Thursday, July 31, 2008
Guy Ritchie is probably unhinged. That’s the case if you spend a while really obsessing over his latest set of comments about sugar and you really need to believe in something.
Following on from speculation that Guy Ritchie and Madonna are getting a divorce after her tour ends in November, Ritchie was quoted as saying:
"Sugar kills. Think of the calories in sugar. Fat kills more people than anything else. Sugar is responsible for a lot of deaths, arguably more than crack cocaine"
And when you consider that Madonna’s latest album is called ‘Hard Candy’ – it’s not hard to create some kind of drama. For example, is Guy Ritchie sending out signs that he is trapped inside a loveless sham of a marriage with a frightening, frightening woman who could kick his talent drained ass in a second with one eyelash bat? Maybe so. Is the only way Guy Ritchie can communicate with the outside world about his crippling fear of Madonna through code? More than likely. Is Madonna aware of this code-like language that Guy Ritchie has adopted? Of course, she can smell fear and read minds.
Ritchie then went on to say:
"My marriage is fine as far as I'm aware of."
Apart from the fact that he really didn't need to use the last "of" - this could very well actually be a lie. So, there you have it. Poor Guy Ritchie is about to crack. Or already has. We probably won’t know any more REALLY until November unless we read the signs. Signs that he is probably, maybe, definitely trying to give us. [source]
I’m really astonished I didn’t know this happened earlier in the week but, as Gawker is reporting, there was a strange and mysterious beast that washed up on the shore in Montauk and it looks like a miniature gryphon. All sorts of people are talking about it and wondering what on earth it could be. Some people think it’s the result of a weird experiment gone wrong at some kind of animal experimentation plant the government has on Long Island, some people think it’s a monstrous mythical beast dinosaur apocalypse heralder terrorist corn syrup obesity terror killer bees no health insurance because big business has corrupted the White House 9/11 was an inside job monster and who am I to do anything but subtly encourage that hysteria for my own amusement.
One thing I do know is that I do enjoy a quality beast story. I remember the good old days of the 6 legged deer that was hunted and eaten somewhere in the North East, then there was the strange blue, blue dog beast in Maine and the weird Hound of the Baskerville boar type thing that was seen on the moors of Scotland where the Hound of the Baskervilles was set. All I know is, from the picture above it looks about medium rare and needs basting.
Meanwhile, the energy drink known as Venom has offered a lifetime supply of their drink and a corporate sponsorship to anyone who can capture a live one. Wow, totally. Sign me up. I’m desperate for a heart attack inducing level of caffeine in a slim line can with a huge amount of vitamin B and art direction that inflates the cultural impact of the product way beyond anything it could possibly be capable of without a good art director and coke fueled branding wanker. Why is it that the brand managers of these types of drinks always seem like cooler version of used car salesmen?
Which brings me to my next point. Today, this very day, I found out that there’s another, yet another energy drink. Pussy. Isn’t that great? Puffin Killer Gordon Ramsay is featured on the Pussy Website talking to professionally gay talk show host Graham Norton about it. Gosh, I’m sold.
So, we’ve got Venom, Pussy, Cocaine and Kabbalah Energy Drink to name but four. I am desperate for and actually thinking about marketing my own brand of energy drink and calling it Anal Soul Rape. That’d really cut to the core of the cultural discourse being stimulated through hyped up energy drinks in slim line cans, I think. In fact, I would go so far as to say that energy drinks are the street level cultural equivalent of a fragrance. They’re a strangely malleable blank canvas upon which you can project any kind of identity and mystique and I want to project soul rape. Hooray!
So, in short – there’s some kind of Apocalypse coming because of a weird beast in Montauk and now you can go out and order pussy in a can. Puffin Killer Gordon Ramsay does. [source] [source] [source]
Mark-Kate and Ashley Olsen’s new book “Influences” has just been released for pre-order on Amazon and boy am I excited. The book is a collection of interviews with people who have influenced the twins over the course of their incredible lives so far and you know, I think there’s a lot we can learn from them so I’m glad it’s been put into book form.
While I do think Mary Kate is more interesting than Ashley because she is at least trying to have an acting career and she insisted on spending vast sums of money on a renovated kitchen despite the fact that I think we’ll all agree she either can’t cook and or hasn’t eaten in years so it was really just a fussy little project that gave her direction for a while thus making her kind of hectic/entertaining to look at – the idea that the Olsen Twins contribute so much to culture that a book about who influences them is a fascinating one.
I guess we know who to thank for this – coked out publicists in their mid-twenties who don’t know when to stop sucking ass and just shut up for a minute. God, they really are to blame for a lot I think. I mean, I used to be one.
So anyway, there was this story I remember about how one of the Olsen Twins went to NYU and was sitting the class for rich kids who can’t think but are buying a degree at vast expense anyway and the kids were all going around the room saying their favourite book and whichever Olsen it was said “Um…my favorite candy is Tootsie Roll…”
Consequently, I will now reasonably expect for there to be an interview between Mary-Kate and a Tootsie Roll in this freaking book. Actually I hope there’s a DVD of the footage of it. Mary Kate sitting there in a kaftan, glasses as big as her stomach and four kilograms of wooden jewelry hanging about her neck and ear lobes, sitting in a chair with 8 tape recorders around her in the most expensive suite at the Waldorf Astoria looking at a gold and white silk chair upon which sits a singular Tootsie Roll. The video goes for 4 hours as Mary-Kate just keeps talking and then waiting for an answer and then talking again.
I need to know what wisdom a Tootsie Roll can impart. Need. Thank you Olsen Twins. [source]
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Even WITH news that Janice Dickinson may or may not have flashed a pilot on a private flight…yawn…I have to admit it, today is a rancidly slow celebrity idiot newsday.
I guess that’s why People is running a story about K-Fed playing golf and not doing anything.
He turned up to play in the Ryan Sheckler's X Games Celebrity Skins Classic, outside L.A because, he’s what? A Celebrity Skin? He’s certainly TOUCHED celebrity skin but as for being it, that’s another story.
People Magazine even asked him what he’d been up to and he said:
"Been having a good summer, I can't complain."
I suppose that IS true though. It would have been a good summer for someone who could actually sustain a lifestyle by merely not being seen anywhere so he looked likes the better parent by comparison. He’s just secured shitloads of money for ages now that he has custody of the Spears kids so life is looking fine for the Fed-Ex.
So, yes, that’s true. K-Fed hasn’t done anything nor was he REALLY doing anything at the time this story was put together but that shouldn’t stop a national mainstream celebrity magazine from covering his latest move. But hang on, isn’t he meant to be a rapper or something? Quick, let’s find out about that!
"I don't know, I'm going to make everybody wait on that," Federline said. "I'm not revealing any work strategy right now."
Wow, everyone certainly WILL have to wait. SHIT! So, in conclusion: literally nothing at all. Thank GOD it’s online and in magazines. I would never have known otherwise. [source]
Here’s a fascinatingly pointless item from the New York Post; Janice Dickinson apparently walked up to the pilot of her NetJets private flight from LA to NY and flashed him. She apparently just walked on up and flashed the guy and then walked back to her seat.
I can just see how it went. She’s wandering through the cabin, hips forward, back curved and lower jaw jutting out. She’s nodding constantly as she looks around the room pretending she’s just walkin’ and lookin’ – pretending she’s a-ok with everything around her. Look, there’s Mac from accounts. “Hey Mac”. Oh, and there’s her hot as fuck son and his latest moron bimbo girlfriend grinding her face into his crotch while he plays video games. “Son – you’re doin’ good,” she’ll offer.
But underneath it all she’s not just walkin’ and lookin’, she knows what SHE’S up to. She wants to walk into that cockpit and show them her growler. It’s her pride and joy and she wants them to see it. So, she feigns calm despite the volcano of excitement in her and she walks in – shows those boys the goods and then turns around like nothing happened and walks out, on the way pretending to take a genuine interest in what she can see out the tiny window on the door of the aircraft. The source to Page Six says “ She just walked in and did a little shimmy and then walked out.”
Makes perfect sense to me.
So, then they go on to say Dickinson tells us through her rep that she'd "admit it if I did it," but claims she didn't. A NetJets rep declined to comment.
How many people were ON that flight to get a story like that wrong? I mean, the two pilots, Janice Dickinson, let’s say three models, Mac from accounts, the hot idiot son and his dumb ass girlfriend. That’s 9. Is it that hard to figure out what happened when only nine people were trapped in a small fucking cabin for six hours? I mean, no one could come and go. No, it isn’t. I mean, it’s completely viable that Janice just wrote that herself and e mailed it in. So here we are talking about bloody Janice Dickinson for no real reason. Curse her implausible mouth. [source]
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
People Magazine is reporting that the eternally smiling, eternally posing and eternally paranoid Mario Lopez will be taking over for the eternal sell-out, Mark McGrath on the entertainment program Extra.
See, I understand getting rid of Mark McGrath – he’s so soulless and he’s getting fat and you know he’s on some kind of medication for depression and that smile is totally fake. Totally fake and desperate is what it takes to be an entertainment reporter.
What I don’t get is why everyone loves Mario Lopez so much. Sure he has a great body but his career of late – I mean, post Saved By the Bell has been based on lucky hype. He’s floated from one thing to the next on pure arbitrary hype anchored in insane hyper happiness.
I actually think he might simply be the next Jennifer Hudson in the sense that he himself isn’t really THAT great or revered. It’s actually more that people like to believe in the dream like trajectory that takes someone from essentially doomed obscurity and throws them up to achieving an actual resurgence. There’s no other way I can possibly explain Jennifer Hudson winning an Academy Award. It’s about the myth of Hollywood. It’s dream fulfilling plausibility. It keeps itself relevant by rewarding people all of a sudden out of nowhere. That keeps people on their toes.
What I actually find insufferable about Mario Lopez is the way he smiles with his tongue coming through his teeth. It’s “dumb smile”. He gets by on high impact concentrated happiness. Fake or not – it’s paying the bills. He must be a wreck. [source]
The Daily News is reporting that Ed Westwick and Chase Crawford from Gossip Girl appear to be dating because at some recent party or whatever they were inseparable.
The spy who reported on seeing them said:
"they were never more than a foot apart. It was freaky. If one moved two feet to the left, so did the other." The duo also chose to ignore the hordes of flirty girls trying to get their attention, says our spy: "They were only interested in each other."
I guess the surprise or news element about this is that they could be dating because they’re both not out and that means that it’s a cover up job to enhance their marketability to Christians but the thing is, their attraction to each other is entirely predictable. I’d say you’d be pretty hard up trying to find someone with more gay face than Chase Crawford until you come to someone like…oh look. Someone like…Ed Westwick.
The thing about gay face is that it’s so unavoidably cute – in a specific kind of cutesy, healthy, neat, sweet blah way that people with it generally become so narcissistic that they can only date themselves really. That’s why it’s entirely plausible that Chase Crawford and Ed Westwick are together. Because it’s really the closest thing to being able to fuck themselves. [source]
Gordon Ramsay has immediately alerted the media to the fact that, while filming his show “The F Word” in Iceland, he fell off an 85 foot cliff into perilously cold water and nearly drowned because his boots and waterproof clothing were dragging him down.
Well, that’s all very dramatic and I’m sure a lot of people were rather panicked at his near death experience. The part that cancels basically everything out here for me is the fact that he was hunting puffins in Iceland. He was freaking HUNTING puffins so he could kill them and then eat them.
See, up until this point in time – this VERY point in time – I actually really enjoyed Gordon Ramsay. His Kitchen Nightmares show is actually kind of heartwarming even though it’s clear that he goes in and picks fights so he can boost his appeal. After all, there’s nothing more appealing to Americans, apparently, than a bitchy, intolerant Englishman.
All that goes out the window with this news that he was in Iceland to hunt puffins. All of it. ALL.
None of my admiration or interest remains, now. NONE.
Apparently, during the whole ordeal several puffins bit Gordon Ramsay on the nose and made him actually bleed. The thing about that is, in general, in a relaxed and general way, when they’re just sitting and talking or having tea or just walking about or flying or baking – puffins are actually among the most enchanting of all creatures. They are affectionately known as the clown of the sea for fuck’s sake. To actually get them angry enough to make them want to bite you you’d have to be hard core evil.
“We had a licence to cull 1,000 (puffins),” said Ramsay. “I didn’t realise how difficult they are to cook, but they’re very tasty!”
Why the crap would they have needed to cull a thousand puffins? Why would anyone? God, I’m so completely distressed at this and it’s not just the prednisone I was inexplicably prescribed last week in Australia.
Look at this. This is a film of puffins set to the Debussy orchestrated version of Satie’s Gymnopedies. I think it speaks for itself.
Also, I have read that puffin meat tastes like used sump oil too so I guess that’s nature’s reward for killing a pure form of enchanting delight in bird form. I am happy with that news that puffin tastes like used sump oil and I’m rejecting Ramsay’s description.
Actually, once I was on the phone to the Consul General to New York from Iceland to chat about puffins (this is a true story) and he told me that all our chatting about puffins had made him hungry. Naturally, I immediately called the National Audubon Society of New York and told on the Icelandic Consul General and asked them if it were possible for Icelandics to ever eat puffin in New York at a restaurant or in cans of soup etc. The Director of PR for the Audubon Society assured me that it was not and that if I heard of any places serving puffin meat, would I please let them know. I said that I would and ever since that time I’ve had my eye out for anything suspicious. ANYTHING AT ALL. There have been a few false alarms since then – most notably when I was served wood pigeon at a restaurant and it tasted like used sump oil and I demanded to speak to the head chef. That was awkward for all involved.
In short, Gordon Ramsay may still be alive but because he decided to hunt my favourite bird my interest in his work no longer is. [source]
Monday, July 28, 2008
A preview for Repo – the craptastic rock opera type thing that Paris Hilton and Paul Sorvino are in has finally been leaked onto the internet and boy does it look extra special. It’s sort of like “Spawn” meets “Little Shop of Horrors” meets “The Wizard of Oz” meets the mid nineties in general. Well, the early to mid nineties but especially completely contrived greed based Goth styling from someone like Marilyn Manson.
In this scene, Paris Hilton walks in looking like a dominatrix flops about a bit talking with some guy and a whole lot of extras…oh whatever.
Paris Hilton can, at best, hope for a Joan Collins type career at this point and this is the right way to go about it. Repo will be essentially panned by the press for being lame but some people will probably like it. I actually think there is a breed of 15 year old gay boy who is completely isolated in the mid west who probably loves Paris Hilton and so that will keep her afloat. As we know, her biggest mistake was talking after she got out of prison so anything that brings her into the public eye from now on will essentially just rehash that moment she failed everyone as the ephemeral zeitgeist and she’ll be doomed to that fate. Whenever it gets tough, she’ll just fall back on her old pain reducer habit of dressing up and going out to spend money which is essentially why America loves her in the first place. No matter what she does, America will never love Paris Hilton as much as they did the moment she was in jail.
According to Page Six, Denise Richards accused her ex husband Charlie Sheen of molesting their children so she could create a courtroom drama for her reality show and thus boost ratings. As a result, Charlie Sheen is suing for full custody and defamation.
There really is something weird about Denise Richards. She has this really smoking hot body and everything and she’s totally LA marketable in that respect PLUS she really wasn’t that bad in any of the films she’s been in even though it’s pretty clear that she wasn’t being asked to try very hard to actually create anything but whenever I see a picture of her there’s this pervading “crazy” and it’s anchored in her eyes.
She’s got the white teeth, the nice lips, the thin body, blah blah blah and then there are the eyes. Wild eyes. Wild, frightening, frantic, desperate eyes. I read in Cintra Wilson’s book, “A Massive Swelling” that Quentin Crisp was quoted as saying that in the later years of Joan Crawford’s life you could just see the burning, desperate, longing need and horror in her eyes. The endless hunger for validation and general horror. That’s the kind of thing I see every time I see a photo of Denise Richards and it’s all through her eyes. Well, clearly, you’d have to be insane to accuse your ex husband of sexualy molestating your own children just for ratings but what I’m saying is that that wild crazy is evident in her eyes. The general crazy, before it gets filtered through her brain and into an action or a sentence is seen in its purest form in her eyes. I think that's about as clear as I can be before this just gets repetitive. [source]
TMZ is reporting that Mary Kate Olsen is having some trouble with her old Sunset Strip landlord because she re-did a kitchen in a place she rented for 15,000 dollars a month and then didn’t put it back the way she found it. The landlord apparently wants 30,000 dollars or more to cover it and is with holding her deposit.
Ok, so aside from the fact that I’d really love to see exactly what changes Mary Kate Olsen required in her kitchen – changes that could possibly cost 30,000 dollars, I really think that Mary Kate Olsen is by far the more interesting of the Olsen Twins. I mean, in the beginning they were just cute showbiz kids who would say one word and the audience of that shocking show “Full House” would scream for hours. It was a legitimate reaction; whichever of the two was playing the character of Michelle did a bang up job and I’m pretty sure that show altered culture for the better.
Then they became weird shut in types who still went out – which is odd seeing as it basically makes no sense to say that – except I do think they were that. They ended up being considered fashion icons by whichever coke addict PR whore made that decision by drawing a random name out of a hat with Anna Wintour over lunch (which they don’t eat) at the Waverley Inn. Then the two of them sort of dated a few people and Kathy Griffin quoted one of them as saying that Bungalow 8 becomes a fuck fest after like 2am on a Tuesday.
Around the time they were doing that I lost interest in the two of them – I mean, I’m barely out of that coma now but I will say that I have consistently found Mary Kate more engaging.
Her role on "Weeds" as the Christian freak girlfriend of Silas Botwin was self deprecating and not too bad, she’s in "The Wackness" with Ben Kingsley as something probably quite similar to her role in Weeds but as far as type cast roles go – weird, cult member is engaging and now she’s having some random ass fight with her landlord about a kitchen she insisted she had to renovate although I’m pretty sure she never eats let ALONE needs to actually go into a room specifically designed to make food. So, her insistence on drama about a kitchen is interesting. It’s needless and frivolous but it’s essentially interesting.
I mean, what has the other one done aside from wear fur and incite the rage of PETA which – to be fair, they both did and also it’s PETA which means that the rage was probably more about the individual PETA member’s high school anger than it was about the Olsen twins.
I mean, here's the trailer for "The Wackness", Olsen is only in it for like a second but she doesn't screw up once and I mean, she might even be funny. Not sure yet.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Trust someone in Hollywood to find fault with the patron saint of Western Culture just to get some publicity. Producers of the new Thomas Crown Affair movie have reportedly insisted that Angelina Jolie put on 28 pounds before they start filming the movie because they want to avoid her fainting like she did repeatedly during the filming of Wanted.
This is, if EVER I saw one, an excuse to simply find fault with the zen workings of a muse. The only kind of people who do this kind of thing are those plagued with inner personal turmoil. The kind who project that inner turmoil onto other people – and can you just imagine how awful it would be to be someone who projects their inner turmoil onto a celebrity for their own gain? I mean, honestly. It’s just horrific.
And yet, here we are, grappling with this situation. Plus, where did they come up with “28 pounds”? Would she be fat at 29 pounds? And also, 28 pounds of what? Fat? Ah, hello – she doesn’t store fat, she’s super human. Anyone with half a brain knows that.
Frankly, I wonder if she was fainting during Wanted because she was too thin or because she was far too perfect and her perfection was constantly being drained out of her when by people who followed along behind her, begging to be saved and healed. Like, for example a woman who touched Angelina’s long cloak from the crowd and was healed through sheer force of will and belief in her all encompassing beauty and power.
Still, it is a rather interesting move to try and hobble Angelina Jolie by demanding she put on weight. It’s like a chess game. It’s hard work staying at the top. She has to outwit her enemies who are always trying to destroy her. This is just one attempt we’ve heard of. There are probably dozens of attempts every day that we never hear about. Like, say, cupcake based initiatives and the like.
Oh, Jesus, I can’t keep this up.
Angelina will not be dethroned. [source]
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The ever soul enriching Sun Newspaper in the UK is reporting that the reason there had been a lot of tension brewing between Christian Bale and his mother and sisters over the years and they came to him and asked him for about $200,000 to help with raising kids etc – which is always what the money is for when relatively ask for money from their rich kids or whatever. It’s never because they just want to go on a holiday or buy a new car or swim in fur and caviar for a couple of hours.
It’s always about the children. If it were a government asking it would be about the troops but when it’s family it’s about the children.
You’ve got to hand it to The Sun for the way they reported this story. First up they run the basic premise and then they throw in little gems like this:
But sources close to 6ft 2in Bale, who has another sister called Louise, said Jenny inflamed the situation by hurling insults about his wife Sibi, 38.
Isn’t that great? If you know how tall Christian Bale is it makes his alleged violent outbursts so much more visceral and shocking. This whole story seems so much less interesting that it really probably is but let’s take it as it should be taken: poor, little, frail old mother and struggling sister (a part time clown from Bournemouth, seriously) desperately plead with Bale to help them raise their ill children (yeah, why not ill…) and big strong, rich, narcissistic Bale throws down a double shot of 30 year old scotch, looks up at the ceiling and laughs maniacally before throwing his diamond shot glass into the fireplace along with a couple of sweatshop made Armani couture suits to keep the room at the blindlingly hot temperature his devil body requires to exist and then strikes the begging women across the face and stumbles out of the room. Bale’s wife, Sibi watches from the California King sized bed wrapped only in a sheet made out of the face flesh of young blond Swedish virgin choirboys and when she sees that the family have been kept at bay again she lies back and orgasms/laughs hysterically for thirty minutes while her eyes change color to indicate the dawn of the apocalypse.
Actually, I like this version better. I think prednisone is somewhat of an hallucinogen. [source]
It turns out that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s twins, Knox - presumably named after Knox Grammar School and Vivienne - presumably named after my old pal, Vivienne Leigh - were conceived through in-vitro therapy. Us Weekly Magazine reports that
The actress chose the procedure (which can cost around $12,000 a pop) so "she wouldn't have to deal with the stress of trying to get pregnant," the source tells Us. "She could just knock it out."
The thing about this whole ordeal, and let’s face it - it really IS a cultural ordeal that we must all look squarely at, is that a lot of this “language” is actually code for other things. It is code for otherworldly things that are not that easily understood by people who aren’t living muses like Pitt and Jolie.
Plenty of people have in vitro therapy and conceive and that’s completely common, yes. When Pitt and Jolie say “in vitro”, however, they’re really referring to a kind of post modern version of the Immaculate Conception. I just typed “immaculate conception” and the (evidently Catholic) Microsoft Word spellcheck indicated that there was a problem with the fact that I hadn’t capitalized the two words so I think Microsoft Word has a bit of an idea about what we’re talking about here.
For Pitt and Jolie, regular sex is essentially an ordeal because it’s so limited and human. When the two movie stars connect on a primal, physical and spiritual level it involves a sort of multi media experience that combines the properties of astral projection, telekinesis, exfoliation (of the soul), the bursting life affirming excitement inherent in wonderfully fresh pesto made from scratch and served on freshly baked rustic Italian bread and also e mail (top notch iPhone style e mail from a private plane where you can still use electronic devices as the aircraft takes off). It’s hard to sum it up any other way.
So, yes, they may not have had regular, clumsy, human sex to get pregnant but when they say “in vitro” they are talking in code – again to spare us the headache that comes when we attempt to get our common heads around what its like to be the living embodiment of everything pure and good and potent and frighteningly good. Which is what they are. [source]
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
In other Dark Knight news, and I know this is like two days old but again, whatever - an announcement was made on Monday by Dan Fellman, President of Domestic Distribution, Warner Bros. Pictures saying that the reason behind the Dark Knight’s insane immediate success is:
…rave reviews and strong word of mouth, The Dark Knight toppled multiple records in its opening frame. The weekend box office total broke the previous overall industry opening weekend record by more than $7 million.
Fellman said, "We knew 'The Dark Knight' was something remarkable and it is incredibly gratifying that critics and audiences wholeheartedly agree. Regardless of the anticipation leading up to this weekend, the fact remains that this level of success could not have been achieved if the film did not deliver. It does, on every front and with all audiences, which is a tribute to the amazing work of the filmmakers and the entire cast. We congratulate them on the start of what promises to be a great run."
Really? Are you really playing that card? Well, I suppose you have to say something that means it isn’t all based on a fascination with the role that arguably killed Heath Ledger. I mean, the majority of people who worked on the film are still alive so imagine how they would feel if it was all just hype? [source]
Gosh, it’s all extraordinary drama over a camp “Dark Knight” with Christian Bale apparently beating his mother up in a hotel room – which I simply don’t believe for some reason, call it a gut reaction not unlike the one I had when Cynthia Nixon apparently got breast implants, AND also the Dark Knight is raking the dough in faster than any other film in history by clocking up a staggering $158,411,483 in its first weekend but more of that later.
The story is that Bale was actually arrested and released on bail for getting angry with his mother and getting into a verbal fight. Also, he could be depressed over the loss of Heath Ledger who co-stars with him in the film.
Either way, this is essentially the first potentially douche bag thing Bale has ever done really and it reeks of exaggeration so I’m prepared to let it go. I’m prepared to let it go also because I feel like I’m traveling through time right now. I’m not tired but I am.
The thing that sticks out in my mind about the coverage of this “Bale hits Mother” story is when Perez Hilton wrote:
Christian reportedly went ballistic, screaming "I will kick your ass", amongst other harsh things.
Several hundred people - cast, crew and extras - heard the outburst.
Not cool, Christian.
Not cool at all!
God, Perez is fat and annoying. Just reading those words you can tell he’s speaking slowly and emphatically with no irony whatsoever just so he can buy himself enough time to look around the room to see who is actually worth talking to. For his career. As a fat talker. [source]
Sherri Shepherd is essentially an idiot and it pays dividends – I think we’ll all agree that that’s the case. Especially after the New York Post has reported that she was eye rollingly crap enough to say this:
"I was sleeping with a lot of guys and had more abortions than I would like to count." Shepherd, a born-again Christian, also thinks Walters, who is Jewish, needs saving. "Oh, sometimes I say, 'Lord, [evangelists] Juanita Bynum or Joyce Meyer would be so good at this table. They could lay hands on Barbara and get her saved.' "
Alright, so granted, the story is probably a few days old seeing as the Post is running it but there’s something classic about getting your celebrity idiot news from the Post. It has an old school snarkiness about it without the “camera up your dress” aesthetic of somewhere like TMZ. Anyway, who cares about that? I’m actually jet lagged and a little ambivalent about this so go with me.
Sherri Shepherd is professionally stupid but maternal and Christian so therefore she’s really just lovable and cute. If you don’t think that you’re cynical and mean.
The thing about this is that Sherri wasn’t the original shit stirrer on The View, Rosie O’Donnell was. She was the one who threw crap at actual people and then did the repartee and it was great. I mean, I got extra cable so I could record it automatically. Sherri is like a stupid, giggling, smiling puppet version of Ann Coulter and at best it's just a low rent copy of Rosie's "Give me my own show" campaign. Well, Ann Coulter is meaner and hotter. Sherri is happier and fatter and more Christian. It’s all the same product though – reactionary selective idiot.
You know, it’s entirely possible that Sherri Shepherd is a genius and she goes home and takes off that wig every day and snarls at the creature she’s created for television. She knows that she mustn’t get too angry at it though because it pays the rent on her enormous apartment on the upper west side so she just kicks the wall a few times before sitting down to watch a Peter Greenaway film with her ten year old son without moving once from her position on a black ponyskin chaise longue by Le Corbusier with the exception of a brief silent break during which she beats her lover half to death with an iron stiletto heel because he asked her to. Then she falls asleep reading Chomsky and Artaud.
When she awakes the stupid head must be screwed on tightly so she can make rent. It’s a cycle. These bitches know what they’re doing.
Incidentally, if Joyce Meyer were on TV any more than she already is my face would bleed off. If my face bleeds off without any immediately evident reason, it’s probably because Joyce Meyer has been syndicated.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Alan Jones, one of Australia's most influential radio announcers just found out he has prostate cancer and the way he's reacted to it is so completely astonishing but not surprising at all. He held a press conference and vowed to continue working.
Jones completely fits the bill as a right wing radio commentator a la Rush Limbaugh (which serves to illustrate just how interchangable American culture and Australian culture are) but its almost as though he's not even a real person anymore. He's the embodiment of everything an Australian right wing radio announcer has to be. Aggressively insistent that he is on the side of the struggling poor despite the fact that he's insanely wealthy and in constant denial of things that resonate too personally as emotionally dark, chaotic or complex.
“We don't do dying here. We just try and make the most of living," he said.
Asked if his career was over, the 67-year-old - who is one of Australia's highest-paid media stars - responded by saying: "Of course I'll be returning to air, I've got to make a quid. I've got to keep myself off Struggle Street."
Alan Jones is about as far away from “struggle street” as one could hope to be, actually, and yet, his demographic grant him the power he has because he insists he is just like one of them.
But it's important to say that it's hideous that he's been diagnosed with cancer and it goes without say that I hope he recovers fully because cancer is hateful – but at what point do you drop the schtick and just take it as a human. He basically just condensed his entire self marketing angle into one succinct statement to keep the self promotion going. He used prostate cancer to market himself and in doing so indicated nothing about the actual human process he would go through to deal with pending death – thus denying that human response to his listeners and he did it because that's the kind of thing that keeps him endeared to them.
To be fair, he has come out and said:
"In volunteering this information I might be able to encourage other people to be much more sensible and less frightened about doing something about themselves," Jones said on Thursday as he revealed he has mid-range cancer that requires surgery.
"People are frightened of doctors, I'm not.
"I hope that speaking as I am today it might encourage others to be a bit more urgent and active in what they do than is currently the case."
While saying that is admirable and helpful, I would suggest that it would be even more beneficial for him to show some kind of evidence that he is aware of and confronting the emotional complexity that goes with being diagnosed with cancer. But then, I don't know, maybe he's incapable of that. I suspect he's choosing not to though because it would wreck his professional profile.
Australians sometimes do that actually. When something is confronting they give it a tagline. There was this moment once that I remember where, Shona, a contestant on Big Brother a couple of years ago, had somewhat of an outburst after the pressure of living in an environment that was quite stressful because it was designed specifically to be that way, became too much and she immediately went into damage control and started referring to it as a quarantined moment where she “spat the dummy”. And she said “spat the dummy” in this fast good natured way so she could minimise the impact remembering it would have on her standing in the house.
Conversely, in Italy, people were declaring love for each other minutes after moving into the house and they were crying and screaming and yelling at each other and that was considered normal.
I just find the whole thing creepy.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
I'm in Sydney right now and I've been fighting the sadistic urge I have to check out the gossip press here because as much as I love reading about tired old c-list Australian starfucker "celebrities" whose last notable work was created circa 1987 but due to the cripplingly low cultural density here they're still filling the makeshift a-list spots – I thought I'd opt for a nice cup of green tea and some Pope bashing instead.
Just when I thought I'd be rid of the Pope for another 5 years when he and his sparkling ruby Prada slippers departed New York it turns out the old Nazi is headed to Australia for World Youth Day only the Australian government has dealt with it so badly it's embarrassing. If you want to protest the pope on this visit – which at this point is basically everyone bar the Catholics themselves (indeed the news item I'm citing as the source for this post says specifically the Christians, atheists and gays have banded TOGETHER to protest this) – then the state government has put in place a 5500 dollar fine if you do. No t shirts are allowed to be worn with anything protesting the church or the pope, no rallies... nothing. Not allowed.
New South Wales state Premier Morris Iemma told reporters the regulations "were brought in following consultation with the church and advice from the World Youth Day authority".
My friend Marty said he's designed a t shirt that will say “I wouldn't be so pissed off with you if you'd been aborted” and I'm flying back to New York on the same day that the pope leaves; July 20, so while I failed to get my act together and pummel his Volkswagon (hello, Hitler AGAIN!) with tomatoes when he drove past my office on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan a few months ago, this time I will have to try harder. I mean, what are they going to do? Arrest me? I'm astonished at the appalling behaviour of the Australian government. I'd just love to see the state of New York try and get away with something this blatant. [source]