I Wonder if He Could Muster Up These Emotions About Global Warming, Poverty, or Iraq
If Things Get Really Dicey, They’re Saving Tom Cruise for Later This Afternoon
So the “Doogie is Gay” thing didn’t work. But that hasn’t stopped the Republican-Hollywood gossip conspiracy! In a last-ditch effort to keep the American public permanently distracted from today’s elections, the Republicans have asked Britney to divorce Kevin Federline.
Yul to Photographers: When the Hair Goes, No More Dick Shots
TMZ: “A full-frontal picture of the actor, taken in the 1940’s for an art study, is currently up for auction on eBay. While the photo is explicit, the most surprising aspect is that Yul actually has a full head of hair.”
MTV Doesn’t Care About Black People (Black People Jumping Across Canyons, That Is)
CBS: “West apparently was so disappointed at not winning for Best Video that he crashed the stage Thursday in Copenhagen when the award was being presented to Justice and Simian for ‘We Are Your Friends.’ In a tirade riddled with expletives, West said he should have won the prize for his video ‘Touch The Sky,’ because it ‘cost a million dollars, Pamela Anderson was in it. I was jumping across canyons.’”
Our One Piece of Celebrity News
While the rest of the world ponders Whitney Houston and a certain baby’s existence, I find more comfort with the news that Barbara Walters is batshit insane.
1,000 of Those Life Coaches Have Been Hired by Tom Cruise
New York Times: “But behind the scenes life coaches are also finding plenty of work in the entertainment business. As their ranks swell nationwide — the International Coach Federation says its membership has doubled to 9,500 personal and business coaches since 2001, 56 percent of them in the United States — a growing roster is specializing in celebrities and Hollywood.”
Natalie Buzzed
So I’ve made my email rounds. And I thought I was alone in this. But apparently I’m not. The conclusion? Natalie Portman is MUCH sexier with a buzz cut. And at least five of my fellow geek buddies agree. It’s not the fact that she played a seminal role in an Alan Moore film adaptation. Irrespective of this pop cultural association, facts being what they are, Natalie has a pretty sexy head. So I post this message to the public, telling you that if you lust in any way for Natalie Portman sans follicles, you are perfectly normal. But if there are any experts here who might comment upon this contretemps or who may have a dissenting opinion, the thread, of course, is yours.
Regardless, I’m happy to pop that cherry, if you aren’t.
Mariah Carey: The Terri Schiavo of Our Time?
What to you, dear readers, is the apotheosis of laziness? Is it letting the dirty dishes pile up over the course of a week? Is it being too indolent to go to the gym?
Well, Mariah Carey just might have you beat. From The Sun:
The singer — famous for her outrageous demands — stunned fans by being too lazy to lift the cup herself. A brunette assistant had to perform the task at regular intervals while the singer signed copies of her album The Emancipation of Mimi.
Yippie Kayee, Mother Oprah
In an utterly baffling development, James Frey has found an unexpected supporter in Bruce Willis: “Look at what happened to James Frey in the last two weeks,” says Willis. “That’s a great book and so is the follow up book. And just because his publisher chose to say that these were memoirs, it took it out of being a work of fiction, a great work of fiction and very well written to this guy having to go be sucker punched on OPRAH by one of the most powerful women in television just to grind her own axe about it. ‘Hey, Oprah. You had President Clinton on your show and if this prick didn’t lie about a couple of things I’m going to set myself on fire right now.’” (via Defamer)
Indiana Jones and the AARP Membership
On Indiana Jones 4: “I’d like to get it over with so I don’t have to answer the god-damned questions [about it] anymore.”
On doing stunts: “”I don’t do stunts! I do physical acting! That’s a big f—ing difference.”
Perhaps he’s just bitter because The Pink Panther beat out Firewall, proving that audiences are, despite previous predictions, getting tired of seeing Harrison Ford kick ass and bark, “I want my family back!”
Cultural Boredom = Codeword for Vanilla?
I only post this because Elizabeth Crane is a bad influence.
A few years from now, when the midcareer profile writers sum up the artistic achievements of Drew Barrymore and Strokes drummer Fabrizio Moretti, there is little doubt in my mind that this incident will sum up in one fell swoop the collected insignificance of their respective cultural contributions. I don’t object to having sex in public restrooms (and, truth be told, I’ve had sex in far more dangerous places). I actually approve of this part of the tale. But when an individual is presented La Boheme and reduced to boredom in a world of limitless possibilities, call it a hunch, but I’m guessing that person probably isn’t going to be a lot of fun in the sack.
It’s Good to Know the Experts Are Pooling Their Resources Together for the Hard Issues
Press Telegram: “The online ‘Onion’ once reported that Brad Pitt was bored with Jennifer Aniston’s naked body, a claim that virtually every male of any age and almost any species recognized to be insane or an underhanded insult directed at Pitt. The notion now has been debunked by Peter Castro, executive editor of People magazine the publication that broke the story of the Pitt-Anistan separation.”
Anthropology Awaits
Thankfully, circumstances have made us unexpectedly busy for the next four days. So our recently misinterpreted fury (not directed at James in general, who for the most part is a competent critic, save for the piece in question) has been siphoned into more productive conduits. Please visit the fine folks on the left in our absence. We’ve got work to do.
In the meantime, we leave you with the following personality test. Between these two actresses, who do you prefer?
I’ll keep the lips sealed on my choice until the ballots are in. But from a sociological standpoint, I’m decidedly curious.
Separated at Birth?
LEFT: Lynndie England
RIGHT: Fairuza Balk in American History X
Denueve — Apparently, No William Styron
Catharine Denueve’s diaries, A l’ombre de moi-mꭥ, were published in France last week, creating something of an uproar. Liz Hoggard doesn’t think it’s a big deal, pointing out, along with other critics, that the book is a collection of “food, the weather, wigs and costumes but disappointingly little on psychology.”
Tom Cruise: All-American Bacon
Well, Since It Seems So Important.
They gathered on the shifting sands, away from the bright lights and the big stars. Kith and kin caught on the question of kaput, the winds cutting across their chiseled jaws, freezing limber pecs and refrigerating halter tops housing surgical implants. It was an ineluctable assault on the California senses. Fifty degrees was just too damn cold. They were concerned. Perplexed. Unable to offer answers. Ensnared by the greatest enigma to face humanity since Poe whipped up his “Gold Bug” code or those planes disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle. But who really cared about these trivialities? There were more pressing concerns than the mysteries and achivements of the human race.
Their friend was behaving strangely.
No longer the virginal vixen they had worshipped. No longer the adorable fuck-me starlet coveted by Bob Dole. No longer the gal who might have slept with Justin Timberlake. Or not. But possibly a John Wayne Gacy in the making. A troubled soul.
Their friend had been spotted slamming shots. More than a few times. Oh, she was of drinking age. Of that, there could be no doubt. But because she was accustomed to staggering demands, because she was rich beyond the dreams of that amateurish carapace she had thrown off long ago when she crossed those Ts on a contract signed in blood, her employees were afraid to tell her that she had a sizable problem. But was it the steady lucrative paychecks or genuine commiseration? Was their friend naive enough to believe that she could buy the sympathies of an entourage or was it a classic case of amoritizing pathos to ensure popularity? Had she been told that all along?
Whatever the case, they kept the hard line. No problems. Nothing to report. Shot while trying to escape. But then their friend had been whisked out of the Palm Casino, vaguely cognizant, succored by white man’s burden. But, no, their friend had not imbibed beyond the pale.
Thoreau would have marveled over this denial of excess. If anything, the deceitful impressions slung by well-paid publicists would have sent him into a sudden apoplexy. Their friend could no longer be characterized as modest, as virtuous, as inherently good. Now she was a victim of her own restless problems. Of course, unlike most of the public, there was an image to perpetuate and a deep-seeded unhappiness to conceal. And if she had behaved like that without the platinum records, the limos and the Braques on the wall she never looked at, she would have been 86ed from any self-respecting dive, declared a high maintenance case among an inconsequential neighborhood, possibly left alone to inflict herself with a harder narcotic she couldn’t afford. A daily habit in the hundreds.
So when their friend sauntered down a Vegas “30 Minutes or Less” nave with all the sanctity of a microwaved Swanson TV dinner, tying the knot with a childhood friend, acknowledging the true ceremonial import with a garter over blue jeans, and when their friend cancelled the deal 55 hours later, it reflected something else that the newspapers hadn’t considered. She could marry on a whim and then throw it away. She could drink to excess and emerge with a momentarily crippling hangover. She could do almost anything and then forget it ever happened. Except one thing. A pivotal facet not long ago.
A recording contract. A Faustian deal she had to fulfill. The only commitment she had. Don’t point to the men who had perfected the art of harvesting profit over litigious decades. The star, as always, was the culpable one. Even a star young, dumb, and full of come who didn’t know any better.
And they concluded that if their friend fell asunder, or was trampled by her own coping mechanisms (harmful behavior which they encouraged), there would be another friend to grope and laud, to salivate for a time until this friend too became forgotten or the paychecks dried up. Fame was an airtight science, a neverending cycle. And the public would never stop making rash conclusions based on the few things they could espy through the tiny observational sliver.
[1/23/06 UPDATE: The original link above does not look, but it linked to a frivolous FOX News article with the headline, "Loved Ones Worry About Britney." The article is no longer available. It is as if FOX News's coveted resources were devoted to other things in January 2004.]
On the Run
Move over, Ali (Muhammad, not Monica). MIT scientist Michael Hawley has created the largest book. And he has the Guinness credentials (the record, not the beer) to prove it. Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Kingdom is 5′ X 7′, 112 pages and costs $2,000 to produce. Hawley’s charging $10,000, with the balance going to charity.
Madonna’s interested in a Ph.D. I don’t know what’s more frightening: the idea that Madonna has intellectual pursuits or this photo. (via Bookslut) [UPDATE: Well, goddam. Maud reports it's a hoax! That's what I get for racing through the newswires in a hurry.]
Richard Kopley has tracked down an unexpected Hawthorne inspiration source: an anonymous novel entitled The Salem Belle.
Hilary Clinton: “‘I love independent bookstores. I tried to go to as many of them as I could on this book tour. I had promised to try to go to the top markets and I’m slowly but surely checking them off.” Funny. The Simon Says site seems to be down, but she sure seems to be hitting a lot of Barnes & Nobles.
[Insert your obligatory Moses/Rasputin/Unabomber/Nostradamus-Hussein comparison here. Ha ha.]
