Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Baseball Has Been Very Very Good to Me
So. Derek Jeter received racist hate mail which, in this day and age, is really shocking and upsetting (though he remains unfazed by it all, ever the captain).
He is on the cover of the Daily News today with the headline "No Sweat" and there is a picture of him with his head cocked to the side and one eye closed and it almost looks like he's winking so you can look at the paper, if you're so inclined, and theorize that he is winking at you. Which I did not do.
Obviously, this is not the time to be glib, but I feel the need to state, for the record, that should Derek want to really stick it to the haters and start dating the whitest girl in the world (like, nearly translucent*), I am available. I mean, sure, I'm not exactly on par with past flames like Tyra Banks and Jessica Alba in terms of scorchingness but when it comes down to true WASP looks and relative non-neediness, I'm your girl. As a cruel hater (he knows who he is) pointed out, Derek is a true mama's boy and that's perfect! I get along smashingly with mothers! I am squeaky clean!
I'll hand out cookies and pamphlets.
This leads almost naturally into the observation that the final week of the regular MLB season is upon us, and it's fun reading and watching debates about who will advance in the playoffs, who should win the MVP Award and how many times in the face Tim McCarver should be kicked**.
Of course, of course, of course, the Yankees and the Red Sox enter this week in a tie for first place and their two biggest offensive threats (Alex Rodriguez*** and David Ortiz) are the frontrunners for the AL MVP. It's the sports media's wet dream.
I can't put into words how sick I am of reading about the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry. I can't. I am so, so bored with it, and I follow both teams. I can only imagine how people who don't give a damn one way or another about either team feel. Jim Caple said it best by comparing the two to Ross and Rachel. Hee.
The AL Rookie of the Year race has the potential to be interesting. The three biggest names mentioned most often are Robinson Cano, Gustavo Chacin and CLC's boyfriend Huston Street****. All of them have strong points, though I wonder if Street will be unfairly penalized for having two rookie teammates (Swisher and Johnson), being the son of a man who was friends with Elvis and looking better in a skirt than the rest of us do. Though Cano gives him competition in that last category...
It's almost wrong how amused I am by rookie hazing. I think I'm a bad person, a feeling I have sometimes about how ugly I find Jay Gibbons. I mean, he's a person, I should be appalled by how repulsed I am by him. But I'm not. I'm okay with being cruel.
Oh! To continue on my mean baseball tangent, may I say that I laughed until I cried when I read about how sad Curt Schilling is this season :o(? Because I did.
''Somebody on this team wants me to get booed to make them feel better, and that really bothers me a lot," said Schilling, 38, who hopes to pitch two more years. ''Those are the kinds of things that really make me look at this game and understand that when I'm done in the game, I'll be done with the game."
Schilling said he suspected the same teammate gave an anonymous quote to the Herald last week in which he aired a similar gripe. Citing the lack of a public backlash against Schilling for his subpar season -- the Sox ace is 7-8 with a 5.89 ERA -- the player was quoted as saying, ''When he comes into the game, people cheer him like he's the Pope? You think they'd let Pedro [Martinez] get away with this? Why does he get a free pass?"
Oh. Oh, that's rich. I just got a stomach cramp. Way to make it all about you, Curt.
I wonder who it was. The quote itself is too well worded to have come from Manny, or Cro-Damon for that matter (though he made similar statements when Schilling became the closer over Mike Timlin which worked out so well, huh, Johnny?) Others suspect that it may be Keith Foulke. I dunno, but whoever it is, I will like them for at least a day for hurting Curt Schilling's feelings. The man is worse than A-Rod when it comes to saying stupid things to the press, and I hate his desire to be the prettiest girl at every party.
Then there's the NL, which mystifies me what with its antiquated ways (not really), with the West division offering a champion with a record below .500. They also have their own wild card race between the Astros and the Phillies with 1.5 games in between them, but I am not that interested because I don't like either team and my current imaginary husband Grady Sizemore does not play for either one.
I believe that was it, and I am not sure that any of the above makes sense, but I am in an awfully excitable mood, so I am not concerned with new fangled notions like "sentence structure" and "theme".
*Have you ever noticed that when a celebrity is pale, the media is all, "Oh, her porcelain skin is flawless!" but in real life, people are all, "Walk outside once in a while, Vampira"? That's not right.
**Okay, nobody has actually started that debate...until now. I vote six.
***My father claims that A-Rod is the one sending Derek Jeter the hate mail, because he is perturbed that Derek isn't paying him attention. If you ever wonder why I am the way I am, look no further than him.
****Remember when Oakland was in the middle of this very same pennant race before I started rooting for them, thereby jinxing them? Good times, good times.
Mallory at 9/27/2005 04:42:00 PM
Sunday, September 25, 2005
The Flip Side of the Coin
What a difference a week makes. Just seven days ago, I was all happy and looking on the ever elusive bright side, loving rainbows and happiness. A bad week at work, a sore throat, a trip to the mall during which I was nearly trampled on by a stampede of Hot Topic dressed young people and a hangover later, I am shaking my head and asking what on earth possessed me to be happy about things.
Because it's empty, you know? You walk around all smiling and chipper and pleasant, and then it's like people actively try to do things that annoy you solely to see if you can still remain chipper and composed, from writing on your calendar at work (!!!!!!! I don't know if I've mentioned by extreme anal retentive tendencies before, but I am really OCD about certain things and I only write in blue pen on my calendar and some trife heffa comes in and crookedly writes in lime green [!!!] on it) to awarding Doris Roberts her 45th Emmy and it's, like, Uncle, okay? I fold! I give up! I'm not meant to be happy all the time!
So in the interest of equal opportunity, I give you a list of things I hate and a promise to actually update more than once a week. Novel, I know.
The Way The Industry Is Treating Kate Moss
I'm worried about Kate Moss.
I mean, sure, she's not a close personal friend and I don't even know her, really, but watching her spiral out of control in the most gruesome and public way imaginable is upsetting to me all the same.
I have been a fan of Kate Moss for years, even when she was rocking the heroin chic look and making me feel badly about myself on the regular (her Calvin Klein ads, while beautiful, were depressing). I think she's gorgeous (and we all know how easily I am swayed by the pretty), and she's just such a fantastic model. She photographs so splendidly and walks the runway so magnificently, and her sense of personal style is tremendous.
So when she took up with Pete Doherty, I was wary. His drug problems are legendary. And, on top of that, he looks like a very ugly fetus. It's another example of what I have deemed the Britney Spears Syndrome--throwing your money, class and life away for someone who is ugly and otherwise unfortunate. I'm not saying I'd be pleased as punch if Kate had become a crackho in order to date someone like Boris Kodjoe, but it would be easier to take, you know?
Anyhoo, Kate got caught on camera snorting an absurd amount of cocaine in a tiny time span. Ooops? This, of course, follows a lawsuit she filed against the tabloids for claiming she was using hard drugs. Ooops again.
I'm not saying that Kate is a role model, or that her choices were good for the well being of her daughter, but at the same time it's like, hello, did anybody honestly think she wasn't using drugs? She's Kate Fucking Moss, people! She had liver failure when she was in her early twenties! When has she ever been the picture of clean and healthy living?
So then H&M dumps her as a spokesmodel. Chanel and Burberry follow suit, while Rimmel is in the process of reviewing her contract. This upsets me on a purely shallow level, because it means I get to see less of her (and also, Karl Lagerfeld? You're a dick and you store jars of your vomit [!!!!] everywhere. Cocaine use pales in comparison), and it upsets me on another level because it allows nitwits like Jennifer Love Hewitt to start jawing about her. Quoth Love:
I have to say that I think maybe they did her a favour, and maybe she'll actually get help. Coffee's one thing, but coke is another...It's not something you want to really have as a problem in your life. I think we have to kind of stop rewarding bad behaviour and actually start helping people.
Nitwit. Does she think that they mean coke as in Coca-Cola? Because I don't see where coffee comes into play. Also, Jennifer, you're an idiot, you're not as famous as you think you are and you aren't Audrey Hepburn, so just stop trying to look like her. How this girl is not the target of more random acts of violence is beyond me.
Rafael Palmeiro
Did anybody notice a strange smell in the air on Friday? It was the stench of desperation, as pornstache sporting Rafael Palmeiro accused Miguel Tejada of giving him something which made him test positive for steroids.
That's called grasping for straws. I mean, seriously, what an asshole thing to do, dragging Miguel Tejada (universally beloved, might I add) into the mess you created for yourself. It's disgusting, it truly is. The man can't go into the Orioles clubhouse ever again without wearing full body armor. Ugh, it makes me so mad.
My Super Sweet Sixteen
I loathe this show, and yet I can't stop watching it. It's like crack, in television form. Watch as teenagers nag their parents into throwing a sweet sixteen party for them, spending the money most blow on their wedding (if even that). Watch them act self absorbed and obnoxious, using velvet ropes and turning people away at the door. Blink or you'll miss them fakely thanking their parents.
I can honestly feel my IQ decreasing rapidly whenever it is on, but I can't look away. On the mini-marathon yesterday, a boy named Bjorn threw a party. Except they pronounced his name Buh-jorn. ???
TBS Reruns of Sex and the City
For starters, what is the point of airing this show if 40% of the dialogue (85% of Samantha's) is edited? Also, why does Cynthia Nixon laugh like Beavis in all of the TBS commercials?
I understand that the show is a big ratings booster and money maker, so I know why, in theory, TBS got the rights to air it, but the conversations don't make sense and some of the situations are so sloppily edited, and it's irritating. It also exposes Kim Cattrall and her character to a wider audience who then think that they are Samantha Jones and free to wear ugly outfits (I know people hated SJP's wardrobe on the show, but hers is just as bad) and talk constantly about sex, and how much sex they have and who they want to have sex with and blah blah blah. People, she's not real. Stop taking life cues from an obnoxious, fictional character. Samantha grates, big time, which is partly the writers' faults because they gave her such corny "quips", but also the actress's, because Kim Cattrall is an enormous ham.
Hmm. In conclusion, I seem to hate everything and everybody. Perhaps tonight's premiere of Desperate Housewives will change all that.
Mallory at 9/25/2005 01:48:00 PM
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Like Like
I've been absent for the past few days. Where have I been, you wonder? You know, acting as Q-bert P. Spears Federline's godmother, acting as an informant for the Mirror, the usual. Pretty standard stuff.
Okay, fine, in "reality", I've been working (let's not go there), watching baseball (Rock on, Shawn Chacon. Ohmigod, I just said "rock on") and hyperventilating over the awesomeness of Jordan's wedding.
I have also decided that I need to be more positive. Actually, that's misleading, as it implies that I had something to do with the decision when, in fact, I did not. I never thought of myself as a negative person, exactly (my listed occupation of "Professional Cynic" notwithstanding), but apparently my constant stream of "I hate people", "I don't like when it's rainy", "How is it that you're not ashamed of having such bad taste?" (In my defense, the person in question rented Welcome To Mooseport) indicates that I am, in fact, a bitter misanthrope who hates everything.
The above is merely half true, and I prefer to think of myself as realistic, i.e., not setting myself up to be disappointed when I learn that the world isn't all about sunshine and rainbows and strawberry alarm clocks but, at any rate, I am here to set the record straight and prove that I do like things. Multiple things, even!
Madonna
Once, when I was asked to expound upon the word "salacious" for a performance class (an ordeal which, in itself, is a story for another time), I went off onto a tangent about Madonna and told the class, quite honestly, that I'd throw them all under a bus for her. While they may have laughed at the time, the fact of the matter is that Madonna is the greatest ever and I mean that with every fiber of my being. I adore her songs, I adore her phase changes, I adored her in A League of their Own, etc. etc. So I'm beyond thrilled about her new album and its retro, bright cover
Eeeeeeee!!!!!
Diet Coke With Lime
There are some days, especially a few over this past summer, when it was too hot for me to even think about consuming hot coffee, which, unfortunately, is all the deli next door to my office has, so I would start my Diet Coke drinking at approximately 8 am (I wound up a shaking, quivering mess by approximately 3:30). What I love about Diet Coke with Lime is that it has the punch of Diet Coke with the zing of a lime without going overboard into insecticide territory like its counterpart Diet Coke with Lemon (also known as "Evil").
Television
You know what I hate--oh, that's probably not the best way to prove that I can be positive. So, uh, you know what I don't love? When people act superior because they don't watch TV. I don't know if they want a prize or something, but it's always puzzling when they share that with me. Anyhoo, this week is very special indeed as it marks the season premiere of Arrested Development, the "Where Are They Now?" episode of America's Next Top Model Cycle 4 (I'm willing to wager that at least three have posed in lad mags, walked the runway at a mall and/or quit the industry to take care of their child), and the premiere of America's Next Top Model Cycle 5 with new judge Twiggy. Huzzah!
Grady Sizemore
In the days following my comment about loving him, he went on a tear. Coincidence? Yes, most likely, but let me have my delusions, okay?
Awww.
Aisha Tyler
Where, oh where to begin? I'll start with the fact that she's 6 feet tall--we tall freaks of nature have to stick together. Also, she's freaking gorgeous. And funny. And...I should hate her for all of that, but she's so phenomenal that I just can't. She wrote an article for the 800th Issue of Glamour all about airbrushing and how looking perfect just isn't what we should be shooting for, and it was fantastic and I have this daydream that she'll hunt down Richard Roeper for his asshole comments about the Dove "Real Women" ads and then come over for a dinner party with Anderson Cooper. My addled imagination is such a great place to be, seriously.
Rachel Fuller and Parenthetical Notations
Jerry Hall's fantastically snide sidekick and Pete Townshend's girlfriend has her own blog. Yay! And if you're not reading CLC's blog...well, why aren't you? You should be.
Mallory at 9/18/2005 03:10:00 PM
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The Girls' Guide To Baseball Boyfriends
Having a fictional boyfriend is something that I think most people do, even if they aren't willing to admit it (and if I'm off base here, I'd prefer not to know and remain blissfully unaware that I am, in fact, a freak). I like to think of myself as having high standards--if I were a college, for instance, I think I'd be an Ivy League school. Picky about who gets in, but also willing to bend the rules and inflate the grades if it turns out that they aren't up to the task.
That last sentence seems awfully dirty to me, but I don't mean it that way. Or do I? No, no I don't.
You might ask yourself, "This coming from the girl who admitted to having a crush on John Stamos" and, again, in my defense I WAS FIVE.
When one is choosing a crush in real life, there are certain requirements that must be fulfilled and having a crush on a baseball player is no different. There is a strict set of criteria that I must adhere to when choosing an infatuation:
1. He Must Be Talented
There's a reason why only the emotionally disturbed like Mark Bellhorn and Kaz Matsui. Like, what do you say in conversation? "Oh, I LOVE him! He boots the ball whenever it comes near him, and he hasn't gotten a hit since the Clinton administration, but he's dreamy!"
2. He Must Be Good Looking
Which, I know, is shallow, but if I were to pick crushes solely on talent, I'd wind up choosing from Barry Bonds and his head that is the size of a third grader or, most terrifyingly, pre-2005 Randy Johnson. Let it never be said that looks aren't important.
3. He Can't Be Annoying
A crush on, say, Alex Rodriguez can never be sustained for long periods of time because OHMYGODHEDOESNOTEVERSHUTUP. Every time he gives an interview, it is pretty much a guarantee that he will say something stupid that will be broadcast all over the sports media, like when he called David Ortiz weird, or said he worked out every day when everyone else was sleeping, or I could go on and on, but I'll stop.
As of now, there are five candidates for Best Baseball Boyfriend, but they all have their negative aspects, which I am going to share with you in lieu of writing about anything important and/or doing work at work.
Eric Chavez
BA: .276 OBP: .335 HR: 23 RBI: 88
Pros:
Cons:
Derek Jeter
BA: .310 OBP: .388 HR: 15 RBI: 56
Pros:
Before all of the haters (you know who you are) jump in and start, let me just say-he's...aww. He just is, okay? And he can't help it that Tim McCarver is obsessed with him. STOP JUDGING HIM!
Cons:
Grady Sizemore
BA: .286 OBP: .342 HR: 18 RBI: 73
Pros::
Cons:
Huston Street
5-1 ERA: 1.40 Saves: 20
Pros:
Cons:
David Wright
BA: .311 OBP: .392 HR: 21 RBI: 88
Pros:
Cons:
So what have we learned today? Er, don't answer that. I told you all, I'm on a mission to only focus on silly things for at least a month.
Pimp Pimp Hooray! For those of you who love fashion and pretty things, head over to Du Plessix for brilliant commentary and pretty pictures.
TomKat Watch 9/05
From etonline:
"We don't have a date yet," Tom tells Jann Carlson with a laugh, "[But we have] big, big plans. We talk about it. I really didn't know that there were so many wedding magazines. I said, 'Are you kidding me? There are things for the flowers, the cake, the dresses' ... [He doesn't? Hasn't he been married before? And also, isn't he sort of flamboyant? I thought he'd be into that...-ed.] The thing that I love about Kate is that she's an artist [Bro, she was Joey Freaking Potter], so she actually loves ribbons and she makes cards and creates art [Someone didn't save their Dawson's money if they have to make cards to send to people...]. She loves flowers, and she'll do her own floral arrangements. So it's going to be a lot of fun. It's going to be a celebration."
Tom also reveals that Katie has no problem with him doing dangerous stunts:
"That's why I am marrying her, because she has no worries about that; none," says Tom with his trademark grin. "She's just fun and easy. She celebrates it. She loves it. We show her the cut footage [of my stunts] and she digs it [What year is it? She DIGS IT? How out of touch is this man?]. She's just fun."
Freakshow.
Mallory at 9/11/2005 11:51:00 AM
Friday, September 09, 2005
Doing My Best To Ignore Serious Things
I've been trying to be more shallow and petty than usual, in an effort to take my mind off of the enormous clusterfuck that my country is in at the moment, because reading and watching the news sends me into an utter pit of despair each and every time. The ancient man in a bad wig and pearls who calls himself Barbara Bush claimed that relocation to the Astrodome worked out very well, since the people were underprivileged, the Stepford Wives-meets-The Joker First Lady forgot the name of the disaster she was talking about and is disgusted by claims that her Kentucky Fried jackass of a husband is racist because he cares about everyone! Minorities and puppies and mockingbirds. Rainbows! Shiny! Lalala!. Oh, and Brownie? Not so much with the heckuva job.
If I started to think too much about any of this, I'd give myself another ulcer and quite probably start down the long road of drug addiction, so instead I busy myself with fluffy thoughts just to take the edge off.
Speaking of drug addicted fools, I have developed a severe, irrational and profound hatred of Kimberly Stewart. Which, I know, it's sad that I'm hating on a girl who is barely on any sort of register and whose claim to fame is being a crappy musician's daughter and falling off of a motorcycle on the red carpet, but...she's an utterly loathsome human being and totally worthy of my contempt.
Q:What has three legs and lives on a farm?
A: Paul McCartney and his wife
Ha...ha? People give her interviews and take her pictures, when in all reality, random people on the street are more deserving of the press.
In a related story, what the hell is Paris Hilton doing on the cover of Vanity Fair? Between this and Britney's Elle cover, I am ready to quit. Honestly, stop the world, I want to get off. And! The second most horrifying thing about the Elle cover, besides Britney's Marla Maples makeover, is the fact that they promise an interview with Nancy Grace. "She's not afraid to say what you're thinking"? Um, sorry, Nancy Grace doesn't speak for me because if she did, she'd tone down the crazy eyes and ask somebody for tranquilizers because she's a freaking fruit loop.
Also in my "I Hate..." files? Andy Roddick. Why? I don't know. It's completely irrational, as I hardly even pay attention to tennis. But I was filled with an incomparable amount of glee when he was eliminated in the first round of the US Open on his birthday. To quote Nelson Muntz: HA-HA. I find him exceedingly repellant, almost weasel-like, but to call him a weasel is hurtful to that family of upstanding rodents. Roddick-->Rodent. Coincidence? I think not. And he was totally wretched to my BFF Mandy Moore (remember when he molested her in public?) and I find it personally offensive that he is considered a heartthrob in the world of tennis when there are people like Marat Safin and Roger Federer who so beautifully fit the description of the word.
(This fit of rage was brought to you by the calendar next to my desk that uses his picture for September. I've taken the calendar down several times and it always makes its way back onto my wall. I'll get you one day, Roddick!)
I'm not all gloom and doom, however, as there are certain things that I like. Like, say, the fact that OMG they're making Baby Sitters Club graphic novels. That is almost exciting enough to turn me into a total !!111!32@!1 teenybopper. Almost. Still, that's hella cool.
The clubhouse of the Oakland A's seems like it is the best place to be. Perhaps I'm easy (who am I kidding, I know I'm easy), but I am endlessly amused by how interested in this game they all are. Also, is Eric Chavez writing Bobby Crosby a check while shirtless? Hmmm...
Lastly, I leave you with the news that Kanye West and I are to be wed. Between his outburst last week and his recent crusade against homophobia and his penchant for pastel sweaters, I think it's clear that he's the dreamiest person around. We're registered at Louis Vuitton and Lacoste and Jamie Foxx will do his best Ray Charles impersonation at our reception.
Mallory at 9/09/2005 03:49:00 PM
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Dear Diddy,
I never wanted to write you this letter. I thought that our relationship was going to progress smoothly and fabulously and that we'd remain friends, dressed in white with moisturized situations. I'd laugh at your over-the-top opulence and you'd buy me things. It would be perfect.
But...I can't do it. Diddy, there's no easy way for me to say it-I'm over you.
What's sad is that I've stood by you for so long, and did so much for you (by "much" of course, I mean halfheartedly defending you to your many detractors before looking for a diversion), and what did I get in return? Nothing. No invitations to your white parties, no invitation to sit on the board at Bad Boy, not even a coupon to use to buy Sean John clothes. That's cold, Diddy, cold.
You were never an easy friend to love. The corpse of Notorious BIG was like the elephant in the corner that we could never talk about, yet who was always present. And you know what, Diddy? I always liked Tupac better, but I pretended that Biggie was the one for me. It took a lot out of me, constantly lying that a corpulent man with a lazy eye who looks like he smelled was my favorite rapper, but I did it for you because I knew how much his death affected you. I mean, you became the go-to guy for songs about dead celebrities, even eclipsing Elton John's success in that area. That takes real heart.
You gave Lil' Kim an ab roller for Christmas, sending her down the shame spiral that has ended with her resembling a burn victim and I said, "No, he wasn't doing it to be cruel, he's doing it out of genuine concern for her."
What about your music, huh, Diddy? You mumble intelligibly and grunt over old songs and expect the world to praise you. You told us all that you won't stop. You meant it, I think, as a glorious, sample backed rallying cry, but it really sounds like a threat. "I THOUGHT ::stab:: I TOLD YOU ::raise ax:: that we won't STOP ::chop::" But there I was, the foolish dreamer, saying, "But he's Diddy! Can't nobody hold him down! Sampling is great! Soylent Green is people!"
When Jennifer Lopez dumped you on Valentine's Day, I nearly sent you a care package because I was so heartbroken for you. Dumped! On Valentine's Day! While on trial! Sonny standing Brenda up at the altar on General Hospital wasn't even so cold. And then what did you do? You went and changed your name to P. Diddy. I understand wanting to get rid of the "Puff Daddy" moniker, as it inevitably conjures up images of the Stay-Puft marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, but what is so wrong with being known as Sean Combs, bro?
You went on your crazy "Vote or Die" spree last year, turning people away from the polls in droves since you were invariably joined by freaking Sway when you went to promote it. You dress like a reject from the Miami Vice set and you dance like you have spina bifida, and yet I defended you.
You unleashed Da Band and Dylan on an unsuspecting world. People are still experiencing PTSD over Dylan and his ever changing accent. You didn't learn your lesson after Dream, did you, Diddy? Remember Dream? Do you ever stop by the K-Mart Health and Beauty department to see how they're doing?
Your devotion to The Sexy and your kindness and benevolence in spreading the gospel of ProActiv were admirable. I repeatedly used the phrase "Moisturizing my situation and preserving my sexy" in your defense, as the poet who penned that sentence surely couldn't be bad.
And it worked. For a short time, Diddy, it worked. But not even moisturized situations and preserved sexy can make up for evil like your lackluster job hosting the VMA's this year, or the line from "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down" that will live in infamy--"Money hanging out my anus". People have been jailed for less than that.
Wendy Williams claimed to have a sex tape in her possession featuring you and Loon. That was the beginning of the end for us, Diddy. Not that I'm opposed to sex tapes, as they are the In thing these days, and I'm certainly not surprised or upset that you aren't entirely heterosexual (we all know that Farnsworth Bentley holds more than your umbrella. We're not blind), but Loon?! You stooped down to the Loon level? A man who penned "I Need A Girl" has no command of the English language or any idea of wrong and right. That's unacceptable.
The straws that broke the camel's back, as it were, are the VMAs and the trouble you had in Ibiza. First of all, Diddy, I thought that the rule of thumb was that once somewhere is profiled in Vanity Fair, it's just not cool anymore. And yet you were still there. This makes the rest of the world cooler than you. That's like wearing last season's fur coat. You attempted to crowd surf (sooooo 2002) and they dropped you. The people of Ibiza dropped you, Sean "Diddy" Combs. The people of Ibiza would gladly let anybody crowd surf there, they aren't picky, and yet they have no use for you.
And the VMAs. The VMAs. You were---you were boring. And cheesy. And worst of all...you don't even know. I can see you looking in the mirror after the show, listening to "Bad Boys For Life", telling yourself "You rocked it, Diddy, you rocked it. Your sexy was all the way right". I would be able to respect you if you embraced your cheesiness, and became an ironic icon, but as it stands now? I can't. I just can't.
I hope you know how hard this was for me to say. I really do cherish the good times we had together, like the walks down the beach you took in your luxurious bathrobe, Farnsworth holding an umbrella over your head to shade you from the sun and your adoring fans, or your cameo in Monster's Ball and your endearing nervousness as a presenter at the Oscars. For a brief moment, you convinced us all that Polar Express was a pinnacle of musical achievement. Not just anybody can do that, Diddy, and you did. And I was so proud! I prefer to remember you like that.
Stay gold, Diddy, stay gold.
Yours truly,
Mallory
Mallory at 9/06/2005 01:02:00 PM
Friday, September 02, 2005
Best Week Ever?
So, how about that Kanye West, hmm? He releases his sophomore album (to rave reviews, though I don't believe it was that stellar) and then he loses his shit spectacularly on live TV at a Hurricane Katrina concert. Standing next to an extremely uncomfortable Mike Meyers, Kanye ignored the teleprompter and ranted:
I hate the way they portray us in the media. If you see a black family, it says they're looting; see a white family, says they're looking for food... and you know, it's been five days because most of the people are black... and even for me to complain about it, I would be a hypocrite, because I've tried to turn away from the TV because it's too hard to watch. I've even been shopping before I even given a donation, so now I'm calling my business manager, right now, to see what is the biggest amount I can give, and just to imagine if I was, if I was down there, and those are, those are my people down there, so anybody out there that wants to do anything that we can help with, with the setup the way America's set up to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off, as slow as possible... I mean, this is... Red Cross is doing everything they can... we already realize a lot of the people that could help are at war right now, fighting another way, and they've given them permission to go down and shoot us
George Bush doesn't care about black people.
I can't tell if his career is over or if he will be applauded for speaking the truth, but damn if I don't have a soft spot for that Cosby sweater wearing fool.
Mallory at 9/02/2005 09:52:00 PM