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The How I Met Your Mother Shame Index: Episode 15

The Shame Index admits he was too lazy to get up from the couch on Sunday night to fetch his phone and dial (877) 987-6401. Surely an account of what awaited callers would show up on the Web in due course. Sure enough, it did. Still, in the spirit of doing his own reporting, the Index decided to dial the number shortly before tonight’s episode. But to no avail—busy signal, over and over again. How I Met Your Mother’s Super Bowl Easter Egg seems to have been a success, with curious viewers lighting up the phone lines right up through this evening. Too bad CBS used its biggest stage to promote a truly dreadful episode.

Shameful:

—Barney’s Super Bowl gambit. The conceit made no sense: Why would holding up a sign at the Super Bowl with your phone number on it produce a constant stream of calls from beautiful, easy women? The writers didn’t even try to sell the joke; we were just supposed to accept this bizarre premise. The Index might have considered suspending disbelief had the concept been funnier. But the magic phone had none of the cleverness of “the perfect week,” and coming on the heels of that episode—another in which Barney binged on sex—it tried the patience.

—The lame montage of Barney almost bedding woman after woman, only to be tempted by another call.

—A wasted visit from Ranjit, who seems to have been present only to give Ted the ridiculous idea that what he needs is an arranged marriage.

—The lame montage of Marshall and Lily frantically looking for a woman to arrange marry to Ted.

—The lo-fi special effects that by turns showed Don with rabbit ears and a duck bill.

—The continued romantic humiliations of Robin Scherbatsky. Last week she was blown off by a dweeb, this week subjected to The Naked Man by the still-more-irritating-than-funny Don.

Awesome:

—The Naked Man has its own Wikipedia page.

—“That’s what I call having a woof over your head.” HIMYM’s writers once again come up with a great snippet from Robin’s telecast.

—Teddy Westside. The Index is a stone cold sucker for the embarrassing nicknames Ted bestows upon himself. (Cf., T-Mos.)

—Barney’s attempt to appropriate Ted’s embarrassing nickname.

—Lily and Marshall crediting their love to the Wesleyan housing department "and a splash of Drakkar Noir."

—The long, nasty fight over whether rabbits or ducks are the superior species. Amusing arguments put forth by both sides, although the Index, as in all things, sided with Marshall, and was disappointed to see him fold. Ducks are mean.

This is the first Shame Index to post since Slate instituted its new commenting system. The Index is looking forward to a lively debate with readers on the merits of this episode. Is the Index being too hard on it? Too hard on Don? Too hard on ducks? And, finally: Did Jim Nantz’s retrograde Flo TV ads during the Super Bowl not give you that much more respect for how well HIMYM deployed the CBS sportscaster last week?

Previous Shame Indices: Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 

Project Runway Post-Show Chat, Week 4

After each episode of Project Runway's seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week, the challenge was to design a signature dress for Campbell's "adDRESS your heart" program, and the clients were women whose lives "have been impacted by heart disease." Amy Sarabi was the winner; Jesus Estrada was sent home.

David Plotz: Can we just pretend that episode never happened? All that shiny red fabric. All that crass-even-by-reality-TV-standards shilling for Campbell's. All that phony do-goodism. And then all those extremely ugly dresses. Give me burlap any day. 

June Thomas: Amen, brother. I just feel bad that this week's Project Runway was pre-empted for an hourlong Campbell's soup commercial. There were too many elements to the challenge—the dress had to be suitable for a fancy gala, be predominantly red and incorporate the Campbell's logo, and, as they mentioned so many times, the designers were working with "real women." (As wonderful as those real women no doubt are, I gained a new appreciation for the way the emaciated professional models make clothes look great.)

Hanna Rosin: I actually had hopes for this one. Remember a few seasons back when they did the shameless promo challenge at the Hershey's store? That produced some of my favorite dresses ever, made of layered candy wrappers and licorice. The problem here was that they weren't shameless enough. They should have gone Andy Warhol on them—made them incorporate actual tin cans and limp noodles.

JT: Hanna, you're making me wish Ping was still around. She could've made a kick-ass tin-can dress.

HR: After the endless reminders that these were "real women," I wasn't sure if we were supposed to pity them more because they had heart disease or because they were "real," which in fashion just means fat, right?

DP: The real women Campbell's chunky soup challenge. Rearrange those words as you see fit. 

I will say this for the real women: They do reveal which designers can't actually, uh, design. That thing--that extra-wide load thing--that Anna sent down the runway was evidence that she and her wispy la-di-da pretty face need to go home. She can't make a dress. 

JT: I would love to pick a fight with you, David, but I agree completely. Anna's dress was the opposite of flattering. I would've sent her home before Jesus--sure, his tacky little number looked like something from the opening ceremonies of the Sex Worker Olympics, but it fit and it was flattering, which is more than could be said for Janeane's, Anna's, or the really vile ensemble from this week: Jesse's shiny white majorette jacket and paneled skirt

HR: I think disease is a real problem for reality television, because it sucks the life out of the show. Deep in their hearts, the designers were pissed that they had to design for these frumpy non-famous post-ops. But because they had "heart disease," nobody could say that. So, except for one bitchy Mila comment about her model being a "really tough fit" (again, fat), the episode was a dud.

And did Jay actually say, "I've never met anyone in my life who died"?

DP: Be fair. He did caveat it: "I've never met anyone in my whole entire life who died and came back to life." 

June, what are the events at the Sex Worker Olympics? And will it be carried on NBC? Actually, in their horrific bloody red ugliness, a lot of these outfits could pass for genuine Team USA Olympic uniforms. 

JT: Let's just put it this way: If Jesus' model had carried a tray of drinks in one hand and a pingpong ball in the other, she couldn't have looked any trashier.

Did either of you see anything that you liked tonight? I agree with the win—Amy did manage to create movement and elegance, but it was still a pretty boring design. Other than Jonathan's silk layer cake of a dress, which stood out mostly because he eschewed bright scarlet, the others all seemed ugly.

DP: I disagree about Jonathan's, which, except for being eggplanty rather than bloody, was bad wedding-store dress. I liked Mila's star-spangled fire engine. I worry that Mila is going to poison Amy before next week's episode, but I still think she's the best designer they've got.

I wasn't gaga over Amy's winning dress, but I am gaga over her. It's been a long time since there has been a PR contestant I really liked. Amy has a dignity and charm about her. It may not win her the competition against ax murderess Mila and quietly vicious Emilio, but I am all in for her. 

JT: Ugh, I hated Mila's dress. The story of the stars—the classic Campbell's branding elements—was great, but the dress itself was horrid. Those puckered old stars made me weep for old glory.

HR: I think they can't kick Anna out for the same reason they can't complain about the heart disease patients. It's like kicking a puppy. (And they can't ever kick Janeane out, because she will threaten to jump off the roof of Mood.)

I have become kind of interested in Emilio, though. He's been offstage since the first episode, but he's been amping up the bitchiness at an alarming speed. I feel like they are preparing us for an Emilio showdown. But I'm not sure with whom.

DP: Janeane and Anna remind me of the girls I tried desperately to avoid dating in college. And Maya reminds me of the girls I tried desperately to date. And Mila—a grown-up Maya—is a very useful reminder of how lucky I was that the Mayas wouldn't date me. 

HR: So, David, am I an Amy or a Maya?

DP: You are a total Amy!

Previous chats: Weeks 1, 2, 3

Slate’s Super Bowl Prop Bets

Nevada casinos and online gambling sites will take in tens of millions of dollars in Super Bowl bets this year. A good percentage of that take will come from "prop bets." Many of these have to do with football—the number of touchdown passes Peyton Manning will throw, for instance. Others are a bit divorced from the on-field action: the number of times Peyton's father Archie Manning will appear on television (the over/under is four), the number of times Who guitarist Pete Townshend will deploy his signature windmill move (over/under 5.5), and the color of the Gatorade that will be poured on the winning coach (you can get 8-to-5 odds on clear/water).

While those wacky wagers might be enough for some people, Slate wants to create appealing gambling opportunities for every football-watching man, woman, and child. Print out the list of propositions below, make your picks, and see who at your Super Bowl party has the keenest eye for Hurricane Katrina references and talking-animal commercials.

Inspirational stories:
References to the Haitian backgrounds of Pierre Garçon and Jonathan Vilma: over/under 4.5
References to Saints "uniting" New Orleans: over/under 4.5
Number of CBS pre-game features in which New Orleans jazz musicians (Harry Connick Jr., Wynton Marsalis, etc.) talk about Hurricane Katrina: over/under 0.5

Hometown flavor:
References to Bourbon Street: over/under 1.5
Shots of the French Quarter: over/under 4.5
References to any food item associated with New Orleans (gumbo, jambalaya, beignets, etc.): over/under 4.5
Reference to any person, place, or thing associated with the state of Indiana (Indy 500, John Mellencamp, Gov. Mitch Daniels, etc.): over/under 1.5

CBS promos:
Shots of featured cast members of any CSI show in the stands: over/under 1.5
Commercials for or mentions of the Masters: over/under 7.5
Commercials for or mentions of Undercover Boss, the new reality series premiering after the game: over/under 14.5
Will Jim Nantz make a pun on Undercover Boss at any time during the game (referring to a wide receiver as "under covered," for example)? yes/no

The halftime show:
Announcers' use of the phrase "Who Dat?" before or after The Who go on stage: over/under 0.5
Will there be a reference to Peyton Manning as a "wizard," specifically as a pun on "Pinball Wizard"? yes/no
Will "Magic Bus" be used as bumper music at any time? yes/no
Will deceased members of The Who John Entwistle or Keith Moon be mentioned by broadcasters, stadium announcers, or onstage? yes/no
Will Entwistle's replacement Pino Palladino be named? yes/no
Will a mention of Keith Moon lead to a mention of Warren Moon? yes/no

The game:
References to Peyton Manning studying film: over/under 3.5
References to Drew Brees studying film: over/under 0.5
Will there be a graphic of a grade-three ankle sprain? If so, will that graphic rotate to better see the ligament in question? yes/no
Will Saints kicker Garrett Hartley's four-game suspension for taking Adderall be mentioned? yes/no
Will anyone other than Drew Brees or Manning attempt a pass? yes/no
How many plays will be subjected to replay review? over/under 4.5
Which will happen first, illegal shift or lining up in the neutral zone?
Will the referee's mic go dead for more than a second? yes/no
Will a penalty flag be waved off at any point? yes/no
The first time a coach throws a challenge flag, will he struggle to remove it from his pocket? yes/no
Will Gumbo get his revenge on Reggie Bush? yes/no
Will the first tackle to report as eligible be eligible to take a head-of-household standard deduction or eligible only to take the single- or married-filing-separately deduction?

Family:
Will Peyton's mother Olivia Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Peyton's older brother Cooper Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Peyton's wife Ashley Manning be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will Drew's wife Brittany Brees be mentioned by name? yes/no
Will any other player's wife, child, or sibling be mentioned by name? yes/no

The commercials:
Ads featuring talking animals: over/under 3.5
Ads that encourage you to go to the Web to watch the "uncensored" or "extended" version: over/under 2.5
Which beverage will be featured in more spots, Coke or Budweiser?

Miscellaneous:
Will there be acknowledgement that it's the 44^th Super Bowl with the 44^th president in office? yes/no
Shots of Kim Kardashian in which the announcers make no reference to Kim Kardashian because they have no idea how to do it tastefully: over/under 0.5

Tino Sehgal at the Guggenheim

Performance artist Tino Sehgal's show "This Is Progress" opened to the press at the Guggenheim on Thursday, and to mark the occasion, the museum had stripped the walls bare. The Gugg was completely empty—except for a couple engaged in a highly choreographed makeout session in the central foyer and a few parent-child pairs milling uncomfortably around the fringes. No official explanation was provided, but on walking up the museum's spiral, the exhibit's logic started to fall into place.  

Instead of being left to their own devices, viewers are quickly intercepted by an intrepid—and very cute—little kid who introduces himself and the show before inquiring about the nature of progress. From there, increasingly older docents, all of whom are dressed in street clothes, ask to hear your take on health care and government regulation. They are disarmingly earnest. Halfway up, while listening to a guy in his 30s spell out his thoughts about karma, I couldn't shake the impression that I was in a Richard Linklater movie. The core of the show is conversation, and Sehgal, a London-born artist with a background in dance and economics (go figure) puts the headspace of the Guggenheim to good use, taking the attitude of the well-behaved museumgoer as his weapon in a surprise intellectual inquiry. The overall effect is personal and fun, and has the added bonus of shaming those who like to "shush" chatterers.

I have no idea how the exhibit's going to work when faced with normal weekend crowds, but in a best-case scenario, the show could just expand naturally—evolving from its set cast of kids, teenagers and adults into one where any visitor becomes an impromptu docent. That would be progress.

How Is Avatar Not an Animated Film?

Among the nonstories coming out of this year's Oscar nominations is the fact that Pixar's Up has become the first film ever to be picked for both the best picture and best animated feature lineups. (That's not such an impressive feat when you consider that the latter category has only been around since 2001.) Somewhat more interesting is the fact that Up is only the second animated film to receive a best picture nomination, after Disney's Beauty and the Beast in 1991. An animated movie has been the highest-grossing film of the year at least a dozen times since the academy started handing out its awards. Yet no other cartoon—Disney, Pixar or otherwise—has ever had a shot at winning best picture.

Unless you count Avatar.

According to a Hollywood Reporter article from 2008, the film (then in production) was slated to end up 60 percent computer graphics, with plenty of special effects and animated backgrounds in the "live action" shots. For comparison, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?—generally considered to be an animated film—consisted mostly of live scenes and backgrounds with animated characters drawn in. So why wasn't James Cameron's CGI-soaked epic also nominated for best animated feature? 

In a smart analysis of this question posted to RopeOfSilicon.com, Brad Brevet reviews the academy rules on what makes for an animated feature film: "A significant number of the major characters must be animated, and animation must figure in no less than 75 percent of the picture's running time."

If you trust that Hollywood Reporter number from 2008—and ignore all the CGI backgrounds and special effects in Cameron's live-action shots—then Avatar would fail the 75 percent test.  But so would another film that was on the shortlist of possible nominees: Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. As Brevet points out, only six of that film's characters were animated: Alvin, Simon, Theodore, and their female rivals, The Chipettes.

Avatar may not have a chance at winning best animated feature, but Brevet reminds us that it's all but guaranteed the Oscar for best visual effects. "Why is the CG in Avatar considered visual effects," he asks, "while the CG employed for a Pixar or DreamWorks film [is] simply considered animation?" 

The How I Met Your Mother Shame Index: Episode 14

The Shame Index recently retired as a sports fan, but he's not so far removed from the sporting life that this episode's significant charms were lost on him. How I Met Your Mother fans were abuzz a couple of months ago when news broke that Yankee heartthrob Nick Swisher would make a cameo this season. But in the event, the show was stolen by another sports figure: CBS's own Jim Nantz.

Awesome:

—Nantz: Time's James Poniewozik asked last night on Twitter whether Barney's dream interview, were his imagination not circumscribed by CBS's corporate imperatives, would have been conducted by Bob Costas, not Nantz. While Costas is the bigger name, and thus might have been Barney's true wish, the Shame Index isn't sure he'd have been the funnier choice. That's because Costas is funny—a quick wit, and a practiced raconteur of comic sports tales. (See, e.g., this endearingly lo-fi compilation of his Letterman appearances.) Nantz, on the other hand, is forever playing straight man to more lively color commenators and sports personalities. But Nantz's status as the milquetoast man-in-the-blue-network-badged-blazer is what made it so hilarious to hear him say things like "Over two hundred women, spanning six continents, 17 nationalities, 74 sexual positions, and not a single fatty." And "I think she has a thing for the Barnacle." And "You don't open an e-mail from Phil Simms in front of your kids." And "Our toothbrush?"

—The baseball gags: Ted eating a hot dog and calling for his beer at MacLaren's as if he were at a ballgame; the amazing pitcher/catcher consultation between Ted and Barney (he shakes off "the heater" and "high and outside," before deciding on the girl with the mini-burgers, "the slider"); the hats Marshall makes commemorating Barney's historic feat ("I was going to do shirts but then you have to guess sizes, feelings get hurt, it's a mess").

—The gradual realization that Lily, Marshall, Ted, and Robin had for long stretches of the previous eight years been using the same toothbrush. (Though how did this happen? How did no one notice when a new toothbrush appeared and they hadn't bought it? Marshall and Lily might have just assumed the other spouse had replaced it. But Ted?)

—Marshall's sudden realization that his use of a certain performance enhancing drug has led him to present a certain well-publicized side effect.

—"Barney's whole life is a cry for help."

—"Phil Rizzuto. Holy cow that guy had game."

—"Mookie Wilson: Is that a thing?"

—Barney's induction into the Hall of Game. Specifically, Marshall's wish that Barney's performance be recalled for generations, which set up Ted's sarcastic "Yeah, I'm totally going to sit my kids down one day and tell about how Barney nailed seven girls in a row." Which in turn set up Ted 2030 to ask "Am I a bad dad?" As much as we HIMYM fans enjoy Ted's stories, it's good for the series to acknowledge from time to time the absurdity of the conceit that he is telling these ribald tales to his adolescent children. The kids nailed the reaction shot.

Shameful:

—Cook Poo: Gross, vaguely offensive, not funny.

—More romantic embarrassment for Robin. When are the writers going to give her a break? Is she really going to be this hard-up until the not-so-eagerly awaited Don plot kicks in?

Don't look now, but HIMYM has a little streak of its own going: a nice string of episodes since the mid-season break. Or is it a jinx to mention it?

Previous Shame Indices: Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

[Update, 9:12 a.m.: The Shame Index is ashamed to admit that he originally misspelled Jim Nantz's name.]

Another Joss Whedon World Ends

The Grammys: Interpreting Lady Gaga's Red-Carpet Outfit

Three moments from the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards:

—Next week, when struggling to contemplate the most deeply ill-conceived Super Bowl ads, remember that the accounting-software company TurboTax has set an awful mood-shattering standard for all other sponsorships to be judged against. The company attached its name and logo to the countdown clock on the TV Guide Network's red-carpet show, thus inspiring upper-back tension among viewers jarred by a ticking reminder of a federally enforced deadline. This is no way to treat people who merely want to see Taylor Swift answer the important questions: "How important is it to stay nice?  And how do you do it?! It's hard!"

—Stomping through her medley, Beyoncé followed her cover of "You Oughtta Know" with some dance moves further reinterpreting Alanis Morissette's female fury. On her two knees and her own terms, Beyoncé did a hair-tossing head-banging gyration. Cut to a shot of women wielding righteous brass in the horn section. Cut back to the singer, now swinging her mane like a weapon. She was an avenging-angel Ikette.

—While Oscar and Emmy trophies feature humanoid figures, Grammys of course represent obsolete playback devices. Lady Gaga surely had this in mind when shopping for her fabulously witty red-carpet outfit. Gaga's coup was to wear a dress that simultaneously honored the curves of a gramophone horn and gave her the aspect a futuristic humanoid statuette. Galactically cool within her deconstructed hoop skirt, she at once resembled Cinderella, Tinkerbell, and Cinderella Castle itself, starburst glinting hard beside an awesome architectural form.

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Donald Fagen on J.D. Salinger

I asked Donald Fagen, co-founder of Steely Dan and occasional Slate contributor, for his thoughts on J.D. Salinger. He writes:

Like a lot of teenagers of my generation, I fell in love with Franny Glass. I figured she wouldn't have been nearly as high-maintenance a girlfriend if she were with me, a sensitive and understanding fellow-seeker, rather than that douchenozzle Lane Coutell.

Some readers seem to think that Salinger's work (what we have of it up till now) never addressed the concerns of the real "adult" world. We shouldn't forget that, in the years when Salinger's stories were appearing, American society—i.e., the men who came back from the war and their families—was suffering from an ugly, prolonged case of post-traumatic stress disorder. The fear-based, conservative, conformist adult world wasn't a club we wanted to join. When we got to observe the overeducated, hyper-sensitive Glass children struggle to find some other way to live, we felt a little less lonely.

OK, it wasn't art pour l'art. On some level, Salinger obviously dug being a mentor, a Socrates, always with the message. And yet, as with all the best writers, his gentle revelations were all in the telling, in a style that was never less than artful and clean. I've missed his cool and intimate voice since the day he decided to skip town. And what ever happened to my girlfriend Franny? Maybe, now, we'll find out.

—Donald Fagen

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Project Runway Post-Show Chat, Week 3

After each episode of Project Runway’s seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week, the first part of the challenge was to create a high-end, signature look in teams of two inspired by 10 iconic outfits at the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute. The second part of the challenge was to create a mass-market look for less inspired by another team’s signature look. Mila Hermanovski was the winner. Ping Wu was sent home.

Hanna Rosin: I have to say, I am a total sucker for team challenges. They are bad for the fashion but excellent for tension and drama. The looks—with one exception —were pretty forgettable. And that second challenge was kind of pointless and messy. But this episode produced some of the best lines of the season so far: "I'm just trying to rein in the crazy" (Jesse on Ping) and "We're designing for the vice president of McDonald's” (Anthony).

David Plotz: I totally disagree with you, Hanna. We've seen exactly this episode of P.R. a dozen times before. There's the team leader whose ego is too big. The team leader whose subordinate is relentlessly, systematically undermining her. There's the team where one person can't sew. Oh, and then there's the "surprise" second challenge, which is supposed to come as a shock to everyone but is just as formulaic. If we wanted to see how reality teamwork is supposed to work, we should have tuned into the season premiere of America's Best Dance Crew over on MTV. I caught a few minutes of it, and enjoyed the team spirit—and the fashion—a lot more than I enjoyed tonight's P.R. episode.

H.R.: Well, we've also seen Nina Garcia do her little wave 100 times, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. And we've never seen the team challenge where the lady named after a tabletop game falls apart at the hands of Thurston Howell. Also, weren't you touched by Seth? What a gentleman not to sell out Anthony, when it was clear he had nothing to do with those looks. Makes me think he gets high a lot and preserves a permanent mellow.

Jessica Grose: I am somewhere in the middle between Hanna and David—I thought the episode was more sparky than the premiere but less interesting than last week's burlap-sack challenge. I knew it was going be a magnificent disaster when Ping said into the camera, with a straight face, "I am very good at giving clear instructions." However, I wish they had made more use of the Met, which has so many better sources of inspiration. It's a frickin’ art museum! I don't know why they're being painfully literal this season—make a dress out of a burlap sack! Design clothes that are inspired by ... other clothes! I wasn't even very impressed with the winners—but more on that later. What did you think about the rest of the clothes?

D.P.: Maybe it's how everything was filmed, but I thought this was an indistinct, blah bunch of outfits without a surprise in the bunch. (But let me just take a quick bow. After Episode 1, I predicted Ping's ejection in Episode 3.) And you're right, Hanna. Though I continue to wish Anthony back to the dinner theater he has escaped from, his McDonald's line was one of the funniest moments in Project Runway history.

Mila's victory was deserved, don't you think? She's a festering, vicious, open sore of a person, but I sympathize with her. I'm turning 40 this weekend, and seeing her, at 40, looking as if she's a billion years older than the young hottie designers (Maya, Amy, annoying Janeane) really makes me root for her. And she's a hell of a designer. I love the way she always uses a flash of color to line the inside of her pieces.

J.G.: I have to disagree with you, David—strongly! I hated Mila's look. I thought it was reminiscent of a German street sign, and it reminded me of a dress that Kara Janx made in season 2 of P.R. that was inspired by “no trespassing” tape. Mila and Jonathan’s look for less made their model look like a pregnant teenage hooker.

H.R.: I understand the appeal of Mila's jacket, "sportswear-inspired," etc. But it was not a museum piece. And she is such a consummate underminer. I'm waiting for the day she has her Wintour-inspired fit.

I preferred Maya's skyscraper on the shoulders, and their second look was quite nice. In general, I thought this episode was heavy on jargon, maybe to make up for any instinctively pleasing looks—"signature," "multifunctional," "hard and soft," "luxury and fashion-forward." Also, I think the money threw them off—they had $500 to create their signature look. Designing on the cheap seems to give them a sense of urgency and freedom. This time they were weighed down.

D.P.: That sinuous, eel-like shoulder of Maya and Jay's dress was a highlight for me, too. So was Amy and Jesus' jigsaw puzzle dress and Mila's jacket. Everything else left me unimpressed. And a shocking number of looks gave the models big asses.

J.G.: I was really bowled over—as Nina Garcia was—by Maya and Jay's look for less. I thought the pleating on the bodice was miraculous.

D.P.: Before we go, I wanted to mention a new deplorable trend: Talking models. The emergence of Models of the Runway is really messing up P.R., since the girls now seem to feel they are integral to the show, not just decoration. Last week they were the clients. This week, Ping's model sassed. Next week it will probably be Freaky Friday, with models and designers changing jobs.

H.R.: I have a different pet peeve that's been bugging me all season: the endless hugs. It used to be they hugged each other only when someone got kicked out. Now they've lowered the hug bar. They hug all the freaking time. I don't know whether it's gay Anthony; or whimpering, needy Janeane; or stoner Seth. But they are always hugging. Is this increasingly true on all reality shows, and I just never noticed?

The Mimic: How Salinger Helped Reinvent the Short Story by Imitating It

When Nine Stories appeared in the spring of 1953, J.D. Salinger had been the nationally reknowned author of The Catcher in the Rye for two years. But the collection was, in some sense, his debut. Its stories, most of which first ran in The New Yorker, largely predate the novel, and they served as templates for a lot of what he wrote in the ensuing years. Although the book was not nearly the public coup Catcher had been—the New York Times politely lauded it as "so interesting, and so powerful"—it heralded a crucial transition in postwar fiction. Nine Stories was a bellwether of the era in which general-interest magazines turned literary.

Today, the existence of literary fiction in respectable glossy magazines is often taken for granted (or bemoaned in its absence). But in the late '20s and '30s, when Salinger was a student of the form, these quality standards had not entirely been set. Several general-interest magazines ran stories—often several per issue—but few, if any, sought out what would today be recognized as worthy fiction. Vignette and genre entertainment was the taste of the day: The Saturday Evening Post commissioned a great run of hastily composed F. Scott Fitzgerald stories, most of which read like imitations of his better work; The New Yorker, under Harold Ross, went in for prose skits and "casuals," putting a jaunty frame around prosaic life. There were, of course, great talents trying to navigate these expectations. But great talent itself was not the point. American glossy-magazine fiction between the wars was predominantly popular fiction. Its chief goal was to entertain until the next issue arrived.

This was the landscape Salinger was entering when his first story—a vignette he had written for a class—appeared in print in 1940. Over the next few years, he went to war and slowly grew into a favorite of The New Yorker's fiction department. The shorts that eventually became Nine Stories are today known both for their inimitable Salinger purfling (the wise-child protagonists, the lambent madness) and as the archetype of '40s "New Yorker fiction" (clipped, urbane prose with lengthy conversation pieces; sharp, deus-ex-machina endings). Their brilliance was to have it both ways.

What's striking on rereading these nine stories, in fact, is how distinctly they are written into snappy '30s form. Two begin with phone calls, one with a wedding invitation, another with highball cocktails, another with tennis: A reader encountering these openings for the first time would have no reason to anticipate anything besides boilerplate casuals. The overtures, of course, are misleading. "Teddy," which finishes the collection, begins on a cruise ship with a jaunty quote and ends with a child dying in an empty swimming pool. Throughout the book, haunting backstories billow behind Salinger's natty prose like gossamer; a story like "The Laughing Man" (from 1949) is as intricate and contrapuntal as anything Borges composed. Today it seems clear that Nine Stories is a book about war trauma, but in its setting, storylines, and style, it is the most oblique war narrative imaginable. Salinger captured the personal refractions of a national crisis and placed them into the hollowed-out shell of domestic narrative. This was, in many ways, the genesis of the postwar short story.

The hybrid form also shaped Salinger's writing itself. There almost is no Salinger style; his gift for mimicry was so sharp it is easy to forget how totally he owned his prose. (William Maxwell, one of his New Yorker editors, once got chewed out for adding a grammatically correct comma in the press version of a story.) He was a student of Hemingway's elliptical approach and channeled the buoyant, lucid tone prized by magazines like The New Yorker to play a smoke-and-mirrors game with daring subjects. He did not avoid the breezy surface appeal of popular shorts. Instead, he carved spaces for depth and nuance in its interstices. Precocious child protagonists walked among the two-dimensional grown-ups he'd imported from light vignette fiction, giving the stories stakes—and, in some cases, horrors—in geometries an actual vignette could never conjure.

It is easy to cast the magazines Salinger wrote for as the dupes in this game. But the truth is that writers and editors grew together. The '40s and '50s were a period of stiffening ambitions for The New Yorker's fiction department, largely under the influence of Katherine White and Maxwell; stories got longer, more complex, and, in the best instances, canonical. By the '60s, Donald Barthelme had secured the magazine's benediction. Nine Stories may have been a hinge that opened the door to this new generation of short fiction—but it was also, and maybe more crucially, a collection that helped prime the market to get those stories read.

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From Gotham, With Love and Squalor: J.D. Salinger’s New York

That business about getting up early to catch the first show at Radio City Music Hall depressed me. If somebody, some girl in an awful-looking hat, for instance, comes all the way to New York—from Seattle Washington, for God's sake—and ends up getting up early in the morning to see the goddamn first show at Radio City Music Hall, it makes me so depressed I can't stand it. I'd've bought the whole three of them a hundred drinks if only they hadn't told me that.

One late afternoon, at that faintly soupy quarter of an hour in New York when the street lights have just been turned on and the parking lights of cars are just getting turned on—some on, some still off—I was playing curb marbles with a boy named Ira Yankauer, on the farther side of the side street just opposite the canvas canopy of our apartment house. I was eight. I was using Seymour's technique, or trying to—his side flick, his way of widely curving his marble at the other guy's—and I was losing steadily. Steadily but painlessly. For it was the time of day when New York City boys are much like Tiffin, Ohio, boys who hear a distant train whistle just as the last cow is being driven into the barn. At that magic quarter hour, if you lose marbles, you lose just marbles.

The Web Surfer’s Guide to Obscure Salinger

J.D. Salinger left behind one novel and about 40 short stories. Only 13 of the stories were ever anthologized—nine in Nine Stories and four novella-length stories in Franny and Zooey and Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction. Before the advent of the Internet, combing through microfiche or university stacks for the remaining 20-some stories was the final initiation into Salinger fandom. (You could also make the pilgrimage to Princeton's Firestone Library to view their closely guarded J.D. Salinger archive.)

Now it's possible to find all the stories on a Hungarian site called FreeWeb, where someone has retyped nearly everything Salinger ever published. The following are some highlights from that list, with brief annotations.

"The Young Folks"
Story, March-April 1940
Salinger's first widely published story.

"The Hang of It"
Collier's, July 12, 1941
A classic bait-and-switch, revealed in the last sentence.

"The Heart of a Broken Story"
Esquire, September 1941
A story about an aborted story intended for Collier's.

"The Long Debut of Lois Taggett"
Story, September/October 1942
A young woman flounders in American upper-crust society, the world Salinger's characters would frequently brush up against in later works.

"Once a Week Won't Kill You"
Story, November/December 1944
A man prepares to ship off to war despite the vapid protests of his wife. Many of Salinger's stories in the ''40s featured soldiers and veterans.

"I'm Crazy"
Collier's, Dec. 22, 1945
An early experiment with the Holden Caulfield character, in which he visits a favorite instructor—a scene that makes its way into the first chapter of Catcher in the Rye.

"Slight Rebellion Off Madison"
The New Yorker, December 1946
A second appearance of Holden "Morrisey" Caulfield in a short story, this time as he returns to New York City.

"Hapworth 16, 1924"
The New Yorker, June 19, 1965
Salinger's last published story, two years after his fourth and last book was printed. Like most of his anthologized stories, this long epistolary story concerns the Glass family.

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Salinger's Best Story

I love J.D. Salinger, who died today, far too much to write about him with any perspective. Perhaps this qualifies me to eulogize his last anthologized work—the story of a man who loves and admires his deceased brother too much to write about him with any perspective.

"Seymour: An Introduction" was originally published in The New Yorker in 1959 and was printed in book form, alongside "Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters," four years later. It runs about 120 pages and has no appreciable form, reading like an unedited, freewheeling character description. I know several avowed Salinger fanatics who have never made it through the thing, and I don't blame them: The story is dense, tiresome, and irritating. Its charm is difficult to diagnose. But I submit that it's the best story the guy ever wrote.

Narrated by Buddy Glass—the second eldest brother of the prodigious family that occupies the majority of Salinger's post-Catcher fiction—it takes place years after Seymour Glass committed suicide. There is very little plot. Buddy, like Salinger, has retreated to a bucolic existence in New England, where he is preparing a volume of his dead brother's poetry for publication. The story is a jumble of anecdotes, musings, and epic descriptions, punctuated by Buddy's still-raw anger and confusion over his brother's suicide. A sampling: "Alright. The Nose. I tell myself this'll only hurt a minute." A long paragraph on Seymour's proboscis follows, running more than a page.

When the story was anthologized in 1963, Steven Marcus had this to say about it in the New York Review of Books:

Written in a prose so self-consciously arch and cloying as to be almost impenetrable, it circles and loops about itself and gets nowhere. Obsessed with the character and the suicide of Seymour, Salinger seems on the one hand in danger of being swallowed up by the myth he has created.

True, true, and true. Salinger actually beat Marcus to the punch on this one. About 40 pages into the story, Buddy wonders: "Do I go on about my brother's poetry too much? Am I being garrulous? Yes. Yes." But disorganization is no reason to ignore the story. I see the messiness of "Seymour: An Introduction" as Salinger's final confrontation with all the strains of his earlier fiction: sentimentality, depression, Eastern philosophy, isolation, and the guilt of being happy.

This struggle reads like Salinger's final battle. Whether or not he saw it this way, with "Seymour" Salinger wrote his own literary obituary. The story is readable, but just barely—very nearly smothered by the author's self-consciousness about being a writer. From here on out, it seems clear, Buddy will be too plagued by his literary persona to write a story worth reading.

Unfortunately, "Seymour" is not the final note on Seymour Glass. As any devoted Salinger sleuth has discovered in the catacombs of some university library, he published a final story two years later in The New Yorker: "Hapworth 16, 1924," which takes the form of a letter from a 7-year-old Seymour Glass to his parents from summer camp. The story is grating, ponderous, and, I find, unreadable; I've never made it through more than 5,000 of the 30,000 words. If we needed any more evidence that Buddy—or Salinger—was on the brink with "Seymour," "Hapworth" is it. If he has been writing for the past 40 years, I fear it was more of the same.

Also in Slate: Stories on J.D. Salinger from our archives; Stephen Metcalf on the precise nature of Salinger's genius; the Audio Book Club on Catcher in the Rye.

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Track of the Week: Taylor Swift, "Today Was a Fairytale"

Jody Rosen: Hey, Jonah. Our Track of the Week is Taylor Swift's "Today Was a Fairytale," from the soundtrack of the forthcoming Valentine's Day. Last week, "Today Was a Fairytale" was downloaded 325,000 times, a new record for weekly paid download sales by a female artist. The song will debut on the Billboard Hot 100 at No.2, just one notch behind "Tik Tok," the megahit by that anti-Taylor Swift, Ke$ha. (Goody Two Shoes in this corner, Bad Girl in that corner ... fight!)

Someday Swift's vision of romance may move beyond costume drama. (Maybe when she turns 21?) For now, though—she's strictly Merchant-Ivory. Her great 2008 hit "Love Story" was a Romeo and Juliet tale; the video found Swift in Regency-era togs, batting her eyes at a pretty frat boy stuffed into a Fitzwilliam Darcy outfit. The new song begins like this: "Today was a fairytale/ You were the prince/ I used to be a damsel in distress." This is a girl who likes playing dress-up.

But in Swift's songs all the ball gowns and unicorns have a different effect than you'd expect. They make her songs more emotionally vivid—they sharpen the focus instead of softening it. It's a cliché to describe Swift's lyrics as journal entries, but that's what they feel like; the period-dress scenes are her dreamy little drawings in the diary margins. And in the new single, the fairy-princess talk gets thrown into relief by everyday 21^st-century details:

Today was a fairytale
I wore a dress

You wore a dark gray t-shirt

You told me I was pretty when I looked like a mess
Today was a fairytale

Where she really excels is in the tunes. Am I wrong, Jonah, or is "Today Was a Fairytale" one of the catchiest Taylor Swift songs yet? I love the way the melody climbs in the chorus, especially over that one brooding minor chord: "It must have been the way you kissed me."

Also noteworthy: With the possible exception of that woodsy acoustic guitar picking in the song's opening bars, I don't hear any country gestures here. No fiddle, no lap steel, nothing. Taylor's vowels have gotten flattened and Yankee-ified. (Compare her accent in "Today Was a Fairytale" with the twangful "Our Song," from 2007.) See ya, Nashville!

Jonah Weiner: Hi Jody. There's the faintest trace of countryish fingerpicking here, but yes, one of the first things that struck me about "Today Was a Fairytale" is how nominal-to-the-point-of-nonexistent its claims to Nashville citizenship are. But we've seen this coming for a while now, right? Haven't the country gestures always been largely nominal with Taylor Swift? Isn't a large part of her success and savvy that she can take a Kelly Clarkson-esque power ballad, smear just a bit of lap steel on the margins, and thereby court audiences north and south of the Mason-Dixon without alienating either?

Music-wise, this is one of my favorite Swift songs. And you're right, that "kissed meeee" scythes through you like a warm pink laser beam. This is a marvel of pop-craft—we've heard the song's anxious pre-chorus, swooning/pining hook, and eleventh-hour drop-everything-but-the-sighing-vocals-and-acoustic-guitar parlor trick a thousand times before, and yet it all thrills.

Taylor Swift seems like the kind of girl you go over the moon for (unless you're one of the unfortunate BFs legendarily disemboweled on her debut). But I'm not so over the moon that I quite buy your case for the lyrics here. They're OK. The hook is my biggest problem: The fairytale refrain strikes me as so blandly corny that it snaps me out of the fantasy. Swift is capable of the sharp detail you credit her with—the image (and unheard squeak and slam) of the "screen door" on "Our Song" sticks with you as much as anything in the melody—but I don't see that at work here. The gray T-shirt doesn't do much of anything for me, nor does the generous compliment that the hottie wearing it offers our insecure Goldilocks. It's an overly familiar Mr. Right trope that he will find us beautiful when we are suffering a bad-hair day/have morning breath/haven't yet been attended to by our team of stylists. Swift doesn't do much but invoke the cliché and hope it does her heavy lifting for her. (Ditto "Everything you say is right," "Time slows down whenever you're around," etc.) I do like "you picked me up at six"—it's a nice intrusion of the quotidian into the enchanted forest, and also, what a chaste time to start a date!—but I feel that Taylor is being a little disingenuous: She's not wishing for ponies and pixie dust, exactly, but there's a whiff of her reinforcing a brand on this song: selling a product (The Taylor Swift Princess Castle by Hasbro®, Recommended Ages: 8-15, maybe?) rather than painting a picture. And I don't mind pop selling me product, but I need a better pitch than this. In the case of this song, it's the tunes doing the hustling. 

J.R.: Jonah, you're right: The lyrics here are just so-so. The song's a bit lazy, really. In "Love Story," Swift has that neat third-verse narrative twist, which puts the final chorus in the voice of her beau. That's classic high Nashville craftsmanship. Here she's complacent; you're right that on its own the "fairytale" business doesn't do much.

But I'm impressed by what Swift gets away with. Her tunes are so strong they elevate her doggerel, or render it irrelevant: I can feel the emotions even when they're insipidly expressed. (Of course, in Swift's best stuff—"Our Song," "Fifteen," "You Belong with Me"—the lyric writing is pretty tight.) Also, Taylor Swift songs have this weird, ineffable, intimate quality; the clichés just seem personal. The combination of ninja-like melodic craft and gauche lyrics give songs like "Today Was a Fairytale" a rough-hewn quality that sets them apart from, for instance, Kelly Clarkson. This song is sonically airbrushed and pitch-corrected and buffed to a hi-gloss shine—and yet it feels handmade. It's Etsy-pop.

J.W.: If Taylor Swift were an Etsy product, would she be these "Let's Make Out/Let's Be Friends" throw pillows? I could see two characters holding these babies aloft in a Swift video, communicating their adolescent longing/ambivalence between adjacent suburban bedroom windows. 

Anyway, this song is a funny mix: some of her tightest songwriting to date, but some of her laziest lyrics. I'll reserve final judgment until I see it in the context of Valentine's Day—the scene in which her beau turns into a werewolf and passionately humps Topher Grace's leg is supposed to be a real heartbreaker.

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First Review of the Fake iPad

Tomorrow, Steve Jobs will reveal the real Apple Tablet, but I, for one, am going to miss the fake Apple Tablet. Ever since rumors of the rumored project began to surface, the Internet has been seeded with renderings of what the supposed iPad, iSlate, Magic Slate, or Apple Book will look like. On Jan. 13, Valleywag threw some gasoline on to the fire by offering 10 grand for "bona fide" photos and 20 grand for video of "one in action." No one has claimed the prize, but there have been some amusing fakes along the way.

The faker's options are 1) go with the blurry, spycam Web shot of mysterious origin or 2) test your photoshop skillz and release a high-res image. Just this morning, what many have deemed the finest high-res fake has emerged. The supposed Tablet has the right proportions and a lovely slimness, but the image is considered counterfeit because of suspect drop shadows and unconvincing reflections.

Next are the obvious, skylarking fakes. My favorite of these was this "expert mock-up" reprinted in the Guardian, which was just a stupidly massive iPhone filled with apps. I also like the images of people trying (and failing) to shove the new iPad into their pockets. Another genre is what you could call random-dudes-holding-the-Apple-Magic-Tablet-in-their-cubicles. Their faces are blurred out, and the image is clearly false, because there aren't seven other dudes gathered around clamoring to play with the new gadget.

That's not to say that all fake Tablets are worthless. This one coolly places the Tablet in situ with a coffee cup, plus draped-over headphones, suggesting that the iSlatepad has become a trusted and beloved accessory in someone's life. The image is also, reportedly, a fairly good rendering of what the real one will look like. But I tip my hat to the best fake of them all: the two pieces of cardboard that the guys at Gizmodo put together to test out what the Tablet future will feel like. Turns out that the screen seems pretty small.

Can't wait for my new iSquint.

Librarian of the Year

Masshole Explosion

Yesterday I suggested that MTV should follow mega-hit reality show Jersey Shore with a show documenting the truculent Boston-area folks known affectionately as Massholes. Last night’s 30 Rock should provide the network with extra assurance that Massholes are the next “it” subculture. Liz Lemon and crew moved TGS to Boston for an episode—mostly so that Jack Donaghy could pursue his married high-school sweetheart, Nancy Donovan (played with a brutally thick Beantown accent by Julianne Moore). They find their new office teeming with sports-lovin’, ill-tempered Massholes.

Liz enters the office to find Kenneth the page getting the snot kicked out of him by several burly guys. “These gentlemen are the writers for Bruins Beat, whose office we’ll be sharing,” Kenneth informs her. “They are all named Sean, they are mean, and I hate it here.”

There are a few other great Masshole jabs (Jack to Nancy: “Your neighbors named their daughter ‘Belichick’!”) and some wonderfully specific local detail (references to Chet and Nat, Marina Bay and Kelly's Roast Beef). When Nancy tells Jack that her husband has left her, she says, “He wants to go to New Orleans and get on that b.s. Saints bandwagon…sniff…go Pats!” You see, even in a time of grave crisis, a true Massholina remembers where her loyalty lies: with Tom Brady. Hopefully Nancy’s character is a recurring one, so we can get a small weekly dose of Masshole flavor to tide us over til production starts on Corporation Beach.

Project Runway Post-Show Chat, Week 2

After each episode of Project Runway’s seventh season, a gaggle of Slatesters will gather to dish about the show. This week, the challenge was to make a party dress out of burlap sacking. Jay Nicolas Sario was the winner, and Pamela Ptak was sent home.

Hanna Rosin: Now that's a Project Runway. A fantastic challenge, executed in many interesting and surprising ways. A little bit of hating and drama. Ass flaps and a flash of nipple. Plus, I think they made the wrong decision on both sides, which always gets me exercised. But before I get critical, didn’t you both think that was the best challenge in a long, long while? 

David Plotz: I totally agree. Those were stunning dresses tonight, and so environmentally friendly. It was locavore fashion, consuming low on the food chain.

June Thomas: I wish it had been one step further from "make a pretty dress," since it was basically "make a pretty dress in a difficult fabric," but I agree that it led to some gorgeous garments (and a few monstrosities). And it was worth it to see Tim Gunn's full-body shudder when Jay did a cartwheel in the muddy field.

H.R.: What do you mean, one step further? Isn't it always effectively make a pretty dress? That was burlap, for God's sake, as old as Moses, as Emilio said. And it produced a handful of amazing dresses in many shades.

J.T.: I like an unusual materials challenge, but I prefer it when they have to make a beautiful garment out of something that isn't fabric—like groceries or parts of a car. One definite upside of the challenge was that the material took dye so well—some of the colors and effects were truly spectacular. I really loved Amy's petal effect, for example. The trick of making a really sophisticated look from a very basic fabric was a good one, but I wanted to see them braiding fronds that they grabbed from a florist’s stall or the sweepings from a hairdresser's salon.

D.P.: Michael said of Mila's dress, "The boys will like it," and speaking for the boys, I certainly did (though I found the repeated blurring of the model's right nipple irritating). Mila has the potential to become reality-TV royalty. Her apparently vast talent is inextricably knotted to a seething, passive-aggressive fury. Did you catch that moment, after her model abandoned her for Anthony, when she hissed at him, "It's funny she would pick you over me." Anyone who says "it's funny" like that is someone who would push you under a truck. Yet that very reservoir of rage must drive her, because she certainly made a knockout dress.

H.R.: Oh, David, you are so harsh. A girl needs to process. It's humiliating, having your half-starved, no-talent wench of a model leave you standing out there in the hayfield, the wind whistling past. She had to take it out on someone.

J.T.: At first, I thought that Mila was wasting energy stressing out about something a model had done (and taking it out on Anthony was smart if you're "playing the game" and messing with your opponents' heads, but it’s not at all fair—Anthony hadn't done anything to make Mila's model bail), but I agree, it helped her get to her rageful place, which is apparently where her creativity resides.

D.P.: And it sure didn't hurt Anthony, whose red dress was a legitimate contender for the top three, I thought.

A moment about my favorite dress of the night. Amy's burlap flower was incredibly brave. It made the fabric do all the work. And the dye job—a frame of black, fading into a mist of brown, fading into the tan burlap—mesmerized me. That was the coolest bit of work of the night.

J.T.: I also would've given the nod to Amy for the petals, the subtle styling on the halter straps that Lauren Hutton pointed out, and the way she made this very stiff fabric seem soft and flowy. I was not as wowed as the judges were by Mila's look—there sure was a lot of burlap covered up on that dress. Of course, it was tight, short, and shiny, which are Heidi's three favorite qualities in a garment. Jay's feathers did nothing for me—partly, I think, because his dye job was so dark, so the fiddly bits really didn't show up well on television.

Seth's hooded dress was exquisite. And I speak as someone who does not care for his self-presentation (though his hair was less offensive this week). I know I shouldn't be so affected by the way the designers dress themselves on the runway, but I can't help it. I loved Jonathan's vesty look—very Simon Baker in The Mentalist—and Jesus' bow-tie was adorable.

H.R.: I'm with you on Seth and Amy. Especially Amy. I was way more impressed by her ability to transform burlap into something flowy and subtle than by those tedious black feathers. And you have perhaps hit on why they did not kick out Jesus—that cute baby Elvis meets Pee-wee Herman look.

I'm still a little puzzled about why the judges are giving Ping such a wide berth. That was a tedious, ill-fitting dress. And the model's crack was showing, a fact the camera emphasized several times. Is it just the comic relief? Or is there some potential there?

J.T.: Ping not being sent home for that garment is one of those decisions that makes me doubt the integrity of the competition. That skirt was an abomination. I am grateful for the new insult "ass flap," but I don't ever want to see another. That was not "edgy," as one of the judges suggested; it was ugly, amateurish, and ugly again. (And her model was an idiot to stick with her—she had the chance to go with another designer, and she should have.) It must be producer manipulation. Next week is a team challenge, so the producers knew that whoever was paired with Ping would be in for a whole world of drama. I can see no other reason to keep her.

D.P.: It is mysterious that they booted Pamela Ptak (I just like writing her name), when they could have booted the ass-flashing nursery-school project that Ping made, or the second astonishingly tedious dress from Jesus. Incidentally, Jesus has now referred to himself in the third person two weeks in a row, which is in itself justification for expulsion.

J.T.: Third-personification apart, what did you think of the judges' critique of Jesus' dress? It's legitimate to ding him for covering up too much burlap, but I thought they were wrong to say that his dress was "mundane and matronly" and to complain about the colors. Maybe he used too much ribbon, but I thought it looked great—the undulating layers of that beautiful green color really popped against the brown. It felt very painterly to me.

H.R.: Jesus is not going to rise to the occasion, designing as he does for his mom's friends. His future is at the neighborhood hair salon. I felt the same about the winner. I understand the value of the trickery—making burlap look like feathers. But the final result was not all that interesting—not nearly as edgy as Mila's, or as nice as that pair of red dresses, or even that bitchen Red Riding Hood get-up from Seth.

D.P.: Seth. I'm beginning to hate that guy. Did you catch his snigger at Ping's bare-ass dress?

H.R.: Also, the dude wears nail polish. David, could you ever love a man who wears nail polish?

J.T.: I would've kept Pamela over Ping, but the ass-magnification powers of Pamela's dress were spectacular. Too. Much. Butt. And I know she was very proud of producing a color that evoked denim, but many of the other contestants created more interesting shades.

H.R.: Well, June, you can't complain about Pamela's dress and forget what Michael Kors said about Jesus' dress. Too. Much. Butt. juxtaposed with No. Butt. At. All. The colors were fine by me, but I hated that ass-ymmetry. Especially on the back side.

JT: I was not in love with the back of Jesus' dress. All that focus on the zipper was a very bad idea.

D.P.: Not to reveal my mannish ignorance too much—keep in mind that I did not know the difference between a skirt and a dress until I was 21 years old—but what the heck is hambre or ombre or hombray? And why were we supposed to be so impressed that Ptak was ptakking it?

H.R.: Well, hombre. It's o-m-b-r-e. And here's a video demo. It's sort of like making Jell-O, and then dipping fabric in it. I've tried it before, but I ended up with colors nothing like those nice reds and grays.

D.P.: Is it too early for us to predict our top three for the season? I don't think so. I have my money on Amy, Emilio, Mila, and Seth. You ladies care to join me?

H.R.: Uh, that's the top four, David. Harder to pick three. I'll knock Mila off your list, since Tim Gunn complained about having too many women last time.

J.T.: My ridiculously early pick for the top three would be Emilio, Seth, and Amy. How spooky that we all predict the same Fashion Week finalists, but remember, there are lots of designers whose work we really haven’t seen yet.

Previous chats: Week 1

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Track of the Week: M.I.A.'s "Space Odyssey"

Jonah Weiner: Hello again, Jody. Today we're talking about a new song from M.I.A. called "Space Odyssey." It comes to us via M.I.A.'s Twitter—she filmed a cheapo video for the song, uploaded it to TwitVid, and posted the link to her feed. She has described "Space Odyssey" as a protest song (the video arrived amid a bunch of angry tweets about a recent New York Times Travel piece that declared the ethnic combat in her native Sri Lanka "over" and then gushed about the country's scenic beauty), but that's interesting since a) the phrase protest music could be, in some form or other, applied to most of her music and b) this is a mellow track, the most prominent lyrical theme of which is total disengagement. "My lines are down, you can't call me/ As I float around in space odyssey," she sings (only the faintest hint of rapping here). The music, courtesy of the U.K. dubstep producer Rusko, is lush, languid, and squishy, punctuated here and there by deep burps of bass and a synth squeal that suggests an air-raid siren. Call me crazy, but it reminds me of the "Reading Rainbow" theme. Her longtime collaborator and ex-boyfriend Diplo said last fall that the music on her next album would resemble a combination of Animal Collective and Gucci Mane, and Rusko's bass-heavy psychedelia seems more or less of a piece with that unlikely description.

I wanted to talk about "Space Odyssey" because anything from M.I.A. is worth excitement and because I think it's hauntingly lovely. That said, I'm not sure whether it's that the song's unfinished (the vocal line could stand some variation) or just that the audio quality is so poor, but this one feels a bit undercooked, doesn't it? It sounds a like a demo played on a stereo in a room and recorded by a computer microphone, which may be exactly what it is. Which is fine, except we're missing a lot of musical detail—all these little ambient squiggles and sighs and moans—and a lot of bass, especially in the glitchy breakdown that comes at around 3:10. What I should have written above is that the song is almost lush.

Jody Rosen: Jonah, I love M.I.A., but "undercooked" is generous. "Space Odyssey" stinks. What we have here is a single, gratingly monotonous melody line, repeated more or less continuously for four minutes. (It feels like 25 minutes.) The effect is not unlike "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," although that song holds far more melodic and harmonic interest than M.I.A.'s. The various gurgles and bird twitters are, I guess, intended to distract our attention from the droning saminess of it all; but they're window-dressing. There's something almost offensive about the slapdashness of the method, here: disgorge a rudimentary tune, toss some sound effects at it, throw the word "space" in the title, and, presto!—it's psychedelic, man. But good psychedelia takes work. The best "space" songs are even more meticulously worked-over than "straight" songs. But "Space Odyssey" isn't languid. It's lazy.

Or maybe just rushed? I think what we're hearing here is one of the pitfalls of the brave new pop world. It's neat that M.I.A. can cobble together a song and blast it out on the Internet in just 24 hours. But what's being lost? A bit of rigor, I'd say. As for M.I.A.'s claim that this is a protest song: Isn't coherence a protest-song prerequisite?

J.W.: Maybe the "protest song" tag is something of a red herring—it's twice removed from M.I.A., after all, synthesized by a Fader reporter from a publicist's statement. But, anyway: You do not like this one. I think we've discovered by now that I'm a bit more content than you are to splash around in mood and texture and that I'm a bit more willing to take or leave "song craft"—or maybe I just have a loose, degenerate definition of the term! You say the gurgles and pitch-corrected moans and such are here on "Space Odyssey" to disguise some deeper lack. I'm with you that something else needs to happen (I wouldn't say the song feels like it's 25 minutes long but I'll give you, oh, seven), but for me, the ambient bits aren't ornamental elements so much as the perfectly engrossing main event, weaving and floating and humming and buzzing vertiginously through the mix. They don't smack you across the face the way the drums on "Bird Flu" do, say, and this would be an odd choice for a single, but I find the steady, thwacking beat and electronic flotsam, if not hypnotic, then pleasantly lulling and even a bit poignant. I could see "Space Odyssey" re-emerging—in CD quality, and hopefully with the melody changed up—as a quiet kind of knockout.

J.R. Just for the record, I don't have a problem with mood and texture, per se. I'm on record as a Four Tet fan. I just think the mood and texture in this song is awfully sloppy. Nothing that grabs my ear or grabs anything else. Feels like rush job-underthunk and underfelt. But, anyway. I reserve the right to be blown away by the upgraded album version of this thing, if and when it surfaces. Here's hoping.

In the meantime, one more gripe. The video is godawful. I wish M.I.A. had just leaked the MP3, sans alleged video. Or at least set her space odyssey to some stray Sagan footage!

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