulders and worked it until she looked like a beautiful Nubian sculpture, a Gallic Cleopatra married to a Czar. And she said "Darling Isaac, how lovely!" and we KNEW we HAD her LOOK!! -- STOP THAT!! STOP BITING YOUR NAILS! -- Do you WANT to be the fat-clawed, clubby-handed housewife at this ridiculous office party I am designing for? Do you WANT to be the matronly shiksa with spanakopita in her teeth, who can't pronounce "Perrier", whose husband is cheating with the receptionist -- I heard it's a man, by the by, darling -- IS THAT THE WOMAN I AM SKETCHING FOR? -- NO TEARS! NO TEARS! -- whenever I feel afraid and sad in my tummy, I think of Michelle Obama and her elegant arms, and me slipping a perfectly designed gold and ruby armband up her long arm and into place -- and EVERYTHING FEELS RIGHT IN THE WORLD AGAIN!") Or maybe that's just on the tv station in my head (alongside "The Nina Diaries" and "M'Kors Untucked: Immortal Longings Come Upon Me, Somebody Hand Me My Lily Pulitzer Shift")

I think gossiping behind the back of a co-worker is always tacky (whatever the validity of the comments) and it surprises me Downs engaged in that kind of behavior. it is amazing what happened to that man -- from storefront lawyer to hosting a show with guests like Dick Gregory and Caesar Chavez to Capone's vault, satanic specials and breaking his nose in a skinhead brawl. Started at the top and just skidded all the way to the bottom.

Pre-board room -- she criticized as the task was ongoing -- if you're so sure of how it should be done, take the damn lead to begin with.

Except be project manager -- and she then criticized the (2X) PM, while refusing to be PM herself -- punk ass move, imo, and she deserved to go.

If that's all they can find, poor bastards. I've seen a lot of sad, dirty and/or ugly on this show courtesy of Trump, but dear Jesus on a tortilla, the unappetizing image of two fame whores -- with repugnant reputations at best -- rolling and rubbing their plasticized & ropy-muscled bodies against each other, all in desperate mutual hope of going "viral" (something Brandi's doctor has surely said to her more than once) tops the list. Unless the coffee doubles as a surgical grade disinfectant, there's no washing away THAT image from my mind.

I'm very surprised Downs talked shit about a fellow reporter, even if it was Geraldo -- I thought more of Downs than that (oh well, still have Bill Moyers and Gwen Ifill left on the class act news roster -- a list getting smaller every year!) I agree -- I thought Geraldo was really good when I was a very young teen (mid-seventies, on a show called "Good Night America") and my little mind was blown more than once (the Zapruder film was shown on tv for the first time on the show) and he was thoughtful, calm, interesting -- and by the time I was entering university (early eighties) he was cheese whiz on a stale cracker. Ego laid waste to his talent.

I actually hope Giada's playing midlife roulette because the alternative is that Giada (if molested) is likely acting out sexually. And it would be brutally sad that a possible compulsion on her part finally ended a near-quarter century relationship -- so fucking sad.

I'd like more challenges centered around fashion history -- the quirks and fads and moments of genius that changed the way we clothe ourselves -- this show now feels so dumbed-down & chain store ready. Rework the old stealing-the-model bit into a challenge (call it "A-musing") about designers being inspired by their models (St. Laurent and Lou Lou de la Falaise, Lagerfeld and Ines De la Fressange, Marc Jacobs and Sophia Coppola, etc) and how those women, and the qualities they embodied changed the way designers looked at materials, silhouettes, movement. (i.e., Demeulemeester for Patti Smith vs Givenchy and Hepburn.) I'd like a challenge highlighting the greatest female designers ("Ladies Who Don't Lunch") Paquin, Chanel, Vionnet, Madame Gres, Lanvin, Schiaparelli, Valentina, Quant, Westwood, Fursternberg -- and on and on -- and I'd bring Mizrahi in as guest mentor for these challenges. (I'd much rather have him in charge than this base, bastard version of Tim Gunn now on display.) Mizrahi's knowledge (and love of) fashion history is wide and varied (I can just hear him: "And who did you get, little chicken? The Mother of sportswear herself, Coco? Did you know her whole house in the country was in black and white only?") He can be pretentious and annoying, but (at least for me) Mizrahi can still get excited about something that catches his eye -- which is more than I feel watching this joyless exercise now -- an endless parade of shitty clothing, third rate drama and guest judges I wouldn't trust to help me buy yoga pants online, never mind assess an original design.

I bought marcona almonds to make Ina's thyme roasted marcona almonds (we ate them before I could even get the sheet pan out -- they are so good, just as is). Has anybody made them? (If so -- worth it, or just gilding the lily?)

That's when Ree gets the kids to help her remember exactly which cookbook she stole which recipe from:)

imo, If you have wealth/other advantages, then don't weasel, fudge, pretend or try to divert attention away from that truth (or who you are, where you're from, etc). Fronting something you're not is always going to draw negative attention; most people hates fakes. Drummond could've been as big (if not much bigger) a success by being truthful to who she is (a woman from a very privileged background, who ended up the rich wife of a cattleman -- like a cross between a Ewing wife and a western Ina -- albeit without the fab food and fab gay friends). But instead, she built a fake Ree & with that (imo) she gave people the right to criticize every hypocritical crack in the cheap veneer. The best thing at that party was the band -- man, did they swing! -- would love to go to a party they played at. (btw, Funky Brewster -- love your handle.)

I don't think modern day record keeping requires that kind of space (unless they're keeping records in the manner of Ike Godsey, circa 1933 on Walton's Mountain -- scribblin' accounts down whenever Grandma comes in for sugar to bake up a pie for Johnboy -- although that would explain Ree's habit of 'borrowing' recipes from old cookbooks.) She is one scrubbed up, faked out lie (sorta like the way she removed all refs to her "retarded" brother from her website years ago -- after being snotty and defiant about using the word -- because she knew it wouldn't jive with the line of bullshit she's trying to sell her audience.)

Thanks for the info, BC Mama -- still not sure why Gail doesn't know Thanksgiving is a Canadian holiday, but at least it makes sense as to why Gail didn't have more of a holiday meal than turkey and 'maybe' some pumpkin soup. The Pilgrims had their own sins to answer for. Many historians make note -- as do many Wampanoag today -- of the Pirlgrims robbing Native American graves to gain tools, bows, utensils and stores of corn and beans. (The addition of that fact would've given an interesting twist to the challenge -- corn was so precious, they were willing to desecrate graves to gain it - it's such a profound way to illustrate that food isn't just a well-fed man's amusement.) Anyway -- all to say, history is shaped by which source you validate.

Below is an interesting link, with info about the history of both holidays – briefly:the Loyalists came along later. The first Thanksgiving feast in Canada is in the 1570s (Martin Frobisher had a feast to give thanks for surviving the journey from England) and then in 1606, in Acadia (French Nova Scotia) The Order of Good Cheer is created by de Champlain to promote – well, good cheer -- in facing the long, arduous winter and the Order inaugurates a tradition of a Thanksgiving dinner in early November, shared with members of the First Nations. And then in the 1760s, the Loyalists arrive (they introduce the turkey to the Thanksgiving feast – merci!) Then it’s a frickin’ free-for-all (different regions doing different thanksgivings at different times in autumn) until 1867,when Canada is officially formed and the holiday is declared to be November 6th (changed to the third Monday in October and finally the second Monday in October by 1957). All to say – Gail! It’s a Canadian holiday! http://www.sunnewsnetwork.ca/sunnews/straighttalk/archives/2013/10/20131013-082017.html

LOL! Man, that sweet potato dish was some kind of awful -- two cups of sugar and not a unique touch anywhere -- no unusual spices (maybe coriander?) or a sweet/salty twist -- just yuk.

Ree Drummond's Frontier Fancy Pants Dressing 1 loaf French Bread, Split Lengthwise 2 sticks Regular (salted) Butter, Softened . Spread one stick of softened butter on each half of the loaf. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for 10 minutes, until butter is bubbling. Remove from oven and let cool. When cool, cut The Bread into cubes, then toss with 1 cup of melted butter, chopped jalapenos, 2 tsp of seasoned salt, 1 cup diced country ham and three eggs. Mix together, then press into 8 by 10 pan. Cover with 1 cup jarred marinara sauce and two cups of grated chedder. Bake 45 minutes at 350 until set. Remove from oven, let rest for ten minutes. Cut into squares, roll in bread crumbs, then pan fry in butter until crispy and golden. Dust with canned parmesan and then wrap in slice of bacon and secure with toothpick. Deep fry for three minutes, until bacon is crispy. Drain briefly, then make a hole in the center and insert a wedge of blue cheese and roll once again in parmesan. When fully coated, roll in shredded barbecued pork, and then in brown sugar. Saute lightly in butter until brown sugar caramelizes, then top with the rest of the marinara sauce + 1/2 cup of melted butter, diced salami, the tears of the baby Jesus, 1 cup maple syrup, candied rosemary walnuts, an insulin kit, the dreams of Ladd's Alien Overlord and a fresh salad of arugula + four calling birds, three deep fried french hens and two frozen Turtle Dove Bars. Serve simply, with hot turkey gravy.

I like the snot-edit for Doug: he's all pissy about her soup and then she wins the QF -- somebody in the editing room likes her. (My husband calls Katie "Gummer" because her looks and personality remind him of one of the Gummer girls -- aka Meryl Streep's kids -- cracks me up thinking of her as the lost Gummer.) And I have no idea what part of Canada Gail grew up in but in Montreal, Thanksgiving is a huge food & family holiday -- not just a bowl of pumpkin soup and "maybe a turkey" (WTF? Did she spend her childhood in a Dickensian orphanage?) I live stateside now, and Americans travel more on the holiday, and that black Friday thing has crept into the day (people lining up on T-giving night) but in both countries the holiday is centered on family and feasting. (Somebody invite Gail to their house next October -- poor thing -- and bring on the butter tarts!) Mac wrote this (which you didn't include in your post) about the "Mexican restaurant": "(I get annoyed when cheftestants always stay in their wheelhouses)" which clearly indicates that Mac's issue with the food is not that it is Mexican, but that the cheftestant in question is repeatedly cooking the same, familiar-to-them cuisine.

I did too -- his fury over the rules not being followed + complete self indulgence cracked me up. It's also the first time I've ever liked the character, and got a real sense of his tightly wound frustration in terms of the inconsistent, bizarre parenting in his life. Rules some days, no rules other -- fuck it, gonna watch forbidden movies and eat crap from every box I can get my hands on.

I hate it. She looks like a half dozen confused cultural refs -- like a punk dustbowl Okie who's had experimental 'electro-convulsive' shock therapy -- all side shaved head & screaming "Maaaa, Maaa" before they force her to bite the mouth guard -- with a dash of having escaped from American Horror Story: Freak Show, minus any charisma or interesting quirks.

Me, too -- I think Fade would’ve done an amazing job using Rome as an inspiration -- some bizarre, weird-ass combo of La Dolce Vita meets German punk meets Wiki leaks (or whatever crazy-ass fusion he came up with). And unlike this crop of dullards re: Italian material (even Char didn’t go for broke) he would’ve known to grab tons of Italian fabrics – even swatches (maybe for high end "patchwork" smaller pieces) and been inspired/excited/involved with the city, the fabrics, etc. (And Amanda’s story about her collection was such bullshit; for someone in love with the sixties and seventies and maxi dresses -- and using Italy as inspiration -- she sure did completely overlook the master of the sixties/seventies maxi, Pucci. ) Dear Diary, I dreamt about that girl again. The one with the petals. She chased me through Michael Kors' backyard -- it looked just like Manderley-- he wore a Lily Pulitzer shift and kitten heels, and was yelling at the pool boy to bring more rumaki, prego! Anyway, that petal girl came at me wielding a giant scissor and screaming "Don't cry for me, Argentina." And me being from Columbia; what a racist. Or Americanist. Or something. One part of the dream was helpful. When I woke up, I realized Michael was not on the show anymore! All these years, I thought he'd just changed his nickname (nobody liked calling him Silly Millie) gotten a Nero hair cut and a fabulous facelift -- pity, I was hoping to use Michael's surgeon this birthday -- but I am intrigued that this Zac is actually a whole new person. (And I do prefer Zac's name to Michael's. "Zac" sounds so fresh -- like the name of a private label, high end vodka my set -- the 18--to ahem year old girls -- would use on a Greek tycoon's yacht on the Black Sea while cuddling Chinese pandas -- so fresh, fresh, fresh!) P.S. Diary, I am so tired of your old fashioned blue lines and pages -- the page thing has been done to death -- why can't you be new, modern, different? Make the lines go up and down! Sideways! Think outside the diary box!

As much as I am perpetually annoyed by Our Lady Of Nina, I think it can be argued that "hone in on" is becoming an accepted usage (info at link). http://grammarist.com/eggcorns/home-in-hone-in/ What a strange show tonight -- so glib, the false & dull drama -- and the further debasement of the once great Tim Gunn. (I don't want Tim to feel things -- profoundly or otherwise. I want him to eat sleep drink and breathe fashion, putting all other forms of human emotion aside to fulfill his destiny; staring at a sleeve like Eisenhower pouring over the maps on D-Day, pronouncing it good, bad or indifferent. I want Vulcan Gunn back -- well, if Spock were into Schiaparelli and Chanel -- flickers of feeling made visible only every so often, rare events making Tim's heart an elusive, near mythic thing; a unicorn of hearts, if you will. His emotion an interesting twist, a dash of something added to the man in the suit obsessed with the clothing on the mannequins. But that Gunn is gone. Now he's non-angular and blobby around the edges, busy feeling shit every two seconds, cheerleading and saving designers and being bitchy at reunions. Before he's done, there will be a fucking TED talk about his growth emotionally on PR and then I really will make a Tim Gunn cake and eat it and declare this show dead to me.)

And doubly so in this case, since firemen also have a sense of brotherhood -- so I'm assuming Jason's desire to be one also speaks strongly in his favor with her family (and on this day of all days, thank you to every man or woman who runs into the fire, and to their families).