HOVA'S A HYPOCRITE.
Hey, I'm not judging, just pointing out the obvious. If you're human it's bound to happen sooner or later. But then again, too few think of Jay Z as human, including himself.
The hip hop lord tells CNN that he backs President Barack Obama's support of marriage for gay couples, and he sounds resolute in his support.
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IN THE CURRENCY OF GOSSIP NO NAMES CARRY MORE WEIGHT THAN KIM KARDASHIAN'S AND KANYE WEST'S. Mix the two together and you've got an explosive mix of celebrity gossip alchemy.
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I'M GONNA PULL A TOURÈ HERE AND ACCUSE DAFFY BRITISH JOURNALIST LAURIE PENNY OF NOT knowing what the F she speaks of when she disses Ryan Gosling's rescue of her as no big deal.
There she was, crossing 6th Avenue, minding her business, perhaps pining for a cheese sandwich, when America's defacto "sexiest" actor plucked Penny from the path of an oncoming taxi.
Read the full post here.
SOME IN THE BLACK COMMUNITY ARE CRYING "FOWL" AFTER Burger King pulled a controversial commercial featuring Mary J. Blige singing about eating chicken.
The fast-food giant blames a concern over music licensing for the commercial's withdrawal and not allegations that it perpetuates stereotypes.
Read the full post here.
HUFFINGTON POST DECLARES VOGUE ITALIA'S MARCH FASHION SPREAD "HOOD COUTURE," but is it racist or just "ghetto fab"?
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THE SINGLE GREATEST DISH YOU HAVE EVER EATEN. It is the defining challenge for all great chefs: the perfect recipe. And not just "perfect," but infallibly so. Perfect without question. Perfect with absolutely no doubt. None.
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HIS CLASS HASN'T EVEN STARTED, BUT Michigan State University's Glenn Stutzy already earns an "A+" for engagement .
The social work instructor is marketing his upcoming class entitled "Surviving the Coming Zombie Apocalypse: Catastrophes & Human Behavior" in a way that no doubt has other professors eating their hearts out.
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THE TINY MEATBALL IN UTERO DOES NOT KNOW WHAT IT'S SPAWNED: Another made-for-TV marriage like Kim Kardashian's that's destined for disaster.
Ho-hum, it's official: Snookie's pregnant and engaged and spinning feverishly in the upcoming edition of Us Weekly:
Read the full post here.
WELL, THAT WAS FAST.
Just five months after landing in Chicago with a splash, Rosie O'Donnell has dumped her Chicago mini mansion and is headed back to New York.
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EMILY BARNETT'S TWITTER ACCOUNT SAYS SHE'S ALWAYS ON A MISSION, and yesterday it was to remind us all that we've got a long way to go, baby.
Or, as she put it in Twitterspeak, "#riseupwomen."
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OPRAH HAS LANDED AN UPCOMING INTERVIEW WITH Whitney Houston's only child, 19-year-old Bobbi Kristina.
Promoted as a tribute on Oprah's Next Chapter, the exclusive will air on the Oprah Winfrey Network March 11 and smells of sensationalism and opportunism. Bobbi Kristina is reported to be wrestling with her own addiction issues and sources told tabloids that she's emotionally traumatized by the death of her mother.
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TLC'S TODDLERS & TIARAS MOM June Shannon feeds her six-year-old daughter a liquid concoction of Red Bull and Mountain Dew to keep her "focused" at the pageant.
Apparently unsatisfied with sugary treats like Pixy Stix that other stage moms use to hype up their kids, Shannon created "Go-Go-Juice" to give Alana an extra boost.
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LATE MONDAY SOMEONE CALLED 911 FOR DEMI MOORE BECAUSE SHE REPORTEDLY INHALED TOO MUCH NITRO-OXIDE.
Nitro what?
Then the story changed today on TMZ and read: "She smoked something…not marijuana but it's similar to incense."
Excuse me? Get your derrieres out of your heads, people! Demi probably smoked the new synthetic pot called "Spice."
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DO TWO SEPARATE RUMORS ABOUT GEORGE CLOONEY NOT LIKING ANGELINA JOLIE ADD UP TO ACCURATE?
Gossip Cop reports that Us Weekly is prepping a story claiming Hollywood hearthrob George Clooney doesn't like the lady love of his bro Brad Pitt. Clooney, who bagged a Golden Globes for his performance in Descendants, reportedly thinks Angelina Jolie is "boring and not great company" and "can be mean to people."
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COMPETING WITH HIP HOP'S REIGNING CONTROVERSIAL STATEMENT-MAKER Kanye West, rapper Lil B has put all the cards on the table and release a song titled I Got Aids.
Read the full post here.
FAMED ELUSIVE HIJACKER D.B. COOPER MAY FINALLY BE IN THE CROSSHAIRS OF THE F.B.I.
Read the full post here.
FINGERS ARE POINTING BETWEEN LOS ANGELES COPS AND MEMBERS OF THE CROWD THAT AMASSED WEDNESDAY NIGHT FOR THE PREMIERE OF Electric Daisy Carnival Experience.
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OUT OF THE MOUTH OF A BABE WHEN ASKED ABOUT LADY GAGA:
"Nobody talks about her anymore."
Truth's out! With the exception of certifiable crazies, the buzz on Gah seems to have quieted ever since she hatched from an egg at the 2011 Grammy Awards.
The ridiculousness of the stunt made her seem, well, cracked. And desperate.
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THE AUDIENCE COORDINATOR WHO TOLD ASHLEY KAUFFMAN she was too fat to sit in the front row at American Idol let slip a dirty secret: TV loves the thin and pretty.
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EVEN BEFORE SHE WAS GRANTING WISHES IN THE BLINK OF A EYE, BARBARA EDEN LED A CHARMED LIFE.
Eden was the batty beauty who bowed to Larry Hagman's whim when she starred with him in the television sitcom I Dream Of Jeannie. Eden's sexy turn as a genie uncorked by an astronaut heated up the small screen to unprecedented temperatures when the show debuted in 1965.
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MYTHMAKER JAY Z HAS LAUNCHED A WEBSITE TO PUT HIS GOLDEN SEAL OF APPROVAL ON ALL THINGS POPPIN' ON THE CULTURAL HORIZON.
Life + Times, Z's latest foray into dynasty-building, includes his selection of what's crackin in the worlds of music, sports, technology, design, luxury and more.
"I want to make the extraordinary, ordinary," Hova paradoxically exclaims in the 'about' section.
Read the full post here.
AFTER A WEEKLONG INFATUATION, I am sad to report that today Justin Bieber and I almost broke up.
I love Justin Bieber. I listen to his music, have seen his movie, and think he's a great role model. His mother is a hero for raising him to be a good kid, with a good work ethic, and a connection to his faith. But when I posted on my Facebook page that I was breaking up with him because of his Rolling Stone interview, I was accused of going on a witch hunt and building him up, only to bring him down. I was told he is just a kid and I need to let it go.
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POOF, AND JUST LIKE THAT, CALIFORNIA'S PROPOSITION 19 GOES UP IN SMOKE.
You'll be hearing that cliche a lot today. The proposal to make recreational use of marijuana legal in California faltered, with more than half of voters rejecting the bid.
Proponents had argued that legalizing weed would generate jobs and income for the state as well as undermine illegal drug trade.
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WHAT MADE HER DO IT?
What made Virginia Thomas call Anita Hill and ask for an apology? The testament of sexual harassment made by Hill against Supreme Court nominee Thomas evidently still weighs heavy on Mrs. Thomas' mind, even after 19 years.
Was she drunk, as Gawker alleges?
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BACK WHEN CANDACE BERGEN IGNITED NATIONAL DEBATE WHEN her TV character opted to have a baby alone, I thought Murphy Brown too cavalierly promoted the idea of single motherhood.
I knew moms who chose that path, and I could see the wrenching costs to them. The ones I knew eked out modest l existences to feed and clothe their child, and at the end of the day, they were often too exhausted to do anything more than microwave dinner and put the kid to bed.
And didn't that child deserve a dad, deserve the right to fit the "family mold" -- mom, dad and baby?
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THEIR QUICKY DIVORCE FINALIZED IN JUNE, SANDRA BULLOCK AND JESSE JAMES ARE fast moving on.
The outlaw Jesse James's been spotted getting friendly with the inked LA star Kat Von D, who is obviously a tease: yesterday she tweeted confirmation that the two are dating -- and then deleted it. Now you see it -- now you don't! And if that's not an invitation to the paparazzi I don't know what is.
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OM G. MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE WITH ALL this race stuff.
When, oh, when will we just be the human race of many colors? Will it take an actual alien invasion for us to just get together, get over it and live our lives before we're blasted to bits?
Ok, now that I've gotten that out of my system. Dr. Laura's recent outburst reminded me of an episode of The Office.
Regional manager Michael Scott just couldn't understand why there had to be a corporate intervention of diversity training because he told a Chris Rock joke.
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THE SLICK PHOTO SHOOT DEPICTING MODEL AS AN OIL-SICK, BEACHED MERMAID brilliantly reveals the Gulf spill's stain on the world's consciousness.
The provocative 24-page spread in the August issue of Vogue Italia is triggering a wave of reaction, with some suggesting that fashion photographer Steven Meisel has veered into exploitation.
Of course he has. Isn't that what fashion photography is all about?
But these images of model Kristen McMenamy lying in pools of oil, coughing for air, remind us of the travesty that's taken place in the Gulf region more vividly than all but the photos of the region's sickened birds.
Read the full post here.
A PLAN TO REVEAL THE RESULTS OF GENETIC TESTING TO INCOMING freshmen at the University of California at Berkeley has been dumped after statewide protest.
School officials had sent out DNA swab kits to 5,500 incoming freshmen and transfer students with the intent to test them for their biological predisposition to process lactose, metabolize alcohol and absorb folates.
But the study, hatched as a tool to teach the burgeoning science of "personalized medicine," provoked concern among genetic ethicists about the misuse or misinterpretation of the results.
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DR. LAURA IS EATING HER WORDS AFTER SPEWING THE N WORD at a caller who complained about her husband's racist friends.
"Black guys use it all the time. Turn on HBO and listen to a black comic, and all you hear is n-----, n-----, n------. I don't get it. If anybody without enough melanin says it, it's a horrible thing. But when black people say it, it's affectionate."
After a commercial break, the caller professed asks "Is it OK to say that word? Is it ever OK to say that word?"
Dr. Laura responds "Black guys talking to each other seem to think it's ok."
But you're not black, they're not black, my husband is white," the caller says.
"Oh, I see, so a word is restricted to race. Got it. Can't do much about that."
Things get even uglier but you get the point: Dr. Laura doesn't know the "rules," which, you've got to admit, can be contradictory and confusing for the savviest among us.
Read the full post here.
A GREAT THING HAPPENED IN CALIFORNIA YESTERDAY: A suspected serial murderer accused of killing 10 people was arrested. Hurray!
The bad news: he was fingered using DNA collected from his son when he was arrested in California, where the law allows police to collect DNA from suspects before they're convicted of a crime. And that's a whole nother kind of scary.
Lonnie Franklin Jr., a 57-year-old retired Los Angeles mechanic, was arrested on suspicion that he killed 10 women and one man in a series of murders dating back to 1988. The crime spree had been dubbed the work of the "Grim Sleeper" because the murderer took a 14-year hiatus between his earlier and later attacks. Franklin was a frequent customer of sex workers in the South Los Angeles neighborhood where he lived.
Read the full post here.
LADY GAGA IS A FRAUD!
That ain't her butt and those aren't her legs that she's wielding like weapons on the cover of the Rolling Stone. And never you mind the machine guns that she's cozying up to.
While bloggers frequently spank fashion magazines for photoshopping models, that same beautifying's going on here.
Gah's legs appear longer and less muscular than they look in recent pics of her strutting in ripped leggings to a visit to the New York Mets, where she sat in Jerry Seinfeld's box. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Her little monsters are smart enough to know the real deal.
"Whatever artist was commissioned to Photoshop her butt needs to be fired," snipes LesleyBurt at the fansite Gaga Daily. "We should submit this to the Photoshop Fail blog. Sooooo horribly done, ew."
Read the full post here.
HE MAY BE A Roomba when it comes to the BP oil spill, but President Obama's clearly feels the privilege of being a father.
In comments he made on Father's Day and earlier today in Washington, D.C. -- Obama convinces us that he's no robo daddy.
"Without hesitation, the most challenging, most fulfilling, most important job I will have during my time on this Earth is to be Sasha and Malia's father," Obama told reporters earlier today.
And yesterday, while announcing a new federal mentoring program for families, Obama said he regretted missing important moments in his daughters' lives for the sake of his his political career.
Read the full post here.
WHEN WE LAST LEFT THE LADIES, KELLY had walked off the set. And didn't she look great in that white one-shoulder little flowy dress?
LuAnn covers her mouth and giggles a bit as Bethenny continues to shout that Kelly has emotional and psychological problems and that talking to her is like talking to Humpty Dumpty. Sonja says she was a downer and that after she left they had a great time. Tell it like it is, Son.
Ramona says that she, at least,went out of her way to be nice to Kelly, especially after Kelly'd phoned before the trip to ask if she was going to get beat up on. We learn she didn't just leave but got escorted to the plane by producers. Then Kelly quietly returns with an attitude.
The Meaning Of Systemic Bullying: The Real Housewives Of New York Redeux
Picking At Old Wounds: The Real Housewives Of New York Reunion
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SEEMS EVERY TIME A BLOGGER BURPS, A NEW NAME APPEARS ON THE ''POTENTIAL LIST'' OF REPLACEMENTS For American Idol's Simon Cowell.
A cursory search on the web turns up 18 possible suspects, including shock jock Howard Stern, music's Sir Elton John, bad boy blogger Perez Hilton and last year's favorite flav Adam Lambert. "Unfortunately, it's just a rumour,'' Glambert told MTV. "I would be honoured to be asked."
At least two of them -- Stern and Perez -- seem to be contenders due in part to their talent for take-downs.
And just today, items hit the web quoting Ryan Seacrest saying that teenybopper Justin Bieber would be a great replacement, proving that at least some LaLaLand reporters retain naivete. "Who would I want in that chair?" Seacrest said in response to a question. "I would want a much younger, thinner, more charming Simon. ... Bieber -- he's the guy!"
Read the full post here.
AN ESSENTIAL TRUTH EMERGES AS THE FINAL THREE FINALISTS COMPETE TO BECOME AMERICA'S NEXT ROCK IDOL: Character counts in this contest too.
Tonight's battle between Lee Dewyze, Crystal Bowersox and Casey James turns into a showcase of more than raw talent; ambition, drive and temperament also flash as the three sing two songs, one of their own choice, the other the choice of a judge.
Opening is the formerly sexy Casey singing Eric Hutchinson's OK, It's Alright With Me.
"Some things are just meant to be. It never comes easily. And when it does I'm already gone," James sings, and it becomes apparent that he could care less if he wins this thing. He's like a pretty girl resting on the laurels of her looks. Ambition doesn't carry him; he's happy to just get by.
And so on the night it matters most, Casey's performance is limp, stale and lifeless, dissipating the sex appeal he once had.
Read the full post here.
A LITTLE BIT OF CAVEMAN LURKS IN MOST OF US, SAY SCIENTISTS who've mapped out the genomes of Neanderthals who lived more than 38,000 years ago in Croatia.
The finding counters previous studies and lends evidence that modern homo sapiens mated with Neanderthals as recently as 50,000 years ago, before modern humans spread into East Asia.
Paleogeneticists at the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Germany sequenced the Neanderthal genome using more than 4 billion nucleotides recovered from the bones of three females.
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LEGENDARY SINGER LENA HORNE, WHO BROKE COLOR BARRIERS BOTH ON AND OFF SCREEN, DIED YESTERDAY AT AGE 92 IN NEW YORK.
Horne, who began singing at the Cotton Club in Harlem at age 16, was the "radiantly beautiful sepia girl" who became the first African American performer to sign a multiyear contract with a major Hollywood studio. But in an age when Jim Crow laws dominated, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer mismanaged her talents, plopping per performances into movies in which she had no part of the storyline.
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THERE'S SOMETHING FOR EVERYBODY AT THE BOX OFFICE THIS SUMMER -- action flicks, romantic comedies, dramas and adventures.
The season unofficially opens today with the arrival of superhero flick Iron Man2, cast with A-listers Robert Downey, Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow and Micky Rourke. The producers hope to break the $158 million opening weekend record set by The Dark Knight two years ago. Does it help that Don Cheadle and Scarlett Johansson are part of the cast?
If you like sword-fighting studs who champion common folk and dames in distress, Robin Hood is the movie for you. And helping to woo the female audience is Russell Crowe, trying to recapture that Gladiator magic in Ridley Scott's latest box offering.
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A STRING OF RECENT SUICIDES AMONG THE WORLD'S SUPERMODELS IS PROVING that good looks, money and the admiration of others is not enough to make you happy.
Top male model Ambrose Olsen hung himself Thursday, April 22, according to the blog Modelwhispers. Olsen, 24, had appeared in print ads for design heavy hitters including Hugo Boss, Burberry, Louis Vuitton, and Armani Exchange.
That same day, Colombian supermodel and television presenter Lina Marulanda jumped off her 6th floor balcony and fell to her death.
In November of 2009, 20-year-old South Korean model Daul Kim was found hanged in her Paris apartment.
Read the full post here.
ASTROPHYSICIST STEPHEN HAWKING JOINS THE CHORUS of credible voices who believe that alien life forms exist, in his case based only on the sheer number of galaxies that exist in the universe.
But in a new Discovery series in which he makes the assertion, Hawking advises humans to avoid summonsing alien life forms because, if they arrive, they'll likely be seeking to steal Earth's resources.
Hawking speculated that alien visits would be as devastating to the planet as Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World was for Native Americans.
"I imagine they might exist in massive ships, having used up all the resources from their home planet," he said. "Such advanced aliens would perhaps become nomads, looking to conquer and colonize whatever planets they can reach."
Who knew that Hawking was such a close-minded pessimist, capable of stereotyping hypothetical aliens with one broad brush!
Who suspected that his world view would be so male-directed?
Read the full post here.
POOR LITTLE LOST LILO IS CASH-STRAPPED and washed up.
The former Teen Queen has reportedly racked up $600,000 in debt, her faux father Dr. Drew wants her committed, and she hasn't landed a decent gig in years.
"I absolutely wish no harm to her," Television's Pinsky told Radar.com. "But I just have a feeling that something awful is going to happen to her, like she is going to lose a limb."
He then made the outrageous suggestion that that sadsack of a father Michael Lohan pack Lindsay's car with drugs and then tip off police so she'd get arrested, an idea none too popular with…well…anyone.
Read the full post here.
SAFE ACROSS THE THE ATLANTIC, THE NATURAL DISASTER WREAKING HAVOC in Europe's skies seems like a million miles away.
Iceland's Eyjafjallajökull (ay-yah-FYAH'-plah-yer-kuh-duhl) volcano continues to spew ash, shooting plumes as high as six miles in the sky, and grounding airlines in the largest air traffic shutdown since World War II. Millions of travelers continue to be stranded across the globe.
The volcano erupted on April 14th, and as of April 18th, 63,000 flights had been cancelled.
The eruption has also heaped opportunity on photojournalists who have snapped spectacular pictures of ash plumes over Iceland. But pictures from the ground prove scarier.
Above, dairy farmer Berglind Hilmarsdottir wears a gas mask as he travails to find his missing cattle. The Associated Press reveals the harrowing scene Saturday in Nupur, Iceland.
KATHY GRIFFIN IS BRINGING AWARENESS TO CERVICAL CANCER by getting a pap smear live on her show My Life on the D-List.
This is not a joke. I don't know what is more shocking: the funny lady getting the papsmear by the pool, live on TV -- or seeing her bikinied body with ribs sticking out and a hint of her vajazzled vajajay below the bikini line. "Tell cancer to SUCK IT!," Kathy heralded on Twitter.
Read Haters, Why You Gotta Begrudge A Girl's Vajazzle?
Read The Vajazzling Kathy Griffin Overshares For A Good Cause.
Read the full post here.
IT TAKES HERCULEAN EFFORT TO TRUST AGAIN after gaining glimpse into a duplicitious soul. And so the day after Tiger Woods' mea culpa conference, there remains the question of just how much he meant of what he said.
The greastest golfer on earth took center ring Monday and led a near-perfect pitch confessional press conference, coming off as an assiduous practitioner of the 12 steps.
He once again admitted his transgressions, apologized for complicating the lives of other golfers, told us that he's returned to prayer through meditation, and reminded us that his journey to recovery from the unnamed elephant in the room is an unending process.
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HAPPY EASTER!
Here's teen heartthrob Justin Bieber serving up some sugar.
Here's hoping the hoppin' holiday inspires like dreamy eyes, first loves and cotton candy crooning. Cause isn't pretending fun?
LATELY PHILLY'S BECOME A HOTBED OF UNCONTROLLED MADNESS THE MEDIA'S DUBBED "FLASH MOBS."
always thought of flash mobs as a spontaneous gathering of gentle folk meeting to dance or sing songs from The Sound Of Music. I'm so naive. The word "mob" should be a clue that something's amiss.
The Philadelphia Daily News reported over 2,000 teens gathered on South Street last week, a hip destination of quirky shops and restaurants. They were brought together using social-networking sites like Facebook, MySpace and Twitter. With that amount of teens idling around there's potential for trouble. On the evening news, I saw fights and people being dragged on the ground. One station also reported that a woman had her teeth knocked out.
This was reportedly the fifth "flash mob" to encroach on Philly in the last year.
In its grab for street cred, Gawker blames the mayhem on Philly teens on a call to meet downtown to see a dance crew -- break-dancing of all things. Can't they just converge on someone's house and watch ABDC?
Read the full post here.
DO YOU THINK THEY CALL THIS THE "JESSE JAMES" OF THE DEEP SEA?
This giant isopod or Bathynomus giganteus surfaces from the bottom of the ocean courtesy of Gwynzer on Reddit, by way of Gawker et al. Something left over from Xenu's visit 75 million years ago, no doubt.
The hipsters or fauxhemians" over at Gawker were tripping over their tongues about this one. Best lines?
"Like a window right into the Cretaceous."
Well, you have officially ruined the ocean for me."
"As we speak, Lady Gaga is already figuring out how to turn it into a hat."
Read the full post here.
IT'S TIME TO SPOTLIGHT ATTORNEY GLORIA ALLRED, famed justice seeker who's righting wrongs and wronging rights for aggrieved cheating "other" women everywhere.
Says Allred: "I take fire, and I give fire -- because I'm not a philosopher; I'm a warrior."
Don't hold it against her that three recent clients are the mistresses of Tiger Woods and Jesse James, outlaws in the state of matrimony. 'Cause even deceitful fameballs are entitled to legal representation under our beloved Bill of Rights, at least until the current Supreme Court finds a way to void it.
Read the full post here.
THIS IS HIGHLARIOUS!
Dare we suggest that this is even better than Lady Gaga's Telephone? And just like Gah's it has product placement!
This spring break, party on you party animals, poseurs, wannabes, dudes and dudettes!
But word to the wise: don't pull a Natalee Holloway. And don't do anything that'll get you locked up in a foreign prison. 'Cause that'll blow your buzz in a hurry.
"I TEXTED HIM TWICE IN A ROW,'' MY FRIEND LAMENTS, hunched over the pages of biology homework scattered across her bed.
"And what's worse, this fucking Blackberry made me separate the first text into two separate ones, so it looks like I texted him three times."
Neurotically, I do everything short of engaging in douchey text-vernacular to cram as much content as possible into one message. I hate looking down at my phone as it taunts me: "You texted twice with no response! Loo-zer!" But I don't tell my friend that.
I advise that she not over-analyze. I need to appear strong, to be a beacon of hope for her as we trek together through the dim, sordid sludge that is dating. And really, that trek boils down to one question: do you skip the bullshit and insist on candor, or do you play it cool and keep 'em guessing?
Regardless of your choice, you're left hoping for the best as the fate of the situation seems to rest placidly in your opponent's palm.
Read the full post here.
WE KNOW KATE MOSS AS THE SIREN IN DESIGNER CLOTHES, spread all over the fashions mags for the past 20 years.
But her new spread in Vogue Hommes International is not about clothes and fashion: it's about skinny dipping.
Kate's shown us before she's not shy about showing her body.But this time she goes all the way and shows off all she's got.
The provocative photo session takes place on an exotic beach, where she lets herself go au naturale in front of the camera of former beau and photographer Mario Sorrenti, "best-known for his spreads of nude models,'' so says Wikipedia.
Maybe Kate wants to prove that she still got it. Maybe she wants a big comeback after the loss of numerous contracts because of her wild night life and drug problem.
Like it or not, this is an improvement from recent headlines about her drunken ways. Let's hope she's on the right track!
Madi S. is mom to two kids and three cats. She loves pop culture news, movies, fashion, travel, reading and observing the world.
WELL, OUR GIRL SAHARA/SHEREE IS GONE, and Juju realizes she's still here by a lock of her wig.
The queens talk about being tormented as youngsters for being gay, a common theme in the workroom. Pandora surprises everyone when she tells the group she once attempted suicide. How sad. She was tormented mercilessly but she's happy with herself now.
SheMail arrives and Ru reads to them from a book titled Drag Fun with Dick and Jane, then asks them what their stories are. She enters the workroom in a shiny black suit with matching fedora and tells the dolls they'll be "reading" each other, which means "Let the insults fly, bitches!" The library is open.
Tyra's first and really gives it to each one of the dolls, while Tatty tells us it's not her scene and she fails miserably. Raven says Tatty is all about it when she's not up in front of Ru.
Read the full post here.
INSIDE A SMALL MEETING ROOM AT CHICAGO'S DRAKE HOTEL, ASTROLOGER SUSAN MILLER is the figurative sun whose gravity pulls rapt attention from about three dozen acolytes.
Ms. Miller, who pens the monthly astrology column for the fashion mag Elle as well as her famously popular website Astrologyzone.com, is in town to give the year's forecast to well-heeled stargazers who each pay $225 for the privilege. [As an ersatz member of press, I succeed at crashing the party for the price of lunch and coffee --$70.]
And, just like the sun, Ms. Miller is a mass of energy throwing light from the center of the room. Petite and raven-haired, she wears a simple navy dress, black sweater and eye-catching blue rhinestone necklace by Coach. And when she talks, which she does in a melodic rat-a-tat-tat, she punctuates her sentences with laughter.
On this day, Sunday, March 21st, she begins her seminar by reminding those in attendance that "astrology is not destiny" but that "astrology helps you, it helps you so much."
Read the full post here.
THE INTERNET WAS A STICKY WIDGET this week with spillage from affairs of the rich and famous gone bad. Now it's official: Sexting is the new coin in the realm.
Notorious porn star and Tiger sex toy Joslyn James went Rambo and launched an Internet archive documenting sext messages Eldridge sent her. The texts include the most intimate language imaginable between whore and the world's most famous john. James appears to hold nothing back from a prying public: To wit: "I want you to beg for my cock. Kiss you all over to convince me to let you have it in your mouth." There's much more for those interested.
Then Sandra Bullock's creepy husband is exposed as slimy two-timer when tattoo model Michelle McGee tells In Touch that she's had a year-long affair with the reality TV star. The tabloid releases a press release touting Jesse James' text messages to McGee, which so far pale compared to Tiger's dirty talk.
Reports surface that McGee received $30,000 for her story and texts.
Perhaps not coincidentally, in a 2009 online study entitled, "Sexting…Is It All About Power?" carried out by RealPsychology.com, researchers concluded that "as a whole, sexters were more likely to strive for power and control than non-sexters."
And sexters with high "power profile" scores had "a strong desire for power, and may often take control in an abrasive or aggressive manner," according to the site.
The week's events bolster those claims.
SINCE I HAIL FROM PHILLY, PART OF MY BLOGGING GIG IS TO SCRUTINIZE EVERY 30-something dark-haired, sharp-nosed douchebag I come across hoping to land a sighting of Arthur Kade.
Well, it hasn't happened yet and I don't think I could stomach it if it did. If you don't know Kade, he's a wannabe nominated by Gawker as "Douchebag of the Decade." He lost -- to Joe Francis of the Girls Gone Wild franchise, unquestionably a bigger douche.
But Arthur's still striving. Here's a little piece by Philly filmmaker Aymar Jean Christian that is highly amusing and a great take on the Kade phenom. Done documentary style with commentary from Philly editors, the short film showcases Kade in all his awesome obnoxious famewhoreness, proving once and for all that Kade is a legend in his own mind. Enjoy.
SexyChattyCatty is a regular contributor at CrabbyGolightly.com where she writes on TV, America's favorite snack food.
STEREOTYPING IS ONLY ALLOWED ON THE INTERNET. Do not try this at home!
Perez Hilton
High schoolers who use Proactive.
TMZ
Trolls.
BuzzFeed
Frat boys who went to state colleges.
Salon
Voters who donate only to presidential candidates.
Gawker
Smart kids who ranked in the middle of their class.
Read the full post here.
TOO BAD I THINK 2012 IS CRAPTASTIC PLASTIC, because John Cusack may personally be my favorite actor. I'll see pretty much any movie as long as he's in it.
In a way, I have a bit of a man-crush on him. It was one of the few reasons I was willing to even watch 2012. I said to myself, as I read about the absurd story, "Hey, If John Cusack's in it -- it can't be that bad."
I was wrong; it can and it was.
So I've taken it upon myself, as punishment for putting my brain through that three hour pile of awful, to educate the world.
Read the full post here.
THE BIGGEST FAMEWHORES IN HOLLYWOOD have written a book on -- ta da! -- how to be a fame whore! Because what other identifiable skills do Heid Montagi and Spencer Pratt have?
The titillating reality TV twosome are sharing their secrets on fame mongering in How To Be Famous: Our Guide To Looking The Part, Playing The Press and Becoming a Tabloid Picture.
In their latest devious calculation, Speidi teaches how to "increase your capacity for evil," feed the public's appetite for plastic surgery stories and and "outrageous behavior," and share the "secrets of celebrity couple math."
And in the opinion of this immodest couple, no one better personifies the game than the Jolie-Pitts.
"We'd love to sit down and discuss fame with them," Speidi, answering as one, told Playboy.com. "Consider this your formal invitation, Brangelina. Let's hang out sometime. We'll be SpeidiLina!"
Ha! That's hil-ar-i-ous, you kooky kids!
The duo also frets in mock horror about possibly offending Hollywood's reigning prom queen and king.
"We wouldn't want to piss them off. She might steal Spencer -- you know, because she steals people's husbands!" Bada bing. Bada boom.
We can practically hear the hiss of revulsion that Speidi's effrontery provokes in Angelina. "How dare they!," we feel certain she roars. "They're not worthy of our spit!"
Read the full post here.
THIS ONE'S FOR THE OLDS: SINGER ANDY WILLIAMS IS HAWKING A GOSSIPY NEW BOOK in which he dishes sex, drugs and music.
"Sure I waited a long time to do it,'' Williams, 81, tells the Telegraph. "But who wants to buy an autobiography of someone in their teens? You've got to live life to write a book about it."
The sop pop singer -- who thinks Obama's a Marxist -- is giving interviews to sell his bio, Moon River and Me.
And after 60 years in show buziness, Williams, who used to swill champagne with the Rat Pack, knows how to satisfy a crowd. Among the secrets he's spilling:
Read the full post here.
JON GOSSELIN IS LIKE AN OPEN SORE THAT KEEPS on oozing.
Of course, we're speaking of the Jon that appears in tabloids and talk shows and "intimate" webcast confessionals. That's the only Jon I know.
I can't say what the real man's like behind closed doors; we have Hailey Glassman and Kate to tell us that.
And, surprise, surprise, this moy (my word for man-boy. See! You can make up words on the web!) is given toward emotional abuse and "mantrums". (Hailey makes words up too! We have a "connection!")
Jon's also given to hawking T-shirts, milk shakes, not wanting to be tardy for the party, and making young girls cry.
Read the full post here.
ONCE A YEAR WE GIVE OURSELVES PERMISSION TO FLIRT WITH DANGER, RELEASE OUR INNER MONSTERS, AND GORGE ON GUM AND CANDY.
Thank God for Halloween!
This year's spookfest falls on Saturday, making costume parties de rigueur along with trick-or-treating and horror movie marathons.
Because we couldn't resist, here's a list of the most ghoulish treats we could dig up on the web. Above is a Monster Meat Loaf, creation of Megan at Not Martha.org. We like her style and want to crash her parties!
Related: Halloween Is Killer
Read the full post here.
While the media sifts through the detritus left by "Balloon Boy's" crash landing, the crazy mastermind behind the scheme continues to reveal himself to be out of touch.
In the most ironic twist to date, Richard Heene's lawyer goes on NBC's Today and says, "Do not do the perp walk for media consumption and arrest these people in full view of their children. That's child abuse. That's traumatic for kids."
Which provokes spit laughs from observers who think that might be just what the kids' need to reset their minds northward.
It's bad enough Heene hid his 6-year-old son "for the show"; what's worse is he took him on national TV and expected him to lie. No wonder the kid barfed, and it's proof that he has more conscience than wacko dad.
So far the best public flailing comes from AP's pop culture writer Ted Anthony who comments today: "Rarely are we given such an opportunity to press pause and take stock of the American experience as it is unfolding. …We have become so enamored with the spectacle that, sometimes, we risk confusing it with real life."
Read the full post here.
I ADMIT IT: I AM NOT A FAN OF Twitter.
I don't think it's a pox on humanity like texting, I just think it's Facebook without the "fun," if you want to call it that. I just don't get Twittering, and now they've got Twitter games.
Still, being a gamer, I checked out the newest fads on Twitter to stay in the loop. Here's my take:
SNODS: -- I've been playing games my entire life and I can't figure out what to do in this sorry excuse for amusement. The point seems to be to go around and "capture" other Tweeters who have lots of followers. You then get an arbitrary amount of credit that increases every hour and lets you upgrade your character. The objective is to hold on to your captives long enough to accumulate ridiculous amounts of cash that then all gets blown on one upgrade. Of course you can lower the prices of the upgrades if your willing to pay a $15 charge to become a special agent. Note: that's 15 real dollars, not fake ones.
Read the full post here.
ISN'T THIS IRONIC: WOMEN WHO USE THE "THE PILL" ARE LIBERATED FROM THEIR SOCIOBIOLOGIC DRIVE FOR CADS.
Women whose hormones are regulated by the pill lose interest in the chase for alpha men and instead prefer more feminine men, according to a study published last week in Trends in Ecology and Evolution. "On the contrary, a woman on a normal menstrual cycle will have a burst of hormones around the time of ovulation that will drive her to lust after the hottest, sexiest guy in the room,'' according to an MSNBC report on the study.
You would think that women no longer impulsively drawn to the nearest lothario at the height of ovulation would be good news. But not necessarily to scientists, who wonder what the long-term implications for the species may be. And there's this: women on the pilll may also forfeit their best chances for attracting men, who find women the most attractive near their natural ovulation. What's ironic is that the pill promises sexual freedom delivers it by making us less sexually interesting.
The pill study was one of three stories on women and sex that caught my eye last week.
Salon had a long Q & A with the authors of Why Women Have Sex that touched on everything from domination, orgasms, to the "stud-slut double standard." Tthe most controversial line from the story? "Women just don't think about sex that much." Check it out.
And then there was this from
LiveScience: "For women, sex and happiness go together."
We like the idea that the headline promulgates even if the story don't persuasively make its case.
ABOUT THE ONLY TIME PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY WHO THEY SEEM IS WHEN THEY'RE toddlers singing innocent songs.
I wanted to write something about Letterman's problem and Jon Gosselin's problem, but this video is so much prettier than their mugs. 
It's by Ella ja Aleksi, two Finnish kids who sing something akin to a Values billboard in rap. Okay, whatever. I found it via BoingBoing by way of Buzzfeed, and someone else will pick it up tomorrow. Because the web is one big pyramid scheme.
Speaking of schemes, Letterman's handling of the extortion plot against him has earned him effusive praise from fans, TV muckety-mucks, and psychological spitballers.
We've all known for a long time that Dave is an equal opportunity crank, so imaging his wife as long-suffering was always a given. We're also not surprised that an underling jumped when her filthy rich boss made a pass at her. Lucky for Stephanie Birkitt that she isn't overweight and Dave's not a politician. 
I also can't help but wonder what Jon Gosselin's past defenders think of him now that he's proven himself to be a limp turd.
We are always only part of who we say we are, and always more complicated than others think.
I MET MY WORK HUSBAND AFTER A MOUSE RAN ACROSS MY DESK. I SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER and he laughed his head off. It's been love ever since!
Shortly before this incident he lost his first wife. Just some skank (haha, just joking!) who latched onto him because he's a really nice guy and they started work on the same day. That ended after he proved not so nice and refused to do her work so she wouldn't get fired. She got fired.
To look at us we’re complete opposites, as so many couples are. He's gay, white, married and not yet 30. I'm straight, black, married and, ahem, over 30. But somehow, we click!
He's my "work spouse," my husband at the office with whom I can gossip, kvetch about the real spouse, and take a ciggie break. Didn't you know? It's the best office accessory!
Yes, this is a bonafide phenomenon documented in none other than Wikipedia, which states, "A work spouse is a co-worker (usually of the opposite sex)[1] with whom one shares a special relationship, having bonds similar to those of a marriage; such as, special confidences, loyalties, shared jokes and experiences, and an unusual degree of honesty or openness.The work spouse is a potentially key relationship when one's actual spouse or boy/girlfriend is not able to understand the nuances of the workplace."
According to Forbes, about 17 percent of office workers reported having a "work spouse" in a 2006 Harris Interactive poll. Wikipedia claims "these hybrid relationships have begun to spawn more and more" as workers' hours have increased.
The trend has even reached the White House, where POTUS Barack Obama hired long-time confidant Valerie Jarrett to be a senior aide. "I trust her completely," Obama has been quoted as saying.
Read the full post here.
A CROWD PACKED THE MUSIC BOX IN CHICAGO TUESDAY NIGHT FOR A SNEAK PREVIEW OF SPIKE JONZE'S HOTLY ANTICIPATED NEW MOVIE, WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE.
Audience members laughed, they sighed, they applauded wildly -- and that was all before watching the film.
That's because the special showing was a fundraiser for 826 Chicago, a literacy nonprofit founded by wonderboy Dave Eggers, who was there in person to thank supporters. Last year alone, 826 provided free tutoring, writing programs to more than 4,300 Chicago public school students.
"It means a lot at this juncture when we can use every penny," said Eggers, author of the New York Times' bestseller, A Hearbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius. He said the event raised enough to pay a year's rent for the building 826-Chi rents at 1331 N. Milkwaukee Avenue.
Eggers, who co-wrote the movie's script with director Jonze, also brought along a small surprise: Max Records, the Portland, Ore. boy who plays the naughty Max in the adaptation of Maurice Sendack's perfect children's book. 
Before the movie, the real Max and Eggers bantered back and forth on stage, with Eggers revealing a list of indignities (sprained ankle, nausea, dog bites, seasickness, snowball in eye, near suffocation by Wild Things, sand in iPod) the young actor endured while filming in Australia.
And there was time for a short Q & A. When asked if he was familiar with Sendack's picture book, Records said that he "was probably obsessed with it until the age of four.'' And when someone asked if he expected to continue acting, he deadpanned, "It depends on the project. If the right thing comes along." The crowd erupted in laughter.
Then it was time to see the movie, smartly written by Eggers and Jonze, and a cinematic wonder to behold.
"I like the way you destroy stuff,'' one monster tells Max after one wild romp on their island. "There's a spark to your technique." As the collective motley crew considers eating Max, another says, "I hope you don't taste as selfish as you look."
Records' creative Max winsomely captures the freedom, confusion and pain of being a tween.
Read the full post here.
A COLLECTIVE GAG GURGLED ACROSS THE WEB TODAY AS READERS REACTED to MacKenzie Phillips' revelation that she had sex for 10 years with her father, John Phillips of the Mamas & the Papas.
The news provoked widespread jeers and sneers.
"If she could keep it a secret for 30 years,'' someone named Jill wrote on EW.com, "she could keep it for another 30."
"Phillips had an alleged long-term consensual sexual relationship with her father AS AN ADULT, which makes her just as screwed up as he was,'' spewed someone writing as TK. "There is a vast difference between therapeutically airing harmful secrets versus indiscriminately vomiting this distastefulness into yet another "tell all" book.
But an empathetic Jeff commented, "How long would your personal problems last if you were molested by your own father? This latest problem seems to explain the others. Check to see if you left your humanity under the sofa, when you get home tonight."
Oprah took a lot of heat for airing the vile claims the same day the book Phillips' new book was released. But to Catholics, fans of Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment and psychologists, the public confession is more understandable.
The "need to reveal embarrassing and disturbing secrets might be expected to exist in direct proportion to the importance that the experience …
has for the speaker or writer's personality as a whole,'' wrote E.J. Brill in is 1975 book, The Psychology of Confession. "This need finds expression in two ways: either in personal confidences to a trusted friend or as a written description.
"In the latter case, the memories involved have perhaps left the writer no peace until he got them out of his system." He goes on to say that confesson's catharsis is "the genesis of all literary confessions since
Saint Augustine's Confessions.
Read the full post here.
IT'S ALMOST TIME TO FEEL SORRY FOR KANYE, BUT WE'RE NOT QUITE THERE YET.
We're having too much fun spoofing his on-stage grovel to hip hop's reigning queen Beyoncé at the expense of wispy, blow-on-her-and-she'll-fall-over Taylor Swift.
It's been hard for the web to aim at other moving targets since Kanye made himself the bullseye. We grew tired of trying to keep up with all the delicious snark, so we took the liberty of compiling what we think are the 10 best servings of snide. Number 10 is Kanye reminding Keyboard Cat that he wasn't the first YouTube sensation. And the countdown to number one:
9. Someone by the name of Vince Romanelli adapts Swift's You Belong To Me into a sweet slam at Kanye. As Buzzfeed's Jack Shepherd wrote, "It's the sweetest, most soft-hearted diss track I've ever heard in my life." This is as clean as snark gets while still making its point.
8. Kanye's apology sung with autotune. I'll give it an 8 because you can dance to it while dissing.
Read the full post here.
MEET MATT "THE ZAZ" ZALLER, SARDONIC REPORTER FOR THE NATIONAL LAMPOON, WHOSE CELEBRITY INTERVIEWS PERFECTLY MARRY POP CULTURE'S LOVE AND HATE FOR CELEBRITY.
Zaller, who calls himself a "scientific contributor to the pop culture algorithm," shows up at these media cattle calls when stars are promoting their latest movie and eschews the platitudinous interview questions.
Instead, he deliberately mispronounces their names, plays with stuffed chickens, sings marriage proposals, feigns fan lunacy, and then watches the annointed squirm.
The surprise is that his "rogue" interviews reveal more about the celebs than the fawning interviews do.
For instance, for being a comedian, Bill Mahr takes himself very seriously. Megan Fox rather put a paper bag over her head than be ignored. Justin Bartha is a jackass. After all those Bourne movies, Matt Damon knows how to play it cool before taking control. And Zooey Dechanel knows how to play.
"This is probably the best conversation I've had all day," says Zooey while promoting Yes Man! "What network…what is this interview for?"
So now we all know that Zooey really is cool in addition to being hot.
Contrast her to Justin Bartha who starts out with a impatient wink but ultimately comes off as an insufferable bully.
"Ironic T-shirt and funky glasses, what are you going to do move to the lower East Side?," asks Bartha, who stars in Hangover. Second later, he adds, "You're cooler than you think you are. No, you're actually as cool as you think you are and you try to act dorky because you think that's cool."
Leave the irony to The Zaz, Justin. Because you are obviously not in on the joke.
BEHOLD: KANYE WEST'S NEW DESIGNS IN HIS DO.
Not to be outdone, West's gal-pal Amber Rose, sports her Star Trek Enterprise shades as seen on Streething.com (and coincidentally recommended for a Kanye West music video!)
One of our favorite blogs of the moment, Nerve, asked readers to write a caption for the photo. We go further and imagine several possible conversations between one of hip hop's reigning couples.
5) "I got my haircut by this up-and-comer, Daron. He cuts for Kobe, Jordan, & that guy who hosts that Let's Make a Deal gameshow, Howie, something, I heard he was a germaphobe? You know the one. I'm 96% sure he was on E at the time, but it's cool cause I'm rich and a trendsetter, so what can you really say to me?" Rose rolls eyes and silently gags, unbeknowst to Kanye who can't see through her updated, limited-edition shades.
4) "They told me they come in peace & bring Louis Vuitton so I told them, 'Hell yea, you can leave the map on my head!' Talk about exclusive!"
3) Rose: "I'm bald and I'm fierce." West: "I've got a map to India from the southern most tip of Spain on my head so now I'm fierce too." Rose: "Jackass."
2) This is your brain. This is a diagram of your brain on the outside of your head when you have too much money. Any questions?
1)"I did the damn puzzle on your head 15 times on the way over. I don't care if you're 'the Kanye West', I'm not doing it again."
Can you do better? Then submit your conversation!
Shakenya Jackson boasts she is among Chicago's finest writers. She enjoys long walks in the park and dirty dishes.
1969 WAS A FAR-OUT YEAR!
We tripped out at Woodstock, saw the first man on the moon, met the The Brady Bunch and adopted a pooch named Scooby Doo. As the hound's favored sidekick Shaggy would say, "ZOINKS JINKIES!
Mystery, Inc. opened its doors to business on Sept. 13, 1969 and has been chasing fake werewoves and witches through crime sprees ever since. As Freddy would say, Nice work, Scoob!
In honor of Scoob's hankering for snacks, we're delivering snackable news in bite-sized vittles today!
FIRST OFF, there is a not-to-be-missed piece from The New York Times on the riddle-wrapped-in-an enigma known as economics written by last year's Nobel prize winner Paul Krugman. Krugman makes haste of the idea that nothing -- not money, not fancy educations, not 200 years of free market experience -- is what it seems. And it will frighteningly reinforce the truth that no one can predict the future.
DESPITE ALL THE HAND-WRINGING, President Obama seems to have done no harm to America's school children when he told them Tuesday, "Every single one of you has something you're good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That's the opportunity an education can provide." And the Republicans are complaining? Jeez.
The Associated Press delivers a tidy summary here of the Obama Administration's missteps on its way to implementing public health care. That adage about "good intentions" immediately comes to mind upon reading.
ON THE CELEB FRONT, George Clooney debuts his latest brunette, a delusional Jon Gosselin disses soon-to-be-ex Kate and says beau Hailey Glassman makes his heart pound. Yawn.
FINALLY, THE U.K.'s Telegraph reports on a Dutch study that concludes beautiful women befuddle men's thinking. One commenter on Asylum astutely blames it on "blood flow."
September 09, 2009
BLAME IT ON THE STARS, BUT THERE'S A HEAVY DOSE OF VITRIOL IN THE AIR, SENDING OFF A STRONG STENCH OF CATTY.
Thus, there's no better excuse to introduce you to the Mainzer Dressed Cat postcards first published circa 1940s by the Mainzer Publishing Co. of Long Island.
The brightly colored postcards drawn by artist Eugen Hartung depict felines in human settings to humorous affect.
These paper treasures sell for anywhere from $4 to $15 a piece on Internet postcard websites.
Looking at them reminds me that at heart we are all just furless animals, some with the ability to claw our way to the top. And sometimes hanging out with each other is as much fun as pulling teeth.
But surely we can just as easily play nice, take in a show, learn from each other, help each other across the street, and pose like one big happy family now and then?
THERE'S A CERTAIN LATFH QUALITY TO THE TAKERS OF THE OFFER TO MAD MEN YOURSELF.
Hey, I'm not criticizing. I'm just sayin'.
I'm up there myself, second row to the right, with the stars dancing around my head. Better than in my eyes I suppose. I just Blingeed up my avatar to stand out from the crowd.
A couple things I've deduced from a not-so-quick crawl of the web for Mad Men avatar makers?
On the whole, the show's fans are white, disproportionately wear glasses, and are proud of their geek quality. Some even seem proud of smoking!
But my best guess is that they all are romantics at heart, yearning for a time they never knew and would turn their backs on if they had to live it.
Just like it does to Peggy and Don, Betty and Roger, that would make them "mad."
HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE A MOVIE THAT BEGINS: "No clowns were harmed during the filming of this movie. (However, two goats and a chicken have gone missing)."
Ha!
I laughed out loud when Crabby sent me this story from Open Salon and asked if I had ever heard of Clown Porn. Of course I'd heard of it. I work at the porn palace. And I found this particular movie both hilarious and downright horrifying. Not because I'm afraid of clowns but because the ending would probably be appalling to most people. For a pretty innocuous movie I don't know why they had to go there.
The movie's also been reviewed at Amazon by a single viewer, who describes it as "an adult title with a clown theme. Every scene involves clowns in one or more ways, and pies are thrown at faces quite a bit."
Clown is just one of many porn "niches."
Read the full post here.
MONDAY WAS SPENT DOING TYPICAL ROCK 'N ROLL THINGS: Getting paper towels, cigarettes, printer paper etc.
Bright spot of the day: I find out one of the guys who works for my bro is the brother-in-law of a guy who is best friends with Benji DC Madden of Good Charlotte who is married to Nichole Richie. I'm six degrees away from Paris Hilton.
Watched Peter, Bjorn & John again from the wings of the Bowl and got an unexpected surprise. During their set a half empty water bottle fell over. My brother looked at me and said, "Go get it."
Go get it…It was one thing yesterday to go on stage after the set, leisurely walk around, take my time, but now during the actual gig, this was serious. As I started to move onto the stage in front of 10,000 people I hear him say "keep low."
Keep low…I'm a middle aged adult with a bad hip. Keeping low is not so easy, but I was already committed as I had passed a large amp and was in clear line of sight.
I got as low as I could go but I really don't think I was that low. I was more hunched then anything. But mission accomplished, the bottle was removed from the stage and brought safely back to the wings.
After the show the guy who works for my brother makes arrangements for me to meet his brother-in-law's friend the next morning. The guy works in a tattoo parlor on Melrose. I can already smell Paris.
Tuesday morning, I arrive at the parlor to meet an inked up Russell Crowe look-a-like. This guy has inked Benji from Good Charlotte, Ben Affleck and the Jackass guys to name a few. The first thing he says is, "Man it's early to start doing tattoos."
I start to explain that I don't really want a tattoo, I'm just looking for info on how I can meet Paris Hilton. He says, "Come in back and we'll talk."
About 2 hours later I am no closer to meeting Paris, but I am now sporting an awesome dragon tattoo.
Read the full post here.
WE SEND CONGRATS TO THE SELLER OF THE MICHAEL JACKSON portrait by Andy Warhol for their cunning timing of the sale, which comes two months after the King of Pop dropped dead.
Reports say that the owner only purchased the 30 inch by 26 inch piece in May for a mere $278,500 at a Sotheby's auction. But that was back when Jackson was just a shriveled-up accused pedophile, and before he ascended into Pop Culture cannon as a saint.
Warhol was commissioned to paint the portrait to commemmorate the wild success of Thriller, according to Reuters. Little did any of us know that Michael would never look so good than during this period.
The portrait was sold Tuesday night at the BBC reported its price tag exceeded $1 million. But of course.
How often can you buy a piece of two pop culture icons at once?
Another Warhol portrait -- of Michael's close friend Elizabeth Taylor, sold for $23.7 million two years ago.
WHO THE HELL KNOWS WHERE THOSE ELUSIVE DISAPPEARING SOCKS GO: Left in dryers at laundromats; dropped in condo laundry rooms; stuck inside some godforsaken T-shirt that's been stuffed in the drawer for the last two years.
Maybe you're sick of those 'loners' cluttering your sock drawer. Or perhaps just stuck inside, bored to tears in your San Francisco Bay area apartment, and need something to do something with your hands. 
That's sort of how sock artisan John Murphy' story begins.
The North Carolina native who studied illustration and sculpture moved to California two years after graduating from college. Eventually, frustrated by a lack of sculpting supplies, he began making sock monsters from socks, thrift store buttons, needle and thread.
Then the craziest thing happened: his creations were so popular that he ultimately sold a book entitled, duh, Stupid Sock Creatures, which by sheer serendipity Crabby found for 35 cents at a thrift store this summer.
Around these parts, making sock creatures has become contagious. The book's worth every penny, even if you have to buy it at the retail price.
THE ANIMAL RIGHTS GROUP PETA IS MAKING WAVES for a billboard comparing fat chicks to whales.
"Save The Whales. Lose The Blubber. Go Vegetarian,'' the billboard says, which depicts a chunky woman's midriff.
The ad is getting blasted by media and bloggers for picking on chubbies.
Feministing.com condemns the ad as "fat-shaming" and says "PETA owes the residents of Jacksonville a serious apology." A writer at Deceiver says, "This is exactly what you would expect [from PETA] -- no empathy for humans whatsoever, just a lot of B.S. about how vegetarianism will make fat people just a little bit less of a blight on humanity."
What does Crabby, who has love handles that look suspiciously like those in the ad, say? I say, "Good Work, PETA!"
Neither advertising nor advocating are effective unless you get people to snap to attention. I'd say PETA has done that successfully.
Besides, the board doesn't target individuals like some media have targeted Kelly Clarkson or Jessica Simpson for gaining a few pounds. That to me a far more serious and personal offense at "fat-shaming."
Congrats to PETA for getting several hundred thousand dollars of free advertising in the media. Now if you could only persuade me to give up bacon.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 13TH, 6:42 a.m.: WHEW, I'M FINALLY ON VACATION. Packing now to get to airport. Going to LA to roadie for Peter, Bjorn and John. This is the band that my bro Chris is tour managing. The band's opening for Depeche Mode for six shows: one in San Diego, two at the Hollywood Bowl, one in Santa Barbara, one in Anaheim and finally the Palms in Las Vegas.
Note to self: Get with Paris Hilton.
10:03 a.m.: Off to a bad start. The airport shuttle wasn't working so I missed the 45 minute deadline to check bags by 3 minutes. So I'm on standby for the next flight leaving at 11:55. A two hour delay, not too bad if I make it on.
To add insult to injury I got hit for a $125 baggage overweight fee. I then paid an additional $50 to wait in the Red Carpet Club. If I can get with Paris Hilton, then it's all worth it.
8:23 p.m.: OK -- made it to LA, pick up the van and am checked into the Le Parc hotel. Just off Melrose in West Hollywood. I'll check with the front desk if they know where Paris hangs out.
Friday, 11:10 a.m.: Day one in the books. Pick up the band, their girlfriends and the baby. Yep, I said baby, the new world of rock and roll. I'm hoping for groupies and I get goo goos. We leave for San Diego at 2 p.m. and will return to LA around midnight. No word on Paris at the moment. But I will check with the front desk for any messages.
2:14 p.m:So just got a text, the show in San Diego may be cancelled. Don't mind, it was a 3.5 hour trip each way. Now I can focus on locating Paris.
8:26 p.m.: With the show in San Diego cancelled, I rent a Porsche Boxter and drive through Mulholland Drive. I read on the internet that Paris lives off of Mulholland. No sighting to report.
Saturday, 2:47 p.m.: Took an early morning drive along Mulholland. Less traffic so I could move a little quicker. Had breakfast with my friend Lilia and her husband in Pasadena. Thanks Lilia!
P.S.: Lilia has a friend who knows where Paris has coffee on Melrose very near the hotel; she'll text me the name of the place. I feel good about this lead.
10:04 p.m.: The band wanted to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art. They tell me that Paris loves contemporary art. So we went. I was duped.
Read the full post here.
WE INTERRUPT THE FUN TO BRING YOU THIS PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUCEMENT. These mugshots from the Multnomah County
Sheriff's Office in a region of Oregon affectionately dubbed Methford by locals.
These pics come to our attention via I Am Bored and show the ravages that meth takes on its users after a time.
It isn't very pretty. Proactive won't help. We can't say what will. We're not convinced prison is the answer.
Message to kiddies: stay away from the meth!
MY PHYSICAL REACTION TO BEAUTIFUL THINGS IS MUCH LIKE MY REACTION TO A GOOD FUCK: I get all tingling and start loudly exclaiming, "Ohh Yes!"
It's a problem particularly when browsing high-end furniture stores and the finest antique malls.
But to less embarrassing effect, it also happens at home while perusing the web for virtual candy.
And so I can reveal that I came hard when I found the New York Times' gorgeous feature on Detroit's finest hour: the Cold-War era's tailfins.
"Tailfins embodied a feeling of prosperity and jet-age excitement," Jeffrey Leestma, president of the Automotive Hall of Fame told the Times'.
Jet-age excitement, yeah, that's it.
The spectacular stylings of the tailfins were featured at the Hall of Fame's annual car show in early August. Thankfully, the Times' brought the show to those who couldn't make the trek.
Indulge, then have a cigarette.
WHAT'S BLACK AND WHITE AND READ ABOUT ALL OVER?
That would be the lowly styrofoam cups turned into coveted works of art by California artist Cheeming Boey.
At age 29, the Malaysian native has transformed himself from computer graphics designer into what he calls the "Styrofoam Cup King."
Boey moved to the U.S. to go to school in San Francisco. Soon after settling in and finding a favorite coffee shop, he began drawing on cups out of a shortage of paper.
According to the Orange County Register, "Suddenly, a light bulb went off in his head. I knew I was onto something. It was beautiful."
From that blink of an idea, Boey has moved from selling 4 cent cups for up to $220 apiece.
At those prices, it makes you want styrofoam to last forever.
The above examples are but a few of his extensive collection you can check out on his Flickr account here.
IF YOU CAN GET A SCRIPT FOR MEDICINAL MARIJUANA, YOU'LL NEED TO DOWNLOAD yourself the Cannabis iPhone app.
Ajnag.com, the makers of the appropriately titled wireless "application" allows users to sniff out suppliers of medical marijuana in 13 states.
The $2.99 app not only reveals the source but also provides directions with the aid of Google Maps. And if you're busted in one of the 37 states where pot hasn't been decriminalized, you can use the tool to locate lawyers in the area who specialize in beating marijuana cases.
According to Pulse2.com, Ajnag will donate 50 cents from each sale to create a cannabis reform group once 1,000 are sold, a milestone reportedly reached by July 22nd. Think of the riches! $500 to fight the war on drugs! I guess you have to start somewhere.
We're guessing it won't be long now before people might be able to use their iPhone to hone in on the nearest "stop and cop" corner. Think: iBong, iBowl, or maybe even iOneHitter. I'm claiming those domains now!
Chicagoland writer Cory Fosco is a graduate of Northwestern University's master's in writing program. He spends his time with his wife, two children, and Rex the dog. You can read his blog at A Year Till 40.
HENCEFORTH, WE WILL FOREVER BOW OUR HEADS IN SILENCE AS WE DRIVE BY TACO BELL RESTAURANTS.
The most endearing face of the fast food giant has succumbed to a stroke.
Gidget was the Chihuahua pooch whose famous Yo Quiero Taco Bell became a pop culture catchphrase.
Not that we ever knew what the phrase meant; Crabby's not versed in Spanish. But it didn't matter, because that cute little pup made the plasticized snacks from Taco Bell so much more edible!
The dog also appeared with Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde 2 and commercial for the game Trivial Pursuit.
Though we mourn Gidget's passing, we celebrate her life as a bonafide star! When's the memorial at Los Angeles' Staple Center?
SIMPLED-MINDEDNESS IS REWARDED BIG TIME ON THE WEB.
For example, check out this keen wit who appears on LATFH, short for 'Look At This Fucking Hipster.'
LATFH hit the web in April and, shazam, just like that, founder comedian Joe Mande has
landed a book deal.
Count him among the hipsters who have mastered the meme of the single-issue.
The publishing world is taking its cue from these sites and offering contracts to the weberati responsible for snarky, niched websites such as This Is Why You're Fat, Pets Who Want To Kill Themselves, and Postcards From Yo Momma and Animal Review.
Crabby is deeply inspired and will soon unveil her blog about brushing teeth!
AS COINCIDENCE WOULD HAVE IT, CRABBY ENJOYED A CHEESEBURGER HAPPY MEAL a mere hour before discovering that the three-piece children's McDonald's meal is turning 30!
Why it seems like yesterday that we were introduced to the simple burger, fries and small coke in 1979. The meal was an ingenius plot by McDonald's to hold psychological sway over the most suspectible of consumers. And it's worked!
Anyone ever in the company of a child just beginning to utter recognizable sounds knows that "McDonald's!" is one of the first words uttered by America's youth.
According to Retro YouTube, "The Happy Meal was the brainchild of St. Louis, Missouri advertising manager Dick Brams, who in 1977 contracted Kansas City-based advertising firm Bernstein-Rein to develop a children's meal item that would promote McDonald's as a restaurant for families, specifically those with smaller children."
But AOL's ParentDish points out, "It's not the box -- or the food -- that makes the Happy Meal iconic. It's the toys."
Proving that people will collect anything, an 11-year-old British boy sold his 7,000-piece collection of Mickey D's promotional items for $11,000 earlier this year.
The meal's most popular toy was Teenie Beanie Babies, first distributed in 1997 according to ABC News. The tiny stuffed toys ignited Beanie Babymania.
The most amusing account of Happy Meal history comes from YouTube's Liquid Generation, who compiles the 10 "lamest" Happy Meals ever offered.
Crabby admits that she has some mini Madame Alexander witches in her glove compartment, and maybe even a mini Ronald and McBurglar collecting dust above a kitchen cabinet. But most of the toys are returned to the drivethru before pulling away.
My favorite thing about the Happy Meal? It's doesn't beg for "supersizing!" When the boxed meal debuted in 1979 only 4.2 percent of American children were obese; today that number is 17percent.
Hey, Mickey D, here's a possible growth industry for you: healthier choices and smaller portions. If you did that, I'd be 'loving it.'
HE TOWERED OVER THE CROWD, WEARING DARK SUNGLASSES AND AN IRREPRESSIBLE air of confidence.
His languid moves reminded me of, well, a cheetah. A sleek, lithe cat, the master of his domain.
His charisma power pulled me closer into the vortex of his celebrity.
I tried to get his attention but it was futile. I pushed toward the crowd and then -- snap! I forever owned a piece of him. He was so near yet still so far.
Inexplicably, he made me hungry. I fled the crowd in search of satiation, content that I had some small souvenir of my brush with 'cheese.'
AS A GAMER, I'M NO NOOB WHEN IT COMES TO VIDEO GAME PARODY.
Like many gamers, I'm a follower of all the great video game parody shows: Captain S, Area 51's stuff, Screwattack.com's plethora of video game comedy.
The other day a new video was dropped into my in-box: Life with FPS Disease. A "hard, in-depth and serious" look at a poor man stricken with a repetitive injury that keeps his body moving in the same way as a character from a first-person shooter. My heart weeps for the poor parents who raised that kid. The video is sorta funny. Not "zomg! that be hilarious" funny but a "chuckle" kind of funny.
Honestly, the whole video reminds me of a poor attempt to mimic something out of Mega64 -- the kings of video game parody. But I got a "chuckle" and that's what matters.
Marc Sakol understands the kindness in strangers, which is why he abandons hope of actually getting to know people. He spends his time falling head first into video games, watching every movie ever made and writing for his blog Sarcasm Not Included.
IT WOULD BE RUDE TO SPECULATE ON THE ATTRACTIVENESS of the theorists behind the latest sociobiological spitballing that suggests that women consider boinging ugly men if they want to have babies.
But I can't help wondering: Are they ghastly? The blandest vanilla? Hold the appeal of a garden weed?
And don't you too want to get paid to sit around and postulate on how to hook up more often? Ahh, academia, why didn't I think of you sooner?
Such thoughts cross the mind as we read today's Telegraph on a theory of sperm to be published in an upcoming American Naturalist.
The alleged gist of the gizz? Ugly men have a bigger wad because they don't have as many chances to spread their seed.
Read the full post here.
OH, THEY THINK THEY'RE CLEVER OVER AT MSN.
The web is all about 'content,' techies be damned. So editorial types spend hours devising stories to get you to visit their sites. Mix in some facts, a dash of wit, maybe some whimsy -- and viola! -- you've got yourself a feature.
Such is surely the way MSN's list of 10 Worst Automotive Fads was compiled. (Note to readers: don't take 'worst' too seriously! The list was compiled by snarks sitting around desks making jokes!)
We at CrabbyGolightly concur that talking cars and spinning rims are ridiculous, but we take exception to the dissing of
fuzzy dice and faux woodsided cars!
Why, take away these two iconic images and our youthful memories would be so much more blah. Not everybody can have Martha's understated perfection!
The fuzzy dice are a wink to kitsch. And no one really thinks they're groovy; everyone's in on the joke.
But dissing wood-paneled cars cuts deep. I mean, nothing signaled "family man" about Mike Brady more than his green-and-wood-paneled wagon. And nothing says "nostalgia" to Gen X than The Brady Bunch.
Read the full post here.
CHECK OUT THE WILD WILD WORLD OF VINTAGE ANATOMICALS COLLECTED BY tiny palpitation on Flickr.
Depending on your point of view, they're either awesome or creepy. Or awesomely creepy.
MY CHOLESTEROL-LACED HEART BE STILL! Call Oprah! Write Kirstie Alley! Ring Beth Ditto stat!
Apparently there is hope for us all to drop some poundage.
For me, cutting out carbs would be like cutting off a limb. And going to the gym would result in even more grammatical errors on Crabby! And crack seems sort of desperate so I'll skip that too.
No, No, I need that elusive magic bullet. And, praise be God!, there seems to be one right under my nose.
At least, there will be just as soon as I fill up on peppermint, cinnamon and other good-smelling stuffs. Or just cut loose with the loot to buy something called Sensa, which enhances the taste of food and whispers to the hypothalamus that the tummy is full.
Read the full post here.
JON GOSSELIN GOES TROLLING ON MATCH.COM FOR A DATE.
Poor guy. He's sitting here just begging for someone to take charge. Sadly, he doesn't realize that he's got a "type," that he's doomed to marry the same mistake twice.
Let's hope that eight "half white" babies is enough, and that he'll soon get snipped!
Wait a minute! Isn't that a great idea for an episode when Jon & Kate Plus Eight returns from hiatus? Remember, you heard it here first!
NOTHING LIKE FOUR CELEBRITIES KICKING THE BUCKET IN A WEEK TO REMIND US ALL THAT OUR TIME IS FINITE.
Something about 'celebrity' makes us think title wearers are exempt from the regular rules of life. But when a former pinup girl dies of cancer, a prolific songster drops dead at 50, and the perpetual sidekick meets perpetuity all in the same week, well, you start looking over your shoulder for the grim reaper.
Of course we can't really know when our number will be up, but we humans are ingenious at trying. Thus, we have a host of "death calculators" from which to figure out the number of our remaining days.
There's the The Original Death Calculator Game which, according to the product description, "promotes successful aging by alerting you to lifestyle areas that require your attention… before it's too late."
We're not sure that learning your potential expiration date is enough to convince folks to stub out the ciggies, make it to the gym and skip the donuts because death is so conceptual until it's at your doorstep. But if the death of Wacko Jacko, once that sweet boy from The Jackson Five, caught you offguard and prompted a case of jitters, then this game might help motivate you to change your ways.
Read the full post here.
BRIAN OXMAN, A JACKSON FAMILY ATTORNEY, TOLD CBS News that he had warned family members that Michael was "overmedicated," and that he would speak out if a drug overdose was the cause of death.
"I have warned that one day Michael Jackson would wake up dead, and that I would not be silent if that was the case because of the misuse of medications,'' Oxman told Harry Smith. "I have made that statement to family members and I told them I would not be still."
Oxman then said he didn't want to "speculate" until the autopsy is complete, but that he had been suspicious of the pop star's prescription drug use for some time.
"I have warned of the use of prescription medications, and people who have enabled the use of prescription medications. If Jackson's cause of death is "as I fear, I am going to be very vocal,'' he warned.
He said that after Anna Nicole "passed away, I said one day if have this kind of a circumstance, and we too have to face this kind of tragedy, I would not be silent."
I HEARD A STORY IN A ROUNDABOUT WAY ABOUT THIS LITTLE GIRL WHOSE DAD BECAME PRESIDENT.
It was the day after the election. The little girl goes to school, sees a friend, and shouts, "Guess what!"
The friend thinks, duh: "Your father is the president?"
"No," the little girl exclaims, "We're getting a dog!"
Such is the importance of a pet to family: It trumps your father winning the presidency.
Once again, this fact is illustrated by an Associated Press poll that found that "half of all American pet owners consider their pets as much a part of the family as any other person in the household; another 36 percent said their pet is part of the family but not a full member."
Pet love has even budged bureaucrats: In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina the federal government changed its policy to allow pets to be evacuated from disaster areas. During that devastating hurricane, many people had refused to leave their homes because pets were not allowed along for the ride, and those who did leave them often lost them to death.
It always amazes me when the clueless say that animals don't feel. For chrissakes, don't these people have eyes? Haven't they seen the pain in abandoned dogs' eyes, read the stories about cows escaping from the slaughterhouses, seen video of the great ape moving an injured boy to safety? (And don't refute that's what the ape was doing.)
Do me a favor and stick up for the animals.
My own personal pet history? I was a precocious cat lady, collecting a menagerie while in college and keeping almost all until old age and disease took its toll. Now their ashes sit in tin urns in what I amusingly call my "gallery of dead pets." (A word from the wiser: reconsider having your first pet cremated; if you do it for one you'll feel you have to do it for them all.)
Currently there's a respectable three felines included in my immediate family. I wouldn't trade them for wealth or fame.
EVEN THE COLLECTIVE WIT AND WISDOM OF THE MIGHTY
But we can forgive the Gray Lady for her occasional dottiness when so much of what she does is so good. Case in point: Today's feature on two Cincinnati museums that are the result of separate but equally compelling obsessions.
First is the Vent Haven Museum, a dummy museum whose "unsettling amazement is unremitting," according to reporter Edward Rothstein.
Also, just a few miles away, is the American Sign Museum, where "about 200 are displayed, lighted and unlighted, each a compressed call for attention,'' Rothstein writes.
Together, the story and photos are sublime and evoke twinges for a "road trip."
It reminds me to be tolerant of the idiosyncrasies of our occasionally daffy elders. After all, we never really know how much longer they'll be around.
June 22, 2009
AT LEAST THESE WORKERS WON'T BE EMBARRASSED IF THEY GET IN AN ACCIDENT ON THE JOB.
An example of government gone batty: The city council in Brooksville has passed a dress code requiring employees to, among other things, wear underwear and apply deodorant. The dress code also forbids exposed underwear, "sexually provocative" clothing and body piercings other than on the ears.
The city council passed the measure by a vote of 4 to 1, according to the Associated Press.
The opposing vote was cast by the mayor who said that requiring underwear "takes away freedom of choice."
My question: Who's going to do the enforcing? Will the ridiculous law prompt a lawsuit, bringing new meaning to term "legal briefs?"
I WAS RAISED ON BITS AND PIXELS WHILE OTHER KIDS were raised on baseball and playdates.
I got my first video game console was when I was five -- it was the original Nintendo. My best friends were Mega Man and Donkey Kong.
As I grew older, my love for gaming grew deeper. I leveled up from an NES to a Game Boy and Super Nintendo. I would hide my Game Boy under my textbooks during class and play Kirby's Dream Land, then go home and pop Final Fantasy into my home console and play the night away.
And though video games aren't known for wringing emotional responses out of players -- the heartwrenching is there, folks.
Read the full post here.
THE LINE BETWEEN ART AND LIFE GETS BLURRIER AND BLURRIER ALL THE TIME.
Today we get
faux butt assaults at the MTV Movie Awards, questionable public
emotional breakdowns, highly produced
"reality TV."
Why should you let television producers and actors have all the fun? Take charge of blurring your own lines of reality!
The website HongKiat has created a handy list of 25 websites that let you upload your own photos into iconic, geographic or media images.
Among their favorites are PhotoFunia, which invites you to "pimp your myspace page" by editing your photo into about 100 iconic or goofy images. With the site's help, you can walk on the moon, morph into Superman, immortalize yourself on Mt. Rushmore or into about 95 other scenarios.
The site Fun Photo Box is number two on HongKiat's list, with their effects slightly wackier than PhotoFunia's.
But don't stop there. You can print
your face on money, old old yearbooks,
magazine covers, even try on your favorite actress' hair style!
So if you're bored, unhappy, or just restless for new adventures, go ahead -- edit your life!
SO I JUST So I just read that Jackson Smith, son of my idol Patti Smith and the late great rocker of the coincidentally named Fred 'Sonic' Smith, tied the knot to White Stripe's Meg White, ex wife to the other half of her band and rock star at-large, Jack White.
Meg White and Jackson Smith, guartist for the Detroit band Back In Spades, were married May 22 at Jack White's house in Nashville, which I assume he shares with supermodel wife Karen Elson and two babes.
It was a double wedding, the other couple being bassist for Jack White's newer bands The Raconteurs and Dead Weather and some lady no one's ever heard of.
Read the full post here.
"PLEASE GUYS," CHRISTA IMPLORED. "NO PENIS-SHAPED ITEMS. PLEASE."
Bachelor(ette) parties, the stuff the Overheard websites are made of.
I host Christa's bachelorette party in Chicago. Though I am not her maid of honor (the one who traditionally coordinates the bachelorette party), I am the only one who lives in the city, so I gladly take on the task.
"No dicks?" I ask Laura, the maid of honor. "What kind of party is this?!"
When I marry, I expect everything at my bachelorette party to be phallic. But Christa -- who is slightly more demure than I -- prefers good old-fashioned fun. So she gets it.
We decide to conduct a scavenger hunt. We equip Christa with a bedazzled canvas bag donned the words Bachelorette Scav Hunt. On the opposite side we glue an American flag and scrawl "YER AH-MUR-I-KUN!" to remind her of her "roots" after she jets off to London where she'll live post-wedding.
She's also forced to wear the telltale "Bride to Be" sash and a white tulle veil. Though we are completely aware of the obnoxiousness of all this, we persevere. (I apologize to anyone whose day we may have ruined with our girlish squeals.)
Read the full post here.
WHAT A BLOW TO HEAR OF THE DEATHS OF KOKO TAYLOR and DAVID CARRADINE on the same day. I'm a big fan of all the Carradines. Though Keith is my favorite, I was still sad at 73-year-old David's mistake. But the bigger wallop for me is Taylor. She's one of my iPod favorites. I dare you to listen to her and not feel a tingle.
I think another reason I had a special affinity for her was that she resembled my family. Alas, only in looks, not musical talent. Koko was among the greats, known as the Queen of the Blues who kept the blues scene alive in her adopted hometown of Chicago (disclaimer: I had one of the BEST nights of my life at Chicago blues club Kingston Mines. The 80-year-old died June 3 of complications after surgery. R.I.P
WHEN DID LOU DIAMOND PHILLIPS hit the celebrity D-list? I was surprised to see him on the new NBC pile-o-shit I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!. What's he doing hanging out with the likes of Speidi, Frangela, FREAKING SANJAYA, and that Blagojevich woman!
I could only stomach snippets of this Survivor rip-off but I did catch this -- Spencer told Heidi, "It's the first time you've cried on TV and it's not fake." I think she was crying over a lost container of dry shampoo. The famewhores pretended to leave several times but then came right back. "Super-celebrities don't belong in the jungle,"' Spencer reportedly said. "They belong in Hollywood with the paparazzi." Why not just jump around, waving your arms in the air, and shouting, "Look at us, look at us, LOOK AT US!!! Don't we deserve our OWN show! You know we do. We'd be fab!"
Read the full post here.
WE'VE ALL DONE IT BEFORE -- sent revealing texts to the wrong person or texted in some woe-is-me or drunken stupor. 
Don't feel bad, though. It's hard to beat the faux pas found on TextsFromLastNight.com. Founded by two friends in February, Texts From Last Night (TFLN) shares your most revealing and embarrrassing texts in short snippets. The site features "best nights" texts and "worst night" texts, and reminds me a lot of Twitter.
Some examples:
(308): "I just walked in on my mom and dad… It wasn't my dad."
(774): "i just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled "dibs!"
(703): "Just woke up wearing a top hat and simpsons boxers. i also found more money in my wallet then (sic) what I had before going out, about $1000 more."
After spending an hour reading, I felt better about my crappy workday, my mountain of bills and other assorted or personal problems.
But next time I throw myself a pity party, drink too much, feel lonely or start pining for my ex -- I'm staying the hell away.
Read the full post here.
UGLY, LOW-ACHIEVING DO-GOODERS, TAKE HEART! DON'T WASTE ENERGY ENVYING THOSE ''BEAUTIFUL" STRIVERS AT MTV'S MOVIE AWARDS! There's a new study that says you're happier than your wealthier, more beautiful and higher achieving peers.
So claims University of Rochester researchers who interviewed -- count 'em -- 147 college graduates twice after graduating. (I am constantly in awe of the universal "findings" social scientists derive from study samples of "147 people.")
Read the full post here.
TO ANY CLAIMS THAT THAT SUSAN BOYLE LOST BRITAIN'S GOT TALENT, that her second-placed finish was a "dream lost," let me sputter an emphatic pish posh! Nothing could be further from the truth. Read the full post here.
Since delivering her soaring rendition of Les Misérables' I Dreamed A Dream on stage about seven weeks ago, Boyle's performance has been viewed more than 220 million times, according to Visible Measures, an internet video research firm. The 47-year-old spinster and cat owner has become an international touchstone of the true beauty of talent and simplicity. She is a light to millions, reports of her potty mouth be damned.
Though she may have come in second to a dance troupe calling itself Diversity, Miss Boyle clearly won the competition by surviving the intense scrutiny that comes with stepping on the world-wide stage. "This show is all about manipulating the eagerness for celebrity among vulnerable, often desperate people," David Wilson, a professor at Birmingham City University, May 30, 2009
THERE'S A NEW BOOK OUT ENTITLED, Smart Girls Marry Money: How Women Have Been Duped Into the Romantic Dream -- And How They're Paying For It.
The authors contend in an AOL interview that marrying up and staying married is the best financial plan for women.
The way I see it, there is almost nothing practical about marrying at all. But then, I think people with babies shouldn't be allowed on planes and that kissing couples in public are tacky.
Here's my question: can women who marry for money be happy? Can they convince themselves that romantic love is unnecessary and not worth pursuing?
Read the full post here.
LANGUAGE, ACCORDING TO LINGUIST AND ALL-AROUND INTELLECT NOAM CHOMSKY, results from formulaic rules that govern all human verbal communication. One such language, only spoken by 100 or so people fluently, is Klingon.
Mark Okrand, consultant for Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, wrote the audiobook
Conversational Klingon 25 years ago. Klingon follows the universal rules of grammar and syntax, and therefore can be spoken as well as any "real" language.
Proof of this is the newest project to come from the Klingon Terran Research Ensemble: An opera called, simply, u, which performs part of Klingon mythology. The ensemble has been writing the opera for the last year with the "ambitious goal" of holding future performances.
I heard about this serious endeavor on NPR.
Read the full post here.
LAST WEEKEND WAS NIRVANA FOR ME. A rainy Saturday afternoon with nothing to do and The Long Island Lolita on the telly.
While dusting I gazed back and forth to the TV as gum-chewing cutie Alyssa Milano protrayed Amy Fisher as a 16-year-old seductress to goofy auto mechanic Joey Buttafuoco, played by scenery devouring Jack Scalia.
"Lolita" is one of those movies I can watch any rainy weekend. Like the Burning Bed with Farah Fawcett or A Woman Scorned: The Betty Broderick story that stars Meredith Baxter Birney, I can never get enough of an entertaining Lifetime or Lifetime-like movie.
The Long Island Lolita tells the story Fisher, who gained notoriety at 16 when she fired a gun point blank at her married lover's wife's face. Said wife, Mary Jo Buttufuco, lived and the teenage tart served 7 years in prison for assault.
Read the full post here.
WHAT ARE THEY PAYING THESE PEOPLE?
They've captured Zac Effron throwing a star-studded pool party, Lindsay Lohan making a faux eHarmony dating profile , and now Denise Richards touting again her 'funbags.' It's amazing how breasts and blonde hair can catapult someone to stardom in La La Land.
What's been most impressive about these videos, produced by the team over at Funny Or Die, is that they get these B-listers to sign on for the fun.
I would love to be the bug on the wall catching the producer's spiel: "Everybody will think you're normal Lindsay!" (Nevermind that she looks dangerously thin once again in the spoof.) "Zac, this will introduce you to a wider audience that the High School Musical crowd!! (And maybe help folks forget about that embarrassing earwax incident).
"Denise, this will help boost ratings for your reality TV show on E!"
Oh, wait, that was cancelled, wasn't it? So a little face time might help find a new gig, right?
Can never hurt to remind Hollywood that Richards' "funbags" are "WAITING FOR YOU! WAITING FOR YOU!!"
The aroma steals
Into your heart before it
Swipes years from your life
IT'S GETTING HARDER AND HARDER TO BRING HOME THE BACON. Barron's reports that America's joblessness last year was
the worst in seven decades and is expected to grow even higher this year.
Here at Crabby, we feel your pain. So we decided to hold a bacon haiku contest.
Personally, if it weren't for bacon I could easily be a vegetarian. And, I ask, is there a better symbol of hope than "more bacon?"
Emotionally and physically, carnivores fall hard for this little piggy. Do a quick search on BUZZFEED and you'll find -- count'em -- two dozen tasty links to this off the hook sizzle.
There is no end to the creativity this crispy meat inspires. You'll find bacon cocktails, bacon bracelets, as well as gobs of blogs devoted to all things bacon.
Love bacon but prefer something that doesn't clog arteries? Stop over at Zazzle.com and peruse 91 pages of bacon-related products, including bacon loafers, keychains and mousepads. 
Or sample the gags at Archie McPhee's bacon themed gifts.
And now straight from the news pages, there's scientific proof that the fatty magic elixir is also a cure for hangovers. And science has also determined we love our porcine friend: it's the "chemical reaction" between amino acids and reducing sugars that causes it become "meat candy."
All of which brings me to Crabby's Bacon Haiku competition.
At this point we feel obliged to point out that there is actually is an entire site devoted to bacon haikus. But we only discovered it after we decided to hold the contest. And we've read their haikus, and think surely this delectable delight can inspire more delicious prose?
So here's the deal: Send us your ode to bacon in 17 syllables by May 1. Crabby writers and editors will deem which is the tastiest.
The winner will get a $100 gift certificate for Nueskes bacon, the brand
a New York Times' foodie touts as the bacon he brings home.
Or as one
Amazon reviewer put it: "You'll eat this bacon and weep because you'll realize what you've been missing all these years.
Second runner-up will get a strip of 20 U.S. postal bacon stamps; third runner-up will get a bacon-inspired wallet to help motivate you to fill your coffers.
We think it's a win-win. We'll get your tasty no-fat prose, and you'll get to bring home…well…you know.
AM I A HIPPIE?
Am I one of those counterculture, no-leather shoe wearing vegans?
No, I'm not.
I'm just a woman who really doesn't want to "mow the lawn." And I don't want to hear about mowing yours.
Maybe you've noticed this little gem on StyleList. I first read about it on Gawker.
But I like how StyleList compares two versions of the new Schick Bikini Razor commercials, one a lot edgier than the other. (The online version of the commercial insinuates that black women have really big vaginal areas and Asian women's are small. WTF?)
Read the full post here.
LIKE ANY
UNEXPECTED DEATH, 'CWalken's
sudden demise on Twitter is evoking myriad reactions from his grief-stricken fans.
"I continue my no ice cream silent protest of the @cwalken suspension," writes bitchmobile. "I miss ice cream. My quality of life is being affected."
On more than 100 pages of commentary -- a virtual visitor's book at a wake, if you will -- fans of the 'CWalken' tweeter lament in classic reactions the loss of their daily dose of droll.
There is denial: "Cwalken wasn't real?," asks Derek_Barnes. "I'm so sad!!!"
There is anger: "Hates that dumb skank whose investigation caused twitter to take down the cwalken tweet[s]," vents Feenomite. "I hope she gets ass herpes." (For the record, Crabby is unclear as to the identity of "that dumb skank.")
There is bargaining: "People, rally the troops, saddle up, do what you can," commands BringBackCWalken.
There is depression: "After finding out the cwalken profile was fake -- nothing else matters," bemoans someonesaveus.
And, for a few, there is acceptance: "Faretheewell, @cwalken," writes carondele. "You were a strange and entertaining read while it lasted."
And for those who believe in miracles, Crabby reminds us that Easter approaches with its promise of resurrection: Surely 'cwalken' will live once again on a Saturday Night Live skit? At the very least, we can be sure we will hear from him again in book form compliments of a New York publisher.
ALAS, 'CWALKEN' IS DEAD.
The Internet has been all atwitter about the ironic actor's alleged tweets on Twitter, the popular social networking site.
The post that got everyone twatting (I have been dying to use that in a sentence, thanks Stephen Colbert!) and linking back to the cwalken account was posted on March 18th:
"There's a kid on a Pogo stick in front of my house. It's nearly midnight so let's assume he's been drinking. This should end well for him."
It certainly sounds like something Christopher Walken might say, doesn't it? Well it's not, and when Twitter confirmed it, it unplugged the account that had more 73,000 followers. Sorry Crabby but the "cwalken" account was an experiment set up by Deron Bauman, a member of ClusterFlock, a "group blog dedicated to pretty much everything, by people you would like to meet at a party."
Read the full post here.
NO CRABBY, I WILL NOT TWITTER!
I also won't Myspace, Facebook and I'm not LinkedIn.
For chrissakes, I'm still upset about the breakup of Ma Bell.
If I sound crochtey, I am. So many means of communication, but life has turned into just a tower of babel.
Read the full post here.
Read the full post here.
10. Steve Martin. The funny man isn't so funny in person. I encountered him once while I worked in TV, and frankly, he was The Jerk. But everyone around him excused his behavior because he has just gone through a divorce. Still, he has a reputation as being smart, and he's literate. Now he's remarried, to a New Yorker writer no less, and I envy the erudite conversations the two must share over breakfast together. I bet they could spice up their marriage by competing over who could write the most amusing 140 character sentences.
9. Samuel L. Jackson. In addition to just being a bad-assed actor, Jackson's indirect path to fame includes serving as an usher at Martin Luther King's funeral, dabbling in the 60s' Black Power movement, and fighting a cocaine addiction. Jackson, who shot to fame as the psychopath Jules Winnfield in Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, is listed in the 2009 edition of The Guiness World Records as the world's highest grossing actor, having earned $7.42 billion in 68 films. And just last month, Jackson signed a 9-picture deal with Marvel. Have I convinced you that he's got something to say? Mr. Jackson actually has a Twit account, but hasn't quite got the hang of it yet. Get busy, sir!
8. Pink. Born Alecia Beth Moore, this Doylestown, Pa. native writes and performs music with such emotional honesty that I imagine her crawling into a ball and crying after every performance. She's a PETA activist, wrote a letter to Prince William complaining about his fox-hunting, and even had the courage to diss Beyonce for wearing fur. Someone so honest surely would be able to spit out truisms 140 characters at a time?
ASHTON KUTCHER FORGOT FOR A MOMENT THAT he isn't producing Punk'd any longer and
posted a shot of his wife's pantied derriere on Twitter. Thank you Ashton!
I'm sure both she and you are very proud. I would be too if I had that butt. (And what better time to remind the world of your love -- and that rump -- than on the weekend when Demi's ex ties the knot to another dark-haired beauty. We learned this week that Bruce Willis has a "type.")
Ashton's prank, or pride, or generosity, or…whatever you want to call it…gives perfect entree to the subject of celebrities on Twitter, and I won't waste my time talking down to those who need explaining what Twitter is. (Feel that tsunami sucking you inward and down?)
It's because of this latest -- and most absorbing -- darling of the "social media" networks that ordinary schleps like me and you get to peek at Demi Moore's rump.
"watching my wife steam my suit while wearing a bikini," Kutcher writes moments before he throws up the pic. "shhh don't tell wifey. http://twitpic.com/2bj58.
But Ashton isn't alone among celebrities sharing their minds'
flotsam and jetsam to the masses through "tweets."
Read the full post here.
NEWS BULLETIN!
The devilishly diabolical "Disaster Girl" was cleared of any suspicion in the death of the
Montauk Monster after news accounts revealed that the ''worst Jew ever" Bernie Madoff owns an oceanfront estate in the New York seaside community.
Police are questioning Madoff about his whereabouts in July 2009 when the freakishly
decomposed corpse was found.
Investigators speculate that the Monster may have threatened to expose the billionaire's financial crimes.
IT'S THE ULTIMATE TEASE: SEX WITHOUT EXPECTATION.
So of course the cartoonish ad with a smiling man and woman in a bed certainly caught my eye.
There it was, on Page 73 yesterday of the Chicago Reader: "THIS COUPON ENTITLES YOU TO ONE FREE AFFAIR. AshleyMadison.com."
And then in smaller letters: As Seen on: Larry King, Dr. Phil, 20/20.
Surely, this was some sort of hoax?
But Google quickly disproved that notion and I learned that AshleyMadison.com is a real site much touted by Howard Stern that helps the sexually hungry discreetly hook-up with someone to meet their…unmet needs.
How very practical!
Read the full post here.
Read the full post here. 
I GAVE UP HIGH HEELED SHOES YEARS AGO after I found myself, on a hot June afternoon, sitting on someone's stoop in severe pain.
My only 3" heels were killing me, hurting so bad I just took them off and walked the dirty, filthy streets barefoot.
It was not pretty, although the shoes were.
And, to seal my determination, my most stylish friend fell flat on her face while wearing 6" platforms sandals (we warned her!), cracking her nose in the process. March 12, 2009
GREAT NEWS!
This is just what the death-anxiety,
materialistic among us were waiting to hear. This is the permission we needed to …SPEND!
Psychologists at two U.S. universities have released a study concluding that the combination of "death anxiety"
and materialism leads people to become strongly attached to brands.
That sounds so bleak, so depressing! But wait! The studies' authors suggest there is a the silver lining:
Read the full post here.
OH, OH!' SAID RIHANNA.
"Let's play!,'' Rihanna said.
'Yes, let's play!,'' said Chris Brown.
'Uh oh!' said Rihanna. 'Uh oh. Oh no!'
'Look, look!,' Mr. Policeman. 'Look! look! look!'
'I see,' said Mr. Policeman.
'My hand slipped,' said Chris Brown. 'It was an accident.'
Rihanna is sad. Sad, sad Rihanna.
'Watch!,' said Chris. 'Watch me play!'
'Look at me!,' Chris exclaimed. 'Look, look, look!'
'See! I can swim! I can sun! I can ski!'
'Uh, oh,'' said Mr. Policeman. 'You're under arrest.'
'Oh, no!,' cried Chris. 'No, no, no!'
Poor Rihanna.
Run, Rihanna! Run, run, run!
Run as fast as you can!
March 05, 2009
MY HEART FLUTTERS, MY BLOOD RACES, AND MY BIG
BROWN EYES OPEN WIDER WHEN I first see the message:
Paris_Hilton is following me on Twitter!
I'm just so…flabbergasted! Flattered! Touched! I mean, I'm just a little ol' blogger from the Great Lakes
and I can't think of any one thing I ever did to get one of Hollywood's prima Princesses to notice me!
I thought the Hilton heiress would be through with the Internet after her cellphone was hacked and the numbers of all her celebrity friends' were set loose on the web.
Read the full post here.
JUST LIKE WHITNEY STAYED WITH BOBBY, Rihanna will stay with Chris Brown.When the news broke that Brown was arrested for battery, wildfire gossip spread that he had assaulted his long-time girl-companion.
The pictures of a battered Rhianna surfaced and Brown's endorsements were pulled, just about as quickly as Michael Phelps were after the shot of him drinking the last bit of water out the bong and blowing smoke circles from his ears (okay,slight exaggeration) surfaced.
Celebrities who've come to his defense retracted their statements based on their previous ignorance and the severity of the situation.
Read the full post here.
HAVEN'T WE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR THIS?
Isn't this just what we'd expect in the era of instant gratification and in-your-face
manners?
Obviously skilled in the ways of marketing,
Dutch artist Johan van der Dong has set up a
Netherlands telephone number where you can leave messages for God.
van der Dong told Reuters that he set up the line "to give people an opportunity to
take pause and contemplate life. Like praying, leaving a voicemail message is a way to
organize your thoughts," he said. "It's a perfect combination for some
contemplation."
Read the full post here.
IN A TRIBUTE TO BLACK HISTORY MONTH, AVN, the adult entertainment monthly, called it's cover story Black Humor. The subtitle: "Is stereotyping in the service of sales okay in the year 2009?" (Talk about a euphemism!)
I've often wondered that myself.
First of all, I have a slight problem with the article being called Black Humor. I'm not sure most African-Americans find much humor in titles such as I Can't Believe You Sucked A Negro or My Daughter Is Fucking a Negro.
But the article explores a subject I've never seen written about before.
No doubt there are what I shall call "normal sexual relations" between the races in the movies. Boy meets girls, there's some foreplay, in and out and nobody gets hurt, at least most of the time.
And these movies are like that too. But, they're racist.
The image of the large, powerful, well-endowed black man dominating the pale, frail, blonde is certainly alive and well and ingrained in the culture.
I remember many years ago sneaking peeks at the Mandingo books my mother read. The genre was obviously quite popular at the time if it was purchased by my romance loving, dime-store paperback purchasing mother.
Read the full post here.
GOD I LOVE THIS PICTURE! Looking at it is like inhaling a dose of sunshine. And it's that damn dog on the right that makes it so endearing!
Let's talk about those babies first, those beautiful bundles of poop and spit-up and magnetic energy. Sam Alexis is passed the spit-up stage, probably on to potty training. One day too soon, she is going to slay the boys with those big brown eyes and that turned-up nose.
Charlie Axel, born Feb. 8th, is almost as cute as another Charlie I know, born just 24 hour before Tiger's -- cliche alert! -- new cub. (Welcome Charlie Mo!)
And what is there to say about Elin except that she's beautiful and exudes the lightness of being. That Tiger, what a lucky guy. What a lucky family! At least to these eyes.
But it's those damn dogs that reveal the unfettered joy of this moment. Taz is kissing Tiger on the ear while Yogi noses in on Sam. The hell with the golf trophies, Tiger. This picture takes the prize! Thanks for sharing this gift.
Tiger released the photo and asked any media using it to make a donation to The Tiger Woods Foundation, and I'm going to have to scrape up a few bucks to comply.
Oh, and another aside: thank you Woods family for not succumbing to that newest celebrity craze of auctioning of baby's first picture. There really is such a thing as class left in the world after all.
EVEN BEFORE THE BROUHAHA BROKE OUT OVER FACEBOOK'S CLAIM TO PERPETUAL OWNERSHIP OF EVERYTHING YOU EVER uplinked to its pages, George Costanza would have never approved of it.
To our fictitious Seinfeld friend, posting your name and picture on a social network enabling 175 million other people to find you would be pure folly, the unleashing of potential social disaster.
It was the Seinfeld theory of worlds colliding!
As aptly explained by Marcellus on a Seinfeld blog (but with a little bit of spelling help), "The worlds colliding theory is quite simple."
"You have your "independent self" (the guy that tells nasty jokes, swears, hangs with the fellas, and is an all around cool guy). And then you have "relationship self" (the guy that does nice things for his lady, leaves the seat down, cooks sometimes. Still a cool guy, but a little adjusted). And then there's the "family self," (which is just like relationship self, just a little less wussy).
Read the full post here.
I
SN'T IT FUNNY HOW THE PUBLICITY MACHINE WORKS?
Joaquin Phoenix quits 'acting,' goes on David Letterman to promote (ahem) a barely whispered-about movie, feigns indifference to Dave and the movie Two Lovers and the audience, and even more dangerously, the publicity game itself.
And snap, just like that, this little $12 million "last" movie of Joaquin’s gets more attention than a $12 million media blitz could buy.
La La Land's legitimate shrink Dr. Drew Pinsky, who's actually seems pretty level-headed most of the time, voices "grave concern" about Phoenix"s disheveled and flat affect and wonders aloud if the actor isn't, A) intoxicated on something, or B) experiencing depression.
But if you watch Joaquin closely in the Letterman clip that's now gone viral, he's certainly lucid enough to take his own jabs at Dave.
For one, he's quick to pitch a visit to the show once he gets his new hip-hop sound together, an offer that Dave derisively dismisses. But my guess is an appearance from Joaquin's new band would garner Dave higher ratings than he's gotten in years.
Then there’s Joaquin's perfect pitch response to Dave's snarl about showing up at the actor’s house and chewing gum. Is there anything more irreverent than sticking chewed gum under a table right under your host's nose?
Dave, you see, is now an integral part of the machine that he also mocks when it is convenient for him. And he was pissed that Joaquin didn't do the requisite song and dance that actors must do when they're on the publicity tour. But remember that he who owns the media always gets the last word, so Dave got his revenge.
Do you know why you saw Joaquin at all? Because Worldwide Pants generously edited the clip and released it early over the Ethernet.
The big buzz is that Joaquin and his brother-in-law Casey Affleck are making a mockumentary similar to the 1984 movie based on the fictional bandSpinal Tap.
But if Joaquin really is quitting the business, Hollywood is losing one of its most talented performers, a fact that even Letterman himself acknowledged. Phoenix, who was brilliant in Walk The Line and Gladiator, says he’s quitting the field because it has lost its hold. "I was excited by it," he told a reporter recently. And then it starts to become this thing. But I haven't had that feeling in a while . . . and my mom always told me, 'Be true to your heart.' "
I haven't a clue what the truth is behind talented Joaquin's scary "affect." But you can bet I'm making a b line to the theater when Two Lovers comes out. Can't wait to see how much this $12 million flick pulls in at the movies.
THERE ARE DAYS WHEN CRABBY CAN'T MUSTER A RANT, when even she falls prey to one of the myriad and pointless amusements on the web. Have I got a gag for you!
The girl's mag Marie Claire has this awesome interactive tool that lets you upload photos and then try out different hairstyles, colors and eyeshades on your face. Crabby experimented with a photo of herself and could not look pass the sagging jowl line! I can so vouch for the truism that youth is wasted on the wrong people!
No, it was much more fun to upload images of some sorry ass who sold his mug for probably $100 bucks to be part of the perpetual collection of Microsoft's free clip art library. Fool!
But Crabby benefits from his short-term thinking by being able to try out different hair styles and makeup without fear of personal assault!
This gimmick is the perfect way for passive-aggressives to get back at ex-boyfriends, bullying bosses, and generally any asshole in your life. It even works for pets too! Although you don't have to worry about hurting their feelings.
IHAD JUST GRABBED A SLICE OF PIZZA AT RAY'S IN MIDTOWN WHEN I WAS ENGAGED in the bad habit of walking down the sidewalk while texting.
Suddenly, I hear a deep voice.
"Excuse me! You're not coming in here, are you?" booms the voice.
I look up; the voice is coming from a large man in a sharp looking jacket and black driver's cap guarding the entrance to the building next to Ray's.
I'm confused. After all, I'm a good 10 feet from the door and making a B-line for the next block. I stop and look at him, puzzled.
"I'm sorry?"
"You ain't coming in here I hope!,'' barks the man. "You ain't trying to get in, are you? You can't be coming in here right now! I can't let you in!"
This guy is adamant about keeping me away from the door that I have no intention of entering. That's when I realize I'm outside the entrance to Bad Boy Entertainment Worldwide, the business umbrella of Sean John Combs, a.k.a Puff Daddy, a.k.a Puffy, a.k.a P. Diddy, a.k.a Diddy, a.k.a Cheesy Poofs, a.k.a Rumplestiltskin (because, why not?).
"No, I- I'm not- what? I-," I stutter. And now I want in because something obviously going on!
That's when I see them: two men walking up the sidewalk and heading for the door, and one of them is most definitely Seanie Poofs himself. His head is buried deep into the hood of a white goose down coat (likely his own line), and he has his signature shades on. He walks swiftly and vigilantly toward the door with the second man nearly glued to his hips. I presume: the body guard?
Someone must have called ahead to let the doorman know Puffs was approaching so they could clear the path for him.
Cause, Lord knows how dangerous this area can get! A big name like Seanie Poofs could get swarmed by book editors, concert oboists, bike messengers, even hot dog vendors! He has to move swiftly and incognito to his office, lest the self-proclaimed fragrance King be harassed on his way to approve T-shirt designs!
But here's the funny thing: I looked around...and... there is... nobody on the sidewalk but me. All the hullabaloo is much ado about nothing.
I mean, if the Puffer gotten out of a cab by himself and strolled down the block without his face covered, no one would have noticed. I wouldn't even have known it was him. It's New York, for pissant's sake. We've all got things to do.
"Oh," I say to the doorman, "that's your man, huh? The guy who runs this place?" "Nah, nah, nah. That ain't him.
"Nah," as if to say, "Move along, now, layman."
It's obvious that Seanie Poofs has an incessant need to feel powerful and important, hence the theatrics involved in making his way to a door.
It's okay, Seanie Poofs. You're important. I've been to the less affluent neighborhoods in Brooklyn, where I've seen middle aged men walking down the streets with your signature hooded sweatshirts (which retail in the neighborhood of $140). Why they're such suckers for brand recognition, I don't know. But you've managed to sucker them all. I guess that makes you important, or maybe just rich.
Peter Lawrence kicks up the dirt while pounding New York City's pavements. You can email him at PLawrenceNYC@gmail.com
By Crabby Golightly
AS THEY PICK AND PULL AT HER FOR ADDING A FEW POUNDS, WHAT THE BLULTURES OVERLOOK IS THE WIDENESS JESSICA SIMPSON'S SMILE.
Okay, the leopard-printed belt was a mistake, and the pants may be some kind of fashion faux pas, but Crabby wouldn't know. In my view, high wastes are far and away a better option than letting love handles spill over lowriders.
And in these days when you have to choose between eating and being cool, Crabby always opts for the chow.
In Crabbytown, aging is not a sin for which one must perform 10 Hail Marys and 3 hour workouts out as penance, but rather an inevitable fact of life. God help all those fading stars in Hollywood's vast firmament now subjected to the "Memba hims?" on TMZ.com.
But...do you notice how wide Jessica's smile is? She doesn't seem so unhappy performing her honky tonk on the road. Crabby wonders whether it's possible that she even might be happier?
That's what a study done by the makers of Special K suggests: that women who wear size 12s (Size 14 in the UK) are the happiest with their lives and looks.
Read the full post here.
H
APPY NEW YEAR! In case you missed the celebration, yesterday was the first day of the Chinese New Year, and 2009 is the year of the Ox.
Chinese astrology follows Jupiter's orbit around the sun in a 12 year cycle, and is based on legend that 4,500 years ago the Emperor of Heaven invited animals to his birthday party. The lucky beasts who got to attend included a rat, an ox, a tiger, a rabbit, a dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog and pig.
The San Francisco Chronicle reports that "the animal of our birth year is thought to define and influence us as, according to a Chinese saying, it "hides in our heart."
According to Chiff.com, those born in the year of the Ox are "are the supremely self-assured, and as a result are noted for inspiring confidence in others. Generally patient and thoughtful, they measure their words, and will speak clearly and concisely often when it matters most."
Oxen are also supposed to be "obstinate, pouty, truthful, motivated, friendly, apathetic, genuine, [and] quick-tempered."
Coincidentally (or not?) the man of the moment President Barack Obama was born under the sign of the Ox. And Chinese astrologers are having their moment in the sun predicting what the new year will bring for the new President.
According to USA Today, Obama "is taking office in a particularly bad year for his Chinese astrological sign. The ox sign is in direct conflict this year with a traditional Chinese divinity called the "God of Year," considered a bad omen." And being the U.S.'s 44th president does not bode well for him "because "four" is pronounced the same as "death" in Chinese."
Astrologer Alion Yeo even went so far as to say that Obama will not have "good luck this year. His honeymoon will only be short-lived."
But like everything in life, there are two sides to the story. And Dora Nipp, who heads up the Multicultural History Society of Ontario, sees the Chief Ox "sowing the economic seeds this year so that next year, the year of the tiger will show growth."
"Obama was born a metal ox, so he's very confident and strong-willed and he's not afraid to speak his mind. He's honest, dependable and doesn't promise more than he can deliver and sets about objectives with dogged determination," Nipp told Canada's Edmunton Sun.
It will be interesting to watch.
By Danielle Cadet
FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME, BLACK CHILDREN will laugh and run through the halls of the White House today as "First Daughters."
News anchors will comment about how adorable and innocent Malia and Sasha are — because who knew black kids could be cute and innocent too?
And little black girls and boys will see them on TV and really know for the first time that it's possible to grow up to be the president.
Amid Tuesday's pomp and circumstance, it's easy to forget that these are just two little girls. And while they're father's excellent adventure has landed them on TV and magazine covers, their eyes lack the bored look of spoiled children. They haven’t felt the sting of the past, and their eyes glitter with promise.
“A part of what this family is going to do is to show that families of color are not so different,” Nikki Brown, an assistant professor of history at the University of New Orleans, told the New York Times.
“That’s what I see, when I see them on TV: a working father, a working mother, a grandmother that cares for the babies, children that are doing well in school,” Ms. Brown said. “That’s a narrative that the country is still trying to create a language for, normal families of color.”
And because of the Obamas, and two little girls, millions of eyes shine brighter today.
Danielle Cadet is a Danielle is a journalism student Northwestern University who likes to write about fashion and popular culture catastrophes.
By Crabby Golightly
EVEN CRABBY, A JADED FADING POLITICAL JUNKIE, IS SWEPT UP in the good vibe of the impending Obama Inauguration.
I watched C-Span's coverage of the Whistle Stop Train Tour to Washington, D.C., whispered a "Happy Birthday'' to my astrological sister Michelle, and prayed that the goodwill inspired by Obama will last beyond the first 100 days.
He'll be our Rock Star President, a political celebrity engendering slavish support from adoring fans. He's sleek and smart and even hipper than President Elvis. Of course, everyone wants a piece of him.
Alas, not everybody's lucky enough to get a golden ticket to the Inaugural Ball. So we'll have to buy our piece of history.
Fortunately, souvenirs of the inauguration of America's first black president and 44th president are in ample supply. So here for your shopping ease are some websites from which you can purchase commemorative stamps, plates, coins -- anything to let you own a little bit of "Our Rock, Barack."
Crabby has discriminating taste, so for me the only choice is the HOPE poster created by Shepard Fairey, and now part of the permanent collection of the National Portrait Gallery. Amazon has numerous available from private sellers ranging in price from $1.99 to $14.95.
QVC is offering a variety of items to commemorate President Obama's taking office. Opt for the Commemorative Cover w/3 Stamps and 1/20/09 D.C. Postmark, yours for just $24.99, plus $3.97 shipping and handling.
There's also the Barack Obama Framed Ltd. Edition Inauguration Speech With Photo, with the introductory price of $75.48 (or yours for just $83 on QVC).
And my favorite --- the Commemorative Barack Obama 50" x 60" Cotton Throw, an essential for those who want to feel the safety of Barack's warm embrace. QVC's Price: $41.00.
The nation's most valuable network C-Span is selling video hightlights of inaugural events. It's a steal at $12.95; order your copy now! Or for just $19.95 you can order a two-disc CD set that includes inaugural highlights along with Obama's greatest speeches.
Read about more Obama commemorative products here!
By Miz J
ALL ACROSS AMERICA, BORED FLIERS ON THEIR WAY HOME FROM HOLIDAY TRIPS ARE PERUSING THE UNINTENTIONAL HILARITY THAT IS THE SKY MALL.
I had the pleasure this year of window-shopping during a long, sweaty return flight from Florida in order to distract me from my biohazardous brother as he fought the good fight with strep throat.
As my brother whined and wheezed, I flipped through the pages and encountered products that can only be construed as breakthrough genius....or a waste of Earth's resources. You decide.
MASSAGING HEATED BED REST
This is for the person who reads, eats, watches television, writes letters, cries, keeps a journal, essentially does everything in bed -- except have sex. $125.00
FLAIR HAIR VISOR
I know what you’re thinking. Is that…can it be…? Yes. That is douche-y, Gotti- kid hair GLUED into the visor. And the worst part is that there’s a version for kids too. $24.99
FOREST FACES
A sort-of modern totem pole for the crazed sports fan. Or maybe just a substitute for leaving your mark by pissing. Available with baseball and football team logos. These are freaky. Do not buy them. $19.99.
Read about more unique products here.
Miz J, who works in advertising, has tons of opinions and a big mouth to broadcast them across the globe; however, the Internet saves her the trouble of yelling. Check out her blog at Miz J.
By Crabby Golightly
GOOD RIDDANCE TO 2008. In 19 days, Mr. Obama Goes to Washington, credit will flow freely, men will stop warring, and sex won't be a sin anymore.
Okay, we're exaggerating. Crabby does not buy into the "messiah" promise. But things have bound to be better. Could they be any worse than they were in 2008? Is it possible for President Barack Obama to underperform President Bush? We're betting not in a millenium.
With all those good tidings, what conflict will motivate us to read?
We'll always have La La Land, eternal home of make-believe. So here's some predictions of Hollywood headlines in the New Year!
Brangelina Auction Off Twins Vivian and Knox To The Highest Bidder!
Because Brad and Ang really really really want to fund their charity to build greener houses, clear Third World countries of landmines, and deprive two rich white kids of entitlement.
Oprah Goes To Washington
And the Secret Service puts her on the watch list for stalking the new President, trying to breeze her way into the White House by calling herself The First Lady.
Starlet Tila Tequila Stars In New Bi-Reality Show
Audience members use the vote-o-meter to decide which sexual position elicits Tila's best fake orgasm.
Miley Cyrus Poses For Playboy
Meets cradle robber Hef during photo shoot. In his desperate rebound from Holly, he moves her into Playboy Mansion and artificially inseminates her with a little horny Hef.
Lindsay Lohan Downscales, Moves Into Closet!
Because that 'gay' thing wasn't such a turn-on when people didn't seem to care.
Mimi and Nick Carter Get A 'Quickie' Divorce, Remarry
Because they decide they deserve a million-dollar wedding splashed on Life & Style's cover after all.
Britney Spears Meets, Marries Gray-Haired Judge
She devises it's the only way L.A.'s courts will let her out of indentured service to Daddy.
Seth Rogan Makes A Porn
Confesses that Zack and Miri was really just sloppy foreplay.
Larry Birkhead's New Surreality Show Hits The Airwaves
It's called the The Ghost And Mr. Birkhead
Happy New Year! And we can be sure that the real 2009 will deliver us unimaginable celebrity mash-ups.
By Crabby Golightly
TONY DANZA IS DEAD. OR NOT.
The internet rumor swirling Wednesday was that Tony had fallen off a cliff 60 feet to his death while filming in New Zealand. A freelancer wrote breathlessly to Crabby saying that the 80s TV actor had exited this realm. Hmmm. Why no story on Google?
A quick scan of news sites showed only that the actor's house in Park City, Utah is for rent. Now there's a sales pitch! Rent Dead Actor's Home!
Oh, another discovery: that the star has been accused of allegedly stalked a Staten Island man whom he thought was a relative of the dead crooner Frank Sinatra. For the record, Tony, we do not believe for a New York second that you would ever do something that ridiculous.
Then is always the possibility that Tony just got his ass kicked when he appeared on The Contender, Mark Burnett's boxing reality series, which launched its fourth season earlier this month. But then I think I would have heard about the ass-whipping.
Or maybe this joke has something to do with Twilight and vampires. Because the exact same story was reported two years ago.
Haha, premature obituaries are so fucking funny.
By Thystle Blum
TELEVISION HAS PERFECTED THE ART OF ATTRACTING miserable people to its mundane, soft-glowing, visage.
Talk shows, soap operas, music videos, video games, porn, fashion shows, movies -- all are designed with the express purpose of attracting people who have nothing better to do.
So it’s no surprise that unhappy people glue themselves to the television 30 percent more than happy people, according to John Robinson of The University of Maryland, who authored the study published in the journal Social Indicators Research.
The findings were culled from the survey of nearly 30,000 American adults conducted between 1975 and 2006 as part of the University of Chicago’s General Social Survey.
Researchers found that happy individuals were more socially active, attended more religious services, voted more and read newspapers more frequently than their less-chipper counterparts. But they didn’t solve the “chicken-versus egg” debate: Does the box make people unhappier, or do unhappier just tune in more?
Here’s another study idea for you, Professor Robinson: Why don’t you check the correlation of IQ to hours of television watched?
The box promotes a fugue state that is neither restful, nor exertive. It’s just vegetative, and in this relaxed state your mind is open to any suggestion being fed to it. That’s where the phrase “idiot box” originates, according to the journal of “Crabby.”
And what about the geography of those TV watchers? I’ll gamble where you live has as much to do with your happiness than your viewing habits. If you have no place to go, TV’s your inevitable best friend. Unless, of course, you’re willing to attend the church in the neighborhood.
My conclusion: Voters, churchgoers, and newspaper readers are looking for the same thing that the chubby, zit faced teen watching porn on the spice channel: something to fill the void in their lives. They just leave the house to do it.
Thystle Blum lives in the south suburbs of Chicago, and hopes to one day rid the world of the evil of religion.
By Crabby Golightly
IF THERE IS A TYPE I GO WEAK FOR, IT'S 'TALENTED.' A friend was once told I was hard to impress, and I took it as a compliment. So know that I don't send "props" lightly.
Check out Thumbtack Press for hundreds of reasonably priced prints of unimaginable worlds realized. With apologies to Thumbtack Press, here are a few pieces that stole my attention. Check it out for yourself and buy a few as presents: You can be sure your gift will be the recipient's favorite.
By Travis Bland
'POLY FRESHMAN DIES AFTER FRAT EVENT,' states the headline in muted flat font. This was the perfect type for a story like this. Black, boring, unassuming, all matter-of-fact.
I’ve only been in college for a year and a half, yet I've already become somewhat numb to these stories. They don’t have much punch left. No shock anymore. They jump at you like some toothless old shepherd gnawing on your pant leg -- you shake it off with a, “Eh, who cares?”
The fraternity scene has always perplexed me. I’ve never been into the popped collar look and I can’t grow a respectable goatee (bro-tee), so I've never even considered joining one. But from what I hear, it’s not all that fun.
Honestly, they sound like vaguely homoerotic summer camps. Everything I have heard from pledging frat brothers goes along the lines of doing embarrassing, degrading things while invariably being in the nude. “Bro, it sucked! They made me denounce my parents, drink a fifth of rum, light my hair on fire and do the chicken-dance…BAREASSED!”
All for what? Brotherhood? Friendship? Even if you don’t die in a haze of alcohol-induced debauchery, is the camaraderie really worth your dignity? Do you really want to be hanging out with these guys? In most cases, the answer seems to be yes.
Seems like frats take down more young adults than the fucking mob each year. I’m not saying that they should be banned; I don’t think the makers of those pink polo shirts could take the hit. And besides, I need somebody to make fun of on Saturday nights too. But there needs to be accountability.
There's a large amount of apathy among college students on frat pratfalls. Many students' arguments sound like they are in denial about the whole situation — “He didn’t have to drink”, “I would have done differently,” blah, blah, blah. Spare me.
People love to be loved. Think about it -- if you’re this kid, 18 years old, brand new to San Luis Obispo, zero friends and trying to make a good impression, are you really going to tell these guys, “Uh...you know fellas, I think I’m gonna call it a night?”
We already know the answer.
Travis Bland is a freelance reporter and literary delinquent living on California's Central Coast. He currently resides in a tin shack, sustaining himself on a healthy diet of sourdough bread crust, Wild Turkey, and Jack Cafferty blog posts. You can reach him at trbland@gmail.com.
By Travis Bland
IS TECHNOLOGY MAKING US LESS HUMAN?
By now everybody has heard the story of Abraham Biggs Jr., the 19 year-old college student who broadcast his suicide over the internet.
The South Florida teen, who was affected with bi-polar disorder, announced that he was going to kill himself on a forum at bodybuilders.com. Biggs then posted a link from the forum to Justin.tv, where users can broadcast live from their webcams. Reportedly, some users contacted moderators at the body building site, who traced Biggs’ location and alerted police. But by the time police got to the scene about 3 p.m., Biggs was already dead. He had started blogging about 12 hours earlier.
While Biggs was live-streaming his own suicide, other users posted comments ranging from shocked exclamations to off-colored “gallows humor.” Justin.tv quickly pulled down the video after the incident.
Biggs father, Abraham Sr., told ABC News that he was appalled that people would watch his son kill himself. "I think it is wrong to have this happen for hours without any action being taken from the people in charge,’’ the senior Biggs said. “Where were they all the time?"
In a statement to the media, Justin.tv CEO Michael Seibel, said, "We regret that this has occurred and want to respect the privacy of the broadcaster and his family during this time."
Biggs is not the first person to kill himself online (an act eerily dubbed ‘cyber-suicide’ by one Australian newspaper), but his real-time suicide is raising many questions regarding internet safety and the lines between the freedom and regulation of expression.
The internet produces pseudo-stardom in an instant. It's becoming epidemic to see people prostituting their privacy in exchange for attention that humans seem to crave so deeply.
There's something inhumane about the web's voyeurism, as well as our boundless quest for profit. I abhor the lack of action on the part of Justin.tv, but as an advocate of free speech, I also can’t defend tight control over web broadcasting.
When this grieving family inevitably files a lawsuit, the civil courts will prove to be regulation enough.
Travis Bland is a freelance reporter and literary delinquent living on California's Central Coast. He currently resides in a tin shack, sustaining himself on a healthy diet of sourdough bread crust, Wild Turkey, and Jack Cafferty blog posts. You can reach him at trbland@gmail.com.
By MzEll
HEY JASON WILFONG, HERE'S A REVELATION FOR YOU: I love my vagina, probably most for the two adorable godsends that came into this world through that channel than the physical thrill it gives me. And knowing that joy, I wouldn’t think of depriving anyone else from it.
So the “pregnant man” Thomas Beatie has conceived a second child. She and her wife Nancy both made sacrifices to make their family a reality. And even after living with those consequences – harassment, hate mail, notoriety – they choose to have another child.
Anyone claiming to be open-minded would not deny their right to love. Not to women who need medical help to conceive; not to gay men who want children; not to childless couples who use donated eggs or sperm to fulfill a family dream.
That’s the power of the womb. That’s love.
MzEll is a stay-at-home mom who writes, reads, knits, and tries to maintain sanity on a regular basis. You can read her blog at Cookiemonks.
By Jason Wilfong
I CELEBRATE EVERY DAY THE FACT THAT I HAVE A PENIS. The sheer primacy of ejaculating delivers the best high; the violence of the explosion is thrilling. My penis also gives me a sense confidence and strength – and apparently the right to a bigger paycheck. Men on average still make more than women.
So it's no surprise that I don’t get the "pregnant man." Frankly he/she creeps me out.
I'm open-minded. I support gay marriage, a woman's right to choose, and the right to change your sex if you really feel the need.
But this woman decided that she was meant to be a man, that she wanted to live the rest of her life as one. Good for her/him; I say welcome to the men’s club.
But then she/he changes his/her mind and decides she/he wants to procreate? And not only once, but twice?
Here’s a news flash: real men don’t have wombs. You are not a man, Thomas Beatie, just a woman playing dress-up. Pick a side and stick with it. Your gender-bending has become a lie.
Jason Wilfong of Chicago, believes he has unrecognized genius. He also loves sports, comic books and good music. You can reach him via email.
By MzEll
I HATE TALKING ON THE TELEPHONE. I hate it so much that I rarely even answer. When I do pick it up, I've been known to lie repeatedly to get off as quickly as possible. Telling a telemarketer they just woke up my sleeping baby is my favorite.
This is exactly why I have no faith in a new study by the Rand Corp. which concludes that teens who watch more sexually explicit material on the "boob tube" are more likely to get pregnant.
You might be asking, 'What does this study have to do with the phone?' All of the data in the study was gathered over the phone. Over a period of three years, 12 to 17 year olds were asked via telephone to report their sexual behavior as well as what television they watched. The study concluded that kids who watched more visual vice were twice as likely to become pregnant than those who consumed wholesome programming.
That seems clear-cut enough -- until you look at the actual numbers in the experiment. About 25 percent of the kids dropped out of the study, with another 11 percent being dismissed because they didn’t report sexual activity or denied having any. In total, 64% of the original teenagers are missing from the results.
The researchers based their findings on 36% of a group of teenagers who spoke on the phone 3 times over the course of 3 years with researchers they didn't know personally. This is science?
There was only one saving grace in the New York Times report on the study: the writer suggests that parents sit down with their young adults and explain a realistic perspective of the sexual encounters they view.
My own Mom spent entire weekends watching My So Called Life marathons with me. She taught sex-ed at the time, so that helped. But what was most comforting was just having her there; not so much talking as her simply being present to answer questions, and to appreciate the program for the reasons I loved it.
As mom to two young boys, I know that their clarity of mind for anything beyond girl cooties and Mama-love is a decade away. I don't know exactly how I'll deal with regulating television when that time comes. But I do know I'd rather be sitting on the couch with my boys watching Degrassi and pointing out the realities and over-simplifications, rather than banning them from watching it at all.
As the NYT's writer points out, parents don’t choose when their teens becomes intimate. But when that time comes for my boys, I want them to have the necessary knowledge to make their best decisions.
Maybe I should start watching Gossip Girl for the sake of future research. At the very least, it would give me a good reason to take the phone off the hook.
MzEll is a stay-at-home mom who writes, reads, knits, and tries to maintain sanity on a regular basis. You can read her blog at Cookiemonks.
By Danielle Cadet
I lost my waxing virginity at 20 last week and joined the ranks of 8-year-olds who wax their pubic hair. Yes, you read it right. Eight-year-olds.
Apparently, New York mothers have been bringing their prepubescent princesses in for a wax to save them any “playground embarrassment” (while instead subjecting them to the horror of a strange woman -- who's not their doctor -- ripping out barely perceived hairs). I'm baffled because I've always considered my vagina the Bermuda triangle of beauty products: Fly-bys always to be avoided with scissors, wax products and dye.
I only decided to go through with it because my friends have been encouraging me for years, and I was tired of having to shave.
So here I was, being traumatized by a stranger who nonchalantly ordered me to take my pants off and lay down. I only had enough time to get them down to my ankles before she burst back into the room asking if I was ready.
She seemed oblivious to my nakedness, asking me if I’d been keeping up with the Olympics before nonchalantly telling me to spread my legs. I learned that she was from Brazil, that she was disappointed with her country's athletic performance in the Games. She informed me of this all while ripping away at the hairs, at times warning that “this one is gonna sting.”
By the end of the grueling experience, I felt like a Chihuahua that had been set on fire. It burned like bloody hell and it pissed me off that I had subjected myself to this, and that woman seemed indifferent to my pain. And,no, I didn't feel any more beautiful.
So what was I supposed to do with my prized pubic area now? Have sex with someone to show it off? Prance through a girls' locker room? I didn’t even want to be touched and I could barely get my jeans back on.
So why the hell would 8-year-olds need a bare body? Who’s seeing them naked? I think Barbie has given us all false expectations of what our bodies should look like. Or maybe she waxed too.
These crazy mothers are setting their daughters up to be accessories first, people second,later in life. Some "men" like a woman with no hair, so better start early. I couldn’t even deal with the experience at 20; I can’t imagine what would be going through my mind at 8. And I thought 10-year-olds on Sunset Tan were abused. It's pure madness.
Danielle Cadet is a Danielle is a journalism student Northwestern University who likes to write about fashion and pop culture catastrophes.
By Danielle Cadet
WATCHING MICHELLE OBAMA ONSTAGE MONDAY NIGHT WAS LIKE THROWING OPEN A WINDOW AND BREATHING FRESH AIR.
The eloquent and elegant Mrs. Obama represents black women whom too often go unseen in our culture: those who live straddled between the black and white worlds. Because too often, those who have been the beneficiaries of economic success must forego their ethnicity.
Not Michelle. As she addressed the nation, I (and perhaps every black woman in America watching) held my breath and crossed my fingers. I prayed that every strand of hair was in place, that her neckline wouldn’t cut too low. I prayed that she sounded educated and independent, but simultaneously supportive of and in love with her husband.
Educated black women look to Michelle Obama to give face to an overlooked demographic. More often than not, I was the only black girl (or only black person for that matter) in my school room, and every time I opened my mouth it felt like I was speaking for every black person in America. For Michelle, the Democratic Convention was her classroom and her speech represented every black woman in America.
The very idea of Mrs. Michelle Obama, lawyer and mother, provokes a challenge to whites and blacks: she’s hard to make fun of, unlike Condoleeza, and she’s not self-loathing like Clarence Thomas. Michelle Obama is also not your average “white-washed” black woman in the political sphere. She is confident and comfortable in her own skin; she gives flesh to the ghost that is the black successful woman.
As a nation we question the “blackness” of affluent African Americans. The truth of the matter is, we have nothing to validate. It’s possible to be a black success story outside of the constraints of the stereotypical “black norm” (because, honestly, most of us aren’t rappers, athletes, or drug-dealers).
As a child of the new millennium, I’ve never had to use separate bathrooms or drinking fountains, or sit in the back of the bus. But I’m aware of the different America I live in because of my skin color. I’ve been asked numerous times to choose between my race and my success. I’ve been told that I’m not “black enough,” and frankly the only people I ever identified with in popular culture were the children from The Cosby Show.
For me, Michelle Obama is the 21st century’s Claire Huxtable in the flesh. She is the positive projected future of young black women. For the first time in my life, the television has become a mirror in which I can finally see people just like me.
Danielle Cadet is a Danielle is a journalism student Northwestern University who likes to write about fashion and popular culture catastrophes.
By Crabby Golightly
THIS NEWS JUST MIGHT LEAD TO THE MONTAUK MONSTER FINALLY GETTING BURIED. BIGFOOT IS BACK.
Bigfoot, a hairy ape-like hominoid whose very existence is questioned by cryptozoologists, has been seen most frequently in the Northwest U.S. and Canada. The creature was most recently spotted in Ontario by two women who were berrypicking. The beast, also known as Sasquatch, has been reported in hundreds of sightings worldwide, but Wikipedia says that "most scientific experts on the matter consider the Bigfoot legend to be a combination of folklore and hoaxes."
Now, two Georgia men say they have a corpse of the species in a freezer somewhere near Atlanta. And today, Rick Dyer and Matthew Whitton, who operate "BigFoot" tours and a website at Bigfoottracker.com, will hold a press conference in Palos Altos, Calif., during which they promise to reveal DNA, video clips and photographs of their hairy find. The two contend they found the beast in Georgia's north woods.
"It was very frightening at first," Rick Dyer told The New York Times. “There’s a lot of comment being made that it looks fake, or it looks like a suit. But these people wasn’t there when I was sweating, pulling this thing through the woods.”
The two Georgians have the backing of Tom Biscardi, founder of the Great American Bigfoot Research Organization. In 2005, Biscardi claimed his group had captured a Bigfoot that weighed over 400 pounds and stood 8-feet tall, but the claim turned out to be a hoax.
Crabby speculates that this latest discovery might have something to do with the million dollar reward offered in June by binocular manufacturer Bushnell and Field & Stream magazine. The two companies offered the joint reward to anyone who can "provide an unaltered photograph/video, verified and substantiated by a panel of scientific experts [including a zoologist and biologist], the evidence required to prove a Sasquatch/Bigfoot/Yeti exists."
But as LiveScience's "bad science columnist" points out, "This is, of course, a marketing promotion and not a genuine search for Bigfoot. There's no way to authenticate a Bigfoot photograph by itself; the image is simply a two-dimensional pattern of pixels. To truly prove a Bigfoot exists, you'd need corroborating hard evidence like a body, teeth, or bones."
Crabby predicts that today we will definitively learn one thing: where we can buy"Bigfoot for President" t-shirts.
By Al Perham
FEARMONGERS ARE SPREADING ALARM THAT COME OCTOBER 21, when European scientists officially unveil the world’s largest particle accelerator and attempt to recreate the “Big Bang,” the world as we know it could end.
The European Organization for Nuclear Research will use the Large Hadron Collider to test the existence of the theoretical Higgs boson, which Wikipedia says “could confirm the predictions and 'missing links' in the Standard Model of physics." A documentary on this “six billion dollar experiment” was produced by the BBC.
Yet scientists calculate there is a 1 in 50 million chance that the experiment could create a black hole or a new type of matter, "strangelets,” either of which could destroy our world. Another risk: that the fabric of space could be ripped, creating "a truly cosmic cataclysm.”
Nothing gets the ol' creative juices flowing like the threat of future obliteration! So for your reading pleasure, I’ve imagined several sci-fi possibilities to consider.
Scenario One: Time Travel Becomes Possible
Time travel has been a desire among humans ever since we started making bad decisions back in 10,000 B.C., right up until the production mistake known as 10,000 B.C. From Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court to the Back to the Future series to Quantum Leap, humans have expressed fascination with time travel. What would I do if I could go back in time? I would be the man to take a bullet for Phil Hartman, thereby creating a strange paradox where I die and no longer exist in the past or the future. Hence, by not saving Phil, I actually live. Get it? Makes me dizzy just thinking about it.
Scenario Two: We Provoke The Wrath of the Netherworld
Ghostbusters taught me that Bill Murray doesn't like to make money off surefire nostalgia blockbusters. It also taught me that residents of the netherworld are dicks. I mean, between the 100-foot marshmallow monsters and the babynapping -- why would we want to mess with these beasts? Although that Slimer seemed like a pretty hep cat, but I'm sure he smells like the ectoplasm that used to come with action figures. That gunk would get everywhere.
Scenario Three: We Create "A Black Hole"
There's a chance that black holes are only bad in our imaginations. My theory is that black holes are only devastating to matter outside their radius. We'll all be safe if the hole is big enough. Hooray!
Scenario Four: The Fabric Of Space Rips
Might the next Big Blowout be the key to interstellar travel: exploring new galaxies, meeting aliens, America becoming the intergalactic “peacekeeper?” (Is Alpha Centauri on the cosmos’ axis of evil?) Or could it be the opening to alternate dimensions? Which will be your favorite -- the cowboy hat dimension? The everyone-talks-with-a-bad-Christopher Walken impression dimension? Or will it be the dimension in which Al Gore won the 2000 election? The possibilities are endless!
What's my favorite? The one where I'm getting paid for this.
Scenario Five: "Dark Matter" Materializes
The final and most probable outcome is truly exciting: Wikipedia describes dark matter as “matter that does not interact with the electromagnetic force, but whose presence can be inferred from gravitational effects on visible matter.” Is this mystically powerful crap capable of solving all our problems? Could it be the sought-after alternative to oil (hah hah, aren't I topical), to the magic elixir that increases the reproductive rate of penguins? Surely the real ”dark matter” would deliver a bigger payoff than that envisioned in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: packing peanuts. Do we really need more of those?
Al Perham is a comedy writer who collaborated on "Spend!", which opens August 14 at The Cornservatory Theater in Chicago and runs to September 11. Get information on the show here at Facebook. You can reach Perham at Alpherham.blogspot.com.
By Crabby Golightly
According to the American Psychiatric Association’s “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders", the Narcissistic Personality Disorder is the mental disorder of people who need admiration, lack empathy and have a grandiose sense of their self-importance.
Narcissists display "a pervasive pattern" of grandiosity in fantasy and behavior, with symptoms usually emerging by early adulthood and presenting in a variety of symptoms. To achieve this diagnosis, a person must exhibit five or more of the following:
(1) Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements).
(2) Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.
(3) Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people or institutions.
(4) Requires excessive admiration.
(5) Has a sense of entitlement--unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations.
(6) Is interpersonally exploitative--takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends.
(7) Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others.
(8) Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her.
(9) Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes.
By Crabby Golightly
HORDES OF DEAD ANIMAL LOVERS OVERWHELMED OFFICIALS IN MONTAUK, LONG ISLAND DEMANDING THAT THE MYSTERIOUS "MONTAUK MONSTER" BE GIVEN A PROPER BURIAL.
PETA also sent volunteers to pressure local officials to keep scientists away from the freakish corpse of the so-far unidentified rotting beast.
Speculation was rampant that the animal was a government experiment gone wrong. Others theorized that the beast had fallen from the sky, or perhaps had been coughed up from the earth's center where it had been buried by Scientology's evil galactic overlord Xenu 75 million years ago. Still others speculated that the thing was yet another victim of the fiend dumping body parts along Canada's Atlantic Coast.
Island officials reported an uptick in the number of locals doublechecking the credentials of plastic surgeons practicing around the Island.
Kidding! Just kidding! Just had to be a part of the Montauk Monster Mystery.
By Anna Apocalypse
SCIENCE HAS HANDED ME THE ULTIMATE DEFENSE FOR MY SARCASM: My forked tongue proves that I am socially savvy, can read verbal cues and am not suffering from brain damage. So there, Mom! You should thank god for my talent!
The proof is in the parahippocampal gyrus, so says neurophysiologist Katherine Rankin of the University of California, who used an MRI to detect what part of the brain was "turned on" by sarcasm.
As the New York Times put it, "What you may not have realized is that perceiving sarcasm, the smirking put-down that buries its barb by stating the opposite, requires a nifty mental trick that lies at the heart of social relations: figuring out what others are thinking."
This skill of recognition helps us separate danger from safety, enemies from friends -- in short, to survive.
To honor this great scientific discovery, I was going to pay homage to a few moments in my life when sarcasm saved me, but then I got distracted and started watching TV's timeless ode to sarcasm: Seinfeld. The episode was “The Switch,” when George dates a woman he thinks is bulimic and Jerry dates a woman who doesn’t laugh at any of his jokes. Early in the episode, Jerry remarks to Elaine: “I mean, how can I be with someone who doesn’t laugh?!”
Jerry has a point. I can’t imagine being friends with or dating someone that "doesn't get it." I like to think that those of us inclined to be witty and sarcastic are the more successful members of society, able to balance humor and seriousness all in one quick stab of the tongue. And now that I know that every snarky comment is a test, I plan on measuring the efficacy of each parahippocampal gyrus that I encounter. And I'll have the perfect rationalization: I'm just helping the human race to survive.
Anna Apocalypse, who blogs at Pop Apocalypse.Blogspot.com, comments periodically at CrabbyGolightly.com on music and pop culture.
By Crabby Golightly
CRABBY WILL NEVER SNEER AT NAME-DROPPING IN THE SAME WAY EVER AGAIN.
That's because Microsoft scientists have proven that "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" isn't just a trivia game but actually just how close humans are connected.
Enabled by 30 billion electronic conversations between 180 million people worldwide in June of 2006, two Microsoft researchers crunched the numbers and concluded that the connection between any two people on average really is just six degrees of separation or 6.6 degrees to be exact.
"It was pretty shocking,'' Eric Horvitz, a Microsoft researcher who performed the experiment, told The Washington Post". "People have had this suspicion that we are really close. But we are showing on a very large scale that this idea goes beyond folklore." Horvitz conducted the study with colleague Jure Leskovec.
And Crabby thought she was special that she had rubbed shoulders with those who could count among acquaintances Oprah, Lionel Richie, HBO wonderkind David Simon and TV quack Dr. Phil. Turns out she's just human after all. But adept at namedropping, no?
By SexyChattyCatty
NO ONE KNOWS WHAT GOES ON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS -- UNLESS THE MICROPHONE IS ON. Oops! Another person caught with his pants down, now everyone gets crazy.
We all have our prejudices and peccadilloes. They are peculiar to how we were raised, what neighborhood we live in, our families, friends, teachers, the state of the world at any given time and, yes, choice. And while we may invite other races into our homes, into our lives, we still don’t talk the same way we would if everyone in the room were the same race. And we all know that is true, whatever tribe you claim. 
By Crabby Golightly
STRAIGHT UP, I'M GONNA SAY THAT I DO NOT, WOULD NOT, EVER, ADVOCATE PRACTICING ONE SO-CALLED RELIGION OVER ANOTHER. Catholicism, Buddhism, Mormonism, Oprahism -- you name it, religion is a personal matter that fills the void in many lives. And I for one would never say that one was better than the next.
Hailing from the City of Brotherly Love, Crabby takes America's freedom of religion very seriously. If you want to pray to ancient aliens, practice nihilism, worship TV hosts, send money to healers -- Crabby's got your back.
All of which brings us to Will and Jada Pinkett Smith's new private school in La La Land, the New Village Academy, which critics are fingering as a Scientology front.
The Los Angeles Times quotes the school's administrator as saying, yes, some Scientologists do work at the school, but so do Catholics, Muslims and Jews. "We are a secular school and just like all nonreligious independent schools, faculty and staff do not promote their own religions at school or pass on the beliefs of their particular faith to children," administrator Jacqueline Olivier said.
But here's where Crabby gets riled. Apparently the school is using Scientology lingo called "study technology,'' which apparently strikes terror in the hearts and minds of U.S. educators. Which seems sad to Crabby because, as reported in the Times' and Wikipedia, "study technology" sounds like a fantastic and logical approach to learning.
Essentially "study technology" focuses on righting three wrongs that deleteriously impact learning: Ignoring misunderstood words, depriving hands-on experience, and advancing to higher concepts before simpler fundamentals are mastered. To which Crabby says, duh. And if it's true as the LA Times' reports, that "there is no reputable educator anywhere who endorses [study technology]," at least according to David S. Touretzky, a professor of computer science at Carnegie Mellon University, then can I proffer a thought?
I'm all for debunking myths, lies, and cults, but when someone, anyone, advises that students ought to know the words they read, learn by doing, and master one level of a subject before advancing to the next, I'd hail them as an educational genius. And if there is "no reputable educator" who endorses such approach, then does that not explain America's epidemic of failing public schools?
And in my own family, one of the best looking offspring is a biracial nephew who is gorgeous, whipsmart and witty. (Russell, when are you getting your butt to college?) And, by the way, aren't Barack Obama and Tiger Woods both ideal and timely poster boys for the practice? 
HOW ONE COMES TO GOD IS ITS OWN MYSTERY. Some are raised in a church and arrive at adulthood unquestioning. Others pick up the habit out of need or want, their faith a byproduct of delivery from desperate moments. Some, like me, never stop vascillating between the need for religion and the refusal to embrace it out of anger. The eternal question beckons: if a perfect God exists, how could he or she could rationalize the horrors that are afflicted daily onto man by man and nature?
So an agnostic like me relied heavily on the bon mots about God from Albert Einstein, the only human ever designated as Time's "Person of the Century." His epochal E = mc2 explains all of earth's energy. (Full disclosure: Crabby knows nothing of physics except what Wiki tells her.) While wrestling with my own doubts, it was reassuring to know that Einstein, a man with the insight to read nature's algorithms, was credited with saying that God does not play dice with the universe.
There it is, on page 386 of Walter Isaacson's Einstein, (Simon & Schuster, 2007) in an answer to the question "Do you believe in God?," the reknown scientist answers:
"I'm not an atheist. The problem involved is too vast for our limited minds. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library filled with books in many languages. The child knows someone must have written those books. It does not know how. ...That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God. We see the universe marvelously arranged and obeying certain laws but only dimly understand these laws."So what to make of the revelation that Einstein called religion a "childish superstition" in a letter to be auctioned off tomorrow in London?
"For me the Jewish religion like all others is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people.""He's fairly unequivocal as to what he's saying,'' said Rupert Powell, the Bloomsbury Auctions managing director. "There's no beating about the bush."
During an appearance in Chicago last weekend to honor the Rev. Martin Luther King, Cosby reminded the well-heeled African Americans who paid $100 a plate to attend the breakfast that they have a responsibility to overtly steer teenagers toward books and away from early parenthood. "You've got to talk to these 20-year-old women with children who are teenagers,'' he said. "They didn't have the child with the intent of sending somebody higher."
According to the Guttmacher Institute, a nonprofit organization focused on sexual and reproductive health research, there's good news for the nation: Teenage pregnancy is at its lowest level in 30 years, down 36% since its peak in 1990. The decrease is even greater among black teens: Among black teens aged 15 to 19, the pregnancy rate fell by 40% between 1990 and 2002. That is progress, but black girls continue to have the highest teen pregnancy: 134 pregnancies per 1,000 women, as opposed to 131 for Hispanics and 48 per non-Hispanic whites. And babies having babies keeps these women trapped in a cycle of poverty and struggle.
At the breakfast Sunday, Cosby told the crowd that education is what will break African Americans' chains of economic deprivation."You need parents to say...''You don't have to be at Northwestern, but what you have to be is in those books." In the struggle for economic success for Black America, Bill Cosby doesn't dismiss the reality of discrimination. He just doesn't want the towel thrown in before the fight gets started. Some call this airing dirty laundry; I prefer to call it shedding light where the sun doesn't normally shine.
George, the son of a newsman, has figuratively rapped the knuckles of long-lensed predators who chase their prey into dangerous territory. Isn't that what predators always do? The biggest victim to be caught in their trap of late is of course Britney Spears, who was snapped running a red light with her two boys and court-appointed babysitter in tow. Eager to capitalize on her misstep, her ex-arm candy known as K-Fed directed his lawyers to immediately ask L.A. Superior Court Commissioner Scott Gordon to forbid Brit to drive with the boys. The judge, being typical of that breed who stares down upon other lesser beings, immediately ruled against Brit. What I've read so far about this judge makes me yearn for the judicial hijinks of former Broward County Court Judge Larry Seidlin, the man who presided over the custody hearing of Anna Nicole Smith's corpse. Seidlin's wayward questioning had me jumping out of my seat in disbelief, but his personal angst was palpable over the airwaves.
The number of celebs to join the Britney Celebrity Defense League© has just got longer, with Hollywood good girl Jennifer Garner telling Glamour that she sympathizes with the current starlet product line. "My heart just goes out to those girls, especially Britney. After her performance at the VMAs (MTVÕs Video Music Awards, where Garner was a presenter), I wanted to go backstage and mother her. The way everyone was celebrating (her shaky performance) was so unfair." Jen, we believe you, but why do your words sound so hollow when read aloud? I won't be satisfied until all the members of the BCDL throw a 'bash' in her honor. And by 'bash,' I mean party, not roast.
Now comes US Weekly's shocking report that Brit's hymen was broken at age 14. This is news? Oh, yea, I forgot. Brit et al. aren't human; they're mere products to be packaged and repackaged, edited and cropped, touched up or ripped down, any way the media sees fit.
In that corner of the kitchen is Missy Chase Lapine, author of "The Sneaky Chef," former publisher of Eating Well magazine and the founder of a natural baby bath line BabySpa. Note two things we can't tell you about Missy in an instant: we don't know who her husband is, but surely he isn't worth the hundreds of millions that Jerry is. Nor do we know what type of shoes she wears.
We CAN comment on the faux brouhaha that has erupted like an overcooked souffle: Who stole who's BRILLIANT idea to come up with sneaking veggies in carbs to serve those picky two-foot-high tyrants called children? My response: Duh, who cares? I doubt there's a parent who's walked the Earth who hasn't tried to hide broccoli florets in macaroni and cheese, or peas in tomato soup. Neverthless, we have a marketing scheme whipped up somewhere: a concocted fury over the alleged plagiarism of some cockamamee kids' recipes.
Seriously, folks, (and you Jerry), let's all stop fingering the 'other person' as the 'wackoo' and recognize an unimportant morsel of a story when we see one. All we really need to understand is that Jessica had better connections so that is why her book got more of a push in the public marketplace. Jessica, it turns out, is a better pucker-upper. That's how this world works, right? Now let's all turn our attention to turning all this hot air into a substitute for oil, and not the cooking kind.
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