Spotted: Chuck & Blair. Not Spotted: My Self Respect

Here's Ed Westwick and Leighton Meester back on set shooting the third season of my guilty pleasure show, Gossip Girl. Ugh.

I was hoping the summer hiatus would act like my personal methadone and help cure me of this show because it is really, a very stupid show. But seeing Chuck Bass here, I don't know if I'm strong enough. I might be powerless to resist. And I don't like it. I am not proud of myself.

Have you ever been out and about and you run into someone with whom you had a one-night stand and you feel gross for sleeping with him/her cause he/she is pretty douchey but then that disgust quickly turns into self hatred because you realize, given the opportunity, you'd probably hit that shit again? That's how I feel looking at this photo.

However, those suspenders are helping me snap back to reality. They're a little too 'Larry King' for my liking.

Daily (Fe)Male:Day After Pride Edition

Have you recovered from Pride, bitches? My feet still slightly ache from dancing my face off in shoes that can only be described as medieval torture devices. Seriously. In fact, if you googled imaged photos of detainees at Guantanamo Bay, I'm pretty sure you'd find these aforementioned shoes strapped to their feet. But they're pretty (the shoes, not the prisoners) and the DJ was playing a lot of MJ and JT so I had to go monk and block the pain. But like Cinderella, at 4am, it was pumpkin time and the pain came racing back in waves. Worth it, though. It was a fabulous night.

Anyway, at a party yesterday my friend Laura asked if I could put my thing down, flip it and reverse it, take a break from the peen and replace the Daily Male with a chick for the vagina enthusiasts up in this bitch. 

Wish granted. 

Rachel McAdams is the inaugural Daily Female. 

How amazing was Rachel in Mean Girls? Regina fucking George! My friends and I loved this movie too much. We made our own Mean Girls-inspired video and they gave me a Burn Book for my birthday. My friends and I are immature. And fetch. I'm still trying to make 'fetch' happen.

No JT Without MJ

Here's My Love,  Justin Timberlake performing yesterday in London at Elton John's White Tie and Tiara Ball (how fun!) 

Without MJ before him, JT would not exist. No way. And for those of us that have been 'justified' that means nobody to rock our bodies, cry us a river, sexy would never have been brought back, we'd never know that what goes around, comes around and we'd have nobody to leave us lovestoned. Also, no dick in a box, no motherloving, nobody talkin' bout chest hair and crazy cool medallions and the streets of Omlettville, Homelessville and Plasticville would be empty. And that my pets, is no world in which I want to live. 

Naturally since he was so obviously influenced by the King of Pop, JT had this to say about MJ's untimely passing;

"I can't find the words right now to express how deeply saddened I am by Michael’s passing... we have lost a genius and a true ambassador of not only Pop music but of all music."

The Caesar for My MJ Hangover

I'm suffering from Michael Jackson hangover. 

It's much like a regular hangover, you wake up, your head aches, your body feels broken,  you want to throw up and you're wondering if you're straight trippin' or if  the events of the day before really actually happened. Unfortunately, they did. But instead of waking up next to a handsome stranger whose name you're frantically trying to remember, with an MJ hangover, you wake up alone and lonely. The only thing keeping you company is the sad, empty realization that yes, Michael Jackson is dead and when you acknowledge that, you just want to close your eyes and fall back asleep, hoping to wake up from this most heinous of nightmares. You also want a tall, cold Caesar because fuck it if that miracle beverage doesn't help you get over the ten thousand drinks you consumed the night before.

On this most difficult of mornings, Paul Rudd is the Caesar for my MJ Hangover....

Could he be any more adorable?

These are recent pictures of The Rudd and The Reese on set of their upcoming movie, a James L. Brooks film that is untitled at present. Might I suggest Rainbows, Unicorns and a Box of Purring Kittens as the title? Because all those things are what immediately spring to mind when I think of Paul Rudd. Life is just better with Paul Rudd in it. When you're drowning in an ocean of shit, Paul Rudd is the lifeline that keeps you from going under. Paul Rudd is the chicken soup when you're sick with the flu, the warm fireplace on a cold winter's night. 

Because an MJ Hangover is one of great intensity, I've included my absolute most favourite Paul Rudd picture of all time below. If there was ever a day I needed this, it is today. 

Could you imagine waking up to this? I would never get out of bed. Ever. Shit, I didn't wake up to this today but I still might not get out of bed. That's a lie, my pool is calling and those white wine spritzers aren't going to drink themselves.

Thank you, Paul Rudd for making today suck just a little less.

RIP Michael Jackson. WTF?

Michael Jackson is dead. Still seems somewhat surreal, right?

Given the monstrosity and tragic spectacle that Michael Jackson has devolved into since the early 1990s, it's easy to forget that before his face became the stuff of nightmares, before he was accused of molesting young boys, before he demonstrated his Susan Smith-like parenting skills by dangling his baby from a balcony, before he turned himself into the punch line of a joke that was far more funny-sad than funny-haha, Michael Jackson was a fucking genius.

For me and many others in and around my age range, my childhood was unmistakably marked and influenced by two artists; Madonna and Michael Jackson. It's almost impossible to think of me growing up without also thinking about what Michael Jackson song was on the radio at the time, what video had just been released, or which of his amazing dance moves my friends and I were trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to emulate in our basements. And when MJ busted out the moonwalk whilst performing Billy Jean at the Motown 25th anniversary in 1983? Unreal. Hell,  I watched that shit today and I still felt something, 26 years later. Click below to hop into the DeLorean and go back in time to experience the magic - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2RuxoCDfbjU

Given the current state of our pop culture, with ten thousand channels, blogs, twitter, facebook, and the giant, raging herpes sore on the genitalia of the world that is reality television and the utterly useless and talentless famewhores its churned out like Paris Hilton, Heidi and Spencer who all contribute absolutely nothing of any merit, artistic or otherwise,  it's easy to forget just what it was like when MJ was in his heyday. 

I was too young to fully appreciate significance of The Jackson 5 or Michael Jackson's brilliant first solo album, Off The Wall as they were happening, but if you're like me, you took to his next album, Thriller like OctoMommy to fertilized embryos,  you could not stop til you got enough. And rightfully so.

Given the infrequency that networks like MTV and MuchMusic play music videos now, it's easy to forget what a cultural event the release of the video for Thriller's title track was. MJ had already made his mark on the relatively new medium of music videos with the West Side Story-inspired Beat It and the awesomeness of Billy Jean (seriously, who didn't think the sidewalk lighting up was the coolest shit ever?) but with his 13-minute mini movie that was Thriller, MJ revolutionized the music video. He bent the music video over, prison raped the shit out of it and and made it his bitch for life. 

Thriller was directed by film director John Landis who MJ sought out after seeing his 1982 film An American Werewolf in London. My little friends and I were obsessed with the video and rented The Making of Thriller to feed our appetites for all things MJ. No other music video has had the same impact as Thriller and it's hard to imagine any other video ever will. Plus, how awesome is the choreography? Totes. Along with kicking down a door Law & Order-style, learning the choreography of Thriller is on my list of things to do before I peace out to the great big martini bar in the sky. 

After Thriller, Michael Jackson released many more influential and significant videos, Bad, Smooth Criminal, Leave Me Alone, Remember The Time, Scream and Black and White just to name a few. In fact when Black and White was released from the Dangerous album in 1991, the video premiered simultaneously on MTV, VH1, BET and FOX. It was directed by John Landis, with whom MJ had collaborated with on Thriller. 

After the release of Dangerous in 1991, it was all down hill for Michael. He was wearing a pair of Bad Idea Jeans that he seemed unable to remove. He had already been showing signs of being one strange ass dude for years already, so much so that when he was accused of child molestation in 1993, it didn't seem so far out of the realm of possibility for some of us. By the time he was subsequently accused of similar charges in 2003, I was long off the Michael Jackson bandwagon and I handed in my glove. That's it! I was officially done. Even though MJ was found not guilty in 2005, he could never rid himself of the stench of those allegations. Showing up to court in insanely elaborate outfits and pajamas certainly didn't help convince anyone that, even if he wasn't a child molester, he was still, at the very least,  crazier than a shithouse rat.

As much as I was shocked by Michael Jackson's unexpected death, a part of me had already come to terms with it years ago as I often said that my MJ, the one I knew and loved, died in 1992. Gone was the boy whose poster on my wall I'd kiss (haha lame) whose style I tried to adopt with my very own sparkly glove and socks, whose safety I seriously fretted about to the point of tears after he was burned shooting that Pepsi commercial. In his place remained this mangled-faced tragic circus sideshow who, with every certifiably insane thing he did, proceeded to shit all over his own legacy. But Michael didn't die in 1992 so now, as we look back at his life, all the batshit craziness gets just as much, if not more attention than his amazing musical accomplishments. I suppose he has himself to blame for that. I still feel sad though, like his passing officially signals that my childhood is officially, for reals, over forever. Someone get me a vodka soda STAT!

I'm glad I was born when I was and got to enjoy the majesty of the King of Pop as it was happening and not experience it only through stories and video clips so that I can truly understand and appreciate the indelible mark on and contribution to pop culture that was Michael Jackson. We'd be hard-pressed to find a pop or R&B artist who wasn't influenced by MJ in some way. Hell, without Michael Jackson, there'd sure as shit be no Justin Timberlake and for that alone I am grateful. 

Below are a bunch of photos from MJ's prime. In addition to making me smile, they make me feel old. For reals.

RIP Michael Jackson

1958 - 2009

Brad and Jen Again?

Bradifer? Coopiston? Jendley? 

Whatever you call it, me no likey. 

Rumours swirled last month when Bradley Cooper was in Toronto promoting The Hangover that he was hooking up with Jennifer Aniston. Coop denied the rumours at the time saying he was flattered but that he'd only met Aniston three times. Well looks like it's up to four times because these two were out together last night in NYC. 

I have nothing against Jennifer Aniston, she seems alright and I'd definitely kill a hobo for that body of hers, but I just don't like her with my Coops. Aniston seems like the kind of woman who calls a guy her 'boyfriend' after three dates and already makes plans for them to spent Christmas together when it's only June. B-Coop is on the brink of major stardom, he's not going to want to tie himself down right now. He needs to hook up with Kate Hudson, she likes it casual-style.

Also, I just can't get over the whole Jennifer previously being married to a Brad while Bradley was previously married (albeit for five minutes) to a Jennifer, ya know? It makes me hurt in the brains area.

He's Bringing Geeky Back

Here's Mr. JT acting as Mr. MC at a United Jewish Appeal Federation charity event honouring one of the record execs on Justin's label, Jive.

Justin, unlike his fellow motherlover Andy Samberg, is actually not Jewish but at Thursday's event, considered himself an honourary Heb, saying;

"Who am I? I'm just another schmendrick who used to be in a goy band," he said, to a room of laughter. "I don't know what the hell that means either, but I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be funny...Ok, that's enough schtick in the box from me."

Justin is still rocking the glasses and his hot professor look. If I was a student, I would do something really bad in class so I'd have to stay after school in detention and bang erasers. Of course by 'erasers' I mean 'him.'

Bruno Doesn't Half Ass It

Sasha Baron Cohen has been making the rounds big time promoting the shit out of Bruno. And just like he did with Borat, Sasha is staying in character the entire time. Sasha does NOT fuck around. I will never forget seeing him at the Toronto premiere of Borat, he rolled up in a cart pulled by peasant women and then told me Canadian 'womens' would be nice to buy because we have our own teeth. Amazing. Above is Bruno at the Paris premiere, below is him in Spain and below that, in London. It says something that even in these ridiculous getups, he still looks more butch than Zac Efron.

Bruno opens July 10th. I.Cannot.Wait. 

Btw, Bruno wasn't the only fine piece of ass a the London premiere, Kings of Leon were there, too! Aaaahhhh Caleb. Love the beard. I'm into beards right now. Of the facial hair variety, not the Katie Holmes variety.

The Coop is a Muse

Here's Bradley Cooper at the CFDA Fashion Awards in NYC. Designers brought someone they consider a muse to the event so designer Italo Zucchelli brought the Coop as someone who inspires him. Hmm....Bradley Cooper inspires me to do something but it certainly has nothing to do with clothes.

I'm not super feeling this slicked back hair on Coop. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't kick him out of bed (unless I wanted to do him on the floor) but I like it a little more loose so I've included this pic below of B-Coop at some event Thursday that wasn't important enough for me to remember or google again.

So pretty. 

The Hangover was number one at the box office two weeks in a row. Have you seen it yet?

Piano Man is Moving Out

And So It Goes...

Billy Joel and his wife are splitting up after five years of marriage. What? A marriage between a celebrity and a woman 32 years his junior didn't work out? Don't Ask Me Why but I thought they were going to last The Longest Time. A rep for the couple has not commented on what caused the breakup but it's believed they were under a lot of Pressure. Apparently Katie Lee, who once hosted Top Chef and is friends with Gwyneth Paltrow thought she was a Big Shot and Billy Joel wanted to Say Goodbye To Hollywood because he's in a New York State of Mind. Rumours have also been swirling that one of them was not Keeping the Faith. If you guessed her, You May be Right. Apparently Billy is An Innocent Man but his wife, not so much. Word is, She's Got a Way with some Israeli fashion designer. I guess their marriage wasn't A Matter of Trust. I'd like to tell Katie "You're Only Human," but I don't the gold digging whore so someone else will have to Tell Her About It.

Yes, I am a Billy Joel fan and know all of his songs. Deal with it. Plus he drunk drove into a house so It's Still Rock and Roll to Me.

The Hills Makes You Sick

I don't watch The Hills, for many reasons but mainly because I figure the steady vodka diet I've been on for the past ten years or so is doing enough damage to my brain, I don't need this shit show dumbing my ass down even further. However, with my limited exposure to The Hills, I have to agree with this US Weekly cover. The Hills makes me want to puke, too. Maybe I should start watching this show? Fuck the treadmill, I'll just fire up The Hills after a big meal and let loose!

My Eyes Have No Love For Courtney

I fancy myself as someone who's pretty up on all things pop culture. However, I seem to have missed the announcement that Courtney Love has been cast in the next Twilight movie. Bitch looks like a vampire sunk his teeth into her celebrity skin and sucked her right dry. Hope he likes the taste of heroin and vodka! 

C-Love announced recently she's reforming Hole. Memo to Courtney: It's been a looong ass time since the brilliance of 1994's Live Through This. And if this photo is any indication, you didn't. Live through it, that is. Bitch looks like she's about to reunite with Kurt Cobain in 3...2..

That sound you just heard was the spirit of Kurt Cobain saying 'aw shit.'

Rihanna 'n Play?

Don't get me wrong. I love Rihanna. Trust. I have most of her songs on my ipod and even when Umbrella became the most overplayed song of 2007 and most of you wanted to drive bamboo shoots under your fingernails rather than listen to that track even one more time, I still loved it. I had a hard time letting go, I suppose. Anyway I love Rihanna's music, her sense of style and I'll love her even more if she testifies again Ike Jr. Chris Brown in court and helps convict his ass. All that said, I don't think I can get behind this current hairdo, or hairdon't. Methinks she's starting to look a tad like Kid of Kid 'n Play, no?

Dancing Ostrich

Look kids, it's a dancing bird! Dontcha just love the zoo?

Here's Paris Hilton dancing on a table at some nightclub. Have you ever seen this trick dance? Bitch seriously has no moves, all gangly arms and legs flailing about. She tries to make herself look sexy but she always looks completely and utterly ridic.

You know how some people think how one dances is an indication of the skill set he/she will bring to the bedroom? Not sure if that's always 100% the truth but in the case of this whore, I'd say it's a bang on theory. I mean, you've seen her sex tape right? Lame!

On a different note, this bulimic bird is almost 30 years old. Dancing on tables has an expiration date, no? I'm immature as fuck and even I know that. Paris will not age well. Mark my words.