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?

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!