Look closely at this picture (which I stole from Lee Anne Wong’s blog.) Note the wine glass full of water in Marcel’s wine glass. Water? Water? Eh… maybe NOT water. Maybe, SMIRNOFF VODKA. Since Smirnoff seemed to be product placement #3 on Wednesday’s Top Chef (after Bailey’s and Parrot Bay whatever Rum) Marcel must have figured he deserved to pour a half fifth straight down his throat.

I guess it COULD be water. When I watched it, I was like what the hell are they all drinking water out of wine glasses for? Then it dawned on me – oh, no wine at this “holiday party.”

One wonders if the copious vodka swallowing had anything to do with Mia’s transformation into crazy black mama who’s gonna kick yous ass. But before we get into that…

This was a good episode of Top Chef with a real humdinger of a finale and for that, I am very grateful. They had a team challenge, and the challenge was a good one – make a spread of cocktail snacks for 200 people at a “holiday” party. Only, it wasn’t a holiday when they filmed – it was friggen August. Still, all through the episode everyone goes on about the HOLIDAYS. And pretends that it REALLY IS CHRISTMAS. Over and over, on and on, to the point where I found myself screaming at the TV “do you think we are FUCKING MORONS? We know it is NOT REALLY CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE.”

At any rate. There are two teams – one that works together (Betty, her hormones seemingly in check; Sam, boring as ever and with his hair getting way too bunnified; good ol’ steady Ilan; and Crazy Little Brother Marcel) and one that pretends to get along but really doesn’t (boring old Cliff who all of a sudden seems like Dr. Evil; Elia who doesn’t realize Dr. Evil is planning some, um, evilness; Mike who should just go ahead and get B for Baffled tattooed on his forehead; and Mia, who could have maybe combated Dr. Evil and saved a sinking ship.)

BSIM kicks ass with lots of food (thirteen dishes!) that looks cool and I guess, tastes pretty good. CEMM makes FOUR dishes and their table is a paltry, sad affair. It is an embarrassment. Poor Mia had been concerned that her rep as a caterer would be hindered if they couldn’t pull it off. And not only did they NOT pull it off, but they couldn’t even do that very well. To see Elia wandering around completely clueless as to how bad they were doing, and Mikey skulking back and forth with an empty tray… well, at least, THROW something at each other to make the lameness more palatable. This IS reality TV, after all.

Meanwhile, Dr. Evil, he of the Mr. Clean bald head and earrings and a squished, nasty looking turtle neck (is your head too heavy, dude?) stands around with his arms crossed watching the carnage. I didn’t even think of it, it took someone else to point it out to me (thanks Kim) but Cliff planned the disaster… to get rid of Elia.

Then Mia stepped in and said, “oh no Dr. Evil, you aren’t going to ruin the chances of this young genius who hopefully some day will have her own restaurant!”

Actually she didn’t say it quite like that. What she really said was stuff like “put your dick away, dude!” and “send my black ass home, I don’t give a shit!” She got all ghetto and shit, it was crazy. Then she went on for a while about homelessness and crack, among other things.

But whateves, regardless of the ghetto-ization of situation, the fact remains that Mia stepped down and let Elia stay, thereby foiling the nastyassness of Cliff, which makes me happy. Also, I am sure I will be using Miaisms far into the future (“I don’t give a black bone” even though I have white bones, and so does she) because they were sparkling nuggets of goodness on a bland palate. Fueled by Smirnoff? Quite possibly.

I have many tortures in mind for icky old Cliff. Tortilla press. Sausage Attachment. Meat Thermometer. But I think the damage has been done, and we can thank Mia for that.

Wha the fa is that thing on her head?

More on Mia later. Misused, ex-homeless, crack-sellin, apron-on-her-head-wearin, Mia.

In the meantime, you all try to keep your big black dick in your pants. Oh, Mia!

Well, I am a little late here, but what a fine episode of Top Chef we had on Wednesday. Finally! I was sort of getting to the point of not caring anymore.

Cooking on the beach over grills, for surfers: now that is a creative challenge. I loved all the “bro” and “bra” and the frolicking in the waves – it reminded me of how lucky I am to live at the beach. Everyone was so happy to be at the beach. Guess we can’t all live here though.

Anyhow it was awesome and there is an incredibly humorous and well-written blog about Top Chef HERE so go check it out. I have spit out my wine on more than one occasion reading Amuse-Biatch and even though I don’t much like spitting out good wine, I still head over there something like eight times a day.

Whatever. In other Top Chef news, Colleen and I went to TGI Friday’s in the Dallas airport last Friday and tried Betty Fraser’s winning dish.

The portobello mushroom grilled cheese sandwich was pretty good. There was not much to it – it wasn’t exactly heaving volume-wise, but it tasted good, all four bites of it. The soup was cloyingly sweet. I know it’s sweet pepper but whatever – it tasted like a hot popsicle. Or something like that. I don’t imagine the dish hanging around the Friday’s menu for eternity or anything. Not when there are jalepeno popper sandwiches to be had.

I am in love with the new Sparklehorse record. I think I can safely say this is the best thing I have bought this year. It’s lush and beautiful and exactly what I need. Check it out.

In this months Food and Wine Magazine there is an article about Top Chef and a little contest between four of the chefs – Sam, Cliff, Betty and Elia.

I pray these aren’t the final four. Betty and Elia? Yick.

If they are the final four, then this season is not just Beyond Lame, it is Uber Beyond Lame, also Pukealicios.

I guess tonight it might be Mike that gets the boot, despite Anthony Bourdain’s homeboy handshake last week. But I oh, so wish it will be Betty or Elia. Next time I go to Lodi (and yes, I DO go to Lodi) I want to stop by Wine and Roses or wherever he is currently working and buy Michael a beer. And I’ll also buy hometown boy Frankie the Bull a beer, if he ever writes to me again (he did write once to tell me that he drinks Miller Lite and that he is not a dork.)

Those guys probably won’t make it. And neither will Marcel, who probably should have won last week. I wonder if Elia’s winning mushroom soup makes green bean casserole even better? Cutting edge. Yeah, right.

Let’s hope it gets better.

I been in the right place but it must have been the wrong time
I’d of said the right thing but I must have used the wrong line
I been in the right trip but I must have used the wrong car
My head was in a bad place and I’m wondering what it’s good for

Right Place, Wrong Time
Dr. John

Yeah. Last night, finally, the judges on Top Chef did what they were suppose to do – give exit papers to someone who can’t deal, can’t cook, or can’t whatever. Unfortunately, our favorite lesbian big sister Josie was in the wrong place at the right time. And she is history. At least for now.

Marisa is off too, and frankly, she looked like she was ready to get the hell out of there. Betty is looking Midgleyish with her doe-in-the-headlights look and excrutiatingly apparent “maybe I’m not as great as I thought” aroma.

Sam, he’s a hot diabetic. Whatever. He’s boring. Sorry Sam, but when I read on Blogging Top Chef that one of your favorite movies is Karate Kid, and another is Great Expectations (one assumes, the Ethan Hawke/Gwenyth Paltrow masterpiece version) – well, there’s clearly less to you than meets the eye. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride – that must suck. But I am sure you will go far in the end.

To be totally honest, I am sort of like Tom Colicchio – I’m Getting Grumpy. I mean, wha the fa?

I did predict a tripe challenge at the beginning – and the quickfire last night did involve tripe, but no one took that one on. Let’s see an ALL TRIPE challenge, and see how things evolve from there.

I am in the Dade County, Miami Beach library and I only have 12 minutes so this is going to be Really Fast.

Miami trips me out. It is flat and there is a lot of traffic and there is quite a bit of money flashing going on. I know there are some bad, bad areas not to go into but I didn’t go into them, not even when I was lost, so I don’t know what up down there. Had a bit of a tripper this morning at my hotel – last night when I checked in I saw immediately that I was overlooking a ginormous construction site. So I went back down and I was like, is that construction going to be loud? Because if so, please move me. But the guy told me they rarely work, or if they do not until 9 or 10 o’clock. Whateves, it’s a Latin kind of a place, maybe this is the case.

But no, at 7 AM the construction is going and it is LOUD. I mean, they are building a freekin skyscaper. You get the idea. So I go downstairs and after a bit of time I get the guy to move me. Which is all fine and great, except that both keys – for my old room and my new room – work on my new room. In other words, I can get into either room with either key. Umm. That is weird. At least I have a deadbolt.

Seven minutes so I just have to touch on Top Chef for a minute. I got in last night about eight and lo and fucking behold they have Bravo on my TV! I was all bummed because I was going to miss it, and then I didn’t have to. As for the outcome of last night, well, I am not sure what to think there.

Mike and his Snickers Cheeto thing – what is up with that guy? I mean, that was really, really lame. Shit, if all you have to do is puree a Snickers bar and stick a Cheeto into it, then I could be on Top Chef. Also, if I hear “I miss my wife” one more time…

I wasn’t too happy with the outcome of the whole thing – the “no one is going home” thing. So, because Sam and Betty are both favorites, they decide not to send one of them home? That is lame. I like Sam and all but he clearly should have been the one to leave since he was the leader of the lamest team. As for Betty – I am not so sure I believe all her wide-eyed innocence. But who knows what goes on behind the scenes.

If Mike had messed up or Marcel had cheated, you can bet they would have been booted. Weird stuff.

OK… that was the fastest entry I ever wrote and now I gotta gooooooo…..

Is it just me or, is the new season of Top Chef kind of BORING? They are trying hard to create a lot of drama, but it’s a bit of a yawn, really. No wonder Marisa had to pose practically nude with that gas torch. She has to keep the memory of herself alive somehow, since even the show itself is having a hard time doing it, after just three episodes, one of which she was the villain.

Ok, so it’s not totally boring. It’s just Missing Something. Like someone snorting coke in the walk-in or some male-on-male flirting action a la Harold and Stephen in early season one. I miss Dave’s facial twitch. Betty’s wholesome, wide-eyed girly vehemance is starting to really get on my nerves.

Emily choked hard tonight and was given the big fat boot because of too much salt and too little mascara. In a room full of borings, she was ugly AND boring, and also said she hated kids and said some lady who didn’t like her “calming” chocolate ice cream had a fat ass. We all knew she’d be the one to go. Frank will be around for at least two more showdowns due to mere camp value (what the fuck was that on his plate? It was kind of awesome in it’s awfulness) and Michael will be around just so he can really start to cry instead of just being on the verge all the time.

I still love Sam though I have to say, he is also boring and his hair is freakin wacky. I am in the minority though, because here is what is going on hits-wise on my blog stats:

People are very curious about Ilan. He is far and away the number one dude as far as people looking for info go.

Running a not-so-close second is Elia. Suyai is third even though she was off in the first episode.

Marisa, Frank, Marcel and Otto are all somewhere in the middle. Kind of weird, I would have thought Marisa would be getting more attention due to the fact that she is ho-ing herself and is also, kind of an asshole. Josie is right below them.

At the very bottom are Mia, Cliff, Betty, Carlos, Sam and Mike, Poptarticus-Stats wise. But for Sam and Michael this is partly due to the fact that I mispelled their names initally. Who knows though, how all this stat stuff really works. Also, it’s very possible that Ilan is googling himself every five minutes.

Fish tacos? Boring. Bacon ice cream? Not even weird enough not to be boring. Why am I so bored? Bring on the eye-gropage. Something must be done.

Well, I just wrote this whole long thing on the totally bizarre website of Marisa Churchill but then I deleted it. Google it. Go ahead, you know you want to. Her website I mean. It’s pretty wacky. I’m almost, like, at a loss for words.

I have one thing to say to the bloggers over at Amuse-Biatch (one of my new favorite blogs, by the way.) Did you not see that full-on eye-suckulation that Chef Ming peformed on Padma’s ass when she got up from the judges table? That was some serious eye-gropage. Wish I had a picture of that.

Anyhow. Tomorrow I am going to Disneyland and Saturday I am going to party in Palm Springs so hopefully I will forget about all this sordidness for a little while. Whenever I start to get that crazy image in my head I’m going to think, “and now, MINNIE MOUSE” in my best Strip Club voice.

On the eve of my departure to another land, I am happy. Happy to be traveling somewhere else, but at this moment, I want to send a little shout-out to my home. Ocean Beach, California.

It’s a special place that calls out to you and reminds you before you even depart, about how awesome it is. I love the end of summer here. I love that I go out for my morning walk and wave at people I know three times at 8:00 in the morning. I love that I can go to the Vine and get lessons on life, and when I walk home the palm trees are blowing but there is also a hint of winter in the air and the smell of fireplaces and fish at the same time. I love that I love this place I call home, and I love that, for this moment, I totally belong here. And I love that I know this.

It’s very strange to some, talking about your home as if it was your lover. But it’s the only way to live, for me, at least. Or, as they sing in that Wilco song, Distance has a Way of Making Love Understandable.

I’ll post from the road.

Anniversary day, and I can’t seem to get this melody out of my head.

Isn’t it weird how, at the end of the summer, all of a sudden everything changes? I’ve been so sleepy, as though I am going into hibernation mode. It’s cooler at night, and everyone is suddenly walking around with hoodies and jeans. My floor is cold in the morning. Tonight I actually had to find a pair of sweats to put on. I have a lot of sweats. I forgot about that.

What happened to the summer? What happened to the last two months? One minute, Radiohead was coming, and then I blinked, and then it was now. Were the last few weeks so boring I slept through them or something? I’m not sure they were exacly fun.

Anyhow my book is almost done and I am leaving for Spain in just a few days. And when I get home it really, truly will be Fall.

Onward.