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?

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.

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.

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!

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?

What the faux-bridesmaids were really thinking at the Katherine Heigl premiere for 27 Dresses

Spotted: this shot from the premiere of Katie H’s new movie. I think the only reason they made the faux-bridesmaids wear these heinous dresses was to visually separate them from the actual bridesmaids in Heigl’s recent wedding. Tell me these chicks don’t look like they’re straight out of the Mormon Church in Utah, where the real deal was held?

As the editors at the fabulous on-line magazine Jezebel know, a shot like this cries out for judgment. I’m going further in saying it deserves a full-on caption. So here, courtesy of commenter GOLDHOOPS and myself, is what I consider the best one:

Faux Bridesmaid 1: I’m going to kill my agent.

FBM2: Suck it up and remember you’re getting paid 250 bucks for this.

FBM3: I went to Yale Drama for this?!

FBM4: After the hours I spent selecting the right shade of lipstick, I hope it photographs well!

FBM5: My first gig! And they said I’d never make it in Hollywood– HA!

FBM6: I wonder if anyone will ask me for an autograph?

FBM 7: Can I put “Played Bridesmaid in 27 Dresses” on my acting resume after this?

FBM 8: Beats porn.

FBM 9: Wait, this isn’t The Wedding Slammer? I thought Jenna Jameson looked odd in that silver dress!

CW Network Makes a Case for Striking Writers with ‘Crowned’

Two weeks ago, after the (totally fixed) Top Model finale, the CW network did a huge favor to the currently-striking WGA members.

It foretold a chilling tale of the future of broadcasting, barring an end to the strike… sub-par reality TV.

Ladies and Gents, hold your noses for: Crowned, The Mother of All Pageants.

Yes, the show is as insipid as the title suggests. Several pairs of mother-daughter teams live in a cheesy bubblegum-pink “castle” whilst competing against each other, beauty-pageant style.

Slate magazine referred to the contestants like this:

Some were veterans of the tiara circuit, and others were rank amateurs, and most were wearing too much blush. Their universe is gynocentric and homosocial.

True enough, save for one exception: Annette and Alana, the least-vapid (and most out-of-place) team. Mom is a professor, and daughter just seems like a normal, well-educated, non-pageant type of girl. I was looking to these two to give the show a breath of fresh, un-perfumed air.

[Cue 'Ironic' by Alanis Morrisette .]

Screech & Mom, The Plagiarizing Bombshells

Instead, they offered comic relief… and an extreme example of what happens when one spends all of one’s time in a book: functional illiteracy.

The teams were given the task of selecting a name that conveyed inner and outer beauty.

The walking-Texas-pageant-cliche types chose predictably bad (but rightfully descriptive) names, like Skin Deep, Hot and Not, and my fave, The Redheaded Bombshells (who, in naming themselves, tried to one-up The Blonde Bombshells). Oh, the Drama!

The Plagiarized Ones

So by the time Annette and Alana came up, I was hoping for something cerebral. In Latin, perhaps? Mom is an Anthropology Professor, after all!

We get to watch them brainstorm. They want something to convey their quiet yet intelligent nature.

We practically see a light bulb form over Daughter’s head.

“Silent but deadly!” she cries.

At this point, I’m prepared to cut her some slack. She is young, after all, and with youth comes naivete.

Silent But Deadly

I’m waiting for Professor Mom to chuckle and explain the fart connotation, perhaps suggesting they call themselves “The Embeletifas instead (latin for quiet and lethal.)

But she does not.

Instead, Professor Mom says “That’s brilliant!”

Cut to the “De-sashing Ceremony”.

There, looking otherwise calm and dignified, stand A & A in twin sashes that say “Silent But Deadly”.

The Judges are visibly trying to hold it in. As if it weren’t enough to have to deliver lines like “One of you will be DE-SASHED!” with gravity, now they have the two most intelligent contestants sporting beauty-queen style sashes with “Silent But Deadly” in scripted font.

Head Judge Shanna Moakler, MTV Star of “Meet The Barkers”, has to be thinking this whole thing is a set-up for “PUNK’D”. She’s not uttering a word.

The honors fall on Carson from Queer Eye, who is visibly appalled at having to say that the name makes him think of (covers face in horror)”Silent smelly farts!”

Poor, poor Mom. Her face was priceless. But on the plus side, the drama surrounding the misguided name kept their team on for another week.

And in the following episode, they showed themselves to be a class-act. Which is another way of saying bo-ring in Reality TV lingo. And boring= eliminated.

If only they had taken a cue from the other black team- the Einsteins who called themselves “Skin Deep” (after the Judges pointed out the absurdity of their name, they changed to “Beauty is Skin Deep” which, you know, shows how much deeper they are.)

Say what you will about these bitches, but they know the Omorosa Law (which dictates that in Reality TV, the Villain(s) will make it to the finals, regardless of performance). Not only did they trash-talk and almost start a fight (I’m guessing that they were cast to fill the stock role of angry black woman squared), but Mom repeatedly flashed her cooch for good measure. How’s that for pageantry?

Despite doing horribly in all of the competitions, as of episode four they are still around. I predict they make it into the finals, which will do even more to de-elevate the show and the status of the reality genre.

Damn, I miss the writers. I miss airwaves that aren’t littered with crap.

So WGA members, relax. The CW network is doing more for your cause than any amount of press could.

It’s NOT Bad Plastic Surgery! New Disease Offers Explanation for Jackson Oddities

A new type of Vitiligo?

Yesterday my eyes were assaulted while reading jezebel,  the virtual equivalent of  Jane Magazine [R.I.P.] (+) US Weekly (-) Glamour.  Jezebel’s tag-line is “Celebrity, sex, fashion. Without airbrushing.“ 

Given the context, you can imagine how unsettling it was to stumble upon the (presumably non-airbrushed) image of Janet Jackson on the left.

Apparently, when your last name is Jackson, every day is Halloween [cue Ministry song of the same name].

It’s one thing to catch a bad case of Madamism at the Plastic Surgeon’s office, but the Jacksons seem to be subject to a disease that makes Madamism seem entirely benevolent: Trans-col-o-sex-us (TCS).

On the upside, we now have a perfectly rational explanation for the Jacksons’ spontaneously mutating bodies, lily-white offspring, inappropriate bed-sharing, and devastatingly inappropriate fashion choices!

Check out the presentation below and become enlightened:

WARNING: Do not fall asleep within 30 minutes of viewing; this is high-octane nightmare fuel.

Vapidly,

Jenna

Public Service Time: gift-giving advice for men who want to get laid next year

HINT: if you follow their gift-giving advice, you’ll be needing to use this photo a whole lot next year. (Print, laminate and hide in bathroom!)

It’s practically Christmas, but I know most men haven’t yet found the inner resolve to undertake the most overwhelming of tasks: shopping for the wife/girlfriend.

Because it’s the season of giving and I’m nothing if not generous, I’d like to offer men and the women who love them a public service. Let’s call it chick-gifting 101.

For the guys out there, proper chick-gifting requires you to understand one key principle.

Now I realize that the following maxim is kind of like the warning label that says “this bag is not to be used as a flotation device”, obvious but sadly necessary.

Most of you men out there may find it a tad condescending. Still, if it saves just one man from disaster, it’s worth stating.

So here goes.

Men and women are different.

Men are into utility and problem-solving. To most of you straight men, no gift is as thoughtful as a gadget, tool, or the ever-popular and effortless gift-card to an electronics/home improvement store.

Women, however, generally want something personal and tasteful. Utility ranks a distant third.

So guys, unless she specifically asked for something from the electronics or appliances department, stay away.

Unless your new year’s resolution is involves never sleeping with her again.

But you knew this already, right?

You were planning on getting her something personal, fashionable and not cheap. You’re even planning to make your annual pilgrimage to the mall for her!

But before you do, you’d best be armed with the following knowledge.

What can I say, it’s the holidays and I’m here to help.

It’s a sad fact that where there are generous givers like yourself, there are unsavory scam artist-types, just waiting to take advantage your good intentions.

No, I’m not referring to Ms. Nabu Mshindi, third cousin to the Sultan of Nigeria, who will gladly give you a piece of her 50Million$US fortune if you kindly wire her the bank fees in advance.

I’m talking about scam artists who are much more shrewd; those who have perfected the art of flying beneath the radar while taking advantage of well-meaning but naive targets like you.

They refer to themselves as Ad Executives.

Being a man, you probably think yourself too wise to be had. But, I’m telling you, these evil-doers are shrewd.

They’ve even gone so far as to conduct covert ops in order to find out the way you think. They even have a nice-sounding term for it: market research.

It seemed like a good idea at the time!

They know that as of right now, your mind is reeling with something like this:

Shit, I’ve got to get something suitable for my chick so I don’t have to worry about not getting laid. Let’s see, what would I want if I were her? Something useful and sweet, like a big-screen TV. Better not risk it though…after I gave her that super-high end vacuum last year, she cut off sex until March! Chicks! So impossible to figure out! Better play it safe and get her something feminine and classy, even if it means going to the mall. At least she’ll know I did something I hate doing to get the damned gift. That ought to be good for a few blow jobs.

Good intentions like these present the perfect opportunity for the aforementioned scam artists.

You want to get her something feminine and seemingly classy.

More likely than not, though, you have no idea what these adjectives actually mean to a woman.

All the scammer has to do is convince you that his product fits the bill.

They know how to get to you, invading your subconscious via your beloved big-screen TV. They litter the airwaves with ads during football; ads that show hot women receiving the most foreign of objects, lingerie and jewelry, and falling all over themselves with delight.

No matter that the products advertised are made in China for 1/100th of their retail price. Like a bad polyester wig, the products look authentic to the untrained eye but quickly fall apart when actually used.

Of course, you men never use these products yourselves– right?– so you’re likely to think that $250 at Victoria’s or Kay Jewelers was money well spent.

Until you see your woman’s expression on Christmas day.

Write it down: MUST NOT SHOP AT VICTORIA’S SECRET OR KAY JEWELERS. IGNORE HOT CHICKS IN ADS.

These companies are the absolute worst. They are practically modern snake-oil salesmen. They are purveyors of sub-quality crap.

The fact that VS makes the bulk of it’s revenue during the holiday season should tell you something: women never buy their crap for themselves. In fact, Target makes a higher-quality bra.

But it gets worse. There is a larger problem that comes from shopping at VS.

Buying a woman cheaply-made, badly-designed (read: uncomfortable) lingerie means you’ve just bought her something only good for use in the bedroom.

This makes it second only to the big-screen TV as the most self-serving of gifts a man can buy.

If you think your woman really was cool when you bought her something from Victoria’s Secret in the past, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say she has passive-aggressive tendencies. Or a room-temperature IQ.

Because just about any woman worth buying for sees the VS Christmas gift as a ploy.

And whether you realize it or not, upon receiving your gift, she may very well get mad enough to deny you sex.

How’s that for irony?

And how many relationships fall apart because of sex, or more precisely, lack thereof?

So please don’t fall into their traps. These evil scam artists break up families!

Only slightly less offensive are the scam artists working for Kay Jewelers. Still, their methods are equally shady.

Men know that women love jewelry. What they don’t know is why.

Women see jewelry as an expression of a man’s willingness to endure a sacrifice for the sake of their woman’s happiness. We don’t really want that 2.5-karat engagement ring so we can stare at it all day. After all, diamond jewelry, unlike costume jewelry, is worn not for fashion but for sentimental reasons. The real reason we want that pricey rock is because it tells us that our man thinks we are worth the $25K sacrifice he endured by purchasing it.

More importantly, it tells the world that we are worth it!

Nothing says “My man is poor… and has no taste” like these pebbles!

So when a man buys us something as tacky as Kay Jewelers’ “journey pendant”, which is nothing but small diamond scraps, it tells us, and more importantly the world, that our man thinks we are worth very little.

Add to that the fact that this same pendant can be bought at a jewelry mart in downtown LA for $50, and you’ll understand why no self-respecting woman would wear it regularly.

Which leads me to my next suggestion for all of you gift-challenged dudes: if you must buy jewelry, go downtown and buy the largest solitaire diamond earrings you can afford.

A better choice for your woman (and your libido)

Personally, I’m wearing a pair of 1/2K diamond earrings right now that cost about the price of that hideous journey pendant.

If jewelry isn’t in the cards for you, figure out what kind of perfume your woman wears and buy some. Or better yet, ask her girlfriends what the hot handbag is right now, and get it for her.

But please, do not buy the cheaper version with the slightly different label. It may be the same to you, but I promise, there is a big difference between Gucci and Cucci.

If you want the latter, better spring for the former.

Public Service Announcement complete.

Have a Merry Christmas, and a Vapid New Year!

Vapidly,

Jenna