The horrorfest that was Stylista is finally over, with Megan proving to be one of the worst losers in (un)reality tv history. I can't say I'm glad Johanna won exactly; I'm just glad that DyShaun did not win. I think it was entirely due to the stupid hat that made him look like a perpetual freshman at NYU. Ashlie was probably the strongest competitor, but out of that bunch that's not saying much. I kind of feel sorry for the Elle editorial staff for having got themselves roped into this whole mess.

The food thus far on Top Chef has been surprisingly uninspired, given the caliber of this season's cast. Jamie from Absinthe is hanging in and seems to be doing well, but it's still at the point where I'm having trouble telling all the balds and beards apart. The blond guy is kinda scaring me. Unclench, dude.

I'm pulling a very late night tonight for work as we're releasing a bunch of assets in conjunction with the client's European office and there's no way we can currently "unlock" a folder on our public ftp automatically, so I have to start uploading a giant movie file at about midnight so it'll be available at 1 a.m. when the press release goes out. Whee. PR is all glamor all the time, people. This week I managed a local press tour for a client who was sick as a dog with the stomach flu. While we were all amazed and impressed with his ability to carry on while having to run to the bathroom about every 90 minutes to barf, I'm just very, very thankful he managed not to puke in my car.

Update: Um, wow. I had not yet watched the latest episode of Top Chef when I wrote this post about an hour ago. Kudos to Tom C. for staging a mini intervention.