High Fugshion

After two days, countless subway rides (which we actually love) and way too many toe blisters, the New York cab drivers' strike is finally finished. Allegedly. Please, God. I feel like Amber on Big Brother, sitting on my bed tugging at my necklace and weepily thanking you aloud for the special vision you gave me of us swanning around town in easily accessible taxis -- finished with a heartfelt if slightly strange, "God bless you, God."

Here's a look at our latest on Show & Talk:

• Forget the other celebs at L.A.M.B. Little Kingston Stefani Rossdale totally stole the show, along with several hairs from Diddy's coif.
• Okay, no, forget Kingston; Clive Owen is the hottest thing we've seen yet. In fact, we reached an overload on use of the word "hot" because of him.
• Teri Hatcher was the orangest thing we've seen.

Also, when we mentioned that Mischa Barton looked "dressed down" and a little slovenly at Miss Sixty, we were being charitable. Check it:

On our first day prowling the tents at Bryant Park, we can report with fair confidence that Ashlee Simpson's nose job is just as good as we thought; Sophia Bush is one of the celebs we most want to take out for shopping and an Ice Blended; and we couldn't be more thrilled that Jessica Paster seems to be eclipsing Rachel Zoe as Hollywood's favored stylist because she doesn't seem interested in a) undereating, b) overtanning, or c) spawning clones. She also seems less likely to want to kick us in the face, but you never know.

But by far the best celebrity sightings of the day are things that we trust most of our readers will cherish as we do. First, roaming around the Vena Cava show was the latest and yet slightly less douchey deviant boyfriend on The Hills: the one and only Justin-Bobby (so named, for the uninitiated, because....some of his friends call him Justin, and some call him Bobby, or something, like, HELLO, Audrina, this is NOT GOING TO WORK OUT, regardless of the fact that he's also the kind of dude who says stuff like, "Truth and time tell all," instead of a simple, "Nah, I don't I'm ever going to commit to you"). Naturally, J-B was wearing what appeared to be a homemade beret.

Then, back at the tents just in time for Gwen Stefani's L.A.M.B. show (more on that tomorrow), we actually unconsciously grabbed each other's arms in delight when we caught sight of John Basedow, Patriotic Fitness Addict. To this minute we're unsure how we recognized him without his shirt on, or without the familiar sight of the American flag billowing behind him in those old ads (the ones where he looked older somehow than he does now, MAGICALLY). But he was toting a camera crew with a RockMeTV.com sticker on it, so we can only assume he is there to spread the word via audio-visual wizardry that you are, indeed, fully encouraged to rock him. We are also pretty sure that, if death is not an option, we'd still leave him behind in favor of Body By Jake. What can we say? Look at the Basedow pictures -- they'll haunt your dreams. Like ghouls. In Justin-Bobby berets.

Check NY Mag's Show and Talk Blog for more Fashion Week yadda yadda yadda, including the shocking development that Ashlee Simpson IS capable of taking off her stupid fedora.

You probably know April Scott from such meaningful, touching roles as Model #14, Girl in Bikini, Model, Model, Vegas Girl, or -- my personal favorite -- Runway Model. Verily, Los Angeles Fashion Week truly does attract the upper echelon of the celebrity crop. Okay, so she also took over the Jessica Simpson role in the straight-to-USA Network prequel to The Dukes of Hazzard, Dukes of Hazzard: The Beginning, and while I have not seen this program, I am QUITE sure that she is better in the part than poor J. Simp was. I mean, for serious: I've never heard a worse Southern accent on an actress and JESSICA IS FROM THE SOUTH.  Just TALK, you moron. God. But this was not meant to devolve into a diatribe against poor Simpson The Elder who -- as long as we're talking about her -- looks pretty cute as a brunette, I must say, and who has been pleasantly low key lately.

But yes. April Scott. For those of you keeping score at home, the IMDb keywords for her Dukes TV effort are: Prequel, Sequel, Buxom, Cleavage, Underwear, so I'm advising a certain portion of our reading audience to set their TiVos, and don't complain I never did nothing for you. Much as this rather unfortunate dress does nothing for Miss Scott: 

Why, it's camouflaging all her keywords!

Hayden Panettiere of Heroes is so cute, and that is an adorable apron she's wearing. But ... what gives, cheerleader? Did the hot, mysterious Haitian secretly pluck all memory of the concept of shirts from your brain? That seems awfully pervy of him.

Dear Nicky Hilton,

You're in the front row at L.A. Fashion Week, and you're related to that drippy suckmaggot Paris -- she who blithely did her makeup in the middle of a Max Azria show in September -- so we shouldn't be surprised that you have a short attention span yourself.

And we were even willing to give you the benefit of the doubt that, mid-show, you were merely idly clutching your BlackBerry because you didn't have anything else to do with that hand -- perhaps Brandon Davis was on your other side, for instance, and you were trying not to catch anything via accidental contact. That's certainly completely understandable.

But then we saw another photo.

Blu Cantrell is the Old Faithful of fuggery, not in the sense that she is old -- she's a year younger than I am (allegedly) and therefore is a mere spring chicken about to burst into bloom. Or something  -- but because she can be counted on, like the famous geyser, to erupt into something noteworthy roughly every hour and a half. We haven't seen much of Blu lately, so this eruption was overdue. And it did not disappoint:

It's like she's gone to Los Angeles Fashion Week for the express purpose of finding a shirt to wear that very night.

According to TMZ, my beloved Janice Dickinson has been banned from several shows at Los Angeles Fashion Week, following some shenanigans of some sort.* (Janice? Shenanigans? Shut your mouth.) While I was sort of surprised to read that Janice had actually been barred from any event -- seriously, have none of the event organizers read her books? They are hilarious. She is a national treasure. A probably drunk, definitely unpredictable trainwreck, but a treasure nevertheless -- I wasn't surprised to hear that she was in the news thanks to her LA Fashion Week behavior, as I had already seen the pictures.

This is the week that Janice demonstrated why a dress can be dangerous if you've been [ALLEGEDLY, POSSIBLY, MAYBE, PERHAPS] imbibing:

Don't do that in a dress! Especially in a wrap dress! Those are tights -- not leggings, not trousers, not jeans, not shorts. They have a visible cotton crotch. I don't need to see Miss Janice's cotton crotch.

OR her ass:

I am totally a fan of Robbie Williams, and I've often wondered why he hasn't done better in the United States. He's so talented and charming and funny: the episode of Cribs where he passes off Jane Seymour's house (well, manor. Castle. Whatever) as his own is particularly brilliant. However, all that being said, I do wish he would wear a proper shirt when he leaves the house:

Because this is less Sexy Insouciant Pop Star Out On The Town and a little more Transient Out In Your Alley.

Okay, maybe it's not totally fair to call Danica McKellar by her Wonder Years alter-ego's name, as if she has never achieved anything else in life, but seriously, it's a compliment. Who didn't love Winnie Cooper and her pretty, pretty long hair? We all hoped she and Kevin Arnold would get it together, because -- to mix references for a second -- they were clearly each others' densities. Plus, the trivia that half the reason the characters ever had a falling-out was because Danica's growth spurt came faster than Fred Savage's and they didn't look right together is really kind of hilarious.

But then Danica McKellar decided to do something unusually ambitious: She dropped out of the public eye and went to college, and not only turned out to be some kind of math genius but actually helped prove a new theorem that now is named after her. Suck on that, Good Will Hunting. There aren't too many ways to top that, unless NASA decides to rechristen one of its shuttles "Danica," or somebody discovers a new constellation that clearly depicts her image. Me, I'd settle for having Diet Coke rename itself after me, but since "Diet Cocks" isn't really all that appealing-sounding (and yes, that is how you spell my last name, for real, and no, I was never a man) I can't see it ever happening.

At any rate, apparently Danica McKellar came from a blessed gene pool. Because aside from all that mathematical excitement, and her robust brains, she also grew up very lovely.

Why is Maria Conchita Alonso on the floor?

Her dress might be sort of cute, if she weren't busy obscuring it by genuflecting to the photographers at L.A. Fashion Week. Perhaps she's trying to prove the girls are legit, or perhaps she's suggestively trying to see just how deeply one dandy lensman's zoom can penetrate. Either way... we really just wish she'd get up, because it seems a bit needy and sad, and also, we're sure whichever random starlet she borrowed the knee pads from could really use them back.