Heya! It's me, Joshua David Stein. I'm back briefly to talk about Bravo's study in sartorial mediocrity dubbed "Project Runway." We're now deep in the heart of Season 5. Some of the people—term loosely used—on last night's episode were familiar faces. Other faces we saw were strange and stranger. Laura Bennett was a familiar one. The once-pregnant redhead from last season (the season with Hung and Marcel and Capricorn) was a guest judge. It was nice to see her Paltrowian mug. Then there was this thing called a RaytchillZoh (sp?) who was also a guest judge. Earlier in the episode we met a funny-talking cargeigh named Christopher Webb. Where was he from? HE WAS FROM SATURN! And by Saturn of course we mean Torbay, an east-facing bay and natural harbour, at the western most end of Lyme Bay in the south-west of England. But more than a cavalcade of stars and seams, the show was about one thing, a thing with four doors and an EPA estimate of 32 MPG Highway: SATURN. 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.

Heya! It's me, Joshua David Stein. I'm back briefly to talk about Bravo's study in sartorial mediocrity dubbed "Project Runway." We're now deep in the heart of Season 5. Post partum party girl Brooke Shields was on Pro Ru last night. She's apparently in one of those television shows that has two names. First name. Two syllables. Is something feminine. Second name is something aggressive—Lipstick, Jungle; Cashmere, Mafia; Pete, Pete. The merry band of idiotic sewers were forced to design an outfit for her. They had to present their sketches to the increasingly more alien-looking actress. They also pandered to her. Particularly annoying was Jerrell—who Richard and countless (well, 1,084) liveblogging commenters already pointed out—is horrible. Later in the show he dressed up like Jesus and was annoying in ways too idiotically subtle to enumerate. 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 her infant.) This truly was delightful for Suede is a little whiny bitch. Speaking of! Daniel, who I thought I liked, is a little whiny bitch too! When he's getting made fun of or criticized he adopts this look of helpless confusion like a little doggie woggie. He wore this face on the runway. His face says, "Me? Me? You're talking about me? I don't understand!" Kenley also scored some serious points for helplessly laughing when the little twerp reiterated that he had impeccable taste. I also realized something about orange muppet Michael Kors. His face is never a reliable indicator of his inner life. You could tell him his kid died and there would still be that rictus frozen there. You could tell him he just won Crest Whitening strips, a lifetime supply, and that workmen had just finished installing a carrot juice fountain in his home (two of the things I bet would excite him most) and that smile wouldn't change. All you can judge from are his glazed over eyes which sometimes, if you look closely, are crying for help. Still, balls or vajayjay!

This is Joshua David Stein. I'm back briefly not to discuss Project Runway, which I haven't watched and which Richard and MisterHippity have done quite well already, (consensus: it sucks!) but to discuss the case of Cipriani. It's a topic of abiding interest for me. I wrote a large article on Cipriani for Page Six magazine a couple of weeks ago in which I predicted that empire's demise. Two days ago, however, Jeanique Green, the newest member of the State Liquor Authority which is responsible for deciding who shall and shall not serve liquor in New York State voted to accept a settlement on behalf of Cipriani of $500,000 rather than revoking the liquor licenses of its New York locations. Basically, Cipriani got into the weeds by failing to list Arrigo Cipriani, a felon, on their liquor licenses. Though Cipriani gets to live another day, I argue, Ms. Green's deciding vote may be the pollice verso for a legal and vibrant New York nightlife. Sure, you can call me out for having sour grapes. It would have been nice if my piece was as prophetic as the Follieri one before it. I had been operating on the premise that the SLA would follow the rule of law, one of the cornerstones of democracy. It is, after all, a premise upon which good governance rests. The equal and impartial application of laws, a government of laws and not of men is crucial to our democracy. As Montesqueieueie writes, "Law should be like death, which spares no one." Sadly, after heartfelt pleas from the Post's Steve Cuozzo (with whom I work and whose work I generally admire), who claimed closing would "cost more than 1,000 jobs, leave our most iconic celebration spaces empty for the foreseeable future, and knock the fizz out of the city's culture of excess - the golden goose that keeps the talent-fleeing, jobs-hemorrhaging "Empire State" afloat." Substantively what he's saying is, "Well, even though Cipriani broke the law—laws which we, as a community, have voted on as necessary to safeguard public welfare—it would be too disruptive to actually enforce the laws." This is dangerous since it is the same logic that allows sitting heads of state who happen to be war criminals to escape prosecution, the same logic that allows powerful corporations to continue to burgle the public, that keep the rich and powerful and corrupt all of the above. It's disappointing Cuozz would make these bogus and dangerous claims. But it's shocking that Jeanique Green would act on them. As Chris Shott reports in the Observer, Green explained her shit decision by saying she was concerned with "the impact of our decision on the individuals who are working there." This is myopic and wrong. By letting Cipriani escape unscathed and by seriously undermining the SLA, Green is sending a signal to other restaurateurs of substantial size that they too are above the law. Instead of worrying about Cipriani employees—something the Ciprianis don't do themselves—she should have been concerned at the precedent she's setting. She put a Band Aid on a cut and simultaneously shot herself—and her city—in the foot. What does she care? I'm sure Ms. Green is enjoying some complimentary bellini on the house.

Hello, this is Joshua David Stein. I am back briefly to talk about the fifth season of Bravo's Project Runway whose third episode aired last night. Contentious, heated and puzzling, last night's episode was a pitched battle for who is the most annoying character this season. In the running is Suede, the bargain-bin mohawk Smurf who inconsistently speaks about himself in the third-person; there's Blayne, the blonde tan troll droll; and Jerrell, who Mr. Richard Lawson and I agree, says nothing substantive but does it in a tone of voice as if what he is saying is clever and bitchy and we're just assholes for not getting it. And then there's our own Montauk Monster, Stella Zotis, the walking D.A.R.E. ad. She's not so annoying as just nervous-making. She did however remark whilst banging a gromit into yet another pair of leather pants, "What a gay little gromit this is," which may be the best line of the entire series. At those words, little Blayne's pointed poison ivy ears perked up. He's a gay little gromit too.

Hello, this is Joshua David Stein. I am back briefly to talk about the fifth season of Bravo's Project Runway whose second episode aired last night. After the results of the next four elimination challenges were leaked on Wikipedia, I began to dread Wednesday's episode. As a pitiably cableless fuck and a people person I, like many others, spend my Wednesdays in the company of fellow Runway followers. We huddle around the television, wringing outrage and joy from the illumined rectangle like it was a hearth and we but cold laborers. But with spoilers in the ether, I feared perhaps one of my friends would feel compelled to announce the loser prematurely. I was in a bind. It would be insulting to preemptively warn against spoiling. What kind of animal would even consider it? It's like walking down the street with a friend, seeing an old man with shiny shoes and bits of stubble where he missed while shaving, and sternly warning your companion, "Hey man, I don't know if you were going to do it but don't kick that guy in the dick." Would you really want to be friends with someone for whom that warning is necessary? On the other hand, the stakes are pretty high. Not only could this episode's dramatic tension be lost, but the thread for the next three episodes would be cut short too. This season five isn't strong enough to endure that. So I watched and ate Indian food in dread. We watched models being interviewed. They had nothing to say. We wondered whether that cute designer from Portland named Leann Marshall is related to Cat Power aka Chan Marshall. She isn't. We saw Stella of the Junkie Lean create a horrible asymmetrical dress that looks like it came from Hot Topic. We watched Blayne say he loved Stella's leather face. We found it funny how she says "leather" the way Billy Joel says "fire" (and "danger") in The Stranger. We soaked up our Chicken Tikka Masala with naan, All the while, eying nervously the cable box like it was an atomic clock. Twenty minutes until the end. Ten. Five. Until the contestants were on the runway and it was clear either Chan Marshall's unsister was going home or the good looking but bland Wesley. Twenty seconds left. Heidi's face filled the screen, an expanse of Germanic skin and brilliant teeth. The elimination music started. We heaved a sigh of relief. And then... From out of the corner, a voice: "I read that Wesley is going home...." WHAT. THE. FUCK. whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. Beetlejuice! Yes. It happened. I had stepped out of the prison gate and was struck down by a speeding truck. What is this urge to tell? "It's not like those five seconds were going to make a difference," the spoiler said. In his mind, he had euthanized the episode—arguably a good call. He had done it for his own pride but he also killed it for the rest of us. I left that house fuming, full of ਚਿਕਨ ਟਿੱਕਾ ਮਸਾਲਾ and rage. As a coda, I'm talking to Richard Lawson now on Adium. He tells me the spoiler said Suede was headed home. Not Wesley. Suede won sooooooo.....I don't know. I'm still filled with anger whether the spoiler's spoil was a joke or a lie or mangled truth, the effect was the same. He kicked the old man in the nuts. It might not have been murder but it certainly was manslaughter.

Hello, this is Joshua David Stein. I am back briefly to talk about the fifth season of Bravo's Project Runway whose first episode aired last night. Last night marked the beginning of the end of Project Runway as we know it. At the end of this season the program will make its much ballyhooed jump to Lifetime so when we first hear the shleeooop sound marking the beginning of the episode at the crazy hour of 9 pm, it was a bittersweet moment. Soon however joy spread over us like some sort of munificent eczema. Season 5 is made up entirely of cute girls and crazy people.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose final episode aired last night. Not wanting to spoil what we all have been waiting for somewhat apprehensively since March 12, I promise not to spoil the 'Top Chef' finale until after the jump. Truth be told, however, it's hard to spoil something that's already rotten.

Joshua David Stein drops in for a second to bring up an important Top Chef point and to remind you the finale is Wednesday. Check here Thursday for the epic recap. Icky nightlife dipstick Mr. Steve Lewis recently interviewed two women from Top Chef. Nikki "You Wanna De Pasta?" Cascone from this season and Camille "No, not that Camille" Becerra from last season. They both got axed and also asked some questions. Of note: Camille says she purposefully tanked to get home to her kid and bank account, Nikki tries and fails to say anything interesting or insightful and Lewis talks some serious shit against Big Head Todd English.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose penultimate episode aired last night. There's really little left to say. Lisa, spawn of the devil, whose unpleasantness is only matched by her durability outlasted Antonia, a chef who was nice and talented in last night's episode. My blood boils. My boils are bloody. And yet, fuck you Lisa. Richard is the real winner. Photographic proof after the jump.

Former Gawker editor Joshua David Stein has uncovered a fabulous new YouTube game. Namely, dudes filming their girlfriends playing with a Nintendo Wii Hula Hoop game. Those crazy kids! After the jump, Joshua's, and a lot of people's, fave.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose eleventh episode aired last night. For a number of reasons this week, it occurs to me that maybe Earth is a crummy planet, or at least crummy to the extent it is inhabited by man. Our reign at the top of the food chain is near its end (Three fine examples of why may be found here and here and here) Last night's episode of Top Chef did little to reinvigorate my faith in man, mankind and man's kindness.

Joshua David Stein (yes that Joshua David Stein) is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose eleventh episode aired last night. Back on Wednesday at 10:00pm, when I hadn't been exposed to the horrors of the latest episode of Top Chef, my life was cozy and safe. Lisa, I thought, the worst of the contestants could not last any longer. Surely, I thought, Bravo's producers would tire of her petty villainy, her lack of talent and, quite frankly, her ass face. Unfortunately, this woman, who I and many others have come to despise, succeeded in perpetrating her con against humanity for one day longer.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose tenth episode aired last night. Another episode, another crap challenge in which the contestants must cater to some non-foodie clientele in a mass production environment. Last night's challenge: make box lunches for Chicago cops so they won't get fat(ter). There are seven chefs left and not one made donuts! Pussies.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose ninth episode aired last night. As Sam Cooke once sang (and Big Baby Huey covered later), "It's been a long time coming." On yesterday's Top Chef, finally, change did come. Nikki Cascone, proprietor of Soho resto 24 Prince and proud Italian-American, was sent home. This would be a spoiler but really who didn't know that little miss thing was just biding her time. The only surprise is that she lasted this long before being sent to make glue. I mean, mamma mia, how many times can one casalinga make a bowl of pasta? Last night's episode still held some signs of pandering to the Lifetime crowd. They replaced the popular restaurant wars with wedding wars, in which the competing teams were made to create a meal according to either the groom or the bride's specs. But, for the most part, the episode redeemed the show. After the jump, RELAY RACES, LEADERSHIP, and SCOTTIE PIPPEN!!!

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose eighth episode aired last night. As has been much chewed over, Lifetime, a channel for femiladies recently bought Bravo's Project Runway, a show for gays and also anyone else who is fierce and worthwhile. Fears have been raised, as mentioned in an article by former Gawker Mama Rose Doree Shafrir, that the show's edginess will be transmuted into some life-affirming pastiche of pastel Hallmark aphorisms and dime-store candy. This is probably true. But, last we heard, Top Chef was still property of Bravo television which is why last night's episode didn't make any sense: it was cheap; it was cliché; it was precious; it was pap. Also, is Gail Simmons pregnant?

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose seventh episode aired last night.

In the last episode of Top Chef I watched on live television, Zoi the Meanish Lesbian got booted off. Since then I heard that Pretty Boy was ousted too which isn't a big loss to anyone since he couldn't cook and could barely talk. He was all shim-sham and snake oil charm. Last night's episode, however, was particularly notable for its strong lesbian plotline (gay tension has been done before but between men) and the particularly weird phallic imagery. Also, Betrayal! Truth! Consequences! Asparagus!

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose fourth episode aired last night. In one of the first shots of last night's Quick Fire challenge, presided over by special guest and legitimate superstar Daniel Boulud standing next to a Padma Lakshmi whose dress fell like a cataract of silk and sex over her rear end and opened up like a yawning chasm in the front to reveal two perfectly shaped bosom mounds, we see Andrew, the red-bearded manic chef from Ft. Lauderdale, currently working in New York as the sous chef at Le Cirque. While Boulud explains the challenge, remarkably sponsor-free, the chefs eye him respectively. Some nod. They are actively listening. And then there is Andrew who is rocking back and forth with a ferocious intensity written furrowing his brow. He looks like a schizophrenic Wallace from Wallace and Gromit but scary and at the same time sad. It wasn't ever like his weirdness was an act but previously his mania seemed controllable.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose second episode was last night. We're only on the second episode of Top Chef Chicago and Bravo's already calling in their chits from the gay community. Last night's challenge, in which chefs were asked to design a menu based on the diets of five animals, seemed an elaborate set up to make the joke, as mathnet did earlier, that yes, Tom Colicchio—the head judge—is a bear. Not in the sense of a meat-eating hibernating member of the family Ursinae but in the sense of "an affectionate gay slang term for those in the bear communities, a subculture in the gay community and an emerging subset of LGBT communities with events, codes and culture specific identity."

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef which premiered its fourth season last night. Last night marked the recommencement of the emotional odyssey that characterizes watching Top Chef. It was an hour of absurdity, of passion, of lust/caution. Mostly though it felt like coming home. Despite the change in venue and of proper names, it seems like we've seen all these contestants before. We have the mohawked lesbian. Last season she was named Sandee.This season she's named Jennifer, though Richard gives her a good run for her money in terms of dykey crappy hairstyles. Hung and Ilan have been combined into Dale, who is both Asian and smug. Erik, chrome-domed and prone to silver rings, is the new Howie; Spike, bluff and handsome, is the new CJ and Stephanie, the winner or last night's challenge, is the new Lia. Also they kicked off the hottest girl first. Of course she deserved it. Mopey, crappy, cute.So what's new? A couple of things, including an even more revealing Padma shot, after the jump.

Josh had "the worst sweater in the history of sweaters" taken in. "Tailoring things is the new buying things," he tells Gawker. [My Memoirs]