The FORTRESS of SOLITUDE

Yes, it's been a long, long, long while since I blogged about Project Runway. The reason? Lack of motivation. Why? Frankly, the last two episodes blew and sadly, this one was no different. As per usual, we picked up right where we left off in episode 3.9; reactions to the departure of Vincent. My reaction? "Who?" The boys were mostly indifferent, while the girls, specifically Laura, found his auf'ing to be a major wake-up call.
On the runway, The Klum appeared, looking as if she was wrapped in curtains from a gypsy's house. Before anyone could bludgeon the fashion victim to death, she informed them all that their challenge wouldn't be given to them on the runway...they'd receive it at a party put on by L'Oreal that evening. She also teased them, saying that she'd "invited some...um...special guests."


With that, the Klum left and the designers were off to their party. The soiree was held at the Pink Elephant, where undoubtedly, Kayne felt most at home. In the midst of cork popping and toasting, The Klum swaggered in and revealed the 'special' guests: Vincent and Angela - 'special' being the operative term.
Apparently, the entire time that The Klum was talking about 'other benefits to winning challenges,' she meant that you could be brought back. Frankly, it's total bullshit - Angela and Vincent, aside from Jeffrey, were the most "Good-TV-Friendly" people in the group and that's why they were brought back. Although it does explain Vincent's completely left-field win with Uli's mother (that dress was hideous and simple and I'll say it until I die).
Of course, the fact that Angela won a group challenge caused no end of drama and complaints. The real twist though, was the fact that Agnela or Vincent had to win Episode 3.10's challenge or they'd be sent packing faster than they could say 'fleurcion.' The Klum also stated that three people would be eliminated on this challenge. Any idiot can do the math and realize that Angela and Vincent's return is the worst attempt at a red-herring EVER and they'd obviously be returning to relative obscurity before the end credits aired.
The Klum finally got down to talking turkey and told everyone that this week's challenge was to design a cocktail party outfit using only black and white fabric. The twist? EVERY INCH of fabric they bought at Mood had to be used. As a sewer myself, I can tell you with experience: this is extremely difficult.
In the workroom, the Gunn explained the challenge in more detail and Angela asked a very important question - "Can we use black OR white, or do we have to use BOTH?" The answer? Both. Just remember that - it becomes important later on in the plot...

At Mood, the fabric buying took on a new level of intensity. Uli, of course, managed to find the most hideous print in the place to make a 'beach party dress.' I swear, this bitch doesn't get out of bed and shit if it ain't on the beach.
Back at the workroom, everyone got down to business. The dresses were all fairly similar, so describing everyone's ideas would be kind of pointless here. Some drama inevitably ensued...Jeffrey wanted a third win to piss everyone off even more. Vincent, on the other hand, was simply flabbergasted that the guy at Mood sold him more fabric than he'd asked for. Jeffrey, in addition, began ragging on Angela again but it seemed to fall on less sympathetic ears this time - most likely since people were working their asses off, not because anyone particularly cared for Angela any more or less than they had before.
At the other end of the spectrum was Michael, who was trying his best to help out Kayne's misguided design which he thought looked more 'working girl' than cocktail party outfit...and he was right. Not to mention the fact that Kayne's outfit had no visible white fabric on it (remember before when I told you to remember that thing? Well, here's to remembering because your remembering led you here...so remember...and learn).


The models were then shuffled in for a preliminary fitting and Laura began moaning to her model about how the returning designers have thrown her off her game. Her model, though, was more concerned about her ass not being eliminated (she knows where her bread is buttered).
After the break, some dude from L'Oreal came in to talk about the different looks for the designer's models. Do you care? Didn't think so...moving on...The Gunn then made his rounds, critiqueing everyone's designs. Vincent AGAIN was moaning about his yardage. Kayne's outfit met with disapproval from The Gunn as he asked, 'My one question is - where's the white fabric?"



Then The Gunn described the situation as "Make-it-work-time." Niiiice! Much less disastrous was Michael's design, but The Gunn again uttered a "Make it work" as he moved on to Angela's dress. After Angela, he spoke to Laura who was suddenly feeling very tired and broken. Crying like every other preggers bitch to come down the pike, she explained that her self-doubt was getting the better of her. In the workroom, Vincent had to make a scarf that really didn't go with his outfit to eat up his fabric.
The day of the runway show, Laura's spirit was renewed after watching a video message from her husband. The designers all headed to Parson NYC where they met The Gunn, who explained the make-up, hair and fitting set up and also let everyone know that any piece of fabric bigger than a postcard HAD to be used. Personally, I'd spend the rest of the morning cutting up my fabric into pieces smaller than postcards, but that's just me.
The drama wasn't over though as The Gunn informed Vincent, in front of everyone, that his model Gia had an 'accident.' Another model was provided as a substitute but obviously the whole 'fit' issue potentially presented a whole host of problems for Vincent. With a broken zipper and no seam allowance, he was on his way.
On the runway, The Klum entered, wearing a power-suit whose shoulders would make Joan Crawford jealous. In between beating her children (allegedly...based on the previous sentence), The Klum introduced the judges - The Kors, The Garcia and Zac Posen who is a "fashion designer" apparently.
Let the runway show commence...!








The standard interrogation at the hands of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse judges then began. Michael was up first and received many compliments from the judges, most notably on his ability to use all of the fabric by relining the purse his model was carrying. Up next was Vincent, who's first reaction from The Garcia was "I don't like this." Uli was third. Neither her fabric stuffed necklace, nor her sleeve length went over well with the judges who next set their sights on Angela and her "Edwardian" neckline. For the record, here is an example of an Edwardian neckline and please see Angela's outfit above for an example of an Autistic neckline - although her confusion is understandable. Jeffrey's smirk at Angela's raking over the coals was shortlived as The Kors lit into him next, calling his outfit cheap and The Garcia finished the one-two punch by telling him that the judges would like to see something other than the rock-n'-roll-whore-look from him (true, I made that up, but it's NEARLY what she said). Laura's dress was up next and went over like gang-busters...as if we thought it wouldn't. Finally, Kayne came under the spotlight and as I said above, the judges were of two minds: front = HOT, back = HOT MESS. They also chastized him for not using white fabric (and I'm sorry, but white STRING doesn't count, you loon).
The deliberation came and went and the designers returned to their positions in front of the judges. The winner was announced first and it was Laura. Sweet! Unsurprisingly, this meant that Angela and Vincent were out. Before she left the runway, though, The Klum informed Laura that there would be no immunity for the final challenge.
In the end, it was Kayne who was sent packing and honestly, not a minute too soon in my opinion. The guy was way off the taste meter, unless your last name was Presley and you live in a place that Neil Simon wrote an album about.
Until next time, true believers!

Tim G. "Make it work" count = 15
Tim G. "I'm concerned" count = 2

Greeting, gentle readers...sorry I haven't made any significant entries in a while, but I've been deathly ill. Well, not deathly, just ill and not really into sitting at a computer, at work or otherwise, to type up some stupid crap that no one cares about.
But guess what? Today I am! Weee!
I managed to upload the few pics that I took on my trip to Paramount Canada's Wonderland with Ian. I wrote about it already here, but had no visual accompaniment.
Let's go back in time, shall we...ooooh...yaaaay...!

While he was gone, I had time to kill, so I decided to
take still lifes of my lovely meal. Guess what this is a pic of?
Highlight to reveal the answer!
(Answer: a piece of lettuce from my burger, I swear to God)

After lunch, we continued on our adventure, undeterred by the
ever increasing population of trolls in their strollers that were taking
over the park. Seriously - if you're kid can't walk, leave the fucker
at home...REALLY.

Before we left, we stopped to watch a couple runs of
Timberwolfe Falls, which is always a treat. I took a
video of one, which will follow shortly.

Okay, so just in the last two weeks I have become a Scissor Sisters fan. Being a huge fan of all things disco, all things 70s and things fun, I'm surprised I missed the boat so completely on this group. Thankfully, I'm on board in time for their second album. Schweet! Some videos you might enjoy...

Comfortably Numb



Laura



Take Your Mama Out



Filthy/Gorgeous



And the newest single, from the forthcoming "Ta-Dah,"

I Don't Feel Like Dancing

Good morning, everyone! Well, this weekend was sure chock full of fun times, most notably, my trip with Ian to Paramount Canada's Wonderland on Saturday. Thinking that the park would be only mildly busy since it was a cloudy, non-descript kind of day and it was in September, the two of us were shocked and awed at the obscene number of people, especially snot-nosed, multi-coloured wig wearing brats who's fingers were all covered in chocolate, boogers and/or pooh. There were a few incidents that might interest people. At least I found them interesting, anyway...
We only went on a small number of rides based on a) the line-ups, b) our lack of interest in being surrounded by children and finally c) our increasing inability to think straight based on consumption of banned substances.
While waiting in the line for The Fly, a 'family' coaster, a small girl budded in directly behind me, in front of the 100-150 people already behind me. I thought it was a bit odd, but then when her father and 6 family members showed up, with the dad ENCOURAGING her to bud in line and get the rest of the family in, I was slightly apalled. They have signs everywhere about jumping lines and how it immediately means ejection from the line and possibly from the park, but as Ian and I were discussing last night - who the HELL can enforce this rule? People AHEAD of the line jumper will most likely not notice, and people behind are hardly in a position to rat on these people PRIOR to their getting on the ride, so the whole thing is pretty pointless.
At about 1hour 15m, The Bat was the longest line-up we had to sit through. Fortunately for yours truly, the funniest moment of the day occurred in said line as I was eavesdropping on a conversation between two teenagers.

"Okay, name a place that stars with 'A'," said the first girl.
"Alright," her companion started, "Scandinavia."
"No, that's not a place, it's a region."
"What?"
"Fine. Exxon Valdez," the first girl began, "A-X-E-N Valdez...that's a region."
"Nice. Antigua?"
"Yeah, good one."

I wanted to shoot myself in the face, but decided not to because the conversation was so deliciously idiotic, pathetic and sad at the same time.
I have some pictures and a video from the Wonderland trip which I'll be uploading later on.

Last night saw the premiere of Season 10 of The Amazing Race. It was an alright opening episode, but the really assanine attempt to edit in every single utterance of "Praise Allah" on a loop whenever the Muslim (see: American) team got VERY annoying. And I must say that I'm in love with the couple from Kentucky, at least the wife. She's so sweet and hard-assed at the same time - I love it. Should be an interesting season

Last night, E and I headed to the Royal Alex Theatre to partake in new incarnation of the ill-fated Legends, starring Joan Collins and Linda Evans of Dynasty fame. The previous version, which was unceremoniously and prematurely cancelled due to sagging audiences and scathing reviews, starred Mary Martin and Carol Channing in 1986. The backstage drama between the actresses was often more notable than anything occurring on stage, with the exception of Mary Martin announcing she was quitting when her dramatic zenith in the piece was excised without her knowledge.
Now, sadly, the cutting lines and laser accurate delivery seen below was not what I was expecting...



...to my pleasant surprise, however, the ladies were in fine form surrounded by a strong supporting cast. The show, on the other hand, was for a little older comedic taste than mine, with most of the bitchiness from Act I replaced by Three's Company type humour in Act II. It's a show my mother would really enjoy - and that's not necessarily a compliment.
I also assume that the production was unable to secure the rights to the Dynasty theme, as the Dallas theme was used at one point to introduce the bows by the actors.
One of the highlights, though, was the cat fight between the two leads, although it pales in comparison to this one...



It was, though, a fun night out. Thanks, E!

After the show, we headed next door to Big Daddy's (I think) which is a Creole restaurant and had some drinks and calamari. The title of this post comes from a question posted by E in the middle of eating, as he regarded the fried squid in confusion, saying, "What are these little horny bits?"

Walking to work today in the pouring rain, I was left to ponder a lot of things. I generally think about what other people are doing and how they are better then me and how their insides look...

Seriously though, I had a pounding headache as I was walking this morning, most likely due to the extreme air pressure change that accompanies most storms or inclement weather. As I struggled to cope with the headache, I realized that I've had a shitload of injuries in my relatively short life - most of which should have killed me. Thankfully, I have reduced such scrapes and bruises to the occasional corner table knee bash, corner wall toe stub or slip on a wet floor coming in from the balcony - nothing too life threatening.

My parents, specifically my father, moved us from Southern Ontario, where his family still resides, to the mecca of Northern Ontario. I was too young to care but would certainly chain myself to the nearest tree should he attempt such a move again. Being displaced meant that every year at Christmas my immediate family and I would make our annual pilgrimage to Hamilton for X-mas festivities. We travelled the route nearly once a month anyway and once such trip took place about a month before Christmas one year - forgive me, the actual dates are fuzzy.

For the longest time as a child, I was obsessed with the Santa Claus parade that took place in Toronto in November. I had never been to it, but it was the equivalent of seeing God himself trot on down the street with a procession of angels before him. It was the greatest thing ever and I was NEVER allowed to see it since it generally aired on TV in November, when I was up north and this was before Global was a non-cable station so there was no way to see it. On this one trip, however, the planets aligned and the day of the parade fell directly on our second day there...

As a small child, I was hyperactive a lot of the time, which was generally attributed to chocolate consumption. Having the earliest intervention on record, scores of chocolate products were exised from my childhood home with my parents dancing gleefully around a cocoa scented bonfire, tossing on the occasional Mars bar and cackling with each pop of the creamy nugate interior as I wept in the corner.

This early trauma didn't stop me, however, as I found that the thing I loved about chocolate was the sugar. So, to hell with pesky, banned chocolate substances, I could go directly to the source. Not being old enough to purchase a ticket to a sugar plantation, I found reams of white and brown sugar right in the comfort of my own home. I would eat brown sugar by the spoonful to satisfy some deep seeded desire to actually kill myself from either over exertion or injuries sustained as inanimate objects became fuzzy blurs to my increasingly speedy movements.

Sitting in my granmother's living room with my auntie as she hemmed the new drapes, I found myself playing with the pins she wasn't using to straighten the hem. I was under her watchful eye so as not to accidentally stab myself in the temple. The 'men' were downstairs - my granpa, uncle, father and brother, watching television while the 'women' (my mother, auntie, grandmother and mois) were upstairs churning butter or performing ritual sacrifice.

"Sean! The Santa Claus Parade is on," yelled my father from downstairs.

I lept up and began motoring (due to my sugar high) around the corner to get downstairs in time. As I turned the sharp corner I realized that I had miscalculated, as my young 5-6 year old body slammed, head first into a rather sturdy, unshakeable wall.



I was pretty much knocked out cold and remember waking up to everyone standing above me, realizing I was lying on the kitchen table with my grandfather yelling that I'd ruined his wall. I must have been bleeding pretty heavily because a towel obscured my vision. I thought I had died, but everyone assured me I was very much alive and well enough to start working to pay to repair the wall I had dented. At the hospital, I was given stitches (3-4) and sent home well after the final float had been sent back to the garage on that November day.

A year later, my family was planning a camping trip in one of those old camping cabs that sits on the back of a pick-up truck. The door to enter the camper is right on the tailgate which dually functions as a step when people need to enter. I was standing on the tailgate, minding my own business, waiting for my mum to come outside. Little did I know, however, that my brother was inside the camper and raring to leave it. He swung open the door and sent me flailing into the nearby rockgarden, landing firmly on my young skull. Another set of stitches...


An earlier incident involved the family dog, Benji (original I know), and I, sitting on the front porch of my family's house. A child across the street, clearly longing for a dog of his own, threw a small stone in our general direction, hoping to either hit me or have the dog go after it - sort of a forced game of catch. Unfortuntely, I was sitting in the middle, with the dog on my left and the stone whizzing past my head on the right. Not realizing I was in the same universe, the dog tried to grab the stone out of the air with it's jaws but found itself firmly planted on my left eye. More stitches...and Benji 'went to live on a farm' if you knowwhattamean.

The last tale of woe is much more odd than the first three; involving myself, a safety pin and a lot of pooh. As an undiscovered gay child, I was interested more in my mother than my father - fact of life. As an adult that has changed dramatically to a more even keel, but the kid in me always remembers watching my mum as she sewed or cooked or cleaned or got me to do it as I carried her on my back, whip in one hand and a martini in the other.

One time in my parent's room, trying to emulate my mum, I placed a safety pin in my mouth as a tailor would place straight pins for easy access (a practice I engaged in quite frequently in the production of my slip cover, but everytime I thought of this incident...). Unfortunately, I had an extreme hiccup or burp or some shit, because the next thing I knew, I swallowed the fucking thing. I was rushed to the hospital and after an x-ray was taken, it was discovered that the pin was lodged in my stomach, right next to my lung and appeared to be on the verge of opening.



Being an idiotic toddler, I figured this meant my lung would be punctured and my body would deflate, but the doctor assured me that as long as no one TOUCHED me, I'd be fine. Huh? A 7 year old on a tear can't be touched by anyone or bump into anything...? Wow. My life was ruined. At least I thought it was ruined until my first bowel movement, which had to be gone over with a fine tooth comb (see hands covered in milk bags) by my mother to see if the pin had finally dislodged itself. It was at that point that I realized death could actually be a release.

After about a week, the pin did finally come out, intact and unopened and I was safe...but my bathroom habits have never been the same. I still shudder when I think about my mother standing by eagerly with two Neilson milk bags, one on each hand, ready to have a rifle through my junk. :x

If you find the term 'douche' in reference to yourself mortally offensive, you probably should just jump off a building and get it over with instead of documenting your demented and out of control ramblings on youtube.com



Seriously...I love how she points out that people shouldn't take things seriously and shouldn't get pissed off but she's crying about an anonymous person calling her a 'douche.'

To cleanse your sullied pallet...watch this and think of Ian & I at Canada's Wonderland this Saturday...

In his newest music video the critics are heralding as "refreshingly irreverant" and "entirely pointless!" Enjoy!



It's amazing what a bottle of wine, some weed and a rembunctious cat will lead to on a Friday night.

Another week in Paris = another week of hazy Project Runway viewing, barely good enough to yawn at. Episode 3.9 picked up where 3.8 left off and continued us along a strange new path for Project Runway fans...BOREDOM.
One interesting point, however, was this episode LITERALLY played like the second half of a two parter, with the designers being given their assignment still wearing their horrific outfits from last week. Speaking of the brief, the designers had to design a 'couture' gown. According to the Gunn, loads of people throw around the term 'couture' but only those LICENSED by the GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE as "Couture Designers" can claim it rightfully. Kind of like those buffoons who call sparkling wine from Niagara Falls "champagne."
The Gunn expected the designers to create an "elaborate" get-up and use "couture techniques" in creating it (hand sewn hems and embellishments). The French chick from the last episode then added that they only had TWO days for this challenge. Woah. French Lady was throwing a party on "Sunday night" that the couture gowns would be worn at by the European models, which were chosen for them.
Back at their hotel rooms, Jeffrey couldn't resist one final dig at Angela (although it was pretty clear to the more discerning viewer that his comments were repeated from last week).


The Gunn then took all the designers out to a nice, street-side French restaurant and everyone congratulated Jeffrey on his first win. You could literally HEAR his head inflating. Before it got too big, though, the Gunn shuffled them off to the Metro and took everyone on a walk, arriving at some location considered "the top of Paris" for inspiration. Everyone sketched while sitting on the grounds. Yawn-o-rama.
The Gunn led them off again to Rain, the Paris equivalent to Mood, where they bought their fabrics. The budget this time around was quite high, considering, at 300 euros, which is $375 USD.
Back at Parsons Paris, the designers found their model cards but Tim warned everyone that the dresses would be refitted in NYC for their American models. That's a challenge in itself, really. As The Gunn left, he gave them an amusing "make it work" in French, although I couldn't really tell what it was he said (it certainly wasn't "faire le travailler").
Uli, for her couture gown, decided to go plain and simple, which I was impressed by until she revealed a rather self-agrandizing attitude by uttering "that's quite something" in reference to her lack of pattern selection.


The other designers went through their looks with none really jumping out. On a more melodramatic note, in the sewing room, Laura again relayed her dismay at Kayne's choices but of course, he was having none of it. Vincent, on the other hand, was convinced he was the greatest designer on planet Earth; Laura described him as "a legend in his own mind." Taking a page from Daniel Franco's book, Vincent enjoyed pinning something on, stepping back and then feigned worry about his design (in reality, he was just fishing for compliments from the other designers). Laura then set her sights on Michael, questioning his ability to pull off his 'ambitious' (see: not done by machine) design. This challenge was also interesting for that reason - the people who work solely on machines were fucked (like Michael).
Back at the apartments the next morning and Jeffrey had gotten up bright and early, ready to shave himself with his electric razor which woke up Vincent (who was sleeping in the same room). Kind of brings back memories of Jeffrey's rant about Angela waking people up, no? What a toolfuck.


At Parsons Paris, The Gunn made the rounds, speaking with the designers about their specific looks. Michael expressed some worry about his time, while The Gunn focused squarely on Kayne's design, which he felt didn't work (for the record, I disgree vehemently with The Gunn on this issue). Kayne continued working on the outfit, realizing that he didn't have time to completely change the look.
Through a lot of boring interview clips we learned that - Laura thought Kayne was going home, Jeffrey pretty much thought everyone but himself was going home, Kayne didn't care what Tim Gunn thought, Vincent hated Laura's outfit, Jeffrey thought Laura's outfit was boring, Vincent thought Michael's outfit was poorly made, etc., etc. It was truly a snorefest, much like last week.
The designers all returned to their hotels, with Laura complaining, left, right and center, about her ankles, her pregnancy and her energy levels. Yawn...I know what she means.
The next day, all the designers worked feverishly to finish their garments in time, while The Gunn entered, letting them know of their timelines. In a montage of reaction shots, we got this one of Laura sewing, but the sign in front of her was quite amusing.


The European models came in and met up with their designers as everyone was putting the finishing touches on their garments. Vincent was having the most trouble which only increased as The Gunn deftly pointed out there was an entire hem to be sewn and they had minutes left. His work completed, The Gunn walked away with a curt "make it work."


Unable to finish, Vincent started glueing what he could, snarkily blowing off Tim's comments on the matter. Unphased, he began yelling at everyone to get their garments on..."Now!"
After whipping them into shape, The Gunn led everyone to an awaiting boat, upon which the party would take place. Vincent was quite excited to be taking a cruise on the "Sane" as he put it, presumably meaning the Seine River. On their way, apparently someone from a nearby apartment building began throwing eggs. Can you really blame them after seeing this rag-tag group of wannabes trapsing down a Parisienne street? I can't. Michael's dress was the only casualty, fortunately. The French bitch from the last episode was waiting on the boat and began spouting off about how difficult a couture gown is to make and how remarkable everyone's progress was.


The models all strutted their stuff as the designers did their best to kiss her ass with the most feverish efficiency possible. Vincent, of course, was the best at bullshitting his way through the entire thing. French lady scored them and then everyone, along with the scores and The Gunn, were whisked back to Parsons New York where they had to refit everyone's outfit. Before The Gunn let them get on with it, however, he yelled out, "You know the drill - MAKE IT WORK!" Niiiice! I only wish he would have been more 'concerned' this season - alas, it was not be, I guess. The only people who had real issues refitting were Kayne and Laura - Kayne, fortunately had decided to use a lace back on his corset so it wasn't a huge deal. Laura, though, had more issues as her collar was completely crushed in transit back from Paris.
Out on the catwalk, The Klum entered and introduced the judges - Michael Kors, Nina Garcia and Richard Tyler. On with the show...







The judges targetted Kayne first, saying his design was "very busy." Michael Kors got more to the point and said, "I think your middle name has gotta be 'Too Much'." Yowza! I myself find absolutely nothing wrong with his dress and frankly, think it was one of the better ones.
Vincent was next in the crosshairs with Nina telling him she was "confused" because it appeared the top of the dress was on backwards, or at the very least would look better backwards. Richard Tyler, though, was more put off by Vincent's attempt to resurrect the spirit of Angela...


Michael, too, received some ribbing, most specifically about his neckline, which looked terribly odd. Once he tucked them in, all of the judges agreed that the difference was night and day.
The black wool dress made by Laura was also not that well received. Richard Tyler thought the collar looked lifeless, while Nina said it just looked 'old' (as in out of style). As usual Michael had the best take, saying, "If you shortened it and gave her a duster, she could be a French maid."
The designers were led off the runway as the judges then deliberated. While deliberating, they went over the French Lady's scores, who scored Uli and Jeffrey very highly. To Vincent's dress, she wrote, "No, no, no, no, no."
All 6 designers were then brought back out and Jeffrey was announced as the winner. I must say, he did deserve to win this week, IMHO. Uli's dress was nice, but not couture. In the end, it came down to Laura and Vincent standing on the runway. Thankfully, it was Vincent who was sent home, almost immediately regretting his choice of fleurchamps (sic) on the model's ass. Before leaving, Vincent managed to let us know one more time that he 'got off' by being on Project Runway - fuckin' ew.

Tim G. "Make it work" count = 13
Tim G. "I'm concerned" count = 2

Okay, I've become increasingly frustrated with this new 'improved' blogger beta...first off, it took me 4-5 days to figure out why certain people could comment, while others could not and I myself was having trouble commenting on other blogs. This problem was never 'fixed' mind you, I just found a work around.
Then I started having trouble uploading photos to my blog.
My specific problem, which appears below, was that the convenient little "DONE" button never appears so basically, my photos were being uploaded but I could never complete the operation, so I'd never see them.

Do you see a "Done" button? Neither do I.

Of course, a couple days later, a report on the matter appears on the Blogger Beta dashboard...
If you look closely, you can see a nice bit of blue text saying "If you still have image upload problems on the beta please report them to us so we can get them solved." Cool.

I use Firefox and normally refuse to use Internet Explorer (as you know) so having to write THIS blog entry through IE is making my blood boil even more. Even in writing this entry, the uploaded pictures disappear randomly, can't be cut and pasted, the html gets fucked up almost instantly, you can't centre or justify text effectively, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., because IE is the shittiest, more over-used, over-rated piece of absolute garbage EVER.

Anyway, if you click on the "Report them to us" link, it takes you here:

Once open, we see the text below, with a teensy, tiny bit of text saying "let us know" so I click on it.