Last night’s Ugly Betty, “A Thousand Words by Friday,” was the saddest episode yet. And I don’t mean because anything particularly sad happened. I’m singing the Betty blues because it’s looking to be the last new episode we’re going to get in a long while.

It’s particularly painful because the show’s been on a real creative high lately. This week was filled with reminders of everything that makes this such a wonderful, totally unique series, and why our TV options will feel so paltry now that it’s gone:

1) It’s still the gayest show in town. At the start of the episode, a beautiful stranger played by Gabrielle Union approaches Daniel in a bar. She asks him to dance, claiming she’s trying to make her thug of a boyfriend jealous, and then wonders why Daniel’s not at all worried about getting pummeled.

Daniel: Your boyfriend’s making out with another dude.

And just like that, the camera cuts to two tattooed bikers going at it, hot and heavy, a gay kiss in the first minutes of a “family hour” primetime show. It was a funny surprise, but also a reminder of how Betty routinely manages to feature gay and gay-friendly characters within its world.

A similar moment came when Alexis casually referenced her transgender support group to Daniel. We’ve moved past the family conflicts that Alexis’ surgery had initially ignited; it’s simply a part of who she is now, not the central drama in her life. (At the same time, mention of a support group, the first we’ve heard of it, emphasized that even for someone as seemingly self-possessed as Alexis, it’s not always a walk on the catwalk.)

But what makes this not just a show with gay characters but a gay old time is the exhilarating way every detail – the set decoration, camerawork, costumes, music, campy dialogue – brings out a gay sensibility in the show’s look and feel unlike anything else on TV right now. It’s like watching an early Almodóvar movie unfold on your TV screen week after week.

With its occasional glimpses of steamy telenovelas on the Suarez Family TV, Ugly Betty has never hidden its affinity for the soap operatic. They’ve done the coma and amnesia thing, and last night it was time for the obligatory trial.

While there were no “Joan Collins walks into the courtroom” shockers, it was at least mercifully short and finally put an end to the whole Fey Sommers murder plot that’s been lingering since the pilot. I’m grateful because the Meade family and their problems never hold much interest for me, although I really like Judith Light and am looking forward to seeing what she'll do next, now that she’s free of orange jumpsuits and Chained Heat innuendo.

The best thing about the trial was seeing guest stars Paul McCrane (a.k.a. E.R.’s evil Dr. Romano), and Barry Bostwick as dueling attorneys. Which meant we got to see the gay guy from Fame go head to head with bisexual Brad from Rocky Horror. If either of them had started singing (“I want to go crazy like those dogs in the yard” or “Dammit, Janet, I love you”), I think I might have become as deliriously giddy as Betty during her 48-hour bender.

Betty spent most of the episode tripped out of mind, having spritzed herself with frog venom perfume that Fey had used to try to kill off Claire. Suddenly, Betty was acting just like Lisa Simpson after she drank the acid-laced water at DuffWorld and got all “I am the lizard queen! I can see the music!”

America Ferrara did such a good job acting stoned, and the show used music, camera angles, and trippy costume designs so effectively to show her POV, that I started to feel kind of queasy myself. It was like watching a Skittles commercial drawn out for 45 groovy minutes.

In one of the best-ever lines on Ugly Betty, Hilda once referred to the Mode offices as being “like a gay version of Star Trek.” Watching last night’s new episode, I thought she might be onto something. There was something very sci-fi about the way Marc managed to appear in so many scenes, as if he’d figured out a way to teleport into other characters’ storylines.

The extra dose of Marc - plus a Justin visit to Mode (more on that later) - made this one of the strongest episodes this season, a welcome relief after the recent creative slumpette and holiday hiatus.

The episode kicked off with Marc asking Wili to “turn around and bend over.” While Marc claimed this was something he never thought he’d say to a woman, I bet he says that to all the boys. He was in the midst of giving Wili hormone injections in preparation for her plan to propagate Bradford’s demon spawn, leading the dragon lady to act uncharacteristically “hormotional.” When Wili went digging through the freezer, I assumed she was searching for the half-pint of Bradford sperm she was keeping on ice (giving new meaning to the flavor "Cookies and Cream"), but she was merely on a hormone-induced binge.

While Marc, accustomed to giving Wili injections thanks to all the botox sessions, was fine with the hormone stuff, the more graphic elements of artificial insemination had him visibly grossed out. His expressions of nausea and disgust while overhearing Wili with her doctor were priceless, especially when Wili interrupted their cell phone call to bark at her doctor, “What is the hold-up down there? Last time I was in stirrups this long, I brought home a blue ribbon from Palm Beach equestrian.”

On Survivor, the reunion specials offer the pleasure of seeing people who clearly loathe each other pretending (badly) that they don’t any more, as well as after-the-fact insights into the hugely misguided thinking behind their failed strategic decisions.

That’s something Top Chef can’t really replicate -- how interesting would it really be to hear reflections along the lines of “I guess in retrospect I really should have cooked that chicken all the way through” -- so the only real interest I had in watching the second reunion special this season was confirmation that it wasn’t just a horrible dream and Hung had in fact won. (Part of me was hoping we’d actually get a “do-over” challenge here, because it’s not like this show has proven itself above that kind of blatant disregard for established procedure.) Oh, and I also wanted to see if Dale is still cute. Happily, the answer is "Yes," but sadly, it’s also "Yes" to the Hung question as well.

The reunion kicks off with this very topic, as Bravo Andy (a.k.a. “Brandy”) asks if the right chef won. The only one to answer is tellingly the person who spent the least amount of time with him, Sandee, who says, Hung was “the one to beat,” apparently forgetting about the other 13 cheffersons she also wasn’t able to beat. Brandy pushes the point and directly asks if Hung should have won and is met with a show of hands. These are not, I suspect, hands raised in support of Hung but more likely requests for permission to leave the room and barf.

I was hoping that in an hour of television that managed to find time for such urgent topics as which person Gail would like to cater her wedding, Brandy would ask Hung if there’s a special someone in his life and of what gender, or at least clarify his “I can go both ways” comment from his audition tape. No such luck. Instead, Hung is given yet another chance to defend his strategy of being an a-hole. Hung blah blah blahs about not letting feelings get in the way of competition. And Dale, bless his bandana-ed heart, pipes in here that it’s also about the kind of chef you are and says he’s the type of chef who’s going to help out the person next to him, whether it’s in the restaurant kitchen or in a competition.

We’ve made it through Clay, Sandee, Micah, two Saras, and a bunch of other people I don’t really remember or care about. We’ve also made it through two wars, IQF, the Smurf Village, disasters on sea and air, dinner at the Elks, and dinner made from elks. And now, we’ve finally made it to Top Chef: Miami: Aspen, and it’s going to be coming to you (almost) live. I’m a liveblogging virgin, so please be kind. And if you can’t be kind, please be quiet.

For the occasion, I’ve lined up a festive meal for myself of an applecore amuse bouche, vanilla lobster tail, reinterpreted meatloaf, raw jerk chicken, broccolini, prosciutto cigars, black-and-blue elk, yogurt cheesy poofs, and of course everyone’s favorite -- salmon -- all stored in the fabulous, handy Glad family of products. (There you go, Glad people. I did it just like you asked, so you can go ahead and send me that check now.) And of course I’ve got my big bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin (ditto for you Bombay). I plan on drinking whenever Padma does, so who knows if I’ll even be able to type after the Quickfire. This should be, if not coherent, at least interesting.

Tonight all our Top Chef questions will be answered. Will Casey’s frog Grandmama have a Pan-Asian family recipe to help the perky Rachel-lookalike to victory? Will Chef Tom like the taste of Hung, if the Robochef starts, as directed, putting more of himself in every bite? Will Dale remember to count how many judges there are and make enough entrees? And most importantly, where is Ted and what have they done to him?

Across the blogosphere, Hung or Casey are the odds-on favorites, but here, we’ll only let ourselves celebrate if the self-proclaimed “Big Gay Chef” wins. He might not be crowned Top Chef, but here at AfterElton.com, Dale will always be Top.

Liveblogging starts after the jump a few minutes before 10PM EDT!

Finally we’ve made our way to Aspen, the appeal of which I have to admit is largely lost on me. I’m more on the Eva Gabor end of the Green Acres spectrum, and all the John Denver outdoorsy porn shots in the world – snowcapped mountains, gurgling rivers, and all that fresh air crap – aren’t going to change that.

Bravo kept calling this “the first part of the finale.” I kept calling it the “second to last episode,” because other than the fact it was in a different location and the four remaining cheffersons had had a relaxing month off – as signified by Dale’s reddish-to-blondish ‘hawk shift – it was pretty much more of same challenge-wise.

The Quickfire Challenge was at the “Frying Pan River,” which sounds way too cutesy to be a real place, more like a reference from a lesser-known verse of “Puff the Magic Dragon.” And when I saw the giant balloon that would take them there, I naturally assumed Howie was around, because how else do you explain all that hot air?

The challenge focused on using freshly caught trout and preparing it in just 20 minutes, and frankly, anyone who has to gut and clean a fish deserves an award of some type. On the less disgusting side, the guest judge was “badass” (Hung’s words) fish savant, Eric Ripert of the famed Le Bernadin, who, unlike the smug, insufferable Frenchman of the Daniel variety, was more the handsome, sensuous Frenchman of cologne and hair salon ads.

First off, my apologies that this Recap is a few days late and on the short side. I was off celebrating the Jewish New Year, praying my hardest that Bravo wouldn't air any more surprise "Do-Overs" or "Watch Nothing Happen" specials to prolong this already interminable season.

This episode is called "Snacks on a Plane," and while that's a cutesy enough pun, I question the wisdom of referencing a notorious example of a massively over-hyped piece of schlock entertainment that failed miserably in terms of actual execution and performance. Do you really want us to start connecting those dots, Bravo? What's it going to be next week, "Fishtar"?

Most weeks begin with a few of the cheffersons fondly recalling the most recent bootee and talking about how much they'll be missed. But now they just skip right past that part; they can do that because this week it didn't happen in the first place. Really, what could any of them have said positively about Howie, short of, "I'll really miss the guy, because he made me look so talented/sane/skinny by comparison."

But to my great surprise, by the end of this episode, I found myself missing him. A lot. As I alluded to last week, the fun of reality shows isn't so much having an underdog to root for but a bulldog like Howie to root against. While I'd be crushed if anyone but Dale ultimately wins, I don't find any of the remaining cheffersons all that hateful or, to be totally honest, all that interesting to watch.

Now I'm venting all of my indignation at the people I think most deserving of elimination — the judges. As many forums and blog posts have addressed, judging criteria on this show is spotty at best, and a complete desecration of the concept of logic at worst. But this week exhibits the judging to be not only ridiculously arbitrary but downright nasty in a way I found decidedly unappetizing. You'll see what I mean.

Last week, several people told me I should have commented on the “Sexiest Judge” poll. I didn’t because at the time I couldn’t quite fathom what the results said about who’s actually watching this show. One of the few, albeit pleasant, surprises about this week’s Watch What Happens “special” is that it’s not only Top Chef’s gayest episode ever, it also offers some insights into those poll results.

Tom’s whopping 48% win does, it seems, indicate a major following of gay men -- at least, those who are smarter than your average gay, if you get the Jellystone reference (more on that in a moment). We also learn -- from a gay woman on this very show -- that the lesbians salivate over Padma, which is probably a factor in her 38%. As for the 14% who voted for Gail, I’m still stumped. My best guess is they’re pragmatic straight male foodies who think that, should they run into them at the singles bar at the Food & Wine expo, they have a better shot at Gail than Padma, especially if they tell her they voted for her.

These numbers don’t, however, account for the percentage of masochists and insomniacs Bravo is apparently catering to with this snoozapalooza. Between a clip show and a reunion special, it’s pretty much a toss-up which is more pointless and boring, and Bravo in its wisdom has decided to give us a freakish hybrid of the two -- with questions from viewers and “behind-the-scenes” footage thrown in just for the hell of it. Frankly, this whole season has felt like it’s been behind the scenes of a far more interesting show we’re never allowed to see.

No Worries! No actual spoilers included.

You're probably wondering why in the world all this site seems to cover these days is Xanadu. It's because we're changing the name to "afterxanadu.com." Actually, make that "before_during_after_ under_behind_andkneelinginfrontof_CheyenneJackson." Dot com.

Since many of you might still be booking travel arrangements to come to New York to see the beauty that is Xanadu On Broadway in person - and you'd better hurry, or you'll officially no longer be gay - we decided it would be helpful to tide you over with a recap, unfiltered by anything distracting like intelligent writing and actual critical judgment.

When you first go into the Helen Hayes Theater, right away you can see the set, a Grecian amphitheater thingie like in that episode of Star Trek where Kirk and Spock reenact Spartacus, complete with inappropriate fondling. Suspended above the stage is what appears to be an enormous side-view car mirror. I start to worry that maybe we've walked into a new Disney show, "Honey, I Shrunk the Gays."

I also notice there are people sitting on stage who don't appear to be the actors. I can tell because only a few of the men are wearing makeup, and everyone looks uncomfortable and frightened, like they're wondering what will happen if during the show one of the actors is distracted by something shiny and decides to attack. Hah! That's what you losers get for being too cheap to fork over your life savings for a full-price ticket and too unimaginative to come up with some bogus blogging recap scam.

A woman sitting behind me opens her Playbill and says, "They made a musical from the book Wicked?" This leads me to look around the audience and notice, with surprise, that a show that's been described as the gayest thing since Happy Feet has an audience largely filled with what are clearly straight tourists. I comment on this to my wise, wonderful partner Mark, who says, "Don't worry. The gays just like to come late." And sure enough, at 5 minutes after 8, there's this mad rush as tides of hair-gelled, Kiehls-scented men storm through the theater doors, like the start of a Dolce & Gabbana sample sale.

They all stop and collectively gasp, me included, as Cheyenne Jackson comes on stage, and it immediately becomes clear what the big mirror is for - so that everyone can get a good close look at his glorious butt.

Queer Eye Ted finally shows up this week, bringing the tally of confirmed gays on this show up to an inspiring 2. Yay, Ted! We love Ted! Remember how much everybody loved Queer Eye for the first season and a half, right up until the “reunion” special when they looked back to see which guys were still acting queer and the hot guy who proposed to his girlfriend lost out to the shlumpy guy who made kosher foie gras?

My favorite thing about the Fab 5 was how in interviews they’d make a big deal about not being there to judge, and then they’d congregate in their secret gay lair, sip cosmos, and laugh their asses off at these poor straight doofuses. Frankly, I was convinced this show would never succeed, because I couldn’t imagine straight dudes willingly taking orders from the gays. But then I realized this has quietly been going on for millennia. I mean look at ancient Egypt – how gay was that?

And speaking of time in memoriam, seeing Ted on Top Chef made me realize that Queer Eye is the primordial ooze out of which all of Bravo’s programming evolved. Now we’ve got entire shows devoted to fashion, design, grooming, and food, and it’s only a matter of time before culture and manners gets its own show. I’m thinking something where a group of French maitre d’s and British governesses compete to be the best “etiquettestant.” It could be called Top Snob.