We all like to laugh at how dumb the Kardashian sisters are.How Kim doesn’t know when the camera is on.How Khloé marries an NBA player after knowing him for a month.How Kourtney is impregnated by the biggest douche bag this side of Spencer Pratt.
You could assume (and you’d be correct) that they don’t care how dumb they are.Nothing unusual.Most reality stars are smart enough to play up the dumb as part of some silly routine a 4-year-old would play, throwing their dinner on the ground over and over again, after getting a laugh the first time.And the second time…
Most reality starts get paid discouraging amounts of money to act like 4-year-olds – as Kim, Khloé and Kourtney do; Kourtney earns the least of the trio per year, coming in at $2 million.Most reality stars exploit their fame – as Kim does, earning around $10k each time she posts something on Twitter.
However, there is something about the Kardashian sisters – when you see them on talk shows, when you talk to them on the red carpet – that goes beyond the normal reality TV star obliviousness.There is a thick confidence to these girls.They are unflappable at any question.The make steady, warm, but unintimidating eye contact.They speak through agreeable smiles with measured congeniality.
We like to laugh at how dumb the Kardashian sisters are, but I have to admit, their confidence is to be admired.
I just figured something out. You know how Spencer Pratt sucks? And no matter how much you scream that he SUCKS, nothing brings him down -- in fact, saying how much he sucks just makes him stronger? Well I thought of one way to deflate him, to take him down, to cut the head off the monster. Four words: Sex Tape with Heidi.
Levi Johnston continues to rival his former baby mama’s mama (and the chick that invented Aqua Socks) for the title of My Favorite Person Ever. It’s a close race. Every time Sarah Palin says "Death Panel," Levi says "retarded baby." As Levi clamors for fame and Sarah clamors for book sales, every line uttered is better than the last. It’s like watching lemmings self-immolate or drunken teenagers try to talk themselves out of DUIs by offering free beers. Or an episode of "The Hills."
My love of Levi started 13 months ago, when we all met him as the kid who knocked up the daughter of the woman John McCain just picked as his running mate; I swooned when he and Bristol were considering a summer wedding (and maybe at the White House!); I got a bit giddy when he and Bristol Palin called it quits and said it was "a mutual thing"; I smiled for days after my friend called me from Wasilla to tell me he’d just bought weed from Levi’s friend; I couldn’t have been prouder when Levi’s mom was arrested on drug charges; I gave a round of high fives when the teenager Levi had knocked up became the poster girl for teen abstinence; I ROTFLMAO when that teenager was on the cover of People, holding her mistake I mean baby, saying, "If girls realized the consequences of sex, nobody would he having sex. Trust me. Nobody"; and I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming when Levi began to open the floodgates, saying that Sarah resigned the governorship due to marital troubles.
But the first time I said "I Love You" to Levi was when I saw him in the October 2009 Vanity Fair. The first quips were honey on my brain, but the final jab, coupled with more recent news is what sent me into love’s blind ambition, and now I can think about little else.
We started with " Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston was born a month later, on December 27 at 5:43 a.m. ("Mitchell" is Todd’s middle name and "Easton" is for my favorite hockey-equipment company.)" That led to the perhaps overly ambitious:
After Tripp was born, Sarah would pay more attention to our son than she would to her own baby, Trig. Sarah has a weird sense of humor. When she came home from work, Bristol and I would be holding Trig and Tripp. Sarah would call Trig—who was born with Down syndrome—"my little Down’s baby." But I couldn’t believe it when she would come over to us and sometimes say, playing around, "No, I don’t want the retarded baby—I want the other one," and pick up Tripp. That was just her—even her kids were used to it.
That’s pretty awesome. But what really sealed my heart in a hockey bag was news that Levi Johnston was going to pose for Playgirl and that he was going to do it "tastefully." Johnston said on CBS' Early Show, "We don't want no bad boy image. I don't want to be looked at as someone who is getting naked for fame."
And he’s not getting naked for fame. He’s getting naked because he is a great father. "I don’t ever want to be a deadbeat dad," Levi said in Vanity Fair. "I love Tripp, and my goal is to take care of my family. I could go out and do movies, maybe one day even end up as a celebrity."
Really, that’s the goal: to remove enough clothing to make enough money to take care of your family. What more could a girl want in a single dad. That’s not a question. Cause the answer is, nothing.
Of all the things celebrities endorse (or ostensibly create) none is stranger than the celebrity fragrance. A celebrity’s name on a scent – Michael Jordan Cologne, JLo Glow, Usher For Her, and so on and so on – indicates one of two things.
The first is that this fragrance smells like the named celebrity, which would in turn suggest the celebrity is renowned for her or his natural smell (I know no celebrities known for their smell, save Matthew McConaughey, and that’s not for a good smell) or that the celebrity has been around enough people for enough people to know what he or she smells like, and this is possible only for politicians; and if you want to smell like Joe Biden, seek help.
Otherwise, a celebrity’s name on a fragrance suggests that that he or she in an aficionado of scents (i.e. his sense of smell is better than yours, so thrust him). Other than Adrian Brody, I would trust no celebrity’s sense of smell over my own.
Within the odd world of celebrity scents, nothing is odder than the celebrity perfume commercial – it is naturally impossible to convey smell over a medium that carries only sight and sound.
So these commercials end up as invasive, glossy candid camera shots that catch celebrities doing mundane things that some psychologist somewhere told some ad man stimulate the olfactory area of the brain – or they end up as a play on the title of the scent, combined with a situation in which you should want to find yourself.
Enter a new oddity of oddities: the scent of the fictitious character. While Sarah Jessica Parker will undoubtedly be remembered for playing the ugly chick in "Sex and the City," rather than the ugly chick in "Footloose" or the ugly chick in "The Family Stone," she is not Carrie Bradshaw, her character from "Sex and the City." Nevertheless, SJP (as she’s known, I suppose) is releasing a scent that was inspired by "what I now understand to be people’s impressions of seeing Carrie Bradshaw walk down the street and what feelings that evokes for her and for them — a real sense of freedom and possibilities, a love for the city around her and, of course, fashion," says Parker.
It’s curious that not only did we run out of metaphors for perfumes – fresh spring rain, floral field – we ran out of actual people – Halle Berry and Isabella Rosselini sadly already have scents. Now we resort to fictional characters.
Soon Meredith Grey will release a scent right out of Seattle Grace Hospital that evokes the first memory one has after waking up from anesthesia – called "Open Heart" – and with the next Batman movie will come a scent from Bruce Wayne, called "Nocturnal," that combines the fruitiness of the fruit bat with the lust for blood of the vampire bat.
I’d buy both. And wear at once. If that doesn’t get you to like me, I give up.
I just woke up in the weirdest fucking dream: Jon and Kate Gosselin are still in the zeitgeist. How the hell did this happen? It’s like slap bracelets and big hair refused to die after 1992.
I just woke up this morning to the standard measure of pop culture cool, the Today Show, to learn that, not only was Chicago given the finger by the International Olympic Committee (despite the best efforts of Barack Obama, Michelle Obama and Oprah Winfrey), but that Jon and Kate continue to be the two craziest kids this side of broadcast TV.
I just woke up this morning to Matt Lauer asking Kate Gosselin’s lawyer why Kate and Jon continue to do the TLC show "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" when their lives (and relationships) are sustaining fire and brimstone.
"TLC released a statement on behalf of Kate that said, in effect, I continue to do this show because it provides me a way to support these children and opportunities for these children – obviously money is important to her," said Lauer without a bit of irony.
Lauer was serious. He seemed to hide the bitterness and incredulity that must be boiling under his Adam’s apple. He wasn’t interviewing the lawyer of the wife of a sociopathic, narcissistic (that’s right, I diagnosed him) personality disorder. And people cared.
But the sad part for Lauer (as a journalist anyway) is that people cared before the interview. The story wasn’t interesting. The person in the story was already of interest before this morning.
Now, I’d like to give credit to TLC producers for finding the craziest fucking guy they could and putting him on TV. But then I remember that they are TLC producers. They’re not looking for "Bad Girls Club," they’re looking for Ken Burns with multiple babies.
It just goes to prove what I’ve always said: if you want to be on reality TV at all, you’re a fire-crazy asshole.
P.S. Have you seen Mariah Carey’s new album? Does she go up a cup size with each new release? Every album is like a Maxim magazine cover. In fact, she should start an Oprah-style magazine and put herself in salacious poses on newsstands every month. We need a licentious Oprah. We have for a while.
Well, the most embarrassing thing is that Beyoncé won anyway. Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech for Best Female Video at the MTV Video Music Awards, saying, "I’m really happy for you, I’m gonna let you finish. But Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time." Then Beyoncé went no to win Video of the Year, indicating that, I suppose, Kanye was right: Beyoncé did have one of the best videos of all time.
Of course, logically, it’s impossible for Beyoncé to lose Best Female Video and win Video of the Year – kinda like a contestant being kicked off "Top Chef" in week two and then going on to win the finale – but, come on!, this is MTV, the network that calls itself Music Television without playing any music whatsoever. Suspend disbelief, people!
What can you say about Kanye’s outburst that hasn’t been said in the past day? There are dozens, if not hundreds of YouTube videos of people’s reactions (mostly people filming their own disgust with Kayne’s words and action). Even Barack Obama got into it calling Kayne West a "jackass" under his breath, off the record.
Kanye’s contrition last night on the premiere episode of "The Jay Leno Show" was elicited by Obama compounded with the crowd’s reaction at the VMAs, as well as Beyoncé’s response at the award show.
"I remember being 17-years-old, up for my first MTV award with Destiny’s Child," said Beyoncé. "And it was one of the most exciting moments in my life. So, I’d like for Taylor to come out and have her moment."
The beginning of Beyoncé’s courtesy was obviously scripted, but…whatever. I cried a little when she said that, so screw you.
Anyway, we haven’t answered our question yet: what can be said about Kanye’s outburst that hasn’t already been said? Do we have more outrage? Do we have more compassion to convey for Taylor Swift? More nods to appreciate the savoir faire of Beyoncé (read: MTV producers)?
I don’t. What we can say about Kanye’s outburst is that it is just another example of what I’m going to call the Rod Blagojevich Effect – and effect that, perfectly enough, Rod Blagojevich defined himself in his book "The Governor."
Here is a surefire way to get famous, writes Blagojevich. "Find a way to get yourself falsely accused of trying to sell a Senate seat the new president just held…And everyone will talk about you."
Blagojevich’s interruption of Obama’s transition to the White House became more "talked about" than Obama’s transition to the White House.
Similarly, our most talked about moments in the past week are not moments at all. They are moments, interrupted: from Rep. Joe Wilson interrupting President Obama’s speech on health care before a joint session of congress… to Serena Williams interruption of her US Open tennis match against Kim Clijsters so that she could berate a lines judge… to Kanye’s outburst at the MTV VMAs.
When it comes down to it, Kayne was right: Beyoncé did have a better video than Taylor Swift – which is why Beyoncé won Video of the Year. But, when it comes down to it, President Barack Obama was right as well: Kanye West is a jackass. So is Serena Williams. So is South Carolina Congressman Joe Wilson.
And, for good measure, what the hell… so are Heidi and Spencer.
Shawne Merriman, a star linebacker with the NFL's San Diego Chargers, was arrested on Sunday after a woman described as his girlfriend accused him of choking and restraining her, San Diego police said.
Tila Nguyen, a singer and TV personality under the name Tila Tequila, called police early on Sunday, the San Diego Sheriff's Department said in a statement. She was identified as Merriman's girlfriend in media reports.
Tequila said the incident occurred when she tried to leave his residence. She signed a citizen's arrest charging him with battery and false imprisonment, police said.
Merriman, through an attorney, ended up saying he was just trying to get a ride of the extremely intoxicated, extremely small woman. But Tila Tequila didn't see it that way so she "made a citizen's arrest," Sheriff's Lt. Gary Steadman tells People Magazine. Merriman was charged with battery and false imprisonment.
Both Merriman’s and Tila’s accounts of the incident are obvious lies. If Tila Tequila comes back to your house, the video camera and tripod should already be set up so that when she asks you to pull her hair and choke her during sex, you hear her say, "Pull my hair and choke me during sex." Or something like that.
On the other hand, if you’re under five feet tall, you don’t go to the home of an NFL linebacker who has a history of steroid use.
Here’s what really happened: Lots of coke on the part of Tila and Merriman. (Although witnesses at the bar say Tila was intoxicated with alcohol, we believe she wasn't drinking and that she is "allergic" as she claims. Not just because she is a tiny Asian woman. Ok. Yeah. Because she is a tiny Asian woman.) They go back to his place and start hooking up. At one point, the coke, which was laced with a small about of PCP causes Merriman to wonder why his Pokémon doll is talking. Understandably freaked out, he throws it in the corner with his other stuffed animals. Said Pokémon doll screams and calls 9-1-1 to make a citizens arrest. Simple mistaken identity. Case closed.
Maybe there’s something wrong with my DNA. I don’t get "Sex and the City."
Back in 1998, when the television series launched on HBO, the logline was: "Four beautiful female New Yorkers gossip about their sex-lives (or lack thereof) and find new ways to deal with being a woman in the 90’s."
I wasn’t a woman in the 90’s. Did one have to deal with it? Was it really that hard? Was it any different than being alive among the general population of the world? During any other, more oppressive time?
One of my female (and it turns out, New Yorker) friends wrote me this morning that she, too, didn’t get "Sex and the City." Or, rather, she got it but saw "the show like three times," and thought "it destroyed a generation of women."
Maybe if the females were somewhere other than New York, I’d get into it. Something like: "Four beautiful female Bosnian Muslims attempt to hide their families (or lack thereof) and find new ways to deal with the rape and genocide that is irrationally plaguing their neighborhoods in the 90’s."
Well, that sounds like a good show; so, maybe it’s more of a Showtime thing.
Big and Carrie or whatever shoot a scene in NYC this week.
So, now they’re making the second "Sex and the City" film. The tagline for the first film was "Get Carried Away." Cause Carried like Carrie, but like carry…anyway…
They are shooting in New York (of course) right now, and I almost can’t wait to see what the tagline and logline are for this next one. Eleven years after the TV series started, this might actually get interesting. None of these women are in their 30s any longer – and that Samantha, blonde one, played by a woman who was 40 in the 80’s, must spend six hours in makeup trying to cover up liver spots.
Might as well have Eddie Murphy dress up as the blonde one this time.
Maybe the plot of the second film revolves around what to wear to Samantha’s funeral. This only begs the question: How far will Darren Star go with necrophilia?
For this second film, look for the logline: "Four aging, unattractive females buy clothing two generations too young (or maybe three) and gossip about how Ensure tastes like semen if you close your eyes and gargle."
Look for product integration from KY INTENSE: Arousal Gel for Her.
Watched “Twilight” for the first time last night.(That link is back there so you can suffer as much as I.)I’ve figured out where the immortal beings went between “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” (ended in 2003) and “True Blood” (began in 2008).They went to become X-Men.
I don’t understand the sped-up shots and “whoosh” sound effects that indicate vamps are moving quickly.I don’t get that they are now super-human.I do get that they are, and always have been, as my colleague Jim McAllister pointed out in an earlier post, sexually charged like some kinda high school quarterback with large teeth.But I lament the fact that vampires these days are created only for high school girls.
The casting and shot choices in “Twilight” made it seem like three strung-together episodes of a CW show.The next film, “New Moon” – out on Nov 20 – has a new director.No longer is the ineptitude of Catherine Hardwicke behind the monitor.Now, they’ve got Chris Weitz, who, while he’s no Bryan Singer, has at least directed “The Golden Compass,” a respectable CGI-green screen-special effects-dependant film.The closest Hardwicke came to working with effects was a stunt stake boarder doing a fakie frontside 360 in the below average “Lords of Dogtown.”
Weitz also wrote “Compass.” So you know he’ll be able to correct some of the scripts lines.Few things were more painful than a sparkly Robert Pattinson responding to Kristen Stewart (“This kinda stuff just doesn’t exist.”) with: “It does in my world.”If only the writer had added “baby.”
Speaking of sparkly – really?Vampires sparkle in the sun light.“It’s like diamonds,” says Kristen Stewart’s character, Bella, flatly.No.It’s like he’s a club kid.
Club Kids on New Year's Eve 1994.
Actually, that should be the plot of a fifth book: flashback to where Edward Cullen was in 1992.Licking crushed up E off of Michael Alig's ass at 4am at Limelight.
The biggest problem with vampire shows and films is that vampires are restricted to a reality, a set of rules, without being restricted at all.Each vampire film creates a different realty by saying, “What you’ve heard about vampires isn’t true.”In “Twilight,” clearly sunlight didn’t kill vampires (they stayed away from it for vanity’s sake) and you could see them in mirrors (also for vanity’s sake, I suppose).
“What did you expect? Coffins and dungeons and moats?” Edward says at one point.Well…yeah.You can’t just borrow someone’s creation and change the rules.It’s like going back to Oliver Twist’s home and finding out that he sleeps in a pile of gold while beautiful naked women fan him with new-car-scented palm leaves.“What’d you expect?Fagan’s closet?”Well…yeah…fuck you.
If Edward would have had a coffin and Bella STILL loved him “unconditionally and irrevocably” (oh, please) THAT woulda meant something.That would have at least created some sort of parable wherein you learn that the dress doesn’t make the girl, it’s the girl that makes the dress…or whatever.Not just that a freaky sexual deviant can also have a normal-looking bedroom.
Jim McAllister is right; vampires are nothing more than sex addicts.As a friend reviewed “Twilight” for me this morning, she said, “It’s not the worst movie ever, but if you compare it to the book, it is stale and has no plot.And it makes Edward look like a stalker.”
She went on to say that Kristen Stewart sucked, but Robert Pattinson did a great job.Sure, the popularity of the film was great for Stewart and (book author) Stephanie Meyer, but no one is reaping more benefit than Pattinson who, evidently, stays in character for three years around filming so that he can master the accent, stay pale and sleep with high school girls – something he denies.
Pattinson still a vampire. Always a vampire.
“You always think you're going to get more girls after you've made a movie and it never happens,” Pattinson told the Daily Mirror this week.After which, he laughed hysterically and asked the reporter, “How’s that for acting?
And then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, "Where is the nearest high school?”
A political poster in
is currently drawing some attention for its ability to display German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s copious cleavage.
The poster is part of the campaign of Vera Lengsfeld, a candidate for Parliament in Merkel’s Christian Democratic Union in the
Berlin district of Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg.It features Lengsfeld in a similar dress alongside the text, “We Have More to Offer.”Lengsfeld said she didn’t have permission from the chancellor to use the photo – which is from a 2008 opera in
Oslo – and the chancellor’s office has not made a comment.
Thanks to the poster, Lengsfeld has certainly met her goal of posting something that will get attention.The move may help her earn the seat in parliament.
However, once they’ve elected her, citizens of the Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg of
Berlin are going to be hugely disappointed to learn that Lengsfeld went with the black dress in the poster not because it displays her cleavage – but because it happens to be the only outfit she owns.
First thing I thought whilst watching "Inglourious Basterds," the new Quentin Tarantino flick, last night was – does B.J. Novak have the same agent as Tarantino? Turns out, no. They’re with the same agency (William Morris), but different agents. So, it’s odd that Novak, one of the dozen stars and two dozen executive producers of "The Office" is in this film.
Maybe, I reasoned, it’s because Novak has a definite Jewish look that Tarantino was going for with the Basterds, a group that roams France, killing Nazis. But then, I considered some more, Adam Goldberg wasn’t in the film, and if you need Jewish guys (or Jewish-looking guys) and you’re in Hollywood, you go to Adam Goldberg.
During one of Novak’s scenes, it came to me as Novak was on the screen. He had no line. He was silent. Yet, a woman laughed.
Fuck. This movie is supposed to be funny.
And it was. It is. Brad Pitt’s timing is a dead-eye. Mike Myers and his Austin Powers accent are employed by Tarantino to set up the final, dramatic chapter. Even the film’s nefarious antagonist, not Adolf Hitler, but Col. Hans Landa – played superbly by Christoph Waltz – will have you rolling in the aisle from the moment he pulls out his obnoxiously large pipe in the opening chapter.
The film isn’t "The Hangover" and it isn’t "The Big Lebowski," but it’s still funny. The brilliance of the film is its ability to evoke a certain pleasure from gore and death; it allows the audience to feel exactly as the Basterds feel. With most of the deaths, you want to stand and cheer. It’s not buckets-of-red-corn-syrup-graphic-shock-‘em-into-lovin’-it Tarantino; it’s completely understated Tarantino. It’s funny. And it’s good.
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