Our four self-satisfied semi-finalists were Jerrell, Leanne, Korto, and the nefarious Kenley—as strong a collection as this weak ass season could hope to assemble for the storied finale. Of course Heidi came hopping onto the runway and trilled like a Bavarian songbird that oops! there was one final challenge (which turned out to be a lie, but I'll get to that later). Yes, all four fools had to design a wedding dress for their collection, and it would be assessed upon their return to New York in two months to determine which of the four would get the boot, sending the other three to competition in Bryant Park. Everyone was kinder pissed off by the idea, but of course they had no choice.

So off they went!, enormous suitcases bumbling behind them. And off our intrepid Tim sailed, as he does every season, to visit the finalists in their natural environs. First was Korto, who was working at a studio in the middle of a snake infested wood outside Little Rock. The idea of Tim Gunn in Arkansas is just... sort of beyond. But anyway! Her collection was fun and bright and "ethnic" and Tim was happy with it. He met her charming family and friends and little be-skirted daughter. Tim talking to little kids as if they were adults is also very fun.

Next up was Leanne (I think, whatever), who mucked her way back to Portland, Oregon where she lives with her cute boyfriend and her cute tandem bicycle. So she showed Timbo her collection—soft, aquatic girly waves of things. It was pretty, though the wave motif was a bit literal. Tim seemed less enthused than I thought he would be, but then he and the animal took their charming velocipede adventure and they were the bestest of friends again.

Then Jor-El who was in Los Angeles, his collection was garish and hideous and Tim met his nice family and Jor-El cried about his pop who is a truck driver and rarely home and it was a touching moment. But, again, the collection was urgly and poorly made for the usually tailor-savvy dude. Finally Tim trudged across the East river to some enclave of north Brooklyn where Kenley was holed up. What a cute apartment, Tim remarked. To which Kenley replied: "I know." Grr. She showed him her girlish, Katy Perry-esque collection of cutesy short poof dresses and it was just sort of... yeah, all right, figures. She also revealed that her grandmum was a 40's pinup which informs so much about her aesthetic.

Then it was back to midtown and some awkward moments when everyone arrived at the swanky penthouse condo. Kenley, blasé and nasally as ever, weakly apologized for "being a bitch or whatever." The rest of 'em gamely accepted her truce and got to work on the business at hand. Which, hah, as it turned out involved another challenge. They had to make a bridesmaid dress to go with their wedding gown; those two looks would determine who went on to Bryant Park and who didn't (even though, um, everyone through Joe got to do a show there). But they all persevered and no one's was really a trainwreck and Michael Kors said Kenley's dress was the "cutest damn dress" he'd ever seen and they made Korto cry and then Jerrell was sent packin'.

Honestly, it wasn't much of an episode. I'm sorry I can't be very funny about it; it's just... not much happened. It was conflict-free. The designs that we saw in full really weren't that bad. So... sigh. The really good moments came from Mr. Gunn, especially when he teared up and wished them all luck and urged them to work hard and said that he really did care about these four folks. You could tell he meant it and you just wanted to give him a big ol' hurrrg.

So yeah, I feel kind of warm about this episode. The bicycle, the crying, the exciting spirit of wedding dresses and happy occasions (and sad ones too), and new chances and new beginnings, and the largeness and sprawl of our country and the loveliness and variety within it and all the different silhouettes and shapes of people who roam it, people who can sometimes, under the strangest of circumstances, tumble together and make something wonderful, and the thrill of coming to New York and the thrill of leaving New York, and bursts of creativity and passion and the bittersweet joy of what it means to be fully alive—arms open, heart racing, chasing down big dreams alive. Which I guess, at its red satin core, is what the show is all about.

That and the Saturn family of cars. What fine automobiles.

• Making the final four must be a tragic experience, because the finalists cried like little babies. Presumably, as the previously eliminated designers watched this episode, they felt a deep sympathy for the finalists' sad fate, tinged with relief that they avoided a similar one.
• For the botanical challenge, every commenter predicted Kenley would do a floral print. But she used what looked like some kind of reptile skin instead.
• The judges, apparently entranced by whatever Santería spell Kenley cast over her reptile before she killed and skinned it to construct her garment, decided to let her stay another week, along with everyone else. (It was the old "nobody loses" trick — or what I like to call a "rip-auf.")

Also, having watched the preview clips, I offer these three "things to watch for" as we all live-blog tonight:

1) As in every penultimate episode, Tim Gunn will hit the road in a Saturn to check on the finalists in their homes. So it's a good thing Korto lives in Arkansas now instead of Liberia, because if the Dead Milkmen can't drive a bitchin' Camaro to the Bahamas, Tim Gunn sure as hell can't drive a Saturn to Africa. (Remember the Dead Milkmen? Yes, I am old.)

2) Kenley will tell a shocked Tim Gunn, "I'm into rope." This suggests that, for Kenley, the Bettie Page connection goes a little deeper than a hairstyle.

3) Um … I forgot the third thing. I was too busy thinking about Kenley saying "I'm into rope."

And with that, we've reached the penultimate sentence of this post. That must mean … that this is the last sentence, I guess.

At the start of the episode, the four remaining designers—Jor-El (thanks, Josh!), Leanimal, Cut Toe, and Kenley—were taken into a van with Tim Gunn and driven north. Generally this would mean that, having had too much chardonnay at Pennyfeathers's, Tim Gunn has struck a man about the face and neck and accidentally slain him and must make swift passage to Nova Scotia. But no, not today. The fops and faeries were taken up to the Bronx where they were sent to wander the New York Botanical Garden, looking for inspiration from flowers. Because that is a really original idea. Flowers are pretty and have colors, just like fashions.

So, they all tiptoed through the tulips and Leanimal picked something delicate and girly, Cut Toe picked something louuud! and briiiiiight!, Jor-El picked somethin' stoopit, and Kenley murdered a small child and then whined that her stabbing hand hurt. They all brought their photo inspirations back to the lab (to see what was on the slab) and then they went to Mood and bought various fabrics. Kenley is a whiny idiot with a constant, ridiculous parade of doodads and thingamajiggits stuck in her hair, so naturally she left some very important tulle at the store. No tulle for the tool! Qwel damage. But of course, Kenley got her way and Tim let her go frumping back to collect it. Dammit.

Meanwhile Leanimal seemed unable to add a dash of maple syrup to the idea oatmeal sluicing around her brain box, Jor-El lumped another pile of hideous fabrics together and called it a dress, Cut Toe mashed a yellow Starburst candy and an orange Starburst candy together and yelled "dress!" And it was a dress. When Timberly came assessin', Kenley was typically rude and stand-offish, and foolishly took it as a compliment that Tim thought the dress looked scaly. "That's what I was going forrrrr" she nasaled. "Fine, fuck it. I'm out," Tim seemed to say with a slight tilt of his head. Which is funny because that is exactly what I said after the next thing happened.

So yes, runway show blah blah (see video above), everything was sorta urgly and unfinished, Nina made some hilarious grimaces, and Heidi wore oversized waiter slacks. They couldn't decide whether they should send Cut Toe home for her be-laced supernova or Kenley for her Ursula the Sea Witch Goes to the Cotton Club costume dress. They hemmed and hawed and eventually brought the designers out. And! Surprise! They were all going home! Because they've all made it to the final episode! But, no one is safe. Only three people will be going to Bryant Park, so summin's gonna be executed before Fashion Week. Who will it be? I'm guessing it'll be Leanimal. Why? Because why not.

Anyway, the most important part of the episode was this: the startling revelation that Kenley is the salty daughter of a tugboat captain, and that she spent "half [her] life" miles out to sea. See, if I'd known previously that she was a daughter o' the brine—a boat-schooled lass with sea legs stronger'n steel, a mighty gull borne hard against the winds o' the North Atlantic, more fish than lady, more gilled than girly, you know, all that—well, actually, I would still judge her the same way. Because "my father is a tugboat captain" is not shorthand for "my life has been so hard and you should all pity me." No, "my father is a tugboat captain" only means that her dad is probably charmingly round and has a whimsical job and maybe says "toot toot!" when he's in bed with Ma Kenley and maybe when Kenley's boy cousins come to visit her dad takes them down to the docks and shows them boat motors and they are very bored because they'd rather be playing video games or watching TV or anything but be on this boring old dock with creepy Uncle Cap'n. That is all "my father is a tugboat captain" means.

So here's hoping that next week Kenley is made to walk the plank, like the disgraceful pirate bride that she is.

Anyway, we should try to enjoy the rest of this season as much as we can. Especially now that we're down to just four designers — which means that this week, not only could Tim Gunn count the remaining contestants on one hand, but so could Fred Flintstone! (Because, like most cartoon characters, has only four fingers on each hand. Ever notice that?)

Hey, speaking of fingers: It's time for me to point to a few highlights from last week, and things to watch for tonight. (Was that a smooth segue or what? I should write for TV news!)

• In attempting to rap and "act hip hop," Leanne revealed herself not only to be the whitest woman in the world, but perhaps to the whitest thing in the universe — a veritable "white hole of whiteness," as it were.
• We witnessed the welcome demise of Suede's blue faux-hawk (thanks to a hair makeover), followed by the long-overdue exit of the irritating, third-person-self-referencing scissor-hack himself (much to the delight of that amusing fellow and fine human being, MisterHippity).
• Tonight, watch for Jerell to feel so lonely in the "guy apartment" that he draws faces on objects and talks to them, à la Tom Hanks in Cast Away. (This is fine with me as long as he doesn't attempt to pull any of his own teeth. That scene still makes me wince!)
• Also, on the runway, watch for frickin' everybody to start crying — not just Kenley this time, but also Jerell and Korto (and who knows, maybe Leanne and all the judges too). What could be the cause of this group tear-jag? Did they all watch "Terms of Endearment" in the green room before heading out to the runway? Or was this week's challenge to construct garments out of sliced onions?

We'll find out soon: It's time for this commenting kaffeeklatsch to commence. Let us not cry tonight. Let us type, drink and be merry, for tomorrow … we go to work. And then we come home, turn on the TV and watch Sarah Palin. And then, maybe, we cry — for her, for Harvey and for the whole hapless lot of us.

The lawsuit—filed by NBC/Universal, who say that TWC violated a first right of refusal agreement when they decided to switch to Lifetime—is only dredging up the uglier, more commercial side of the show, indicating that the product placement-crazed Weinstein Company (and implicitly its fearsome old leader, Harvey Weinstein) would have the cast members dressed up in NASCAR-esque sponsored jumpsuits if they could. There was something magical (like the Magical Elves, the show's talented production team, who won't follow the show to Lifetime) about the first few seasons. Here was a supremely entertaining show with enjoyable hosts and judges, that was also about actual talent, and that rewarded creativity and innovative thinking. Sure there was some producer tinkering (Wendy Pepper beats Austin Scarlett?), but for the most part the show held up a banner of integrity. It won a Peabody, for God's sake!

Which makes it so depressing to watch it slide into disrepair this season, with a questionably talented and too self-aware group of contestants and tired old challenges and obviously angry and frustrated judges. Bravo may have given up on this one because, heck, they were losing the show anyway, but it makes you wonder then why NBC is fighting so bitterly for it to return. The show isn't exactly fresh or new, it's six seasons old after all, with the sullied brand to show for it. Top Chef could be a serviceable (and younger) flagship show replacement for Bravo, right? Just let the grumpy old Weinstein Company ruin their show (incongruous location, new production team) and cram it into Lifetime's dim, uninteresting programming schedule. They'll basically hang themselves with their own taffeta rope.

This is probably the last season of Project Runway that I'll be watching, and I don't think I'm alone in that. Sure next season, whenever the hell it happens, will have Tim and Heidi and Michael and Nina and all that, but after all this bickering and tinkering and product placement and drama, I just doubt that anyone involved is going to feel that, in the end, the juice was worth the squeeze.

Remember when those Project Runway spoilers were leaked? Well, they kinda turned out to be fake, but still! 25,000 of you guys clicked and—I'm assuming because why else would you possibly care—25,000 of you watch the show. So you were prepared to soldier on, despite knowing some of the results.

Which, I guess, says something positive about elimination-based reality programming: that you're willing to enjoy the ride as much as the giddy final destination. Which means that the producers are doing something right in their efforts to craft worthy hours of television. Because the other option would be that watching seasons of these shows is nothing but a depressing slog to the bitter end. That—and I would posit that this is the case with a show like America's Next Top Model—if you knew the winner up front you'd just sort of clap your hands and say "yup, that's it! Moving on." Which would probably be good for the world but bad for people like me who make their sad livings with exhaustive and silly recaps of these shows. I like the idea that the early episodes aren't just means to a finale. There's something progressive and achieved in each individual installment. And that either indicates that we're not wasting our time with these things, or that we are, in fact, wasting even more time than we'd ever imagined.

Either way, look at those Fashion Week PR spoilers all you want, because you'll probably keep watching the show and reading about it here anyway, yeah?? And, I suppose, if you can hear the television over the squishing and moaning sound of your brain dying, you can keep watching I Love Money, too. Even though you now know that Hoopz wins.

Hoopz wins, y'all. Hoopz wins.

This episode's challenge was two fold: the remaining five contestants were forced to design outfits for each other but also use a musical genre (or gnnnra, as Mr. Gunn pronounced it) as inspiration. All this had the veneer of a stochastic process but in fact must have been calculated to bring shame and dishonor on the house of Kenley. Not that she has a problem bringing it on herself. Laxative for the soul Kenley was forced to design a hip hop outfit for the whitest kid u know Leanne Marshall whilst being dolled up as Britney Spears by Jor-El. Leanne meanwhile dressed Korto up in Kountry while Korto shoehorned Suede in a punk outfit and Suede dressed Jor-El in a rock-inspired outfit. Jor-El made Kenley look like Britney Spears.

The points of obvious glee were premised on two things: black people don't play or like country music so it was innately funny to see Korto dressed up as Dolly Parton and try to line dance. Also Kenley, as a cipher for whiteys everywhere, has no idea what hip hop is. Unfortunately, or fortunately, neither is true. It's also irrelevant structurally that Korto doesn't like country music. She only had to pull off the outfit as a model and Jesuslordchristonacross, she did that with elan. Her ass is like a big oak fireplace mantle and I love it. It's like a funhouse mirror in the best way possible. When she walked down that runway, all the real world exigencies faded to background noise. There was no economic crises anymore, just Korto and her lovely behind. MOVING ON!!!

I think it should suffice to say that Kenley is truly a bad and mean thing. She's disrespectful to Tim which is simply inacceptable. I'm happy he called her out on it. She whines. She's all up in Leanne's bidness and still can't get her jeans in order. She's defensive and dismissive of hip hop and hip hop style. She's hubristic and at the same time provincial. Flowers aren't graffiti, you asshole. You aren't Jesus, hip hop is not oversized and do not—DO NOT—try to argue with LL Cool J because he will knock you out!

Poor Suede, sent home and all dolled up like Chris Gaines at a rave. He didn't deserve to be sent home this episode. It shoulda been Kenley obvi. The vision of rock n' roll that the judges have—-and punk for that matter—is dated and specific. People who dress like how they want rockers to look make bad music. Their names are Scott Weiland. Suede's look was only middling but compared to Kenley's automatic hip-enhancing shitpile of an outfit, it was revolutionary.

Although he's gone, at least Suede can console himself that he's off what has become the Waiting for Guffman of fashion television. He'll go on to be slightly less ridiculous and certainly less debased in the real world and we wish him the best. In Suede's ridiculous 3rd person disassociation, his occasional/frequent bad choices, his faux-hawk and his pasty jowls, there is at least humanity. We all have a face that we hide away forever. Some are silk, some are satin, some are Suede and some are leather. They're the faces of the stranger but we love to try them on.

Below, I've compiled some relevant musical clips. Except the last one which is just one of my favorite songs.
A Musical Selection
"Texas Medley" Charley Pride and Johnny Cash

"Country Girl" Rissi Palmer

"Buffalo Stance" Neneh Cherry

"Big Ole Butts" LL Cool J

"Slither" Velvet Revolver

"It Hurts me Too" Karen Dalton

Sorry; I lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh yes, highlights from last week:

• We drank every time we saw butt cleavage in a Bluefly commercial. (Try it, it's fun.)
• The challenge was "Dress Our Daughters for Work Day," to considerable commenter puzzlement. (As StrawberryShortcake noted, "My mom picking out my clothing is the reason I moved 2,000 miles away from her.")
• Jerell won (again), Suede sucked (again), the women kind of coasted, Joe got auf'd, and skort lovers the world over wept.

And now, with my amazing powers of foresight (and having watched the preview clips), I suggest that commenters watch for the following as they live-blog tonight:

Three models being eliminated. Get ready to react with three times the usual indifference when they leave!

Jerell saying "Kenley's ass is ridiculous." I can't imagine why he'd say that. Maybe because, when she tried to pull something avant garde out of it, she pulled out a balloon-shouldered Betty Crocker instead?

LL Cool J revealing that one designer does not understand what "hip hop" means. Does this mean someone will put bunny ears on a model, or send her down the runway on a pogo stick? (Tonight's episode, by the way, is called "Rock 'n' Runway," so it looks like designers aren't the only ones who can get a little confused about this "hip hop" concept.)

Finally, a quick note: I'll be at the Gawker commenter meet-up in Manhattan tonight, so I'll miss tonight's live blog. (SheWalkedWithaZombie has graciously agreed to fill in as guest host.) But while I'm away, I want you all to know something … Wherever there's a fight so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. And wherever there's a cop beating up a guy, I'll be there too. I'll be in the way guys yell when they're mad and I'll be in the way kids laugh when they're hungry and they know supper's ready. And when our folks eat the stuff they raise and live in the houses they build — why, I'll be there too.

Oh, and I'll be back here next week. See you then!

Last night there were moms—short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, even ones with chicken pox—and their daughters. The challenge was to give the recent college-graduate daughters a head-to-toe makeover to prepare them for the professional world. No mind was paid to the fact that this country is currently a scorched, burnt-over land where no one can get jobs, no matter how smartly they are dressed. But, no matter! On with the challenge.

Korto talked a lot about her daughter and then made a coat out of a potato sack. Her girl, a 22-year-old (I think) who looked significantly older, seemed to like the look. Perhaps she is presciently planning a career as a boxcar hobo. She's just one pickle barrel away from the Complete Look! Leanne, turning very slowly into a mouse so she can meet her boyfriend, Luke from The Witches, made some sort of school marm frumpy dump jacket that covered up her Contempo Casuals Signature Collection dress. She received necessary criticism and will hopefully rally next week, even though it appears to be a hip hop challenge and Leanne couldn't be whiter if she was made of snow and drove a Volkswagen. She is my favorite to win it, so hopefully she'll bounce back.

On to Suede, who made something very sad and strange and reminiscent of a time that never quite existed. Sure, you saw jackets like his—with shopping mall-daring flared sleeves and tacked-on purple stripes—in the pink cardboard boxes of Barbie doll fashions and on the overly-lit soundstages of shows like Saved By the Bell and California Dreams, but no one in the history of the known world has ever actually worn such a thing. Which is why it was such a wrenching bit of industrial horror techno to watch his poor model/real girl tromp on down the runway in it. Nina Garcia was appropriately tight-lipped about it. I think if she'd opened her mouth, wasps would have flown out of it and the skies would have blackened and all that would have been left would be a candle to huddle around and the vague hope for some kind of merciful god. All that said, though, he didn't go home. Which is fine, because he said some funny things this episode. Yes Suede did.

And then Jerrell who, bless his skinny heart, endeared himself to me by calling himself weird and not being arrogant and designing a lovely dress for a lovely girl. He gets both points on and points off for wearing his Pan, nymph of the forest headdress on the runway and in his victory lap Elle photoshoot. For shame, Jerrell. But also: good for you Jerrell! I suspect he'll be joining Leanne in the finals.

You know who won't be joining Leanne in the finals? Ol' Joe Schmo, our regulah guy friend from Deeetroit, Em Eye who would have won this competition soundly had it been fought in 1988. He was, as the acerbic and wonderful (come back any time!) guest judge Cynthia Rowley put it, completely out of touch. He made an ill-fitting stewardess' uniform that Diane Keaton wore in Baby Boom 2: Sam Shepard's Not In This One. Yes he has daughters and it is sad that he has to go back to them empty handed, but it is also good that he has daughters and that he went home to them. He still got to show at Fashion Week, so I consider it something of a victory anyway.

And then. And then and then and then. Do you remember that girl you knew in college who was fashionable in this timid, darting way. Who things never seemed to go quite right for until they really did and there was something so smug and self-satisfied about her success. And then you'd see her at parties or in the dining hall and she was always talking to boys, only boys, perhaps one out-of-her-league fellow in particular, in this cloying and sad and infuriating way. She would get a little too sloppy at parties and quietly profess her sad love for this boy—who probably played club lacrosse or rowed crew and had some family money and was kind but aloof to her—and she would glare at any girl in a shrill passive aggressive way if she felt encroached upon. That girl was someone you felt bad for, sure, but mostly you couldn't stand her. Because she was a poor representative of Women, the kind of deliberately damaged goods (I don't mean mental imbalance—I mean put-on modesty wrapped in over-confidence swathed in self-righteous anger) who made boys thinks that "chicks are crazy, man." That is Kenley. And that's all I'll say about her.

So yes, we rumble on toward the finale. Everyone in last night's episode did in fact show a collection at Fashion Week last week, so they're all winners! Except for Kenley who is a miserable annoyance who laughed—cackled, really—at Joe's misfortune during the judging. She blows. Evs. At least she seems to be getting hers in next week's episode.

OK. I'm going to stop writing now, lest I become another Hedda Lettuce.

And who knows what else may happen tonight, Netzvolk? Achtung! The cabaret is about to begin!

(P.S.: We miss you again Jerilyn — make a new identity and rejoin us soon!)

Elle still trailed Vogue by more than 350 ad pages in the first half of 2008 but seems to be evening the playing field online, not to mention in pop culture. Forbes' recently compiled list of the top 10 most-powerful editors in fashion had Elle's Robbie Myers and Vogue's Anna Wintour tied at No. 2, citing Elle's "Runway" exposure and significant web traffic.

Even Wintour's former intern Sean Avery is wowed by television. Supposedly he's already filmed a scene for Marie Claire's forthcoming reality show Running In Heels.

The editor's only consolation is that her rivals are divided. Internal bickering has Runway switching from Elle to Claire. And it's not at all clear that Elle can hold on to its number-two spot with its new show Stylista, which competes with both Runway and Heels and thus far appears to be premised on clumsily imitating Wintour. She should hope the show doesn't gain traction — THAT would burn.

[Ad Age]

Meg's Harvey Weinstein Scans Room For Someone He Can Blind.

PROJECT RUNWAY CANNIBALIZES SELF: I've been watching the show intermittently and whatever plot there was I lost a long time ago.** But it can't be a good vital sign when instead of reaching beyond the borders of the show, the producers decide to resurrect contestants of seasons past and, like so many bony mares, and force them back through the grinder. They do this twice in this episode. Once when they force this season's contestants to pair up with already executed ones (like Lame-o Jerry! Weenie fuck Dan! Gossip Girl Wesley! Angry Mormon Keith!) and again when they are confronted with another batch of zombie designers from season's past at the natural history museum. THIS IS WHY MUSEUM'S AREN'T FUN!*** Then they throw in Zodiac signs? Come on, you lazy reprobates! You can do better. Zodiac signs are only good for picking up high school girls in the Barnes and Noble cafe.****
TERRI IS SAD EX-MORMON HATER Keith is annoying, fine. I'm glad he's gone. But SRSLY! Terri, you are a skunky bitch. Keith doesn't like you. You don't like him. But at least he put aside his pride and put himself at your disposal. That's the challenge. Instead of making do, you were acerbic, defensive and bitchy. You once made us like you because you wondered what Suede was packing (in his pants). You asked whether it was a vajayjay (vagina) or balls (balls). But you squandered our good will when you let your bitchiness really injure those around you. Keith was already vulnerable in last night's situation. Imagine how difficult it was for him to be there. That you got sent home is not only a direct consequence of your inability to work with others but just retribution for your callous cruelty. I shan't be sad to see you leave. My only regret is that you didn't leave sooner.

BLAYNE, I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SAY THIS BUT.... We've mocked Blayne in the past. He is still the same twerpy tangy troll. His design last night was also hideous. But, well, I'm getting choked up.*****
Blayne, I'm sorry to see you leave. You left with a strange and bizarre grace.

CONFIDENTIAL TO KENLEY You have a nice rack and a pretty face. Stop being so overpoweringly annoying. PLEASE! I want to like you but you are making it next to impossible. You don't look at collections? Come on! You have one week to comply with our request to stop being shitty. At that point, we shall have no other choice than to move you from Column A (Things We Actually Like) to Column B (Things We'd Like To Shut Up)

* As if! It was really two glasses of Friuliano. 2007 was the last year one could call Tocai Tocai. According to a recent EU decision, the Italian grape from the Friuli-Venezia region is known as Friuliano after losing out on naming rights to the Hungarian varietal Tokaji, pronounced, confusingly, Tocai. Oh well, Klonopin is still Klonopin!
**Memo to Mr. Hippity: I read your comments the other day (Nice job liveblogging yesterday. Always a pleasure to read.) One of the reasons that I'm here every other week is because the wonderful Mr. Lawson loves/hates/watches the show as much as I do. By alternating weeks, we ensure a plurality of viewpoints are voiced as well as gaining biweekly Wednesday night parole.
***I know, I know. Museums are fun.
****They're reading the Utne Reader. You're reading The Changing Light at Sandover. She's drinking an Iced Latte. You, an Earl Grey tea. You ask if she's a Virgo. She says, "Yes....born in 1990. Back off, creep!" You reply, "Oooh, Virgos are feisty." 1, 2, 3, 4, slowly walking to the door...
*****OMG, did anyone watch Jerry McGuire before Project Runway? Tom Cruise is sooo good in that. Also, Zellweger wasn't as hideous as she has since become. You got me at Hello! AWWWWW! I choked up. (I get sentimental when I get pissy drunk, off the Henny and skunk.)

Everything but me, that is. I'm actually kind of a sad chicken this week, because Stella is out. (Fortunately for Tim Gunn, she didn't brain him with her hammer when he called her "ebullient" — what kind of adjective is that for the "heroin Cher"?) I'll miss Leatha, and I'm sure you will too. But don't despair: I wouldn’t be surprised if she and her boyfriend appeared in their own reality show soon. They could call it simply: "Stella and Ratbones." With a name like that, how could it miss? I'd watch a show called "Stella and Ratbones." Wouldn't you?

Anyway, here are three asstastic "things to watch for" as we live-blog tonight:

Girl power! Expect the women to keep kicking ass tonight, on the way to what I predict will be an all-female final three (or four). To paraphrase Helen Reddy: They are woman, hear them roar! In numbers too big to ignore (five out of eight victories to date)! In tonight's preview, I glimpsed this message scrawled on a chalkboard in the women's apartment: "Bad Ass Mutha Fuckas In The House!" That pretty much sums it up, doesn't it?

Double auf heaven! As I mentioned last week, the final faceoff of this season's three (or four) finalists will occur in New York's Bryant Park this Friday, but eight contestants remain. This means they must multiply some eliminations, and stage several "decoy" shows on Friday, to avoid spoiling surprises. So news that two designers will be auf’d in tonight's team challenge should come as no surprise. Let's hope the losing team is Blayne and Suede — Blayne, because he called Mary-Kate Olsen a "fashion legend" last week; and Suede, because we've had to look at that fauxhawk long enough. The fauxhawk must go.

Life imitates snark! Remember when I joked that, given all the recent guest stints by charismatic past entrants (in unflattering contrast to this year's crew), they may as well stage a joint appearance by Christian Siriano, Jay McCarroll and Santino Rice to the strains of "We May Never Love Like This Again"? Well, it turns out that something very close this is actually slated to occur tonight — off by one person and, probably, minus the song. When the moment comes, we'll all just have to sing it ourselves, OK?

Well, that's enough from me. Let's get ready to liveblog, all you bad-ass mutha fuckas! Tonight is gonna be asstastic!

(P.S.: We miss you Jerilyn! Come back under a new name soon!)

Nina told me1 last month she'd had plenty of offers to do other shows before, but didn't want to do a makeover show. She hasn't: According to Marie Claire, Running In Heels intends to "offer unprecedented behind-the-scenes access to Marie Claire and the stylish, smart women who put the magazine together each month," including "private video confessionals," in which "viewers will learn how the interns cope with their jobs, their superiors and each other." That sounds so good!!! Except, of course, for two things:

1. Seriously, it's Marie Claire.2 How bad could the bullshit be at Marie Claire? The show runs the risk of being as boring as Vogue's stupid three million dollar "documentary" web show no one except Tatiana watches. At least Elle's Stylista has the virtue of being watchable, at minimum, as a trainwreck.

2. It's going to be on the Style Network. Which is owned by Comcast, unlike new Project Runway host Lifetime, which is half-owned by Marie Claire publisher Hearst. What kind of entertainment conglomerate snatches up Nina Garcia only to not air her new foray into "docu"-reality TV? Something is off there. My guess is that Nina, who is pretty controlling of her image, did not want to make a campy gossipy addictive voyeuristic Devil Wears Prada-type reality show when she is already, you know, famous.

1 Yes, I know! I talked to her many times. Her favorite movie is "Scarface"! But Anne Slowey is more fun to hang out with. Which is to say, Anne Slowey would actually hang out with me.
2I mean, I know people who work at Marie Claire. They are completely totally normal, and not in that "for a brainwashed person" way!

Although we've wondered whether Zee makes Elle too gay, he comes complete with long-running connections with J. Lo, Justin Timberlake and Sarah Jessica Parker plus a Horacio Alger, immigrant-makes-good biography. And he apparently also has a silver tongue. Here's what he told Page Six about the naked Vanity Fair shoot:

“Keira and Scarlett really were naked [in front of the cameras] for a while, but they got it. You have [photographer] Annie Leibovitz, you have Tom Ford—I think the girls realized that they were in trusted hands. It’s not Playboy. They knew it would be interesting and artful. Plus, Tom Ford [guest edited this issue and he] is incredibly visual and incredibly specific. He wants to direct movies now, and no doubt he’ll be phenomenal at it.”

Zee also bends other celebrity women to his will, through the magic of, uh, listening. Tricky and clever! Here's how it works:

“I identify with big personality women like Jennifer, Madonna, Mariah,” Joe says of the connection he has with stars. “I love their style, but I also love their careers, the decisions they make—all those things that make them who they are. Maybe it’s because I treat them as three-dimensional, successful women with real ideas, not as models.”

At the moment, though, J.Lo looks as comfortable in front of the camera as any career catwalker. It’s not the first time the pair has collaborated: Joe styled her for every W cover she’s shot over the years and for her album art for 2001’s J.Lo. Today, she rolls her caramel shoulders and tosses her hair before photographer Carter Smith as Joe stands nearby, directing her while chewing furiously on a piece of gum. “Gorgeous with your arm up like that,” he shouts. “Hot! Hot! She’s smokin’!”

You know what else Joe Zee is good at, besides fashion? Name dropping!

[Page Six Magazine]

This week's challenge began with the gang trudging into the deepest bowels of the Meatpacking District, sent off by Tim Gunn to meet a "fashion legend." Little gay rutabaga Blayne hoped it was Mary-Kate Olsen. Doesn't everyone want to marry her ("other than Tim Gunn") he wondered. No Blayne! Only you. The legend turned out to be the decidedly more legendary than MKO Diane von Furstenberg who—though looking increasingly like the head witch from The Witches (it's the hair! a "CVS Halloween aisle fright wig," my costume designer friend calls it)—was a welcome dash of poise and class. Her challenge to our bumbling boobs was to design an outfit within the theme of A Foreign Affair, an old-timey talkie about Marlene Dietrich being a singer and sort of a spy. So that was fun. 1940's intrigue! (Though the movie is actually a Billy Wilder comedy, not some smoky suspense film.)

Mousy little Leanne took this as a cue to skulk around the design room, pretending to be a spy. Like a crazy person. I think she said "Leannimal" at one point and then I fell off the couch and did a sad, slow Three Stooges walk around the floor. She's so weird and kind of annoying! When I righted myself and brushed the dust and bottle caps off my shirt, I saw that Joe had apparently tripped balls back to the drag queen challenge, making the same damn pink thing. Korto made a nice bright frock with a strangely fitting jacket, Jerrell once again tailored well and designed awfully, Terri did her old pants and jacket soft shoe, our live blogger's predictions were correct and Kenley wept and wept and wept and wore feather epaulets (and made a nice little Chinese kaleidoscope dress), Suede's gonna do what Suede's gonna do, and then there were other people, probably. Leanne won for a very pretty dress and coat ensemble that was, gasping for air!, almost like something from one of the earlier, better seasons. (That's my nice thing.)

The really important people to talk about, however, are grizzled old Rizzo the Rat(bones) Stella and the microwave-reheated pile of French fries Blayne. Stella had good intentions with her pantsuit, but then she took some Austro-Hungarian leap into the shadowy Danube with that stern-looking trapeze cape. And, you know, the pantsuit was poorly made. Plus Stella is just kind of a crazy and urban-zombie-esque.

Blayne. What to say of Blayne's Gummi Bears-inspired, jodhpurs-meet-culottes blunderbuss of a "garment." One of two things is going to happen. Either Blayne will meth-scratch his Circus Peanut face off, or he'll design something so spectacularly awful and crazy and inexcusably approved-of by the judges that the universe will fold in on itself and we'll all wink out of existence. I, for one, am hoping it's the former.

Anyway it doesn't matter because ol' rickety Madame Bones Stella was sent to that giant roadhouse in the sky, where she'll dance drunken rockabilly tarantellas with Ratbones, swigging ice cold homemade beer from the bottle, happy to be back where the boots scuff the floor and the toilets don't have doors. Meanwhile Blayne will hum and glow for at least another week, his strange emanations hurtled into space, warning away any would-be alien invaders.

And for that, I guess, we should be thankful.

In case you missed last week's liveblog, here are few random highlights:

And here are a couple things I suggest we keep an eye out for tonight:
Will multiple designers get eliminated? New York Fashion Week starts in just a few days, but nine contestants remain. This means they'll need to either step up the pace of eliminations, or show more "decoy" contestant collections than usual in the Bryant Park tent on Sept. 12 to avoid spoiling the "final group" surprise.

Will "Betty Paige Girl" act like "Sanjaya Girl"? Tonight's preview shows Kenley crying a lot, which has me … concerned. (More concerned than Tim Gunn, even.) I like a quirky Kenley. And a catty Kenley. And even a cunning Kenley. But a crying Kenley? Who wants that? Especially one who cries over meeting guest judge Diane von Furstenberg? (There’s a loss of "cool points" right there.)

Well, almost time to start our blithe little babblefest, so that's all from me for now. (Except for this quick, heartfelt wish to the people of the U.S. Gulf Coast: Here's hoping all are safely united with homes and loved ones soon. Our thoughts are with you.)

Here, boiled down, are the arguments pro and con, which I gleaned in the process of chronicling the Anne Slowey-Nina Garcia Project Runway Stylista saga a couple weeks ago. As a non-consumer of fashion, I don't have a very strong personal opinion on the matter, but I bet I know someone who does! (Ha ha ha, well, my boss duh.)

JOE ZEE'S ELLE = TOO GAY.
Joe Zee is too gay. He is so gay he immediately brought in his gay boyfriend to work as the web editor. He thinks everyone should dress like Mary-Kate Olsen and he only likes gay celebrities like Mariah and Lindsay, except he is probably over Linds now that she is actually really gay. Everyone who loves him and thinks he is so nice is just fooled by the fact that he is a gay man and everyone knows gay men act nicer than straight men but deep down they are STILL MEN. Also he has ADD and is a self-promoter. When Gilles and Nina and their crew were running things, the magazine was classier and not so trendy and the halls were filled with the sounds of cool accents screaming at one another. Now everyone screams in American. Gilles' style was more timeless and feminine and less consumerporny and that's how it differentiated itself from Vogue. And seriously, why do you think Gilles is Tyra's favorite photographer?

JOE ZEE'S ELLE = JUST GAY ENOUGH
Whatevs! You are in America now, and in America people who like fashion (Marc! Tom! Christian Siriano!) are GAY. Like is it just through some bizarre series of unrelated circumstances that Elle resurrected its whole business thanks to its appearance on the gayest show on the gay network? And where do you expect all those mediagays to work, anyway? Men's magazines???? Hahahahahahahaha sorry, but the Fashion Week galas are just slightly better in women's! Oh, and Joe's boyfriend can actually code HTML, which is just a little more than slightly more qualified than we might say for that ex-wife Gilles made "editor in chief" of Elle Accessories! In any case, the rising generation of fashion consumers is a bunch of Fashion Spot-posting Project Runway marathoning MK-idolizing Santogold-muxtaping Andy Sachs wannabes with just the sort of warped priorities that sell fashion magazines, and you know what? When that generation invariably arrives in New York to waste its twenties buying boots and learning the hard way that there is no such thing as a free bump, it is going to need some real friends and guess what THOSE FRIENDS ARE ALL GAY.

Okay everybody, recess! We'll follow up with some exhibits from both sides once we're reunited with our scanners.

*Robbie Myers is famously a very nice and smart person who is hated by no one I know. It is hard to be that type of person in this business I think. Just putting that out there! Also: I am sorry to those of you who found this post in poor taste. I don't actually think it's so much of a "gay" matter as a "generational/camp" one but again, what do I know? Nothing apparently! Anyway XO to all my (super-constructive) critics.

Further Reading:
How Reality TV Turned Anne Slowey And Nina Garcia Into Rivals [NY]
Just How Creative Is Elle Creative Director Joe Zee? [Jossip]
Is Joe Zee Ruining Elle? [Jossip]
Elle Has A Little Work Done [NYT]

The contestants—idiot sheep people they are—were invited to go to rooftop. This caused confusion and hope. Blayne thought perhaps it was some exclusive celebrity and they had to go "rooftop style". Mariah Carey was mentioned by Korto. [BLAYNE WALKS LIKE A FUCKING KEEBLER ELF! WATCH VIDEO!] Even when they arrived at a parking garage, that sneaky bitch hope still filled their eyes with stars. They got on a freight elevator. Only Joe, the man from Detroit, remained unfazed. You could see in his eyes he'd been through this shit before. Anyway, Mariah Carey wasn't waiting for them. Only a fleet of affordable yet chic hybrid vehicles [NB: Saturn, please email me my car at joshua@joshuadavidstein.com".] They had to use car parts and upholstery to make their outfits.

To skip over the boring bits quickly: Keith, the whiny ex-Mormon, bitched, moaned. Terri made a shite Jeepers Creepers joke then rolled on the floor. Jor-El redeemed himself when he said, "Don't trust the bitch" referring to Terri and then flashing a false smile. Korto wove this fairly beautiful mod dress out of seatbelts. Everyone used seatbelts. Suede didn't use suede. Jor-El did. Cat Power stuffed her models panties and made a great dress. Stella calls her sidekick on a Sidekick. His name is RATBONES. He has an iron cross tattooed on his forearm and his motto is, "if you don't like it get the fuck outta here." Ok, ok, I'm on my way out.

On to Judgment Day. Is guest judge Rachel Zoe the Montauk Monster? Rachel Zoe from what I pull from the cultural ether, is a celebrity stylist for Lindsay Lohan and others who reportedly drugs her charges into skinniness. Is that fairly accurate? She's a girl-version of Blayne but brined, a deflated doll, a beige tarp thrown over a tower of bones all bungied together and animated by greed. One of those Godzilla dolls you get from Archie McPhee. She also has her own ill-fated show called the Rachel Zoe Project. From the flash of previews, it involves the small raisin woman yelling at other people and occasionally crying. She seems horrible. The show seems horrible. I bet she doesn't even drive a Saturn.

Keith's outfit was by far the worst. Stella's was also pretty bad but Keith's was just inexcusable. Of course he made excuses. He blamed the model for sitting down. He blamed the critics for not appreciating him enough. He was pissy on the runway. Of course he was eliminated. Most or our tireless live blog commenters seemed to agree with the choice. And they have impeccable taste, so sorry Keith. He left, muttering "no worries" through red eyes on his way back to SLC. The voice of reason last night belonged to 5 percenter Michael Kors who advocated personal responsibility. Rachel Zoe, a woman who perhaps could learn something about personal accountability, scowled like an uncomprehending demon. When the television lights were dimmed, the spark left her eyes too and a PA snuck up behind her, opened the rubber nipple and let out any remaining air.

Random highlight from the last episode: Drag queens instead of models! I kept waiting for Heidi to say, "drag queens, this is a competition for you too."

Random highlight from after the last episode: Once Daniel was booted, we learned that he and Week 2 boot-ee Wesley are an item. Now there's a Project Runway power couple. Working together, I bet they could clean out their spaces quicker than anyone!

Random highlight from last week's live blog: Several commenters answered the unasked question: "If you were a drag queen, what would your name be?" Here's a selection (vote for your favorite!):

Will Stella pound pleather? Tonight's challenge appears to involve automobiles. In the preview, contestants are ripping up what looks like car upholstery. Instead of attacking leather with her hammer, will Stella do that to some to a leather-substitute dashboard material like pleather or leatherette? Will she pronounce pleather as "pleath-uh"? If she tries to pronounce "leatherette," will she sprain her tongue?

How much will guest judge Laura Bennett highlight the dullness of this year's designers? Many of this year's guests (Austin Scarlet, Chris March and now the awesome Bennett) serve only to remind us of how much more interesting past contestants were. At this rate, they might as well create a special guest-judging panel of Santino Rice, Christian Soriano and Jay McCarroll, and introduce them all to the strains of "I'll Never Love This Way Again."

Well, that's it from me, delegates. Let's bring this liveblog to order!

* Dickdogfood tried to claim this name, but La Cieca beat him to it.

The challenge was drag queens, as introduced by a Flight of the Valkyries-costumed Chris March, the lovablest contestant from the ridiculously superior last season. There wasn't really any context to the challenge or, rather, there wasn't really any NBC/Universal marketing tie-in so that felt both refreshing and, admittedly, a bit strange. I couldn't help but feel that there was nothing timely about the whole smoosh—wasn't mainstream drag queen mania birthed and put to bed in the 90's by movies like The Birdcage and Too Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything IRS, Love Wesley Snipes? Whatever, it brought Chris back so that was fun, but then he didn't even get to be the guest judge! What hooey! It was nice to see RuPaul alive and well and living in Stevie Nicks' hair, at least.

Design-wise, there weren't too many surprises. Jerrel, though he is so so so annoying, can make clothes well. The trouble is he has no taste, as witnessed by his strange mess of greens and blues this week (and his floppy dustbowl prom queen ensemble from the Olympics challenge.) Those brown haired girls are proficient enough, but so sleepytime. Stella fell down some stairs in Detroit in 1976 and hasn't been the same since. Suede's design was capable if uninteresting, like the designer himself. Terri's was fabulous, probably because she was the most excited about the damn dairy queens and she chose the hardest one. It was nice to finally see someone take a risk rather than lashing together some little cocktail dress. Speaking of lashing together, Keith fashioned another of his car wash fringe debacles and Blayne did something involving wings and Silly String that was so bright it made a 10-year-old girl from Tokyo blush (I know it's drag queens, but this was just urgly.)

Also, Blayne continued on his Quest for Catchphrases, prancing around the design room saying that if he was a drag queen (rather than the tree burl dipped in buffalo sauce that he is now) his stage name would be Neonlicious. Because, I guess, what? Farrah Moans. There's a funny, punny drag name! Neonlicious is that new flavor of Mountain Dew you can vote for over the phone. Tranny Ferocia—or whatever Christian's chosen wrestler name was—was even cleverer. Someone put Blayne in a drawer, please.

And then, pfffft, Joe won for his infantile "Ann-Margaret on The Love Boat" sailor pantsuit. For some reason, the outfit, and the way his model wore it and walked in it, made me really uncomfortable. It was like watching Shirley Temple, fifty-years-old and drunk, doing some kind of Charles Nelson Reilly pastiche. Or something. (I'd been drinking at this point.) At least Daniel went home for once again failing to complete the assigned task, choosing instead, as always, to make one of his poorly-crafted, boring frocks. No tears shed for the loss of his "high-end glamor" aesthetic or whatever it is he's peddling.

So yeah, if I seem exhausted it's because I am—with drag queens, with this show, with August (and everything after.) I switched over to the Olympics once the show was done and there was competition that felt fresh and exciting and genuine. And those damn things have been around for thousands of years. Though, they didn't try to have five competitions in three years, now did they?

Oh, and look. Love. Blech.

I'm your host, Hippity Klum, and before we get the party started tonight I'd like to share some kudos, an observation and a few "things to watch." The kudos go to commenter Lizawithazee, who made this prescient comment five minutes into last week's episode: "Here's a hint: don't let yourself lead a team. It's curtains, baby."

The observation concerns Stella. You know how Tim Gunn tells the loser each week to "clean out your space"? Well, after crazy Stella gets the boot, one of the things she's gonna clean out of her space is a great big hammer. So when her time comes, my recommendation for Tim is to say: "Never mind about your space — we'll pack your stuff and send it to you later."

And here are my suggested "things to watch for" this week:

• Can trannies help lift this season out of the doldrums? Last season, a guy said "tranny" a lot and people loved it. How to top that? Tonight's answer (judging from the preview): Bring in real trannies! It might just work. Even better? Deliver a Christian Siriano catchphrase made flesh: An actual "hot tranny mess." Does RuPaul fit the bill? He's a tranny and probably a mess. But is he hot? Was he ever? Discuss.
• Which designer's touching back-story will be featured tonight? This tends to be an omen for good or evil. Two weeks ago, it was Korto, who was the toast of the runway. Last week, it was Kelli, who was … toast.
• Will Tim finally say "gay Jurassic park"? It's been in the previews for weeks now. But given how the editors have been swiping their preview bits from such far-off episodes lately, he may not actually say it until next season.

Finally, a quick note to any two-timing live-bloggers who plan to periodically switch channels tonight to drool over Olympic athletes: I have three, nasally-Kors-voice-inflected words for you — slutty, slutty, slutty!

Which is OK, because we love sluts here. So happy live-blogging, everyslutty!

While Garcia comes across as a natural fashionista descended from South American aristocracy, Slowey seems like an East Village hippie with no claim on the Miranda Priestly airs she apparently will put on in Stylista. She's described in "Birkenstocks and vintage frocks" and consulting "healers [and] alternative-medicine practitioners." She even hires an "energy cleaner" to get rid of negative energy after Garcia leaves.

Perhaps the clearest contrast between the two, the article notes, is revealed in comparing Elle.com videos touring each woman's closet. As you can see in excerpts from both videos above, that's true: Note the size and organization of Garcia's closet (presented first), in an apartment overlooking Central Park, to that of Slowey's in the East Village.

Garcia may now be known as "the evil one" or "the monster" around Elle, as Moe writes. But at least her show brings some redeeming value to the world of fashion, rather than indulging a contrived (for Elle and for Slowey, at least) and masochistic view of magazine employment.

[NY Mag]

Ethinicity also played a role in this episode. My first idea of it started when Ms. Shields told Korto who is from Liberia and who presented an impressive sketch, "The touch of ethnicity is delightful." That was curious and also true. Later, Korto snaps at that guy from Detroit for undermining her (which he did) in front of Tim Gunn. He furiously backpedals and tries consensus building. (Their garment, btw, was in my opinion, lovely.)

The moment of wonder: In a segment that was the most curious and also the most true of any statement ever made, Terri questioned whether Suede was packing balls or vajajay. She also noted that she doesn't have any children and that, therefore, no one should be sucking on her titties. (On the other hand, when the artist Peaches sang in a song, "Sucking on my titties like you wanted me," she presumably isn't talking to h