Sunday, October 30, 2005
Where I Read People So You Don't Have To
You're welcome.
The October 31st issue of People was given to me by a co-worker who thought I could use it to pass the time today, as Sundays in the office are notoriously slow. I gave up my People habit a few years ago (except for the Oscars, Best Dressed and Most Beautiful People issues, natch) because I didn't like how it tried to combine fluffy pop-culty stuff with hard-hitting stories of babies who fell into wells who are blind and reunited with the dog they lost while doing a food drive. But I figured that even if it was lame, I didn't pay for it, so I win, in a weird way. Let's look at the cover, firstly.
OMG! A cover with Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt! Didn't see that one coming. I like the juxtaposition of Jennifer kissing Vince Vaughn with Brad Pitt acting as a doting dad. It's so...1950's. Anyhoo, we are also going to hear what Nick Lachey has to say about his not-divorce from Jessica Simpson, and we'll read about MURDER. I have to give a special shout out to the People design team, who crafted this cover in Microsoft Word. Very intricate, guys, big ups.
Page 8: Mail Bag! This is my favorite segment of this magazine and the reason it is can be summed up completely by this blurb:
Our story on singer Constantine Maroulis elicited twice as much mail as our cover story
Is that not the saddest thing you have ever heard? The cover story was the Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher wedding, which a reader responds to with Congratulations to Demi and Ashton. What really impressed me was that Bruce Willis was at the wedding. It shows he's still close and on good terms with his ex-wife. How many divorced couples can say that?
That's so...it's so People.
Page 9 features the Secret Deodorant ad won by Nicole as a prize on America's Next Top Model. It's very pretty, though I don't think eating ice cream in bed is such a big secret. Then again, that's where I eat ice cream on the regular and apparently that's not normal, so what do I know? On the opposite page is a picture of Christina Aguilera filming a Pepsi commercial and--okay, I love the Xtina, but she really looks like a man in this picture. They couldn't find a more flattering shot? Maybe Britney urged them to pick a photo making Christina look as ugly as possible...
Star Tracks are on page 12, featuring the best shots the paparazzi has to offer. There's Kevin and Britney who--my god, y'all. It's a shot from Trailer Park Weekly. Kevin has his hair in cornrows and Britney has three inches of dark roots in her hair and is wearing a midriff-baring leopard print bustier and a low-rise yellow skirt. Um. There's a shot of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes--both overlaughing!--as well as a picture of Ben Affleck's unfortunate facial hair having coffee with the very pregnant Jennifer Garner. Very pregnant. On the next page, Catherine Zeta Jones looks sexy, a man holds a sword very close to Sharon Stone's head but, unfortunately, does not decapitate her (rats!), Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony share a duet (Seriously, is he dead?) and Russell Crowe is dressed like a matador. Highly disturbing. These pictures are followed by the very pretty Penelope Cruz walking around with boyfriend Matthew McConaughey, Charlize Theron wearing a fedora and Ashanti, also sporting Xtina's drag queen chic, blowing out the candles on her Coldstone Creamery cake. Nelly was there so, in case you were wondering, hip-hop's dumbest couple is still together. There are some more pictures (George Clooney looking suave, Uma Thurman in a brown wig and Denise Richards in a pumpkin patch with Charlie Sheen [not a euphemism]) but they aren't fun enough to comment on any further.
SCOOP is on page 21. I have to type the headline because it is so dumb: Look! Up in the sky! It's Brad! It's Angelina! It's Maddox! All spending a little high-altitude FAMILY TIME. That is just the dumbest thing I have ever read. Why do I not get paid to write dumb, pithy things like that? Where was Angelina's daughter? Is she not invited to family time in the plane? There is also a shot of the painting Maddox picked out for himself of a whale diving into the ocean, but the ocean is green. I don't know, I'm not artsy, so maybe there is subtext that I am missing but I don't get it.
Scoop continues with the, um, scoop on the Nicole Richie/Paris Hilton feud (they hate each other. They have a show together. Chaos ensues), as well as a sneak peek at the new Pirelli calendar featuring Kate Moss who, I swear to god, looks 22 in the picture. Hard living and coke aren't bad for your skin after all! Madonna visited Hunter College to give a lecture (I am so jealous), while M-K Olsen takes a break from NYU. The accompanying photo, of M-K in huge sunglasses with no visible teeth, is sad and hilarious, and if I dressed up for Halloween, she is who I would be. Alexis Arquette will be getting a sex change on TV which is...special. Oooh, weird, as I typed that, "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me" was on the radio and, of course, is the song Alexis sang in The Wedding Singer. Now "Take Me Home Tonight" is on which has nothing to do with anything, but I felt the need to give Eddie Money his props. There is a photo of Daniel Craig as James Bond and, sorry, nothing will be able to convince me that he is good looking. There is a Pop Quiz with Heidi Klum and she is just as incisive as you would expect her to be.
Picks and Pans on page 33 gives 3 1/2 Stars to Charlize Theron's North County and 2 stars to Stay. Shopgirl gets 3 and Claire Danes's "note-perfect performance" get singled out for praise and you know what? If this movie leads to a Claire Danes renaissance, Steve Martin will be dead to me forever. The chick can't act, is all I'm saying. There is a side bar about Domino where Faux Domino Keira Knightley says of the real Domino's thoughts on the movie "She may not have shown it, but she would have been enjoying it all". Thanks for the insight, Miss Cleo. Dreamer gets 2 stars and they claim that Dakota Fanning is "astoundingly talented...just keeps getting better" and yet nowhere in the review do they mention the fact that she is either a robot or an alien. Lost gets 4 stars, but I don't watch it so I don't care...Hot Properties, reviled across the board, gets 3 stars which drives home the point that People is shit. It got a better review than Human Trafficking (2 stars) which is a prime Lifetime movie. Prime, y'all. These people are h8ers. Ashlee Simpson's new album "help[s] Simpson avoid the sophomore slump". Not even going there. The book reviews are boring and about things none of you are going to want to read.
Page 59: Tori Spelling's soon-to-be ex wants spousal support and Tori is already shacking up with a guy she met on the set of her new TV Movie (!!!) Mind Over Murder (!!!). Jamie-Lynn DiScala (Why do these girls take their husbands names?) is moving on from her Staten Island stereotype husband, while Pam Anderson records a duet with Bryan Adams.
Page 60--this is what we've been waiting for: Jen&Vince. There are the paparazzi pictures of them kissing. Vince told Elle that Jen is "genuine and warm" and they have been spotted all over Chicago making out. "Filling Brad Pitt's shoes is no easy task. Is Vaughn up for it?" I mean, okay, Vince Vaughn is prone to being bloated, but at least capable of carrying on a conversation, so he already beats Brad there...this article was not as hard hitting as I had hoped it would be! Lame! Basically: They are different! He's so wacky and she's not! He's tall! Brad Pitt was the Sexiest Man Alive! More making out! He's wacky! She was on Friends!
Page 66: "Nick and Jessica: Everything's Perfect". A photo shows that Nick is about a foot taller than his brother and marginally better looking; sad, right? There are random pictures of Italy, where the two went for their anniversary. Not pictures of them in Italy, just pictures of Italian scenery. How budget!
Page 69 has the uplifting story "A Place To Say Goodbye", about a girl in a hospice and as horrible as this is to say...I don't care. That's not why I read magazines! If I wanted emotional stories, I would watch the Hallmark movie channel. Ming-Na (remember when she was Ming-Na Wen? Good times) had a baby, she informs us on page 74. She was in labor for 14 hours. The world yawns.
A KILLER AT THE DOOR on page 77 is about the murder of Daniel Horowitz's wife Pamela Vitale. Very sad, but that headline is so People. There is more feel-good emotional stuff on page 81 ("A Skater's Ordeal") regarding a wannabe Olympic figure skater's mother's death in a car crash. I swear, I saw a Lifetime movie about that...Oooh, it's one of those articles that is told to the reporter. Those are always delightfully cheesy.
Page 88 features the girl from Commander In Chief answering questions about boring things. She has very big eyebrows. There is an expose about Laguna Beach which I pretend to be appalled by but secretly read interestedly. It's such a heinously bad show and yet I can't turn it off when it is on. I wonder if it transmits crack through the airwaves.
The Crossword Puzzle is on page 96. With clues like "Fantastic Four Star Jessica _______" and "_____ Actress (Kirstie Alley series", it's safe to say that you can bust out the ink for this one.
Colin Egglesfield is the Man of the Week (p. 98). He plays Josha on All My Children apparently, and looks like the spawn of a cave man and a member of the Backstreet Boys. This is the best the male world has to offer? Trivia: Arnold Schwarzenegger once complimented Colin's body. With sterling character witnesses like that, who needs real good looks?
Page 101: "What happened to her babies?" It's so wrong, but that made me laugh and laugh. USC student was charged with murder after her child was found in a dumpster (oddly, they capitalized the word Dumpster. Is it a trademark?) and apparently did the same thing last year, which...I have to make a mental note to write about my USC hatred another day, as making fun of Matt Leinart in the same paragraph as a sad story doesn't seem right (but I will say that I hate him and his stupid piggish face).
"BIRD FLUE: IS IT HEADED OUR WAY?". Gee, thanks, People, just what a hypochondriac like myself needs to hear. But we don't have it in America, so this discussion is moot. I guess they just needed to fill a page.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Winona Ryder, Zac Posen, Keith Urban, Julia Roberts and Gabrielle Union!
More lovey dovey stuff about people who lost a home in a fire entitled "Bricks, Mortar & Love". I'm hungry. Page 112 is about Tab Hunter coming out of the closet to the surprise of fourteen people. He had a relationship with Anthony Perkins, who scares me, and is photographed on a tiny pony with his brother as a child. Page 119 discusses the Dover, Pennsylvania debate over evolution in the classroom. To the surprise of no one, it is boring, but I am sure we will be getting reader mail about it! Ewww, "Proud Prinze" (p. 125) wastes precious ink on Freddie Prinze Jr. who has a new show (Freddie), despite lack of good looks, charisma and talent. Why is Sarah Michelle Gellar married to him again? Don't even say "true love". Reading the article was equal parts annoying (because he has NO REASON to be famous) and boring (because, well, you know).
Style Watch on page 129 highlights Victorian inspired pieces, as worn by Taryn Manning, Ashlee Simpson and Hilary Swank, fashion icons, all. Kirsten Dunst looks pretty in Christian Lacroix and is rightly named the week's best dressed. Oooh, Victoria's Secret will soon be offering a Naomi Campbell beachwear line, with bikinis emblazoned with the model/abuser's face. Eeee! There is a ridiculously unflattering picture of Mariah Carey in Versave, where she looks to be the size of Anna Nicole Smith 100 pounds ago. I would have sued to get the photographer to give it back to me because it is just that bad, but she's all smiling proudly which...oh, Mariah. Jessica Simpson footwear is now available in stores. The photos that accompany this blurb are predictably hideous. For only $159, you can have ugly shoes too, y'all!
Camryn Manheim has rheumatoid arthritis (p. 137). Whatevs. There is an interview with "Desperate Housewive's Man in the Basement" (That's exactly what is says) Page Kennedy. Where's the interview with Matthew Applewhite (preferably shirtless), huh, People? WHERE?! There is a photo retrospective of Camilla Parker Bowles's new look ("Farewell to Frump?" p. 143) where they pose the hypothesis that her fashion sense is getting better, but the fact that she is wearing a polka dot caftan looking thing and an enormous white hat says otherwise.
I leave you with, quite possibly, the saddest piece of news in the entire magazine, where Andy Garcia responds to the innocent question "Favorite TV Show?" with the eight scariest words one can imagine: "I'm still watching reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond". I weep.
What a waste of someone else's $3.49. I need to take a shower.
Mallory at 10/30/2005 02:39:00 PM
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Ramblings
Were I in an analytical mood, I could make complex theories about the ways in which our dependence on technology is rendering us unable to communicate with one another by presenting barriers in the forms of earbuds, but as I started with my reasoning, I realized that I am not, in fact, an analytical person and, perhaps more importantly, I don't really like people very much, so an excuse to ignore them makes my life that much easier.
Anyway, I realized today that the best thing about having an iPod is the ability you have to soundtrack your life over the course of the day. Does anybody else do that? It can't just be me...right? Because that seems like one of the perks of being a movie character (that and the wardrobe and the huge houses that they can afford on a secretary's salary), to be able to walk proudly through a crowd to the tune of "Freedom 90" or have, like, "Two of Us" playing as you and your best friend drive around. All of this was easy to do with the Discman and the Walkman, of course, but the handy dandy playlist feature on the iPod is so nifty, because you can sort it by mood and then your soundtrack can be for a zany romantic comedy, a tragedy or perhaps the true story of a flamboyant drag queen (Madonna and George Michael are my top two artists, is all I'm saying).
Invariably, soundtracking my life will always lead me to plot out the movie of my life. Sure, the idea of watching a movie about me requires the teensiest suspension of disbelief ("The amazing story of a girl who answers phones, sleeps and drinks Diet Coke, coming soon to a theater near you!"), but that's neither here nor there. Who would play me? Sophomore year of high school, the comparison was Katie Holmes (I had a slouching habit), but due to the impending birth of El Ronita Cruise, I think she's too big of a star to slum it in Mother, Why Must I Get Decaf?: A Lifetime Moment of Truth Movie, so...I'd probably wind up with Haylie Duff. Not even the good Duff (well, as it were). So if I am stuck with a budget cast, Rodrigo Santoro probably wouldn't want to play the object of my affection and Felicity Huffman wouldn't sign on to play my mother. Rhea Perlman would likely still agree to the role of my office manager, though...
What if, I then wonder, E! did a True Hollywood Story about me? It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility, even if I wasn't the subject of a movie, because they're totally slumming with some of their choices lately (i.e., the Jessica and Ashlee Puff Piece, and Jenny McCarthy and Laci Peterson, who has what to do with Hollywood besides inspiring TV Movies that brought Dean Cain back into the nation's consciousness). I hope that the guy would be the narrator. It may make me a traitor to my gender or whatever, but the woman who does the E!THS blows. She tries to be too cutesy and simultaneously hard-hitting, while the man has the perfect blend of investigative fervor and melodrama.
Random "Friend", possibly the woman who used to do my nails, in heinous 1980s garb: Mallory sometimes found it very hard to keep her balance.
Melodramatic Narrator: This was a recurring problem in Mallory's life. There were times when she would fall.
Cue reenactment of some aspiring actress with a shoddy Mallory wig falling over an extension cord.
Melodramatic Narrator: Fall far, and fall hard.
It's at this point in my odd mental brainstorm that I inevitably realize that I need to focus on productive things. If I put as much effort into real problems as I did into choreographing elaborate scenes where an entire movie cast bursts out into "Spice Up Your Life", I would surely have a lucrative career. But, yet, here I am, writing about my neuroses for all the world to see. By the by, I prefer "charmingly quirky" to "straight up psychotic", in case it ever comes up.
I'm not sure what any of this had to do with anything (Besides my as of yet undiagnosed nervous disorder), but I've been dealing with a rampant bout of writer's block, so I felt it necessary to write something--anything!--and the world of celebrity wasn't giving me anything to work with. I mean, if I keep writing so obsessively about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, I fear that I am flirting with the very real threat of a lawsuit, not to mention catching the crazy. Everybody else has been eerily quiet, unless you count Paris Hilton, who I will not write about because I feel that we all talk about her too much and are therefore responsible for prolonging her fifteen minutes of fame. I could maybe rant some more about the fact that Jessica Biel was chosen Esquire's Sexiest Woman Alive despite being markedly less sexy than, say, Gisele Bundchen, Jessica Alba, the woman who works at Dunkin' Donuts and more. Jessica Freaking Biel, people. The word sexy has officially lost all meaning.
I leave you with a Britney Spears Federline Moment of Zen. It's like she's trying to earn my love back!
Kevin Federline recently brought home some music he’d recorded and he played it for Spears, according to the new issue of In Touch Weekly.
His efforts were “greeted with hurtful laughter from his superstar wife, who was unimpressed,” reports the mag. “She said his debut CD might sell ‘a hundred, maybe a thousand’ copies if he was lucky,’” an “insider” told the mag, who added, “Kevin looked really hurt.
Hee!
Mallory at 10/27/2005 05:21:00 PM
Friday, October 21, 2005
Top Model: An Insider's Guide
At any given time, there are several thoughts running around my head: baseball, what to eat as a snack, cheesy TV shows and, occasionally, paying the bills. I never said I was deep. To spare my foreign and otherwise bored readership, I will give the baseball chatter a quick break (stopping the break briefly to mourn the loss of Mark Mulder from postseason baseball and my television screen. Oh, Mark. Didn't we almost have it all?) and move on to the glorious hour of television that gets you high on life while simultaneously killing your brain cells. That's right, I am talking about America's Next Top Model.
Top Model is the type of show that people laugh at you for watching; the type of laugh where they snicker derisively and then try to cover it up when it turns out that you are being completely sincere. I mean, sure, it's on UPN. And fine, it's produced by Tyra Banks, who may be the cheesiest personality on television. And yes, it's an hour of stupid people saying stupid things. But what is life for if not to mock stupid people and occasionally marvel at them when they look pretty?
I have recapped ANTM before, but there have been changes in the ANTM universe since then. Oh, don't get me wrong, Tyra is still there, solemnly saying "9 beautiful girls stand before me, but I only have 8 pictures in my hand" at the elimination ceremony. Nigel Barker is still there, being a sexy bitch. Jay Manuel is still kicking around, making me wonder if I should get a defense attorney on retainer, just in case I finally crack and murder him.
Janice Dickinson is no longer part of the cast; I assume that Tyra had finally had it with her zany ways and attempts at molesting Tyra on air and kicked her to the curb, in order to ruin The Surreal Life (well, as much as that particular show can be ruined). She has been replaced by the remarkably well preserved Twiggy, who doesn't say much but occasionally compliments the models in a delightful British accent. Nole Marin was summarily replaced by runway coach J. Alexander, who doesn't seem to like anyone and wears a big corsage with flowers representing each model continuing on in the competition. Hey, I never said the show wasn't gimicky.
Are the wannabes really ever going to be Top Models, as the title implies? To quote Whitney Houston, hell to the naw. There's that whole being too old, fat and short for the modeling industry thing going on, as well as the historical precedent set by the show's previous winners who have gone on to such illustrious paths to stardom including appearing on the cover of Psychology Today, humping a Brady onscreen, visiting the Cover Girl factory and dating Missy Elliott. But if you've familiar with real top models like Lily Cole and Gemma Ward, you know that they still live with their parents, and what would the fun be in observing them home with their folks? That's why this show is so genius, as it puts a dozen unstable girls in close proximity to one another with cutthroat elimination ceremonies interspersed between day-to-day life and they all start to lose bits and pieces of their mind. I swear that at least three of the remaining girls are emotionally disturbed. Somehow, dressing them in pretty clothes and taking their picture makes it entertaining and not exploitative.
So. Cycle 5 (for reasons unknown to me, they insist on calling the seasons Cycles and not Seasons, and stupid things like that don't exactly help me when I am trying to rationalize my love for this show) is the "Bling" cycle. I have no idea what that means. For starters, hasn't "bling" been passe for the past, say, six years? And none of the photo shoots are particularly bling-y, but searching for logic in this show is like searching for Tom Cruise character traits that aren't absurdly creepy. What makes this particular cycle so interesting is that the girls are mostly photogenic. All of them are too old and too short to be real models, of course, meaning that they have no chance in hell of being a real top model, but that's beside the point. Following the fugly catastrophe that was Cycle 4 (though Brittany was gorge), these girls can actually take a good picture (well, most of them) and are entertaining to boot. Let's recap, shall we?
Already gone are Ashley (she offended the judges by saying that her family has a pretty gene), Ebony (eliminated for looking like a man. They didn't say it explicitly, but I'm down with subtext), Sarah (had lips made for pornos and couldn't walk to save her life), Diane (Too old + plus sized + not particularly pretty = bye) and Coryn (Eliminated for being "too sad". I'm sure she knows a lot about sadness and crying because The Crying Game is almost definitely the story of her life). <--Link safe for work, but not safe for life.
So who's next? So glad you asked!
Bre
Bre is cute. She stomps down the runway like a horse, which the judges love, but I don't. She's not particularly stunning or modelly, but she has a really cute personality. I know that counts for nothing, but, hey, that's the kind of world we live in. Tyra's all about the personality, and she is worried that the competition is causing Bre's personality to fade. I think that's a reasonable guess, as the girl was critiqued for having a big forehead and buck teeth, but what do I know?
Jayla
Jayla's shtick is being a former Jehovah's Witness gone ca-razy. She's pretty, and working the pale skin/dark hair/light eyes thing, but this week, during a commercial, she stole a line that Nik was using and when she later learned that Nik was upset, she totally lost it and made a rage-filled confessional about how something big is going to go down if Nik wasn't eliminated, and it was really terrifying. I have no doubt that this girl would cut a bitch while she slept. At the elimination, when Nik was in the bottom 2, she gave an evil smirk that made me realize just how unbalanced this chick is. I then made the mistake of reading her myspace blog, which rendered me blind and dumb. You can try reading it, but the underlying theme throughout is that she's crazy.
Kim
Freaking Kim. Despite looking like the child that would surely be born from an unholy union between Timmy Turner and Alvin the Chipmunk, Kim has somehow tricked most viewers and the judges into thinking she's hot. I'm sorry, I just don't see it. The reason she is still around--it surely isn't her photos, which uniformly suck--is because she is a reality TV gem: A shit-talking lesbian. In the third episode of the show, she hooked up with Porn Mouth Sarah, which was broadcast for the world to see in the night-vision film that made Paris Hilton's sex tape so memorable. And in every episode to date, Kim has either instigated feuds, prolonged feuds or spent her confessional time bitching about somebody. I'd admire all qualities if she was qualified to be there, but she's not. Also, she's all pissy that they are trying to make her feminine, like, hello, dumbass, put your Wesleyan education to use and realize that YOU SIGNED UP FOR A MODELLING SHOW, STUPID, and makes these comments like "I'm masculine" and it's just--shut up, Kim. I can't deal with her.
Kyle
Kyle is the most conventionally pretty of all of the contestants. She's sort of low-budget. She's very pretty, but not particularly edgy or intriguing. None of that stopped Josie Maran, of course, so she's got a shot. She also sounds exactly like the mom on Bobby's World and talks out of the side of her mouth. I do like her, though, just because she is a manager at the Dairy Queen. Could someone responsible for such delicious concoctions be bad?
Lisa
Oh, Lisa. Oh, Lisa. Where to even start? I suppose I should begin by mentioning that she is physically repulsive. There are some times that I have to look away from the screen because I find her so ugly. There's also the fact that she is a wino. An admitted wino. She brought a huge stash of liquor to the show with her and drinks constantly, leading to a conversation she had with a tree in the yard that she named Cousin Itt. I could not make that up. She also constantly criticizes the girls in the house, telling them how to pose or walk, and she and He-Man Coryn came to blows over Lisa calling Coryn too toned (which she is), leading Coryn to call Lisa an alcoholic bitch (which she is). So she's horrendous looking with a heinous personality and yet she manages to take good pictures whenever she is in front of the camera. It's uncanny, really. Did I mention that she talks to trees? She also caused the hot tub to overflow with bubbles and wore a sequined headdress to the judging ceremony. Think about that horrid, sun-ravaged, Picasso face wearing a sequined headdress. The stuff of nightmares. Freaking fruit loop.
Nicole
Nicole is pale to the extreme and looks like Marie Osmond and yet...it works. She's very photogenic and lovely, but incredibly dull. She and Kyle won a contest that gave them the prize of hosting The Fabulous Life of Supermodels on VH1 and girl is stiff as a board. Just boooring. My desk is more bubbly and charming. But the pictures are so good and I can see her on the cover of ElleGirl, so she may just take it all and I wouldn't mind.
Nik
Nik is my favorite, by a mile. I think she's gorgeous and I love her walk, and I think she is just perfect. She's supremely oversensitive, as evidenced by her spat with Jayla, and she has bug eyes, but the total package is awesome.
If there was any justice in the world, Nik and Nicole would be in the Top 2. But since there is no sense or logic used in this show, it will probably come down to Kyle and Freaking Kim, and Kim will win, just to spite me.
So I implore you all to tune in and watch, because it's really fun to watch skinny people have catfights (see: Dynasty) and get screamed at by judges for being ugly. Wednesdays at 8 on UPN, you guys--you're welcome.
Mallory at 10/21/2005 03:56:00 PM
Friday, October 14, 2005
News and Notes
The Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes (I refuse to use the term "TomKat" on principle. I may have few standards but I cling deeply to those that I do have) saga keeps getting better every time I read about it (the obvious caveat being that I am easily amused). Since my, er, exclusive interview with Katie's better half, the following details of their unholy union have emerged:
I don't have kids but I'm thinking that my biggest issue would be that my daughter
was marrying an asexual midget freak, not needing a shotgun wedding, but whatevs.
Tom and Katie are likely to follow the church's "silent birth" guidelines during delivery, which means no music and no talking during the birth, which also means no screaming during the pains of labor.
The doctrine also states that newborns cannot be poked or prodded for medical tests or even spoken to for the first seven days of their lives, believing that babies go through so much pain during the birth, they shouldn't have to experience any further discomfort or sensory experience that could return later in life to haunt them.
What? WHAT? I'm far less disturbed by the plots of most horror movies than I am that tidbit. Talking to a newborn will come back to haunt them? I dunno, it seems less scary than the rotting corpse of L. Ron Hubbard hovering around at all times. And no talking or screaming during labor?! I scream and cry when I get a paper cut. That's horrific. It makes Tom Cruise and his brainwashed sister seem psycopathic rather than just troubled.
I suppose you'll tell me that it's a mere coincidence that they have the same cold, dead eyes and business like demeanor, rather than it being a Scientologist trait. Perhaps an interview with LeeAnne and/or Katie is next on the docket...
“I’m not lonely. I’ll tell you that, I’m certainly not crying myself to sleep at night, sucking my thumb. No, Dude, I’m out and about.”
"...that’s Tom. He can do whatever the f*** he wants. Who gives a s***? I mean, we’ve all felt the need to jump up and down on a couch. Or not!"
Ha...ha? Was he trying to be clever? That's so--well, A for effort. But honestly, in the realm of disdainful ex statements, it does not even rank on a list topped by Gwyneth's "These are 'Please get back together with me' earrings", her dig at Bennifer saying she doesn't want to whore her relationship out to the paparazzi, or even Jennifer Aniston's "Billy Idol called, he wants his look back". It was just...he seems like such a fool, like he can't tell if you're laughing at him or laughing with him, and the confusion makes him laugh. Then he forgets why he was laughing.
(I'm not saying that Tom Cruise is a step up from him, they are merely two sides of the same upsetting coin)
The highlight of the Katie/Tom gossip is the following "Blind" item from Holy Moly:
It's difficult to work out what the hell is going on in the world of poof-or-not sometimes, but the latest to hit HMHQ asks which not-gay actor and his not-a-beard fiancee may not have told the complete story about a recent pregnancy announcement?
The not-a-beard actress supposedly got knocked up by someone she met in the UK doing promo not long after meeting her not-gay husband-to-be.
News like that makes the world go round. She does look pretty far along, though I guess it's possible that she still hasn't corrected the slouching problem that plagued her tenure on Dawson's Creek.
You may be wondering how I dealt with the pain of my soul being chopped into a million pieces by Darin Erstad and Bengie Molina on Monday night. I'm a trooper, you know? I tried not to let it get to me and after that first hour of uncontrollable sobbing, I moved on with the aid of comfort food and The Golden Girls reruns. Few things in the world are more comforting than the visage of Bea Arthur
I was more upset than I thought I'd be. I really wanted Bernie Williams to have a longer postseason in his last year with the Yankees, and I wanted the Cinderella stories of Aaron Small and Shawn Chacon to end with a World Series appearance, but such is life, I guess. A-Rod is officially dead to me, however (as opposed to the previous 80-85% dead to me level). I was screaming every time he was up at bat, "DEREK CAN'T DO IT ALL!1111!!!!1!" until my father threatened to sedate me if I kept it up. I could swing weakly at balls out of the strike zone for $25 million a year too, you Sun-In wearing jackass.
So, battling for the title, we have:
I am rooting for the Cardinals, for two reasons. The first is loyalty to the lovely Laura. The second is completely and utterly shallow: Mark Mulder is six feet, seven inches of deliciousness. I think CLC said it best when she called him utterly lickable. I realize that this, and my weeks long infatuation with Grady Sizemore, make me out to be one of those empty headed, pink hat wearing girls, which is categorically false, but I fully believe that it is only fair to highlight the aesthetically pleasing factors of everyday life.
Mallory at 10/14/2005 03:06:00 PM
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Up Close and Personal
I scored the greatest coup in the history of the American media yesterday (if one discounts the importance of Woodward and Bernstein, that is). It all started off innocently enough, with my searching for La Mer face cream when I ran into Kelly Preston. We made the requisite small talk about anti-aging cream and corpulent husbands, and she began to follow me home as I exited the boutique.
Worried for my life and my wallet, knowing that the Travolta family fortune was seriously damaged in the wake of Battlefield Earth, I started to walk away when I noticed a short figure in the distance being gawked at by numerous passersby.
Had she done the same thing to him? I wondered. Was his face battered and bruised after having been attacked for his pocket change?
"Oh, poor Tommy," she said mournfully. "After the big announcement, people just won't leave him alone."
I stared blankly while actively refusing to make eye contact with her, and she gasped. "For L. Ron's sake, you haven't heard? Tommy is having a baby with Kate!"
I looked again at the tiny figure wearing a leather jacket, and, even from a distance, I could see his teeth and marveled at my good fortune.
Kelly and I walked towards him, her arm linked in mine (I later learned that she had been stuffing Scientology pamphlets in my purse and stealing my gum), and I could see the overlaugh in person. He has a mouth made for gay pornography.
"Ahahaha! Yeah, that's right! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! I knocked my woman up!"
His overt heterosexuality was somewhat offputting. He noticed Kelly, waved and extricated himself from the crowd.
"Hey, Kelly. Digging the Balenciaga bag!" He kissed her cheek before eyeing me suspiciously.
I introduced myself politely, adding, "I loved you in..."
"Born on the 4th of July? Jerry McGuire? Risky Business? Minority Report? All of the above?"
I nodded.
"Are you a reporter?"
"Um...sort of?"
"Are you requesting an interview?"
I didn't have time to answer before he said, "All right, Kell, Mallory and I are going to go sit down for an interview--I'm sure she has a lot to ask me about the baby and the engagement. I'll see you around!" He signaled to his driver that he was ready to be picked up. The driver, a handsome man reminiscent of Bradley Cooper, opened the door for us to get in, and let his hand linger on Tom's shoulder for a second too long. When he saw me watching him, he clapped his hand on the driver's shoulder and laughed. "You don't have to push me in, I won't fall!"
He didn't wear a seat belt ("I'm a rebel, and a certified action star", he claimed, showing me the business card proclaiming Tom Cruise: Certified Action Star to prove it), and opened a bottle of water emblazoned with the image of L. Ron Hubbard, taking a large swig of it before offering me some; I declined.
"I tell you, Mallory, it's a crazy world we live in. Can you believe that I had to pretend to have sex with that wench and I didn't get an Oscar for it?"
I laughed awkwardly.
Tom ran his hands through his hair and said, "You know, fatherhood is just crazy. The baby isn't even born yet and I can already tell-" (here, he paused to cackle)-"it's going to be tough."
"Don't you already have two children?" I wondered aloud.
He glared at me. I had the distinct impression that he was going to throw me out of the car, an event that would likely be followed by a photo op wherein he claimed to save my life, but was distracted by something on the street.
"Look! Look over there! It's Jake Gyllenhaal! Do I look okay? I feel so bloated. Should I go say hi? What if he makes fun of how big my pores are? They are really big. I'll just wait, you know? I'll send him a gift basket later on. So what were you asking?"
"Tell me about Katie."
"Kate," he said coldly. "Kate. She goes by Kate. She's great though, you know? She's so special. Just a gorgeous, talented woman. Are you familiar with her work?"
I nodded. "I loved her in...that episode of Dawson's Creek where she was proud of her jailbird dad."
"I liked that one, too! When she and Van der Beek kissed at the end? It was so romantic. He had such great eyes, there was so much emotion in them, you could tell he is a really passionate person."
He signalled to his driver to turn up the air conditioning. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, before grinning impishly and saying, "But, yeah, she's so special. A really special woman. And we're having a baby! Nic was probably like, "Oh my god, I can't believe it.' I wish I could have seen the look on that frigid bitch's face. I'm having a baby and she's banging Steve Bing!" He overlaughed and sighed. "Ah, things work out the way they're supposed to. But yeah, Kate's great. She's so special. We're really happy. We moved pretty quickly--obviously, I didn't wait until she had a ring to put a bun in the oven-" he grinned and poked me in the ribs, which I took as a command to laugh; I did, a high, brittle laugh containing not an ounce of amusement--"but we're so happy. I'm so lucky to have such a special woman in my life. Getting engaged at the Eiffel Tower was so awesome. So many tourists were taking our pictures and I was just so pleased that they recognized how special our bond is. You know the diamond commercial where the guy says, 'I love this woman'? I totally did that! She dug it, she turned red and her eyes got so big, and I held her real tight--real tight--and I shouted to the tourists, 'She said yes! Uh huh! Uh huh!"
I smiled. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a photo. "See, this is us. Hollywood's golden couple. My hand is right by her uterus, where my--pardon the term--seed was implanted in her egg. It was a time consuming process, she insisted on doing it in her room--"
I couldn't help but squeal, "You guys did it?!" I was embarrassed that I couldn't hide my shock. It seemed so wrong. I envisioned test tubes, petri dishes and a copy of Playgirl being involved.
"HECK YES, WE DID IT!" He pumped his fist and held his hand out as though he wanted a high five. I left him hanging.
I was nearly mollified by his display of heterosexuality, but there was something that didn't seem right. "Her room?" I repeated.
Tom didn't make eye contact with me and busied himself with elaborately folding his gum wrapper. "Yes, her room. You know, we wanted to wait for marriage except sometimes, you know, you just can't help your urges and we needed to give in to carnal desires to make love with one another, by which I mean have sexual intercourse. Of the heterosexual variety. Are you following me? I mean hot, man on woman loving."
I was disturbed.
"Yeah," he said, reclining with his arms behind his head. "It's hard being so virile, but, you know, that's how it is sometimes."
"How has Nicole handled the maelstrom of press you and Kate have been getting?"
He glared, but not at me. Staring out the window, he clenched his fists angrily and said, "You just watch, soon she'll be giving an interview to Barbara Walters saying how sad she is that I moved on after breaking her heart during the divorce and woe is me, and blah blah blah, she'll try to be sad but her Botoxed, ugly face won't be able to show it. As if being with me was so awful, when she was still married to me she wore overalls and her hair was a curly rat's and now her sorry ass is the best dressed woman in the world? Fuck that noise, she'd have never heard of Gucci and YSL without me! I was the one who bought her her first pair of Harry Winston earrings and this is how she thanks me? Like I didn't turn the other cheek every time I heard the stories about her and Ewan McGregor, and then all of a sudden it's a problem when Ewan turns his attention towards ME? That's BULLSHIT." He glanced at me, and overlaughed. "Nic and I are great friends, you know? I'll always care about her, I'll always love her. She's great! She's a great mother, and such a great woman, I'm so lucky that I have her in my life."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before flashing me a smile. "Oh, man, Mallory, this was awesome, but I'm going to have to cut it short, I have somewhere to be."
Covered in spittle from his last outburst (the man had obviously never learned the adage "Say it, not spray it"), I nodded weakly in agreement.
"Where do you need to be dropped off?"
"Um, here's fine. Here's good! Thanks for the interview, it was very enlightening."
He claspsed my hand gruffly as I started to slide out of the car. "Please remember that if you need help with anything, to let Scientology lead the way. For a mere $465 a month, you can be privy to ancient texts, dating all the way back to 1968, about thetans, negative energy and Xenu. Please call me if you're interested."
I smiled and got out of the car when I heard him say, "Oh, and Mallory? I have six lawyers, all Harvard educated, on retainer. Just so you know." He winked coldly, rubbed the shoulder of his driver and was on his way.
(Due to a pending lawsuit and a threatening, Scientologist goon sent to my door, I will not be able to share with you stories from the set of Minority Report, what really went on with Penelope Cruz and how much money Katie Holmes makes)
Mallory at 10/06/2005 06:49:00 PM
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
OMG!
OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!
I can't breathe. The excitement of the day's events are actually making me nauseous.
Tom Cruise's fiancée, Katie Holmes, is pregnant with the couple's child, Cruise's spokesperson, Lee Anne DeVette, tells PEOPLE exclusively.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am hyperventilating. More to come on that, eventually, when my head stops spinning.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm not usually the type of person who uses internet abbreviations like OMG or LOL, unless I am doing so ironically, and I often refrain from using abbreviations in everyday life, as I am the type of person who likes writing things out, but my feelings on this subject can only be described as OMG with various exclamation points following.
OMG!!!!!
TOTAL SHOCKER! I mean, come on, the way that Nick distanced himself from Jessica starting in the second season of Newlyweds and the way that he openly disdained her idiocy in the series premiere? I took that as a sign that he really cared. And when the rumors started flying fast and furious that she was all up in Johnny Knoxville's business and hooking up with her personal trainer, and she sent her daddy to the media to deny it, I was placated, because that's what I would do in a situation like that, you know?
I have not been this shocked and upset since the first time reports of their divorce were spread all over the world and E! before they were retracted and the world got to see forced photo opportunities with the two forcing smiles but not being able to hide their dead, dead eyes.
It's a sad day when cavemen and women with the brain capacity of an amoeba or similar organism can't make it work.
Nick and Jessica's dad have both issues statements denying the split, but I mean, how many times can we go down this road? If there are reports that a marriage is ending EVERY MONTH, isn't that basically a sign that the marriage isn't so happy? Really.
I am bracing myself for the inevitable "I love Nick with all my heart, and we will always be friends, but things aren't working out" interviews with Jessica on ABC, NBC and CBS in between "Jessica done me wrong" songs and videos a la "Cry Me A River" and Jessica's inevitable response songs featuring Ja Rule.
Just for the record, I am firmly on Team Lachey. I mean, if I had to pick sides, as my feelings on him range from irritated to indifferent, so it's not like I am a 98 Degrees fangirl or whatever (that video with the Golden Gate bridge always gave me a headache and I worried that I'd have a seizure watching it), it's just that Jessica, her sister and her father creep me out in more ways than I thought possible.
Speaking of, Ashlee is slated to be the musical guest on Saturday Night Live this weekend. Going back to the scene of her infamous disaster seems to me like she is once again being the family's sacrificial lamb. Like it wasn't enough that she was born uglier than her sister, neglected by her parents and saddled with the name Ashlee, she's the one the family throws under a train whenever something goes wrong. You just know that if Jessica was caught lipsynching, Papa Simpson would have crafted the most brilliant defense in the history of ever, while he gave Ashlee a half hearted Acid reflux story. Weak.
There's probably going to be a "clever" skit regarding her talentless hack woes of last year sandwiched in between skits where Horatio Sanz is not funny. Appointment TV right there.
While on the subject of the evil Simpsons, I'd like to remind the world that Joe Simpson is a horrible person, not least for bringing the show Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive to the airwaves. It's on E!, so I don't exactly have to watch it, but I do, and then I get sucked into these episodes of reprehensible people being annoying and I wonder why people like that exist and then I get angry and my blood pressure goes up and soon I'm going to have to be MEDICATED and it will all be Joe Simpson's fault. Harrumph (Please imagine me storming away angrily).
But I'm back to report that Lindsay Lohan was in ANOTHER crash caused by the paparazzi. Um, paparazzi people? Hi. I love celebrity pictures as much of the rest of the world, but is it worth it? Is it worth crashes and being run over by Lynne Spears just to take a picture of Lindsay Lohan looking messy or Britney Spears morphing into Baby Jane, drinking a frappuccino? I'm thinking it might not be.
Also, America's Next Top Model is on tonight. Cycle 5 Features Tyra Banks and a hair color found in nature, the remarkably well preserved Twiggy judging, a hot Nigel Barker judging, a lesbian contestant who looks like Timmy Turner from The Fairly Oddparents and an admitted sociopath. Please stay tuned for the recap.
Ahahahah! A class action lawsuit against Dr. Phil. Hilarious. Dr. Phil is one of those people that I will never, ever feel bad about hating.
Mallory at 10/05/2005 02:49:00 PM
Sunday, October 02, 2005
The Showdown In Beantown
My father has said the above roughly 746 times in the last 72 hours (though he's been conspicuously silent following the Yankees clinch of the AL East), completely pleased with his originality. He's likened the Yankees/Red Sox series to the Super Bowl, while I've compared it to the 72 hour flu, as I was be sick to my stomach for most of it. Damn fragile nerves!
The Yankees/Red Sox rivalry is epic in my family. Epic. My father has long and complex ties to the Red Sox (I'm sorry, I can't type out "Red Sox Nation" without dying a little inside), while my mother was raised by a deeply devoted Yankees fan who named his daughter, my aunt, Jodi, as in Joe Dimaggio. I suppose that, since I inherited neat handwriting and extreme anal retentive tendencies from the man, it was only natural to inherit his baseball fanaticism as well. For my father, my decision to root for the Yankees was heart wrenching and he has spent the better part of my 22 year actively campaigning for me to switch allegiances, attempting to use the fact that I was born in Boston as cosmic proof that I should root for the Red Sox, believing that the eleven days I lived there for somehow trumps the rest of my life spent in New York. I don't know. He also thinks that Bernie Williams longs to star in the remake of A League of their Own because he didn't participate in a brawl once. Sense is not something highly valued as far as my family is concerned and, apparently, neither is cleverness.
Needless to say, this series was not good for the heart, soul or state of the family. It was ugly following the Yankees loss on Friday and I wound up in tears after an argument over whether or not the way Manny Ramirez watches his homeruns is annoying (I vote yes; my father votes "You don't cry when Gary Sheffield does it, dumbass), and there was a very chilly, cordial detente yesterday during the postgame show when Joe Torre started to cry and I followed his lead.
Had I seen a celebration like this before? Yes, sure, 8 years in a row. But this year was different because the Yankees...well, were wretched for a lot of it, from their 11-19 opening record to the heinous 17-1 losses to the Red Sox to the fact that the Devil Rays were their Kryptonite. But they managed, due in no small part to Shawn Chacon (who?), Aaron Small (???!!!?!), a monster year from Mariano Rivera and the continued success of Derek Jeter. So when Joe Torre teared up, I did, too.
The thing about liking the Yankees is that you get it from all sides. The way that the Red Sox fans regard you is obvious, but you get the same treatment from Blue Jays fans, people in Oregon who don't like baseball and Russian school children. It's an all too familiar mix of terror and revulsion similar, I'm assuming, to the look that you'd get if you admitted to kitten murder. There are multiple books written about how, why and when the Yankees suck, referring to the Yankees as "the evil empire" is commonplace and you know, you'd think I'd be used to it by now and just let it roll off of my shoulders, perhaps with a "Y'all just jealous!", but I don't, and I always get sort of hurt, which is silly, because I'm not on the Yankees, none of them are members of my family and it is just a game but I can't help it.
When I first started to follow baseball, the Yankees were dreadful, except for the shining beacon of light known as Don Mattingly. Such a phenomenal player and, I gather, person that it actually hurts my heart that he doesn't have a World Series ring. But I dutifully watched games and read box scores, and then the magical year of 1996 arrived with a manager the press deemed "Clueless Joe" and a rookie shortstop and, oddly, the pieces all started to fall together, and from 1996 on, they made their way to the playoffs, won three fall classics in a row and it was just such an amazing time to be a Yankee fan, you know? Because for all of the press the Yankees get about buying championships and sacrificing baby elephants to win, the core of the team was a mix of farm grown players (Jeter, Rivera, Williams, Pettitte, Posada) and players who weren't the biggest superstars, but were solid (Scott Brosius, Tino Martinez, O'Neill). And they all seemed to care about each other and have fun and, above all, respect Joe Torre and not act like entitled assholes, and they carried on the tradition of Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle and the rest. Not to mention the most adorable cheerleader in the history of ever!
Have I always been happy about things the team has done? Um, no. Despite his returning to the team this year, I'm still upset over the way Tino Martinez was shafted in favor of the sweaty, large headed Jason Giambi. I dislike Gary Sheffield on principle, due to my strict "No assholes" standards and somebody with so little regard for the idea of a team qualifies there. Do I need to start on Kevin Brown and the acquisitions of Jaret Wright and Carl Pavano? Didn't think so. And remember Chuck Knoblauch, and his uncanny ability to throw the ball into the stands? Good times, good times.
I've tried to explain the above when asked to justify my love, and am usually met with one of three response:
"You're a frontrunner. It's easy to like a team when they have the highest payroll ever"
"Someone else needs to win for a change"
"Roger Clemens is fat"
While I happily concede that last point, I have to say that I've never bought into the payroll theory. I think that, as a major league team owner, you have the capability to finance a winning team and if you don't want to do that, you get a losing team (Big ups to Vince Naimoli). Besides, not every team with a high payroll advances to the postseason. So, to channel the spirit of every Maury guest ever, "You don't know my life!" Letting another team win for a change? What does that even mean? Come on, people, use your heads and don't be foolish.
I personally don't root against a team, though I guess it's easy to say that from up atop my high horse (I do, however, root against players, early and often, so baseball is one more pasttime that encourages the growth of my rampant misanthropy), so I don't fully understand the hatred, and I don't enjoy it, but I've come to accept it, if not welcome it. You choose a team when you're young and, if you have any dignity and character whatsoever, you stick with that team through thick and thin. I've seen the glorious ups of two perfect games and four championships, and I've seen the ugly lows of the Giambi steroid scandal and the unprecedented choke in last year's ALCS. And I still love this damn team.
This year encapsulated all of that. There were nights that I went to bed wanting to pull my hair out because the loss was so brutal--there was that dreadful road trip where I was on suicide watch--there were nights that I wanted to cry because the win was just so beautiful--Aaron Small leaving the field to the tune of "It's A Small World"--to the ones that just made my head hurt, like that bizarre 13 run 8th inning against the Devil Rays back in June. They weren't on autopilot this year like they had been in years past. They spent time in the basement of the AL East, rumors swirled about Joe Torre being fired and as recently as September 10th, they were 4 games behind the Red Sox and they sealed the deal yesterday with Randy Johnson proving that he wasn't entirely useless after all.
So as we look out to the west and the formidable Vlad, Colon and Chone Figgins, who we can never get out, and on behalf of CLC, I say that we can do it and take the Angels down. As the captain says...
The playoffs are so exciting. I hopehopehope that the Red Sox lose today and the Indians win, because a)I loathe Curt Schilling and ♥ Grady Sizemore, for starters and b)I want a one game playoff so damn badly, and the best type of high pressure games are the ones that have nothing to do with me.
October baseball, is there anything better? At the risk of sounding trite...I live for this.
Mallory at 10/02/2005 01:25:00 PM