I'm really sad that Brokeback didn't win. I didn't *hate* Crash, but it was very heavy-handed and felt quite movie-of-the-week to me. Thandie Newton's performance was terribly slighted by the Academy - she was incandescent and fragile and furious and just lovely as the wife Matt Dillon's character molested. It was easily the best thing about the entire film.

But enough about the films...let's talk about the dresses!

All that restrained good taste put my feet to sleep. We really need to (red) carpet bomb the army of stylists that herd the stars around these days. All of them have the same bland good taste, and no one looked atrocious tonight. I live for the ticky-tack, and I think it might be endangered.

I long for the unholy, delicious union of Cher and Bob Mackie. Whither Bjork and her swan dress? Even Dolly Parton looked subdued. Yes, that's Dolly Parton as in *Dollywood Wigs Nashville Boobs* Dolly Parton.

Aside from Naomi Watt's mystifying flesh-clored rags and that weird thing perched on Charlize Theron's shoulder that looked like it was going to consume her face at any moment, the women were uniformly (*yawn*) fine-looking and the men were equally zzzzzzz..........

(except, of course, my imaginary boyfriend George Clooney.)

Even though I love your regular snarky TV column, I reallly appreciate being alerted to a show like this one. Human trafficking is a terrible problem - much more widespread thoroughout the developing world, particularly in areas that were formerly behind the Iron Curtain, than most people imagine - and it is good to know that a show as respected as Frontline is doing an expose on the problem. When I was staying in Hawaii last summer I heard a radio report on this very issue, and it was heartrending - I'd had no idea such things went on in 21st century Europe (and elsewhere).

I'd actually love to see more of this sort of thing from you. It's easy to forget that a medium made toothless and pudgy through shows like "Dancing With the Stars" can pack a decent punch every now and then.

(Well, I'd appreciate more of this sort of alert, and also more Deadwood-speak. I laughed for weeks over that gem.)

Thanks again,

...of Cronenberg's film "Dead Ringers"? When I read about this exhibit I immediately flashed back to Beverly, the insane twin, and his "Gynecological instruments for operating on mutant women".

I can't help wondering if that film (and its profoundly disturbing stainless steel instruments) acted as artistic inspiration. As far as the "impenetrable devices" go, it's impossible for me to view them objectively, as art. They are layered with and linked to the terror of rape, and I can't help feeling that they somehow exploit that particular brand of terror.

It's difficult for me to quantify or put my feelings into words, but this exhibit seems to cheapen - maybe even cannibalize - womens' legitimate fear of rape. For one thing, they seem to put the burden of rape prevention on women.

To be honest, I don't quite understand exactly why this exhibit makes me so uneasy. Perhaps that's one of the functions of art, but when I look at those gleaming metal traps I see artisitic opportunism, not female empowerment.

Damn you, Project Runway. Damn you to heck.

Once upon a time, I was able to tease my younger sister about her insane reality show addiciton. I'd ask her if her TiVo had melted yet, or if her brains had yet run out of her ear from all the inane content they've been subjected to. I had the "damn, I've got good viewing taste" upper hand.

But then I caught your final first-season episode. The one where the last remaining designers have to present an *entire collection* to the judges. And I was fascinated, compelled to watch the first episode of season two.

"Just a taste," I privately told myself. "I know I won't go back to this trough. And anyway, I can quit any time I want to. Just a little...taste."

And suddenly, there I was: willing Tuesdays away, waiting for Wednesdays like a senior citizen waits for the Early Bird Special. But how could I resist Heidi Klum's adorable accent and insanely cute, designer-fabric-swathed baby bump? How could I be expected to look away from Zulema's steely arrogance? From Michael Kors' elegant brand of 24 karat, diamond-encrusted, flawless bitchiness? From Andre's bouts of pure, unadulterated queeniness? (His Norma Desmodesque accent during his meltdowns! The stratospheric pitch of his voice when he screams about chiffon! His sidelong smirks at Nick over Santino's losses!) And oh my god - how could I turn away from Santino's million varieties of oddly cabbage-like designs?

Last week I had a friend in from out of town, and I was incredibly twitchy that I had to wait until much later to find out what cute outfit Heidi and her bump wore. The suspense was killing me: what color cabbage would Santino create this time? Would Andre manage to get through an entire episode without shrieking? Would someone finally stab Zulema in the neck with a pair of pinking shears? I had to sneak downstairs late that night to cuddle up to my TiVo and surreptitiously watch the whole ice skating costume debacle. (Lycra and sequins and queens - oh my!)

So yeah, Project Runway, you've fished me in. I am yours. And my sister gets to tease me mercilessly about getting hopped up on a reality show.

You suck. I love you.