What I Did This Summer, Or The Art of the Summer Cocktail

There are few things more pleasing to the eye than a fully stocked bar.

Is that a depressing sentence? I don’t care, it’s true. Or maybe I’ve just been watching too much Mad Men.

This summer has heralded the dawn of the Cocktail for me. I decided that I hate beer* and I’m not going to pretend to put up with its shenanigans anymore. So, I pay the extra 5 bucks and get a glamorous bitch of a cocktail that might knock me around a bit but tastes delicious, instead of a pint of something that looks a lot like morning-after pee.

[*Well, hate is a strong word. But I don't love it. I appreciate it for all the things that are, indeed, amazing about beer. The way that brewing is truly a weird science, the different shades of amber, the varieties, the hops, etc. I do like a good pale ale, I have grown to appreciate stouts, but if I had to go by what I really wanted at a bar, it would be a liquor drink every time. Except for ball games. I love beer at ball games.]

While I cringe to calculate the cost that this switch has raged on my wallet, I cannot regret any cocktail I have ordered this summer and have discovered some real gems. I now have some pretty “new money” answers for when Vanity Fair potentially asks me what my cocktail of choice is. Huzzah!

St. Germaine Liqueur

St. Germain Liquer

My favorite new liqueur of the year (and everyone else’s, it would seem) has to be St. Germaine, or elderflower liqueur.

I’m still experimenting with different ways to incorporate it into drinks, but the following recipe is a pretty good place to start.  Containing quality gin (I’m a fan of Hendrick’s),  St. Germaine and grapefruit, it’s refreshing as hell and easy to make. Gin Blossom is the clever name that  Minetta Tavern in NYC is calling its version, but this might confuse your bartender since Gin Blossom is traditionally the name of a gin and orange juice drink. Which is just a shame. They should strip the title and give it to these deserving chap.

Gin Blossom (or whatever you want to call it)

2 oz. Hendricks Gin

1/2 oz. St. Germain elderflower liqueur

2 dashes Aperol

juice of 1/2 grapefruit

Garnish with a slice of ruby red grapefruit

Just heavenly.  St. Germaine is not too sweet, not too bitter and adds just enough heft to make its presence known but not enough to spoil a light summer drink. For another version of this drink, just tell your bartender to make a gin martini and substitute the St. Germaine for the vermouth and add a dash of grapefruit juice. I, for one, love the combination of grapefruit juice and alcohol. It’s the perfect wedding drink, as my SO and I have discovered. Greyhounds (vodka and grapefruit) are light enough to tip back before dinner, but the juice is acidic enough to mask a real stiff drink that can get you good and hammered in time for dancing. And again, its just damn refreshing.

Lillet

Lillet Blanc

Even saying this aloud makes me feel classy. Lillet (pronounced li’le, like how a Frenchie might say ‘lily’).

It’s a French aperitif wine that sort of tastes like it might even make a good after dinner drink or dessert wine—if your dinner was a light summer salad, let’s say. It’s also just a good after-work summer drink, and a nice addition to a cocktail. If you think you might have heard of it before, it’s probably because Lillet made an appearance in a James Bond movie via the Vesper Martini. Full details on that drink here (haven’t tried it yet, but it’s on my to-do list).  I did try this next recipe though, since I had the right ingredients on hand (You can add a cucumber spear garnish but I tend to find those add-on’s totally unnecessary):

Lillet-Basil Cocktail

* 1 cup ice

* 1/2 cup Lillet Blanc (White Lillet)

* 1 oz gin

* 1 oz fresh orange juice

* 1/4 cup loosely packed fresh basil leaves, plus sprigs for garnish

* Splash of tonic water

* 1 cucumber spear, for garnish

Directions: Put ice, Lillet, gin, orange juice and basil in a cocktail shaker, and shake well.

Fill a rocks, or lowball, glass with ice, and strain the mixture into the glass. Add a splash of tonic water. Garnish the drink with a cucumber spear and sprig of basil.

(Source: Martha Stewart)

SkinnyGirl Margarita™

SkinnyGirl Margarita (don't worry, you can still drink this if you're kind of fat)

I recently hunted down a bottle of this after weeks of trying. Jee-zus, do women like Bethenny Frankel. And I do, I love her. She can be a total bitch, in exactly the same ways I am. But she treats the help like part of the family, so she is OK in my book and is clearly not a mean woman. Just sometimes a bitch. And well, aren’t we all?

The drink itself is actually good. Because believe me, I don’t care if your show makes me laugh, if the product you’re shilling is crap, I will not be impressed. My only complaint is that it’s kind of pricey, no?  14 bucks for such a slim bottle? I get the fact that it’s a “skinny girl” margarita, but the friggin’ bottle can be fat, right?

Serve this chilled, right out of the bottle. It tastes very boozy to me actually, but I have a feeling this is a clever use of lime.  Assuming as such, I did add  a touch more Jose Cuervo Especial, because you  know….

Lemonade-Based Cocktails

This is the perfect way to celebrate summer that takes you back to the time when summers were spent doing absolutely nothing. Remember that?  You never had it so good. God-damn.

Muddled Blueberry Lemonade

handful of blueberries (fresh or thawed frozen blueberries)

2 oz Stoli Blueberry (any fruit-flavored vodka will do, really)

3 oz Lemonade (I like the Santa Cruz Organic Lemonade)

Drop the blueberries into a tall glass and muddle them with the back of a spoon, smashing them until you get a sloppy liquid bruise in the bottom of your glass. [Yes, if you’re lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of a wedding registry, you can use an actual muddler, you stuck-up bitch). Add ice, and pour in the vodka and lemonade. Stir. Garnish with a smile.

Other varieties could involve muddled strawberries and basil leaves, lemonade and Stoli Citron. YUM. Or muddled peaches and blueberries, Absolut Peach and club soda with just a splash of lemonade.  Ahhh……

What are other good summer drinks? Or better yet, what fall drinks can I use to ease the post-labor Day depression?

Slate/Significant Objects Contest

Significant Objects is an online literary project started by Joshua Glenn and Rob Walker that underscores several platitudes. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Don’t judge a book by its cover. All of these come to mind. A finely-crafted story of 500 words or less is written around a particular trinket or bric-a-brac found in a thrift store and then re-sold on e-bay with the attached story to infuse it with a new significance. This object of a petty monetary value should now fetch a handsome price, right? This is the experiment. It smacks of recessionary values: What one buys does not have intrinsic value, but gains worth as we make real-life connections with it. Who needs an Armani suit, when you can have a ceramic penguin milk dispenser with real gumption? It’s a fascinating project and I have been keeping an eye on what writers come up with, how high the ebay offers will go, and all the while hoping that there would be an opportunity for readers to submit their own story.  And lo and behold, they have! In conjunction with Slate, the owners of SignificantObjects.com are sponsoring a story contest. Best story for a particular object wins…untold glory? I don’t even know what the prize it, but I decided to submit my stab at it.

The object—a real doozy—was chosen by Glenn, Walker and the editors of Slate, so I had no real choice there. I have posted my entry, with a picture of the object below, for your consideration. Contest ends Friday, October 16, 2009 at 5pm ET. Go to www.slate.com for details.

 

Slate's Significant Object: A Bar-B-Q Jar w/ brush

A cursory scan inside our blue-shuttered house revealed a fairly typical American home, albeit with a few more chips of cracked ceiling than expected.  But beneath the rocking chair, the ottoman and the lamp, there lurked a stain here and a worn patch there. A very proud family lived in this blue-shuttered house though it took me years of perspective to understand the cases of neglect, settled out of court, that were the calling cards of an extremely stretched budget.  If cleanliness was close to godliness then smudges and blots covered by a draped blanket was perfectly holy enough for my mother, thank you very much.  To my adolescent self, struggling to come to terms with eyes slightly askew, bowed knees and a most conspicuous birthmark on my forehead, my house was always the worst of all offenses heaped upon me.  Years of Septembers spent staring at the shiny new Lisa Frank folders of my schoolmates whilst I ached to have a unicorn of my own had given me a terrible case of the “have-not-but- desperately -want- to-have-all’s.”

My never-ending fear: how to prevent Tabitha Morgenthal from traipsing into our house after school and witnessing my family’s embarrassing lack of cleverness and refinement screaming from every corner. The entrance to my parent’s room was gagged with a tube sock to keep its ill-fitting door from slamming against the frame with every whispered breath. The spoon rest in the kitchen was used as a dispensary for our compulsory morning vitamins and nary a spoon had rested its head upon it. Towels draped the tops of our couch and recliner, to prevent our cat from ripping the stuffing to shreds. Tiebacks for our curtains were performed by would-be scarves, cut to do a new job.  It was not really poverty, not even laziness, but an immigrant mentality that all’s well that does the job.  Even our bathroom was an assortment of oddities, evidence by an old barbeque jar and pastry brush shamelessly used by my father to brush talcum powder on his face after shaving. A most embarrassing relic I turned to face the wall whenever Tabitha barged in.

One sunny afternoon when my sneaky machinations could not keep Tabitha from coming over, I tore through every room, knocking my knees together as I grabbed towels off of couches, socks out of doors and assembled various bits of flotsam into order.  I was liberally spraying my mother’s musk in the bathroom and putting the hideous jar in time-out, when Tabitha was suddenly behind me, grabbing.

“What is this?” She turned the shining jar in her hands to read the cheerful yellow writing: Bar-B-Q. She sniffed at its contents, and a laugh was already bulging from her eyes.

I stood there numbly and shrugged, too embarrassed to speak.

“This is beyond weird. You have the craziest crap in your house,” she said, casually confirming my worst fears.

Silently, I reached for Tabitha Morganthal’s shiny hair and pulled as hard as I could.

BOOK REVIEW: A Prayer for Owen Meany

BOOK REVIEW: A Prayer for Owen Meany  

Author: John Irving

Publisher: Ballantine Books

Publication Date: April 14, 1990

ISBN: 978-0-3453-6179-0

Book obtained by in-store purchase

Books like A Prayer for Owen Meany take me a while to figure out. The sheer quantity of its pages (619, to be exact), the weaving currents of narration, the plot twists –all of this causes a backup in your literary digestive tract. I had intended on starting another book right after A Prayer for Owen Meany but I seem to be stuck in an incongruous time period: 1960’s New Hampshire of all places. I’ve been here longer than expected.

 A Prayer for Owen Meany is the story of Johnny Wheelwright, but the parable of Owen Meany. Johnny’s narration starts from the days of his youth, as he simultaneously teases and forges a sibling-like bond with diminutive Owen Meany. Meany is small in stature but carries a big stick, most characterized by his voice, which is irritatingly poised at the crescendo of a shout.  Irving employs the unsettling device of the caps-lock for all of Owen’s ideas, whether spoken or not—a ploy which at first almost caused me to throw the book across the room.  Soon, you simply recognize the work of a masterful writer who has succeeded in having his main character’s persona virtually jump off the page; towards the end of the book, Owen’s IDEAS compulsively draw your eye to when you will next hear from him. 

One ill-fated (or simply FATED, according to Owen) day, a foul ball at a Little League game strikes Johnny’s mother dead. The batter is Owen Meany and the incident puts an idea in his head that the death of Johnny’s mother, one of the most beautiful people in town and Owen’s treasured love, had to have been part of some larger plan and Owen, the instrument chosen to carry it out.  The childish notion that senseless death could not actually be senseless leads to a faithful fervor that only gets stronger as Owen gets older.  What might have been a tireless theme and a Christ figure overload is instead an incredibly moving treatise on faith that takes us from a youthful baseball game to the crushing tragedy of the Vietnam War. When faith gets harder to sustain, it seems Owen’s caps lock truisms are more infuriating to the characters, but ultimately more poignant.

Irving does this book both an enormous favor and an incredible disservice in the very first sentence:

“I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.”

 If you are a voracious reader, you might recognize the above quote as a truly stellar first sentence and the mark of an adept storyteller. It is my humble opinion that the first sentence of a novel has prevented many a crap book from being written – even if you have a story to tell, only talented writers know how to start one. This is obviously the favor.   The disservice is the theme that Irving presents so nakedly here, which is one person’s path to faith and Christianity. The sentence reads almost like a religious tract, a souvenir from a Times Square prophet. At this point, many a reader will stop, put the book back on the bookstore shelf and walk away and I admit that I was once one of them.  It appears Owen Meany is a religious hero, one of the hardest archetypes to pull off without damaging readers’ raging political sensitivities.  It helps that Johnny’s adult narration from the perch of an ex-pat life in Canada includes multiple rants on the moral turpitude of Reagan-era politics in the United States: this is not a conservative book.  While the story does revolve around Owen’s innocent assertions of religious enthusiasm and his belief that he was put born to carry out a number of fated tasks, the Christianity here spans all institutions, does not settle on any one talking point and works to remind us that religion, in lieu of starting wars and alienating people, might actually be a way for us to be better people.

It would take a caustic soul not to feel emotionally connected to Owen Meany and Irving’s vivid cast of characters. The takeaway from a  novel like this is of an intensely personal nature and its message—whatever it is—will surely take a while to digest.

Emmys 2009, or Why is Nena a Red Carpet Co-Host?

Live-blogging E!’s Red Carpet coverage:

7:05:  Why in the world is that bitch from The Real Housewives of Crack Country co-hosting the red carpet with one of the Jays from Top Model? Everything that comes out of her mouth is the most ghetto thing uttered at a red carpet event.

“I’m not wowed. Yeah, she look pretty, but I’m still waitin’ for the BOOM.”

“Black girls don’t like vampires. That’s a white girl thang.”

Jesus.

6:10:  Kate Walsh, from Grey Anatomy and Private Practice, seems to be a nice lady and has accessorized for the poor gals out there, with a clutch from Aldo and hair by Suave. Although it would help poor gals even more if she ddn’t keep hiding her bag and touching her hair awkwardly. Hmm.

6:11:  I’m pretty sure Adrien Grenier is 100% the asshole you think he is.

6:15: Jennifer Love Hewitt, you’re not fooling anyone.

6:18: Andy Samberg, and three other hipsters, talk about somehow foraying their fart jokes into a career. Kate’s Aldo clutch is quickly forgotten.

6:20: Oh my God. Jon Stewart’s wife is not what I expected.

Boring, boring boring.

6:22: Haha, Jerry Ferrara just got caught stepping on Jamie Lynn’s dress and looking terrified.

6:31: STEWIE.

6:31: Mark Walberg: Entourage sucks and it is not going to win. Say hello to your motha for me.

6:36: Hahaha. Nena just called Blake Lively a whore. Which is confirmed by the fact that Ryan Seacrest did nothing but ogle her and send her on her way.

6:40: Hayden Panetierre seems like a nasty stuck-up bitch. And it also appears she is an uneducated dolt.

6:43: “My pinkie toes look like cashews.” I love you, Elaine.

6:48: Umm, is the hot guy from “Hung” really dating/married to Patricia Arquette?  Poor choice.

6:50: Jay on Heidi Klum: “Once you get all the way pregnant, you go all the way tight.” Umm, no Jay – that’s not how it goes.

6:56: I love you Tina Fey, but I think I will throw my PB&J at my TV screen if your show wins a million Emmy’s again.

Moving on to the best part of the night : NEIL PATRICK HARRIS

Ugh. Singing….OK, he’s pretty good.Plus, he gave me my first set of celebrity crushes: Joan and Don from Mad Men. How can you not love NPH – I’m pretty sure we would have gay marriage in a heartbeat if this guy was on TV more often. I’m pretty sure gay would be the new plastic surgery.

OK, are they including Entourage on the comedy reel because it is laughably bad? Yes? OK, good.

COMEDY

Supporting Actress in a Comedy Field:

Kristin Chenowith (Pushing Daisies): WHAT? That show is cancelled and someone get her a cheeseburger. Is it just me or does Amy Poehler look pissed. Also, Vanessa Williams gave the best withering look ever, like no, I will not be making an ass out of myself by lampooning the process. What a bitch. But you already knew that.

Best Comedy Writing in a Series:

Matt Hubbard (30 Rock): What the hell, man? This is ridiculous. Since when does one show take over everything.

Best Supporting Actor in a  Comedy Series:

Jon Cryer (Two and a Half Men): Boo. Wait, did this guy just say he had a wife and a son? Haha, he is a funny guy.

Best Lead Actress in a Comedy Series:

Toni Colette (United States of What the Fuck is that Show?): When the audience is laughing more at the gag that the other nominee did than clapping for your win, you probably shouldn’t be up there.

NPH is hilarious. Best bit ever. Hahaha.

Guest Guest Actress/Actor in a Comedy Series:

Tina Fey (SNL) and Justin Timberlake (SNL) are both hilarious. Kudos.

Boring.

Lead Actor in a Comedy Series:

Oh my god, I will only be happy if Steve Carrell wins.

Fuck.

Alex Baldwin (30 Rock):  Yeah, of course you would trade your Emmy to look like Rob Lowe. BECAUSE YOU ALREADY HAVE A DOZEN OF THEM.

Family Guy bit.  Hmm…couldn’t make an original sketch. That was lame.

Oustanding Reality Host:

Jeff Probst (Survivor): Awesome. Don’t care too much about this award, but am a big supporter of not inflating Ryan Seacrest’s head any further.

Reality-Competition Program:

The Amazing Race: Sigh. I really think the Emmys are on crack this year.

MOVIES/MINI-SERIES

All I know about this category is that Grey Gardens should win everything.

Supporting Actress In a Mini-Series:

Shohreh Agadashou (House of Sadamm): Iranian lady from House of Sand and Fog wins. Yay! Love her raspy voice and her dress.

Supporting Actor in a Mini-Series:

Ken Howard (Grey Gardens): Makes Kanye joke. Awww.

Boring, boring. Mad-Eye Moody wins for something. Yay!

Borin, boring. Holy Jesus, the winner for Best Director of a Mini-Series needs a bra and some Spanxx.

Best Lead Actress for a Movie/Mini-Series:

Jessica Lange (Grey Gardens): Yay! Grey Gardens wins! But Drew Barrymore should have walked away with the Emmy for this one. Although I will say that Jessica Lange has aged extremely well. I have a feeling she sucks the youthful essence out of Drew Barrymore – they seem eerily close.

Oustanding Made for TV Movie:

Grey Gardens: So happy.

Boring, boring.

VARIETY

Great reel. Lots of variety.

Best Writing for a Comedy Show Nomination Reel:

Best Gag: The Conan O’Brian Show

Best Writing for a Comedy Show:

The Jon Stewart Show: YAAAAAY! Give the microphone to Jon Stewart. Give the microphone to Jon Stewart. Oh, damn.

Outstsanding Music and Lyrics in a Variety Show:

81st Annual Academy Awards: What, “Mother-lover” doesn’t win an Emmy? Ha!

Oustanding Music, Variety or Talk Show:

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart: I will never not be happy that this show wins awards. And I get to stare at Jon Stewart’s handsome, handsome face.

DRAMA

Oustanding Supporting Actor in a Drama:

Michael Emerson (LOST): Creepy, creepy guy on LOST is actually pretty creepy in real life. But he has a smoking hot wife.

Oustanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series:

Cherry Jones (24): Deserved win. I would vote for her for president in a  heartbeat – is that wrong? Oh what the fuck is this. This better not be Sarah MacLaughlin.  Oh, it’s the…

DEAD PEOPLE REEL. Wow, a lot of great people passed away this year. For some reason, Patrick Swayze makes me the most sad. Good ole Johnny Castle.

Best Director for a Drama Series:

Ron Holcum (ER): Sweet. I love when they accept awards on behalf of someone who has something better to do than go to the Emmys?

Best Writing for a Drama Series:

Mad Men: Really loved this adorable pair and their shout-out to the guy in Starbucks.

Oustanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series:

If Elisabeth Moss wins, my boyfriend will pickett the Mad Men studios…

Glenn Close (Damages):  Boring.

Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series:

Bryan Cranston (Breaking Bad): Why is everyone going ape-shit for this guy? And is it just me or did Jon Hamm look like he was about to start sobbing uncontrollably?

DRUM ROLL, PLEASE

Oustanding Comedy Series:

30 Rock: SIGH.  I am so sick of this show winning. And I think Weeds needs to get some Emmy love!

Outstanding Drama Series:

Mad Men!: Awesome. I can’t decide if January Jones’s dress is pretty or weird-looking. She looks like Judy Jetson.

Good Night! Off to watch Mad Men!

Knock Knock, Who’s There: The Interrupting Kanye We–YOU LIE!

Sorry, I have been away for so long—I just have been sooooo super busy. I am out gallavanting the weeks away, I tell you. OK, I am a terrible liar and will make concerted effort to not be such a laze-o. One excuse I will gladly use is the defective letter ‘e’ on my keyboard, which is the most maddening fucking thing ever. Do you know how many words have ‘e’ in them? All the good ones. Like ‘excrement’ and ‘eeek!’

Moving on to last night’s VMA’s (which I did not watch past the first 5  minutes, which actually proved sufficient to talk about said VMA’s with the rest of the world),  we have here another example of societal excrement (aha!).  Now, before I continue I must say that Single Ladies or Gimme a Ring or whatever it is called was actually the best video of the year, if such awards are determined by how often I practiced the choreography in front of my bathroom mirror with door locked. Still, Kanye West, you are a mind-boggling ass.  I’m pretty sure Taylor Swift now hates all black people.

What is it with all of these interrupters? First Joe Wilson and now this jackass (oh, how much I love that story thread.) It’s the worst offense, really. Interrupting. The interrupter is the consummate egomaniac, who has decided opinions other than their own should be, at the very least discouraged and ideally, cut off.  Interrupters might say that they are simply passionate, which is the tie that binds this week’s interesting pairing: Joe Wilson and Kanye West.

Joe Wilson, (R) Full Name: Addison Graves Wilson Represents: SC’s 2nd district in the U.S.House of Representatives Modus Interruptus: The shout and hide, most comically employed by middle-aged politicians with a chip on their shoulder. Best Internet Spin-off: http://www.joewilsonisyourpreexistingcondition.com/ Ballsy Factor: Umm, you just interrupted POTUS. In Congress. During a nationally televised speech. 10 out of 10.  WINNER!

Kanye West Full Name: Kanye Omari West Represents: Umm, he just represents. Modus Interruptus: The “Imma letchu finish” Best Internet spin-off: @timcarvell Patrick Swayze starred in some great movies, but with all due respect,BEYONCE MADE 1 OF THE GREATEST VIDEOS OF ALL TIME. Ballsy Factor: Isn’t Taylor Swift 15 or something? 8 out of 10.

What’s wonderful about these two assholes is the sweet sweet pop culture love they make, and the YouYube babies that result:

What can we learn from all this nastiness? Listen to country and vote Democrat? Hmmm….

Project Runway Season 6 – Episode 1

The new season of Project Runway premiered last night and proved to be just as addictive as the Bravo version and actually less hampered down by the overbearing Bravo brand and its annoying “I’m speaking emphatically into a loudspeaker” announcer. Project Runway’s catwalk run on the Lifetime network will serve the channel well by funneling the ever-forceful gay audience right into its tear-soaked laps. What was once just a network for hormonal women looking for a bad movie and a good cry now has some street cred. Well, whatever street cred Project Runway bestows. It certainly has more cultural cred in the form of severely amped up ad dollars. This is good news for all. I might not have to shudder when I see the Lifetime logo on the corner of my screen. More on the network ratings coup here.

Heidi Klum and Tin Gunn of Project Runway

Cue show. Unexpected, quiet intro that showcases the real stars of the show. Ahh, Heidi and Tim. It’s curious to note the heft of Heidi and Tim on Project Runway. Bravo’s replacement fashion show, called umm,  The Fashion Show, was literally a carbon copy of PR with a new name and different hosts, yet aficionados pooh-pahed over the “ghetto” PR and waited patiently for the real deal. (And we waited a long time. The lag time between shooting and airing was evidenced by the painfully anachronistic guest judge, Lindsay Lohan.) Now that the day has arrived, it seems the familiarity was all we were looking for. What do Heidi and Tm really add to the show except a few key catch phrases? Are we really such a nation of sheep that we yearn for a accented “You’re out” to pique our interest? It appears so.  Isaac Mizrahi pretty much stole Tim Gunn’s personality for The Fashion Show with a wrist flip and a ”Make it work,” yet we turned our noses up at the imposter. It seems we are simpletons, yet very picky simpletons.

Last night’s premier introduced the Season 6 cast of designers and debuted a new locale for PR—Los Angeles.  Slate commentator Troy Patterson qualifies (decries?) this change as a dumming down of the fashion  and a kowtow to stupid Americans who might be more inclined to speak the language of the L.A. red carpet fashion than the pretentious (and mean) New York scene. Whatever the reason, it’s weird. I no likey. Even the contestants pause to give notice of the switch.  But with the exception of a stripmall-esque trip to Mood, you hardly notice the new digs.

As fas the contestants go, I have to say that I am bored. Yawn. They got rid of the most out-there designer right off the bat. Ari was a wack-job, no doubt about it, but part of the appeal of PR is that avergae joes and janes get to scoff at the embarassing interpretative crap that comes from fashion “entreprenuers.” Of course her shiny smock was inappropriate, but Qrystal (umm, really?) produced a much worse offense—a hideously tacky dress. The rest of the contestants seem drab and uninterested, and there seems to be no clear drama queen yet. And let’s be clear: without a drama queen, this is a home-ec assignment.

Still from Project Runway © 2009 Lifetime Entertainment Services. All rights reserved.

Top Chef, Las Vegas – Episode 1

The glistening head of Tom Colicchio shines once again. Tonight’s episode of the new Las Vegas season of Top Chef debuts with a comforting predictability and gives meaning to my boring, irreality-soaked life. Hey! Wanna play a rousing, premier party drinking game to share with TC enthusiasts? Before the show starts, create your own cast of characters using classic TC archetypes, like the Token Gay Bear (Ash Fulk—his name already sounds like some kind of sex act, perhaps Ass Fuck?), Tattoed Chick (Jennifer Zavela, understudy is Jesse Sandlin) and of course, the Plot Wrench (last year’s power lesbian couple is this season’s Brothers Voltaggio, otherwise known as the Abercrombie Duo). Everytime a classic TC archetype manifests itself, a shot of amaretto topped with a coffee foam for you!

Top Chef Cast

Let’s run down the cast, shall we?

Eve Aronoff: The Idiot. Shocked and appalled that she didn’t get kicked off tonight for her “I’m complexly simple, yet untalented” dish.

Jennifer Zavala: The Biggest Loser. I won’t waste my time with this one, cuz she gone. At least her early departure saves me a season of holding my ears and wincing. Seitan = this season’s ostrich egg.

Eli Kirshtein: The Loveable Jew. I dig his style, but his dish looked a hot mess. Deconstructed = a hot mess, by the way.

Ron Duprant: Amistad, or The Rambling Haitian. Oh my, this guy has the potential to make the whole season for me. What in holy hell was he talking about? Super surprised he won his group.

Michael Isabella: Ouch, I Singed My Eyebrows. I already hate this misogynist ass but am prepared to have him be in the running for a long time. I guess he can cook, but more  importantly the producers will never let this season’s Foul-Mouthed Gumba go. He makes Ratings Risotto.

Preeti Mistry: Andro-Girl I. Umm, the names this season are classic. Preeti Mistry sounds like Pretty Mystery, which is pretty much what I think when I look at her. Man or woman, man or woman?

Laurine Wickett: Boring Chick. Although anyone who makes bacon for dessert has to be OK.

Robin Leventhal: Old Lady. She makes me not want to watch TC on the HD channel.

Kevin Gillespie: Yukon Cornelius. Please tell me people remember Yukon Cornelius from the Rudolph movie. Google it.

Mattin Noblia: Oh Man, Why Are You Always Wearing a Red Scarf? I need time to let this fester and a better nickname will come. But for right now, I am slobberin’ at this juicy bone the casting directors have thrown us.

Jesse Sandlin: Alterna-Girl. Dry chicken is a bitch, happens to me all the time. That’s why I’m not on Top Chef.

Jennifer Carroll: Balls Out Chick. All I can say is please don’t pull a Casey and fuck it all up.

Hector Santiago: HECTOR! This guy needs no nickname. He is HECTOR! His bio picture on bravotv.com is frightening as hell.

Ashley Merriman: Andro-Girl II.  As scary as Hector with just as many testicles.

Ash Fulk: Ass Fuck. Tom Colicchio’s gay bear eye candy for the season. It’s in his contract.

Brian Voltaggio: What say we settle this in the kitchen?
Michael Voltaggio: Are you challenging me to a cook-off?

Oh, Snap!

Padma’s weird scar and Valium-induced slur are back, as are Gail’s beefy arms. Plus, enough Vegas-themed metaphors to make you cringe. (Vegas Strip Steak dish? Wedding chapel catering? Dishes inspired by poker cards/hands? I almost guarantee I can predict these elimination challanges.)

It’s going to be a great season.

Still from Top Chef © 2009 Bravo Media. All rights reserved.