No more business suits - Only fursuits
So much new technology. So much new information. And apparently our sartorial innovations ground to a halt around 60 years ago. Hipsters don't count.

Total props to Mad Men, but the suit and tie has got to go. And VCs, I'm looking at you. No more blue shirt and khakis. It's time to for humans to zoo it up.

Power players dress like lions. Lawyers get sharky. Nothing like a sheep suit if you're staying at home watching Fox news or QVC.

Let's see some momma bears at the market and hawks in the pentagon.

I think Wes Anderson will soon find himself the next top designer.

Little Martha Kostyra, how far you have come in the world. The ultimate assimilatrix, metamorphosed through the chrysalis of Columbia's sister to emerge, not a butterfly, but a WASP.

Now that your longstanding Polish-Hungarian alliance is broken, you've done your time, and poor Kublai Khan Paw Paw is gone, you must appreciate a few homey moments away from the glare of your own perfection.

Martha Stewart's public aesthetic is a mannered culinary drag performance. I'd hope she'd find comfort in real foods reflecting the unbleached traditions of her heritage.

Vodka
It's a slavic word meaning "little water", first recorded in 1405 in the court documents of the Palatinate of Sandomierz in Poland.

The perfect starter for our domestic Polish queen would be a few ice cold shots of Belvedere with fried mushrooms on the side. I picture her laughing, demurely at first, then beginning to gesture with greasy fingers animated, telling stories of her dad, who was a bastard, but pushed her to succeed.

We'd toast her mother, the original Martha, so recently departed.

Maybe there would also be some fat little herring in sour cream.

Kapuśniak
For the soup course, sour cabbage to sharpen the palate in advance of the rich dishes to follow.

Between spoonfuls we'd debate the relative merits of the love bestowed by dogs and men. I wonder whether she curses the name of Mr. Space Tourist, or whether she cut his line and set him adrift into the arms of a Swedish fetus.

Carp
It's traditionally a Christmas dish, but I'm not going to start eating pork just to please a guest, served accompanied by potato dumplings and maybe some carrots for color.

For extra fun, I'd keep the carp alive in the bathtub until she arrived and we could kill it together.

Plum Cake
Since it's summer and Martha loves seasonal treats, I think she'd appreciate a Placek ze Sliwkami and some very strong coffee. By this point I expect to have heard the life stories of each of her horses and how she rides bareback on warm summer nights wearing only a linen shift and a drop of Givenchy Organza.

We'd take our coffee to the sofa and see what's on the TiVo. I wonder whether she'd like Dexter, or is more of a CSI fan.

"She is very heavy, and always stepping on us with her large feet. I feel so violated. The toes, they are very ugly.

And why do *we* never get a break? Is it because we are slip-ons and she is very lazy? Yes, that is it, she is so lazy. I see the others hiding under the bed. They laugh. They are deceitful and cunning, all piled up in the darkness.

"Oh, ha ha. It is your turn again today! You have no buckles! You are too simple. Enjoy your day in the gutter, pumps!"

This morning she almost reached for our blue sisters with two straps that buckle, but we saw the hesitation, and then our fate was determined.

Every night we pray. Perhaps a heel will fall off and we will get a rest. But no, we are too sturdy. Like those beaten-down carriage horses with the dull eyes who pull the lazy tourists around, our work will not be over until we fall dead in the streets.

Such is the life of a shoe."