Fame Makes Fergie’s Roots= Baldness from Bulimia or Meth

A few years back, a study appeared that young girls would rather be a celebrity assistant than a Senator. Apparently people under a particular age think fame is the end-all, be-all (to the point where cleaning up a famous person’s dog crap is something to aspire to.)

Well I, for one, am very glad I’m not famous. Because when you are famous (and dare to sport blond roots), this is what happens to you:

The evil tabs say you are going bald from hair extensions, when in fact, all you did was dye your hair many shades darker than your natural color and miss a touch-up appointment.

Ladies (and gents, if that’s how you roll), let this be a lesson to you. If you are going to go dark, be religious about touch-ups. Dark roots are expected. Blond roots, however, are foreign (and therefore odd-looking), giving evil-doers the perfect opening to slander your good name.

Trust me: I once toyed with Fergie’s current hair color (if her roots are any indicator, we share the same natural coloring). As soon as my blond roots became visible, the rumors started to spread: apparently, I was balding… from bulimia!

Hey, didn’t Fergie admit blaming crystal meth-induced side effects on bulimia once?

Hmmm….

And so it begins.

And so I say to the young girls represented in the aforementioned study: Enduring this kind of BS is bad enough when you can switch schools!

I don’t get it. People will do anything to become famous– like make out with vile creatures on Vh1 dating shows.

For free.

Can anyone explain this?

Kimora Lee Simmons debuts the world’s tackiest clothing collection, ‘Fabulosity’. If only her taste level were as developed as her penchant for irony.

Bad things happen when people access too much money too fast.

Some gamble it all away, white-trash lottery-winner style.

Some buy overvalued homes, only to lose them 6 months later to foreclosure.

And then there are the most selfish, most socially irresponsible of all- those who use said funds to create multiples in their own name, littering the world with reminders of their bad judgment for generations still! And these lil’ monsters aint pretty. But they are pervasive… like the smell of rotten eggs, or the mug of Ryan Seacrest. Monsters as socially conscious as Ted Nugent and Kathy Lee Gifford’s would-be offspring… (Widespread child labor happening now! Airheaded denial statement by publicist to be issued shortly!)

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, it is my honor to present the most recent monster brainchild/brand of Kimora Lee Simmons, ex-wife of Russel Simmons. (And future Baby-Momma to Djimon Hounsou).

What, did you think I was bashing to the helpless offspring of Octomom, after all the poor woman has been through? Shame on you!

It is named “Fabulosity” and it is priced such that it may be consumed by the masses.

Notice the verbiage “most recent”?

Indeed, she has unleashed previous monsters brands upon us, which explains quite a lot.

Like why this particular one is so fugly.

The last major monster of consequence she birthed, Baby Phat, is comprised of some serious ugly (to quote the coolest Project Runway contestant ever, Laura Bennet). Meaning that she has quite a low point from which to jump off.

Now that she’s popping out a monster that will sell for half the price of BP, the only way to avoid undercutting Baby Phat is to make the newbie half as appealing.

Or twice as fug, as the case may be…

And, in fact, is.

If this was the goal, kudos to Kimora on a bang-up job!

How did she do it?!

I envision a cami-and-shorts dressed Kimora, hair-in-bun, glasses on, pen in hand, sitting cross-legged on her fabulous pink ruffled Dollywood-on-acid bed getup among a stack of Glamour magazines,  feverishly scanning the “do’s and don’ts” section of each issue for ideas. You know, the section where they black out the offenders’ eyes to protect their identities?

Which actually inspires me a little. Kimora, as you know, is every girl’s idol. And I certainly want to take my cues from her whenever possible. So I think, working backwards, that I’ll try to imagine WTF Kimora was thinking when she designed these outfits, in “don’t” form.

Except these clothes are so heinous–and taking people’s hard-earned recessionary dollars in return for swathing them in these clownsuits is so morally wrong… it’s time for veritible fashion martial law!
I only wish I were an officer for the fashion police so I could dutifully issue this citation, using said “don’ts” as specific violations:

• FASHION VIOLATION#1: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of 24-K Trump/Hussein-Style gold paint accessories (exceptionally tacky accessories per USFC 210.1)*
• FASHION VIOLATION #2: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of tone-on-tone clothing.**
• FASHION VIOLATION #3: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of universally unflattering jeans per USFC 215.3 (70’s throwbacks)
• FASHION DON’T #4: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of tacky iron-on style decal on a shirt.***
• FASHION DON’T #5: Indecent exposure 103.21: Displaying knit clothing item with built-in hardware
• FASHION DON’T #6: Indecent exposure 103.21: Display of schizophrenic tank/short sleeve shirt

*Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine tripled due to presence of 2 or more offending items on the same person.
**Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine doubled due to presence of exceptionally ugly tone per USFC 212.3 (mustard).
***Per U.S. Fashion Code, this fine doubled due to presence of contextually ugly tone present on decal per USFC 213.1 (gold).

Can we just talk about that chain-link schizo tank/short sleeve shirt thing for a moment? I believe she is trying to rip off the wide-yolked knit top concept here, except she was just a little off in her formula. Instead of using the time honored couture formula that says sexy = innuendo, she went with sexy= Jersey Shore streetwalker.

Tres Innovative, Kimora!

Now as far as I can tell, the wide-yolked shirt evolved from Flashdance, and is supposed to pseudo-unintentionally flash just a piece of brastrap or leotard or tanktop. Innuendo. It is not supposed to be held up by it– on both sides– as part of the same shirt! Can You say Jersey shore streetwalker chic?

And now for the rest of the citation… as you can see, the fines would be hefty. And plentiful.

In fact, I’m thinking, with Fabulosity alone, we could pay for the trillion dollar bailout! No really! Follow me here:

What if fashion police really existed, and we punished bad fashion like we currently punish, say, bad weed? (Rather approppo, I reckon, once you recall Kimora’s bust for posessing the ganja… which she promptly turned into bad fashion, forcing her models to walk the runway sporting t-shirts with her mugshot!)

Now who wouldn't pay to wear that on their chest?

But I digress. To recap: fashion is the ganja. Which makes Kimora the cartel (being responsible for cultivation and initial distribution). Translation: major fine and/or jail time. Of course, I doubt that we could convince the public to actually jail people for polluting our collective field of vision, so the fine will have to do. But please! Tie her design-tubes so she doesn’t give birth to any more of these monsters of fashion!

As the dealer distributor, JcPenney Stores would pay a reasonable fine as well.

Anyone caught posessing or disrespecting her body by using wearing this crap would receive yet a smaller fine. After all, we don’t want to fine the users too bad when what they really need is fashion rehab. Come on people… they are victims too. Okay, so they hurt society far more than they hurt themselves. But please, have some sympathy!

As long as we continue to idolize the unworthy, we will suffer the consequences of their unjust wealth. So if you spot some serious ugly/a fashion violation/evidence of monsters in the wake, do your part and speak up!

Remember… Only you can put these quasi-celeb fashion lines out of business!

Attn Men: If you ever want sex again, avoid ordering your woman’s gift from a TV ad produced by Jenna Jameson’s porn empire.

It’s that time of year again- obligatory gift-buying season. Which means that most dudes couldn’t be more afraid. Because this is one area, like decorating and party planning, where the straight male is genetically engineered to perform badly. Only the ramifications of doing so can be much worse than social humiliation… inappropriate gift-giving can equal no nookie in the new year! Quelle Horreur!

But fear not, feeble-minded tough guys. If you act now, for 19.95 you can purchase what is guaranteed to be the perfect gift (plus it’ll make her hot and horny as a bonus!): an aphrodesiac-like purfume made of snake oil!

Okay, now be honest. How many of you men reading this did I have going with that one, up until the snake oil part? It’s okay– it doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you desperate… desperate to believe you can solve the problem that easily.

And Wherever there is a desperate buyer, there is a savvy snake-oil salesman in the wings.

Some are worse than others.

The most evil of all know exactly how to prey on their targets’ soft spots.

And who knows a man’s weaknesses-and is therefore in the better position to sell said men heavily polished turds– more than a true professional?

Go ahead and try to tell me there are no such professionals behind this bit of marketing genius:
click here to watch
I can see see it now…

INT.’MASSAGE PARLOR’ BREAK ROOM; CHINATOWN, USA – NIGHT

Four industrious femmes are chatting in heavily-accented Engrish: the two Massuese/Madame/Co-owners called ‘CINDY’ and ‘LUCY’, a moonlighting Stripper/Porn Star/Businesswoman called ‘TRACY’, and a massuese-cum-marketing genius called ‘JENNIE’. In the spirit of Tracy Quan, the ladies are putting their knowledge of seductive man-ipulation to work, laying the foundation for an empire. You go girls!

CINDY

Here in massage parlor I learn about dumb American men and their fear of picking out gifts for special lady. They all afraid bad gift=no sex for looong time. But this good- it mean more business for us!

LUCY
I think I know a  way to get better business! Growing up I worked in China’s largest sweat shop. I think we can use sweat shop connection and knowledge about dumb American men to make million!!

TRACY
Oh, my sister still works there. She says they must put nice looking fabric in bin labelled “reject pile” because it caused rashes and tested positive for melamine and asbestos. I think my sister can give us the material instead of taking it to dump!!!

LUCY
Then we can get my sister’s kids to sew the material into PJs- it will cost us very little!

TRACY
We will not sell items in stores, so no one will see the bad quality until it’s too late!

JENNIE
But who will buy such bad quality? Who won’t return the stuff when it causes rash and/or falls apart after one use?

CINDY
We just make sure items look good in pictures. No woman will return such a gift anyway!

LUCY
I know! We can disguise the bad materials by doing a nice wrapping job and including some stuff like they sell at the 99 cent store in the bath section!

JENNIE
Still, why men buy?

TRACY
As we know from working in Massage Parlor, horny American men are dumb. Horny American men threatened with no more sex are desperate. Was there ever an easier mark?

LUCY
All we need to do is sell them on the fact that our gift will not get them cut off in bedroom. What kinds of gifts get men cut off?

TRACY
Anything that shows the man put little or no thought into what the lady likes. Like appliances or stuff from Home Depot.

CINDY
So we say our gift effortless but still thoughtful! We even include card and give suggestions for what to write!

JENNIE
[Speaking in sexy voice]‘She’ll think you spent weeks planning it!’

LUCY
That’s perfect– I can hear our ad now! Men believe anything if said in a horny voice.

JENNIE
Also, promise something sex-related… like the only gift guaranteed to take her clothes off!

TRACY
Men are so easy to make money off of when sex is involved. They do not have enough blood in their bodies to support their brains and dicks at same time!

Aaand..SCENE!

Can’t you just hear the girlish giggles everytime a man orders from them?

Men, I beg of you, don’t give them more giggle gas.

You may think it’s not, in fact, so egregious. And perhaps you’re right…

So just in case you decide to ignore all that we’ve learned here and order a Pajamagram, let me tell you of the pennance my bf paid after he gave me the finest Pajamagram money can buy for V-day 2 years ago:

He actually took me to dinner at the Bluewater Grill and presented me with this customized card, explaining that it was supposed to neutralize the Pajamagram.

Which it did… just barely. (Five-star resorts have magical powers!)

So to all of the men out there who wish to avoid unpleasant relationship consequences this holiday season, I leave you with an ancient Chinese Proverb, albeit very loosely translated…

Pay Now or Pay Later.

Attention Obama Enthusiasts: Sandra Bernhard has a lesson for you involving Sarah Palin, gang-rape and bad taste

Americans like to support the underdog. It’s a big reason Obama’s doing so well right now: he represents everything that the current administration is not.

This is especially significant when your outgoing Prez is possibly the most widely-panned in history… for good reason. Being associated with Bush is the biggest handicap possible.

Seriously, I doubt that Abraham Lincoln, JFK or FDR could get elected this climate.

But what happens when the underdog’s supporters turn into pitbulls?

Ever heard of the term Backlash?

Attention Obama-enthusiasts: your rhapsodic Palin-hating is the recipe for one. Just ask Sandra Bernhard.

From The Superficial:

Sandra Bernhard makes Sarah Palin gang-rape joke, surprisingly doesn’t go over well

Sandra Bernhard is still alive (?) and just got herself banned from a benefit for a women’s shelter after recently making a rape joke about Sarah Palin. Sandra said the Alaska governor would get “gang-raped by my big black brothers” if she ever came to New York, according to Us Magazine:

On her Web site, Bernhard said the gang-rape joke was part of a larger piece from her show about “racism, freedom, women’s rights, and the extreme views of Gov. Sarah Palin – a woman who doesn’t believe that other women should have the right to choose.”

Said the comedienne: “I certainly wish Gov. Palin no harm – I’d just like her to explain to me how she can hold such outrageous views … and then go back to Alaska.”

Perhaps a women’s shelter isn’t the best venue for Sanrda Bernhard’s “humor”.

[The Superficial]

Ummm, ya think? Then again, as the article went on to say, she does have the “aesthetic qualities of a murder scene”…

In other words, to quote Nina Garcia, Taste level is… lacking.

In more ways than one.

Now I’m willing to bet that said woman’s shelter is not in the habit of backing up Palin, McCain, or conservatives in general. Because backers-of-woman’s-shelter-using-Bernhard-for-fundraising and fans-of-bible-beating, anti-abortion-Republican-VP-candidate are as far apart as two groups can be.

As mutually exclusive as, say, government and efficiency.

And the quickest way to unite two diametrically opposed groups through a common cause. Or a common enemy.

When someone like Bernhard goes too far in attacking someone else– even where that someone else is less than popular– she comes off like a bully. And Americans hate bullies.

Just ask Saddam Hussein… the liberated Iraqis? Yeah, we started a huge money-burning disaster because Saddam made himself the unlikeable bully. And Americans, in the beginning atleast, were united by the cause.

Remember Bush’s 90% approval rating? If that’s not proof of how bully-hating unites people– and even causes them to get behind idiocy– I don’t know what is.

Obama supporters take note.

So, unless you want to see Palin as the eventual first female president, Obie fans, quit while you’re ahead.

Technorati Tags: humor, media, women, popular culture, politics, Sen. Barak Obama, Gov. Sarah Palin,Sandra Bernhard, election

The formula band flurry/boy-band barfalon began with New Kids on the Block. Now they wanna re-pollute the airwaves like it’s 1991.

No longer can we deny this sad, shameful chapter in U.S. history:

Even Halle “I have Hit & Run Anmesia” Berry can’t deny this atrocity!

I’m sorry to have to remind everyone of such a dark time in U.S.– indeed the world’s– cultural history, but in the name of teaching a meaningful lesson I will.

Does anyone remember what the billboard hot 100 looked like 10-15 years ago? For those of you who blocked it out–along with other traumatic childhood memories– I’ll sum it up in two words. Here, take your pick: boy “band”. Formula “band”. Pupetter-led “band”.

Except in this case, the term “band” equals a group of pre-selected, pre-pubescent boys, all of whom share three characteristics:

(1) passable dancing ability (can be trained with a choreographer);
(2) passable singing ability (with aid of vocal coach and heavy computer remixing);

…and most importantly,
(3) Non-threatening type of sex appeal (see Sanjaya from American Idol) that entices 12 year-old girls to cry, swoon and drool… then spend their allowances on cheap Chinese imports bearing the likeness of said “band”-mate.

This dark time in musical history over a decade.

And then people woke and/or grew up. Tired of saccarine junk-pop. The boybanders left the airwaves without having any lasting impact on the evolution of music.

Phew.

Ahh, but that’s not to sat they left no destruction behind.

One can hardly fathom the sheer volume of landfill space devoted to New Kids On The Block trapper-keepers, Backstreet Boys lunchboxes, ‘N Sync posters, and so on. The way I see it, at minimum, each boybander should have to plant 50 trees per year in order to help negate his carbon footprint!

But hey, at least our fellow humans have quit embarrassing themselves by supporting faux-musicians! Finally, we’ve come to a time where the only way a boy-bander can get airtime is to do trainwreck reality tv.

And this is where they really shine, IMHO. Did anyone catch House of Carters on E! ? C’est magnifique! Très insipide! Genius!

In fact, boy-banders make such excellent reality-show subjects that I, for one, am willing to grant them amnesty for their past sins against music/culture, as if they’d never even polluted the audio airwaves with a single song!

I say: let them do their stints in Mtv and Vh1… as long as said stints are limited to shows like Celebrity Rehab, The Hills, The Real World, The Surreal Life, and Flavor of Love. I don’t begrudge them the ability to earn a semi-sleazy living. I just want to protect music’s cultural heritage!

But like African dictators, some people just won’t hear it when the world begs them to disappear…

Just when it looked like these musicians “entertainers” had found their place on basic cable, on 30 Jan 2008 Elizabeth Hassle-bin-laden put forth a most terrifying plight .

Side note: I knew she was a little nutty, but president of a cultural smut-pushing fanclub?!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but it looks as if they weren’t just posturing.

Please. Make. It. Stop. People are already pointing to this decade as the redux of the 70’s, with gas prices, stagflation, and a presidntial candidate who just may turn out to be the second coming of Jimmy Carter. Who’ll get elected because he’s the anti-Nixon/Johnson Bush.

Some things are better left forgotten.

Seriously, Old New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys Men, et. al., I think the rest of the country would support me in offering you this deal:

Stay out of the recording studios. File your past transgressions against contributions to pop-culture under “quaint time in history”; they’ll do well next to other atrocities like acid-washed jeans, disco and MC Hammer pants.)

In return, we– along with the state of New Jersey/landfill capital USA — will forgive your sins against mother earth.

That’s right: act now, and despite your Bigfoot-sized carbon footprints, we won’t make you plant any trees or pick up trash.

In short: Produce no new waste, and we’ll absolve you of responsibility for the old.

Act now, and as a bonus, you’ll save yourself from (further) public humiliation! We understand that your definition thereof is, shall we say, elastic, but trust us, the following clip is nothing to be proud of circa 2008.

I especially like it when you try to get the audience to sing along…

Just imagine how that will look 10 years from now.

Viva Tivo Nuevo?

Fellow Connoisseurs Vapid Culture:

I realize it’s been quite some time since my last post. Allow me to explain.

There has been a fracture in the fabric of my world; a crack in the cornerstone of my cosmos.

‘Twas once filled with the sunny days and fake tans seen on The Real Housewives of Orange County.

But today, my universe is gray.

No, I wasn’t forced to move from Huntington Beach, California to Flyover Statesville, USA.

Of course that would suck and everything, but one can always recover from a move by moving back, no?

Sadly, the predicament in which I find myself comes with no such easy answers.

It is, in a word, dire.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my tivo has fallen ill.

[Cue Ave Maria]

And his chances for recovery don’t look so good.

If memory lapses are any indicator, his hard drive’s days are surely numbered.

In fact– and forgive me if I sound contrite– I’ve taken to calling him Teddy Tivo.

He’s not warm and fuzzy, just named for another key societal figurehead who also recently learned he has a dire illness of the hard drive.

Still not sure who I’m referring to?

OK, so Teddy Tivo is named for an Edward. Or Ted.

Last initial K.

Sometimes followed by the letters “D-Mass.”

And despite the problems with his memory, let me assure you that this illness was not in any way caused by alcohol!

How dare you even think such a thing!!

And I know he’s only going to get worse, but I’m having a hard time pulling the plug on him, no pun intended.

Seriously. I loathe puns. Tasteless analogies regarding beloved senators with terminal illnesses are one thing, but puns? Well I never…!

If nothing else, you’d think that wanting to keep an old relic alive would give me some of that righteous indignation that the fundamentalist Kool-aid drinkers walk around with, right? Wrong. It feels bad.

On many levels.

For one thing, I feel like a greedy bitch who wants to keep her not-at-all-warm-and-fuzzy-Teddy alive for selfish reasons.

Think of all of those younger tivos out there that need vital organ transplants- as a donor, Teddy could give them new life! Picture the young tivos that surely would be spared the indignity of a premature burial in a landfill grave!

Ack-now I feel like a bad eco-citizen to boot!

And speaking of dignity, it does seem wrong of me to keep Teddy alive for my own selfish reasons when he can’t function at a decent level.

I suppose I was hoping for a kind of spontaneous recovery-miracle, but then the tivo doctor rained on that parade… all the way from India, mind you. I grilled him like a lamb kabob, and the upshot is this: Teddy’s problem is intractible and severe. And and no, he has never seen this type of problem spontaneously resolve itself.

Maybe that’s because there’s no Hindi tivo god? Food for thought.

You must be wondering why I’m so attached to the un-cuddly old bloated lug with the bad memory from the non-drinking problem then, huh?

Well, let me tell you, I’ve got reasons ’o’ plenty. And not just the usual crap about the good times we’ve shared, the stuff he introduced me to and the dreams we built together. Nosiree.

See, like most men who are post-prime, Tivo Ted is ill-equipped to function in today’s world, but full of amazing, one-of-a-kind stories from back in the day.

Indeed, he has lived to see some of the best stuff imaginable, much of which he has yet to share with the world. He can tell stories nobody else can! Like the entire marathon of Make Me A Supermodel (UK Edition)!

Have you ever tried to find that show on youtube? The only stuff that shows up are vanity clips from the one [uncloseted] gay contestant!

And these old shows, having been recorded at a time when Ted was young and spritely, playback perfectly. And it seems wrong to take him from this world before he has had a chance to tell those stories, as it were, you know?

The problem, however, is with Ted’s ability to remember new stuff.

Things will seem fine– we’ll get through minute 48 of 60 in the finale of America’s Next Top Model– and then Teddy will freeze. And start skipping.

Forcing me to reboot. And delete the poisoned recording.

**On the plus side: I have discovered a whole host of television offerings available online!

Besides the usual suspects (youtube.com, dailymotion.com) there is hulu.com, which has two distinct advantages over the others: (1) full-length shows/no more clip-hunting! (2) in decent quality.

And of course, good ol’ itunes is a lifesaver: my iphone has rescued me from boredom with an HBO offering more times than I care to recall.

Another thing I hate to recall? How many times I’ve missed out on hearing the high-and-mighty, I’m-so-smart Tyra Banks utter the grammatically incorrect phrase “Congratulations, you are still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.”

As if there is this monster named “Becoming America’s Next Top Model”, and [you] are running towards it?

But seriously, fellow vapid culturists, putting Tyra Banks aside, ’tis one thing I know.

At the end of the day, as attached as I may be to Tivo Ted, nothing can make up for the loss I felt upon missing another ending of Viva Hollywood: Vh1’s search for America’s Numero Uno Telenovela Star.

Especially because it meant missing another installment of the show-in-show cheesefest El Masacre de la Mascara.

Behold:

I missed the finale because of you, Ted!!

I dunno, kids. Methinks Ted’s days are numero’ed.

¡Viva Tivo Nuevo!

Floor-shadowing

ANTM Claire drinks her own breast milk!

To quote The Smiths in Girlfriend in a Coma: I know… it’s really serious!

Wilst in Sydney, I was floored… [seriously, NPI: I loathe puns; I am like waaay smarter than that!]… by how much more model-esque the average 20-40 year old Sydney chick iooks compared to her LA counterpart. And as far as fashionista bragging rights go, it’s almost a toss-up between Ms. Sydney and Ms. NYC– which is, like, the self-proclaimed fashion capital of the world, no less!

Still, that’s no excuse for what you tube has enabled millions of us to discover: when it comes to having girls with true modeling potential, ANTM is to AusNTM what Barbizon is to Elite. Or what H&M is to Prada. What Bop! is to Elle.

Want Evidence? At least two ANTM winners have been under 5′7. The casting directors on AusNTM won’t even talk to you unless you are taller than that. Because in the real world, no decent agency will, either- not if you want to model clothes!

Naturally, I have sooo much more to say on this most serious of topics.

But it will have to wait, because I’m still not unpacked.

Until then, “self-soothe” with this most maternal 9-second clip of the face-planter, as she readies herself to drink from her own busom (with the aid of a pump, of course).

Don’t mother nature and modern technology= a fierce coupling?

[If you can't get the clip to play, click on this link]

Hmmm… do ya think they selected her because she makes for good TV?

Nah–she’s clearly got HUGE modeling potential. That is the new face of Chanel, people. Claudia Schiffer , Keira Knightley… and Claire from ANTM.

Show and Tell: How to stop aging, and other stuff I learned down under

Fellow Vapid Culturists:

Please excuse my protracted absence. I was stuck on another continent… well, except for the stuck part.

In my defense, I did manage to discover the fountain of youth while away!

Q: How does one avoid turning 30, 35 and (quelle horreur!) beyond?

A: Fly to Australia the day before you birthday!

Not because you’ll die on the way, phobies! It’s so you can cross the dateline and skip one day entirely-a date of your choosing.

For Example, let’s say that, like moi, you were to:

• Fly out of LAX March 14th @ 8AM,
• arrive in Sydney 13 hrs later @ 9PM
• on March 15th 16th.

This would have made you too a very wise person, for you also would have heeded the immortal words of Ceasar: “Beware the Ides of March, especially when it means turning 30 and over.”

Clever plan, no? Okay, so maybe it’s not quite the fountain of youth, but it’s a valuable tool in the fight against awareness of aging.

Lest you think I’m entirely self-obsessed, I’ll have you know I had other reasons for going to Oz.

I wanted to visit places of historical and cultural significance… like the house where The Real World, Sydney was filmed.

And the beach where Tyra Banks Fat-Gate began.

For those of you who remain blissfully clueless on the matter, here’s the rundown on fat-gate. In short, it started with the National Enquirer running a picture of a cellulite-happy Miss thang in a bathing suit (while she was filming America’s Next Top Model 8 in Sydney). How did it end? Well, it wasn’t pretty. For a number of reasons. But you’ll have to watch the 6-second clip to fully appreciate it.

Why did it get so ugly? Well, admittedly, certain vapid bloggers made several catty comments in between. Which, I admit, is a terrible thing to do to a woman of such understated dignity:

Yes, that is Tyra Banks dancing around in a headless kangaroo costume.
And yes, I was able to resist the temptation to purchase one of my own at the airport, even though it was duty-free!

All in all, this trip was vapidly awesome enough to warrant further postings. Postings in which I shall share all of the critical, life-changing insights gained.

For instance, did you realize that calling an Aussie politician a “friend of Bush” is like calling him a child molester? For reals.

Also, believe it or not, in Sydney itself virtually no one has heard of The Real World, Sydney. And naturally, Mtv, Inc. had a reputation for being avaricious, just like they do in the US. In this land where toilets flush backward and Christmas takes place in the summertime, it’s nice to know that you can always count on Mtv to remain cheap!

Was Celebrity Rehab Developed in the Casting Lab?

Talk about clinical… this logo looks like it belongs on a box of Vytorin or something

It’s fun to bitch about how little “reality” exists in the realm of reality tv. With casting formulas and stock characters, writers and story arcs, it’s easy to confuse “reality” shows with scripted ones.

But the fact is, reality can be be boring.

And no one tivos boring shows… at least not on purpose.

One thing that is never boring is a trainwreck. Remember how wildly popular the Anna Nicole show once was?

Well, rehab is the proverbial station where trainwrecks come home to roost.

Of course, the Anna Nicole show fizzled out in season 2, because once you got over the novelty of watching a trainwreck, there was no story to follow. Anna Nicole had no goals… she just was.

Fortunately for Vh1, there is no danger of that happening here. You see, rehab is also like a train salvage yard where every train gets taken apart, examined for usable parts, and hopefully, remolded into a better train.

This makes for great storytelling:

Will Mr. Trainwreck get himself together, or will he act out?

Will he take other patients down with him? Which ones?

Will he even make it past day one? Or will drug withdrawal prove too much for him?

As you can see, rehab already possesses the story arcs and characters necessary for a successful reality show. Call it Trainwreck TV… with a Twist.

With such plentiful natural resources, it stands to reason that there’s no need for casting formulas, right? Why would you play with mother nature when she’s already given you what you want?

Put another way: If you were built like Scarlett Johansen, would you hit the plastic surgeon’s office with a picture of Pamela Andersen?

Apparently the execs at Vh1 would. Even though the casting pool was relatively small– how many drug addicted celebs are willing to air out their laundry on basic cable?– they managed to fill Celebrity Rehab with cartoon stock characters.

Or maybe I’m just jaded; it is possible that they went looking for celebrities with substance abuse problems and simply cast the most addicted quasi-household names. After all, isn’t it unethical to treat something as serious as drug addiction as if it were Flavor of Love 3?

I don’t know… some of these people would have been right at home on FOL. Or it’s spin-off, Charm School. Or Flavor of Love’s female-counterpart, I love New York.

Check out some of the characters on the show and decide for yourself!

Stock Character 1: The Porn Star who wants to reform

Portrayed by Mary Carey, star of Tit Happens & Lick My Balls

Defining moment: When getting bags checked for contraband upon intake, Mary pulls out several vibrators, dildos, and strap-on.

Oh, I almost forgot– Mary also brought a silicone replica of her vagina. After witnessing the stunned reactions of the staff, Mary offers what she deems to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. The virtual vag is, quite simply, a gift for another patient whom she was told would be in attendance, Seth AKA Shifty. Because he’d had the real thing before and may want to repeat the experience… sort of.

Stock Character 2: The Angry Meathead/Wife Beater

Portrayed by Ricco ‘Suave’ Rodriguez, the first Ultimate Fighting Champ to test positive for Steroids Cocaine

Defining moment: During group therapy session, Ricco pipes in with a story about how he beat a DUI.

Specifically, while driving (1) with a suspended license; (2) high, and (3) with his girlfriend Karmen in the car, Ricco slammed into the back of an 18-wheeler truck and then hit a wall. Believing that his girlfriend was dead, he dragged her body to the driver’s seat so that the cops would think she was driving.

Ricco said that even though the cops could tell he was driving due to the position of the seat, the girlfriend — after surviving the incident — told cops that she was driving. According to Ricco, their “attorneys took care of it.”

After nonchalantly telling this story–which you can tell he is kind of proud of– Ricco lashes out at Shelly, the counselor who has the nerve not to laugh at this most amusing of stories. Later, when recanting the Shelly’s reaction to Karmen, he says something like “Can you believe she didn’t laugh at it? All of my friends laugh at it!”
To which Karmen replies,”Yeah, that’s cause all of your friends are assholes.”

Stock Character 3: The Washed-Up Has-Been Actor’s New Jersey Enabler Girlfriend.

Portrayed by Jeff Conaway’s Girlfriend, Miss Vicki (Whose name, appropriately, rhymes with hickey. Duh.

Motto: “I only did drugs behind your back after you got me hooked on them.”
Defining moment #1: Decides she wants her BF (Jeff Conaway) to leave rehab, because these rehab people aren’t bending the rules to suit her needs, but knows he wants/needs to stay. Hatches insta-plan before our eyes to push Honey’s buttons and get him to bail out of rehab ASAP. Proceeds to put on sticky-sweet pseudo-angelic face, walk over to Honey and, in the guise of pretending to be open and honest, casually mentions she’s going to see her ex-boyfriend who’s “just gotten out of prison”, as this will surely send Conaway out the door. In pursuit of her, the prisoner, and/or dope. Ahh, but later, when Conaway calls her to say he’s checking himself out and needs her to come and get him, she’s like all “Oh, no, stay there, work on your recovery…”
Defining moment #2: Using a grape juice bottle, brings alcohol into the place on visiting day (because she knows they will check her for pills.) When Conaway asks her for a sip of juice, she acts all coy and makes a show of trying to stop him. He grabs the juice bottle and gets a sip of alcohol– not good for an admitted alcoholic. When he angrily confronts her on this, she says “I did it because you asked me to. You told me to get drunk and show up here so they’d admit me also, and you’d have company.” As if (a) showing up sober with a clandestine bottle of alcohol constitutes this, and (b) he would make such a comment in a serious manner!

Stock Character 4: The man with two faces/Villain masquerading as Nice Guy

Portrayed by Daniel Baldwin, aka the fugly Baldwin brother with the drug problem

Defining Moment: After pretending to be there “only to serve as an inspiration for others” because, dude, he “has been clean for, like, 7 months,” Baldwin himself leaves, pretending to be bothered by and/or above the way the program is run. He claims to have had to leave in order to stay sober, because the rehab peeps allowed him to catch a glimpse of fellow patient and porn star Mary Carey’s wet t-shirt. Which is somehow a threat to his sobriety. Presumably because of the havoc it caused on the home front for him.

See, being the straight-up loyal guy he is, after witnessing such an un-pure scene, Daniel immediately called his pregnant wife with the details. So now she’s upset, his sobriety’s at stake, and he has to go.

This seems like a mere overreaction on Danny-boy’s part, kind of prudish even. As if poor Mary isn’t a mess enough to begin with, now it looks like everyone will be blaming her wet t-shirt for the loss of Daniel, who seems to be such a wonderful, vital part of the group.

Well, in a jarring turn of events, we learn that the reason for Dan’s sudden exit did have to do with Mary Carey and sex-related stuff… except, Danny Boy was responsible for something much more porn-tastic and thereby sobriety-threatening than a mere wet t-shirt.

This whole time, Daniel was texting Mary pictures of his junk!! And asking for her to reciprocate! Maybe he felt ripped-off that she seemingly reciprocated with a lousy wet t-shirt instead of a full-frontal pic–like the one he sent her? A lousy wet t-shirt that was on display to everyone else, adding insult to injury?!

No, I’m afraid that things are a lot worse than that in the case of ol’ Danny Boy. It looks like Mary did not make any attempt at reciprocity, leading an anxious Daniel to start worrying about what she may do with the pictures of his junk. Girlfriend had actual evidence of the real Daniel in her cell phone. We see him whispering things to her on the sly, like “You’re deleting those pictures, right?”

It seems that once Mary stopped playing along, Daniel got worried that he’d be exposed for the two-faced fraud that he is. So he did what addicts do best: he ran. Before the virtual bomb he made could go off. This way, when things got really messy, he’d be long gone.

Of course, like all good terrorists, he called in afterwards to see how much damage he’d caused. What a casting director’s dream he turned out to be!

For those of you who still believe that a cast like this could have come about organically, I’ve got bad news.

However it happened, it looks like Celebrity Rehab was cast using the same formula as another generously-titled reality show that’s currently polluting the airwaves. I am referring, of course, to the Trump-tastic Trump-trash-tic Celebrity Apprentice.

Think about it. Both shows have a Taxi-veteran ( Jeff Conoway and Marilu Henner), a fugly Baldwin brother (Daniel and Steven), a adult-entertainment ‘actress’/model (Mary Carey and Playmate Tiffany Fallon), a rocker (Crazy Town’s Seth “Shifty” Binzer and KISS’ Gene Simmons), an Ultimate Fighter (Ricco Rodriguez and Tito Ortiz), a “Family” member (Family Matters‘ Jaimee Foxworth and The Sopranos‘ Vincent Pastore ) and one or more D-listers last seen on The Surreal Life (Joanie ‘Chyna Doll’ Lauer & Brigitte Nielsen and Omarosa).

So, fellow Vapid Culturists, you tell me. Did the cast that makes Celebrity Rehab compulsively watchable happen by mere coincidence? Or was it developed in the (casting) lab, much like like Vicki’s Norco?

Last year Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, Britney Spears & Co. introduced the world to the Five-Star-Hotel/Drug-Detox-Unit. Sadly, some of us knew all about such places already… Now, you can too!

Finally, Vh1 brings the dark voyeur’s wet dream to the airwaves with Celebrity Rehab.

Like the prescription drugs it aims to wean patients from, the show has a legitimate purpose (giving credibility to the rehabilitation process, at least according to Dr. Drew), but ends up being popular for unintended side-effects that are a whole lot more fun. Like watching porn stars attempt to bring in strap-ons, dildos and silicone “virtual vaginas”… as gifts for the other patients.

Some of the Contraband

Living in the spoiled rich kids’ mecca that is Orange County has allowed me to witness the otherwise unfathomable antics that occur regularly in the beach-side “recovery” (read: over-privileged druggie day-care) scene. To give you an idea of just how bad things get, a NIMBY grassroots organization called Concerned Citizens of Newport Beach has evolved. They are suing the city at this very moment, trying to take back their formerly pristine peninsula.

Yeah, good luck with that.

Suffice it to say that the only thing scarier than the garden variety junkie is the junkie with status and money– Lindsay Lohan, anyone?

Okay, maybe that was a bad example on the status part, but you get where I’m going, right?

Individuals who are raised with a grandiose sense of entitlement are far removed enough from reality as it is. They do not need drug problems.

Thus, it follows that when you put twenty of these types under one roof and add in a little drug withdrawal-induced bitchiness, you’re left with quite the pyrotechnic show!

Finally, the spoiled trust fund brats are contributing to society–maybe even the GNP?– by offering up a unique brand of entertainment!

Not that I’m getting all reverse high-and-mighty in a Justin Bobby-“I drive a ghetto El Camino so you won’t think my Daddy’s worth a gazillion dollars”- sort of way. In fact, I’ll admit to having been a limited beneficiary to a trust fund (but mine required me to go to law school, and then vanished once I graduated!). And I’m not going to pull a Bill Clinton and pretend to be a stranger to illegal substances. So I guess it’s fitting that I have what you may call friendships with some of the more benign aforementioned Trust-funder/Addict types. Though I like to think it’s only for voyeuristic purposes.*

*if you think I’m talking about you personally… present company excluded! (As always, of course.)

Two years ago in the summer season, one such friend of mine (a substance enthusiast I’ll call Didi, after a character from a Jay McInerney novel), checked into one such 5-star rehab here in the beach area (which is made up of Huntington, Newport and Laguna Beaches, for those keeping score). I looked forward to visiting her there because it offered up the chance to view what seemed like a bizarre art-house movie, where people acted in ways that were entirely opposite of what you’d expect based on their looks .

There were soccer moms with perfect hair, skin, teeth and such trying to figure out how to smuggle in their eating-disorder aids (i.e. laxatives); trophy-wife types getting busted for drinking from hairspray bottles, and even one crazy spoiled Newport Beach princess who had to show the nurses how to draw blood from the only good vein she had left… in her neck.

The setup’s inherent commercial possibilities did not go unnoticed; in fact, every time we spoke during her stay, DiDi said something like this:

Okay, so you know how everyone comes in here royally trashed? Because it’s like their last hurrah and everything? Obviously they know we’re going to be wasted when we sign our admission papers, so I just keep wondering if they snuck something into those papers granting them rights to use footage of us for a reality show? I know they have cameras in here– supposedly for security or whatever–and yeah, I was jacked up at the time but I know I saw the word ‘release’ in there more than once! Two of the other patients are working actors, you know. They keep saying how this would make great TV. And for once it’s not the meth talking– they’re clean!

It took quite the protracted effort on my part to talk Didi down from this seemingly ridiculous notion, which I did by citing confidentiality/HIPAA issues, and explaining all of the legitimate ways the word release could have been used. I hereby grant the institution the right to hospitalize me in the event that I try to kill myself was one that made total sense to her, BTW.

So you can imagine how I reacted to the promo for VH1’s Celebrity Rehab. Viewing it made me think I was the one on drugs–hallucinogens, to be precise. So much for the second ‘A’ in A.A./N.A., et. al.

But damn, did it look interesting! A trainwreck-o-phile’s dream come true! Complete with washed-up celebs from Vh1’s own d-list roster! Only this time, there would be a reason for the inclusion of has-been “celebrities” besides ‘this is Vh1 and we can’t afford big names’. If you need rehab, you probably have hit bottom (let’s hope– if not, it probably won’t work– you may not be desperate enough to change.)

Dr. Drew… Yes, Please!

The most surprising thing about this show, other than it’s existence in the first place, is the presence of Dr. Drew Pinsky.

Despite the fact that he’s appeared on Loveline, a radio call-in show with Adam Corolla for years now, Drew’s fairly well regarded in his chosen field of addiction. And Dr. Drew is certainly no Dr. Phil- he’s licensed in addiction medicine, for one thing. He is also a Professor at USC School of Medicine. Drew may be serious guy in a tie, but you can tell he’s got a fun, snarky side lurking beneath the surface. He’s that hot professor you had in college; the one you sooo wanted to seduce, but knew would turn you down until graduation day, because he’s a stand-up guy like that.

I’m not the only one who thinks he’s hot, BTW. As fellow vapid culturist-cum- blogger StinkyLuLu says:

..I’ve come to think of Dr. Drew as the illegitimate love child of Dr. Ruth and Dr. Joyce Brothers. Then, again, truth be told, sometimes I just like to think of Dr. Drew…that voice, that hair, that reasonable affect. Sanjay Gupta might be a bit hunkier, but Dr. Drew is the dreamiest. And, from the looks of things, the man has the patience of a saint…

Sadly, Dr. Drew may be the most recognizable face on the show. Some usual suspects from the Vh1 ‘celeb’-reality roster are there, of course. They include (clockwise, left to right:

• Brigitte Nielsen (who qualified by being drunk on Surreal Life)
• Jeff Conaway (who qualified by getting booted from Celebrity Fit Club for being too drugged up to work out)
• Daniel Baldwin (who qualified by demonstrating drug-induced rage/asshole-ism on Celebrity Fit Club– or was ity another marginally famous Baldwin?)
• Joanie Laurer aka Chyna the former pro wrestler (for qualifications, see Brigitte, above).

Oddly enough, Vern ‘Mini-Me’ Troyer and Janice ‘World’s First Self-Proclaimed Supermodel’ Dickenson were conspicuously absent from the lineup. Which can only mean one thing.

For some, denial is a force more powerful than fame-whoring.

Other cast-members you won’t recognize include:

Jessica Sierra, the former American Idol finalist (or so they say). Her mom was a hooker and druggie who died in some random dude’s backyard. Dead or no, Jessica loathes her mom for choosing the path she did. Alas, Jessica herself has become a druggie. And now, in the apparent interest of striking while the publicity iron is hot, Jessica Sierra has opted to follow in the great footsteps of our fearless vapid leaders Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian by releasing a sex tape.

FYI: This is Jessica Sierra, not her mom.

I say, way to live down the family legacy there, Jess.

Rehab: Step in the right direction, away from becoming your drug addicted hooker mom.

Sex tape: step in the wrong direction, brings you closer to the hooker part.

One step forward, two steps back…

In addition to the aforementioned motley crüe, there’s Jaimee Foxworth, the child-star from ‘Family Matters’ (starring Urkel, character whose voice rivaled Fran Drescher’s in the contest for ‘most annoying’.)

Here’s Jaimee on Tyra…. and probably on pot, too.

The most recent dose of mainstream fame Jaimee has seen involved an appearance on Oprah, wherein she cried about having fallen into porn, or, more accurately, cried about getting recognized/busted for doing it. As if she thought she was getting paid to appear in a porno that wasn’t going to see the light of day? Sorry Jaimee, but that excuse only flies when explaining sex tapes (read: where your co-star is typically a boyfriend with whom you’ve had sex before, and is probably not a porn actor), the amateurish-quality of your porn films notwithstanding.

Oh, and Jaimee claims to be addicted to pot. Personally, I think she’s addicted to getting paid for appearing on camera, but I’m not an M.D. *

*Update: My BF, who is an M.D., agrees with me on this. And as a Pain Management Physician, he knows a thing or two about narcotic addiction, thank-you-very-much.

Mary Carey, Porn Star, Gubernatorial Candidate and Celebrity Rehabber

Speaking of porn, another one of the patients is none other than Porn Star and former Gubernatorial Candidate Mary Carey. Can you believe Arnold Schwarzenegger beat her? From loud farts to attempted strap-on smuggling, Mary has been a constant source of entertainment.

In addition to every skeevy dude with a mustache in the San Fernando Valley, Mary has slept with another patient, Seth AKA “Shifty” from the band Crazy Town. If you can overlook his crack addiction, mohawk, head-to-toe tatoos and questionable taste in sex partners, this guy seems to be the most decent man of the bunch. Not that there’s much competition.

The only other guy is some Ultimate Fighting Champion named Ricco Rodriguez. Think Rico Suave, but on steroids and without the slimy charm (ok, maybe keep the slime).

Ricco “Suave” Rodriguez shows off the muscles he uses when beating his girlfriend

This meathead actually believes his kid–the same kid who is currently in Child Protective Services’ custody– has gone unaffected by his drug use (and, by extension, his girlfriend-beating tendencies…not that he sees these things as problems. Which is, itself, the problem.) Apparently, the fact that the underlings at CPS won’t give him his kid is a problem though, because that’s why he claims to be in rehab. If he can solve the problem of the CPS staffers’ short-sightedness by going on TV and showing what a real stand-up guy he is, there will be no problem. Capiche?

It will be interesting to see what direction this show takes. If it is anything like real-life 5-star rehab, people will give up and/or get booted off of the proverbial island. Dr. Drew, the apparent voice of reason, gave a lecture in episode 1 where he said as much.

Still, with ratings, fledging careers and screen-time to worry about, expect no shortage of antics.

Not that this will be a problem– at the end of the day, it is rehab, after all.

Next time: Given the degree to which Reality shows rely on casting/character/story formulas, it’s hard to imagine that Vh1 departed from the usual methodology when casting, filming and editing Celebrity Rehab. Then again, it’s even harder to believe they’d stoop to the level of scripting things when people’s very lives are at stake. And it’s not like the set-up was bound to be lacking in drama. So what did they end up doing?