Feh.

Way To Go, God!!!

The paradox of writing a frivolous humor blog is that there come moments, and you pray that they will not, but they come, moments so horrible that you seem callous if you ignore them and even more callous if you try to find the humor in them too quickly. I think you know what I'm talking about: Jason dumping Jessica over the phone on Laguna Beach Monday night.

AGGGH GOD why am I SUCH an ASShole????

No, I'm referring of course to the unfathomably awful events taking place in New Orleans and Mississippi right now. Not to make this all about me but I was supposed to fly to New Orleans tomorrow for my first time, a long planned weekend of partying and sightseeing. Instead we get what the evil geniuses at Wonder Showzen -- perhaps the only people qualified to find the humor in this situation -- would call one of 'God's Favorite Boner's'. Scratch that, this is God spoojing all over some hooker's back and throwing a fifty on the bed seconds before slamming the door behind him.

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"Way to go, God!!!"

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The television news coverage makes me want to simultaneously cry and puke, and that's just the CNN anchor commentary. The night the storm hit, this bonehead:   (his name is Tony Harris, I spent fifteen minutes on CNN.com trying to find him) had this to say after a weatherwoman explained the dynamics of the deadly monster about to destroy the lives of millions:

"I LOVE those graphics!!!"

He was referring to three spiraling sets of unimpressive red arrows on a map of the Southern US. When his co-anchor tried to change the subject, he said it again.

"No REALLY! I really LOVE those graphics! Those are NEAT!!"

THEY SURE ARE, TONY!!! THEENKS!!!

JEWBACCA IS BACKA!

And Thus Spoketh Martha Who Begat Alexis

So the Martha Apprentice kiss-off phrase, according to Page Six, is "You just don't fit in." Everyone seems to hate it more than I do. I like how it taps into those subtler shades of Hamptonesque insecurities that only Martha can stir up, then folds them back into the emotional batter, resulting in a moister, fluffier Humiliation cake. 

That said, I still think she should have gone with "I spent three decades of my life, countless pints of my own blood and sweat, and five months in prison so I could reap the benefits of this empire. You think I'm going to hand it all over to you because you made a fucking flower arrangement on an NBC reality show? Get the fuck out of my kitchen." But hey, what do I know.

Mr. Cruise, Please Step Aside, We Have A Search Warrant

Judy Garland's Famed Ruby Slippers Stolen 

GRAND RAPIDS, Minn. - A pair of ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland in "The Wizard of Oz" and insured for $1 million is missing from a Grand Rapids museum.

Police Chief Leigh Serfling said the slippers were stolen late Saturday or early Sunday. Someone entered the museum through a window and broke into the small display case holding the slippers.

Clay Is Like Totally Gay For Reichen

Thanks to Defamer for turning us onto a Radar report on the behind the scenes sexnanigans going on at the Kill Reality house. But one detail in particular caught our one non-lazy gay eye:

(T)he relationship on everyone’s lips was the one between Kill Reality’s only gay star, Reichen Lehmkuhl of The Amazing Race 4, and American Idol’s Clay Aiken. While Aiken never appeared at the house, we hear Lehmkuhl was constantly taking calls from the pixie-like singer.

“Reichen swears there’s nothing going on,” says our source. “But Clay kept calling non-stop. It was all very weird.”

While you can draw your own conclusions as to whether constantly speed dialing  America's hunkiest fully out pseudo-celeb throws Clay's self-proclaimed heterosexuality in doubt, there's one aspect of this report that is patently and undeniably false: Clay isn't 'pixie-like' so much as Gelfling-like.

Gwyneth to Jennifer: Be More Like Me

Time Magazine, number one favorite periodical among America's fathers and just about no one else, gets up close and personal with Apple's Number One Nipple this week, resulting in Gwyneth Paltrow announcing to the world that she's pretty much ready to drop dead:

"Everything I wanted to achieve, I achieved," she says, all legs and elbows and neck and tiny little daisy head propped in a poolside chair. "I'm not one of those people who keeps raising the bar."

To be sure, this pile of legs, elbows, necks and daisy heads (why does this description unsettlingly evoke a poultry butcher sooner than a movie star's swimming pool?) couldn't be more content and complete. Her stardom achieved, her adorable if somewhat gay-eyed rockgod husband hooked and spliced, her literally-named womb-fruit produced, it would appear irrefutable that any mistakes and unpleasantness are long behind her:

In fact, ever since she and Brad Pitt broke off their engagement in 1997, Paltrow has trod gingerly on the subject of her men. "I learned my lesson at 24," she says. "It would be a lot easier on Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston now," she says, "had they not talked to the press about each other and everything to begin with."

Got that, Jen? Gwyneth says if you want some of this:

Elsewhere in the house, Paltrow's husband is giving an impromptu Coldplay concert on the piano for Apple, who plinks in a few discordant additions. Paltrow giggles.

...you should quit wondering out loud what kind of pathetic cliche your life has become and just shut your fat yap.

Countdown to Las Ramblas

George Clooney, in case you hadn't noticed, isn't your status quo penis-having star. The new crop of bed-headed rent-a-dudes standing on stage in True Religion jeans and flip-flops at this years' Upfronts could take a lesson from the tanned, tailored, facial-hair-frozen-at-five-o'clock throwback. This is a man who oozes Suave (the quality and the styling aid) and is safely three degrees of separation from anything that even rhymes with 'Valderamma'. So when George tells the Associate Press today from 'his home on Lake Como in Italy' (ed: is that where that is?) of his plans to build a new Las Vegas resort that will

"...be like old Vegas and old Hollywood. It's going to be a classy joint,"

our initial reaction isn't a jaded "give up the Rodent Pack fantasy, Clooney, you once had roadie hair and a tool belt and were trading fat jokes with Nathalie on The Facts of Life," but rather a relieved, swoony sigh that finally someone, anyone remembers how it used to be done, and, what's more, wants to do it to us one more time.

"I could end up just losing my shirt on this whole thing, but these guys are pretty good at what they do," Clooney told The AP. "It's going to be an adventure."

Probably not the Clooney-shirt-losing adventure that most 40-something single women had in mind, but an adventure nonetheless. The resort, uncatchily named Las Ramblas after Barcelona's outdoor shopping boulevard, is at present nothing but a $3-billion dollar business plan. And while rumors are circulating that George and his Ocean's Eleven co-star and gadabouting partner Brad Pitt have already met with Donald Trump's hair and possibly Donald Trump himself, the official word is that Pitt has not yet "committed into buying into the development." Perhaps he's waiting for a firmer offer on one tantalizing, gay-making possibility:

"We are entertaining having Brad design one of the buildings," (Clooney business partner and Cindy Crawford husband Rande Gerber) said.

Now THAT's entertainment!

More Long Lost Tom Cruise Halloween Photos

Martha Stewart Makes Joke: Tilts Earth Off Axis, Sends Planet Hurtling Towards Sun

Tried and true Feh readers already know that my relationship to Martha Stewart runs way deeper than merely All-Powerful-Fork-Tongued-Doyenne-of-Things-Holiday-Craftlike /Starry-Eyed-Faggot-Afar. Our precious, shared late-Summer moments contained all the bittersweet, delicate textures of an Alpine Strawberry Napoleon with Eberhard (if they are unavailable, regular strawberries are suitable for substitution.)

So it is not with disinterest that I follow reports of her upcoming NBC reality competition, The Apprentice: Martha Stewart. In this week's Newsweek, an intrepid reporter chases, and for one electrifying moment appears to indeed capture, the elusive Golden Scoop--namely, the content of her self-chosen dismissal catchphrase:

"What I really wanted to say is, 'Your a-- is grass!' "

But what sort of grass? Pampas grass, grown for its distinctive silvery white plumes flushed with pink and held on very tall stems above narrow, arching leaves arranged in a loose mound? Or feather reed grass, that tidy, dependable clump forming perennial?

Wait, wait. Debate's off. They quickly slip in this disappointing bit of fine-print:

She lets out a huge laugh. "That's a joke!"

There are 117 things wrong with that sentence. First off, Martha doesn't make jokes. She makes hazelnut ganaches and New Mexico-themed Christmas wreaths. Secondly, she doesn't laugh. She does make a sound the two times a year she finds something amusing, but that would best be described as a lower-pitched Manatee rutting cry.

The Associate Press also reports today that her daughter Alexis and board chairman Charles Koppelman will be on-screen advisers on the show, fulfilling the Executive Tuchuslecher roles made famous by Carolyn and George in the Trump version.

“No one knows me better than Alexis and she understands my way of conducting business and dealing with people,” said Stewart in a statement. “Charles brings the expertise of a legendary entrepreneur to the conference room each week.”

This is the same Alexis who, in response to Larry King's question about her reaction to her mother's guilty verdict, said:

"I actually fainted. Nobody really knows that, but it was so horrifying and incomprehensible that I fainted. And even the people around me didn't know."

If I have ever heard a statement to make the mouths of NBC Reality Promo editors water, that's it, though she better keep her boardroom blackouts very, very detectable. How does one faint undetectably, anyhow? Martha 2.0 has talents I didn't even know existed!

More quotes here, including her assertion that she is a "better cook and more of a perfectionist than my mother."

Yo, Mom.

Watch your back.

لا توجد نتائج بحث عن, Mr. Hand

This week, the San Francisco Chronicle is running Sean Penn's diaries of his recent trip to Iran. From yesterday's installment:

It is a culture in love with cinema. With Brad Pitt. Angelina Jolie. And anything Stephen Spielberg. And when the local team wins a big match, there is dancing, kissing, drinking and drugs in the streets.

This 'Iran' sounds curiously familiar... No matter. Let's keep reading:

I got up with the morning light, opened the curtains and could just make out the sparsely snow-spotted peaks above through the polluted haze. Tehran lies at the foot of the Elburz Moutnatins. In some directions, it doesn't look unlike Los Angeles at the foot of the San Gabriels.

Heyyyy... Wait just a dosh garned second!

If I didn't know any better, I would say this 'report' was being filed Jayson Blair-style, ie. Dateline: A condo in the Valley, 11 am Monday morning after a regrettable night of Hurleyburleyesque international-flight-missing indulgence.

Gotta say though, the line about the huge 'banner with the visage of Ayatollah Khomeini' almost threw me.

Nice try, Penn!

Feh Trendwatch™: Law's Got Nubbin on Ledger

First came the short arm of the Law, and the ensuing global rumble of taunters, snickerers and defenders answering their call to duty. Now Queerclick surfaces this still from Ang Lee's upcoming Brokeback Mountain, probably the first gay cowboy love story not from COLT Studios (and I must say what I've read of the plot does sound suspiciously remniscent of BuckleRoos). (For a banana-free glimpse, click here.)

While Jake Dreaminhall's dream machine plays a frustrating game of pee-ka-boo behind a well-placed (ed.: God-I'd-kill-to-be-his-) right hand, such strategic Ledger-de-main eludes the fully-on-display Heath.

People. Before the International Joke-Off Siren wails, and you indulge your basest instincts with nuggets of clever condescension along the lines of "Lightswitch Ledger", I implore you to instead take the higher road. Besides, the unveiling of two such admirable specimens of unendowment among our most beloved Commonwealth heartthrobs in an equally teensy span of time establishes that elusive and most desirable of things: a full on Trend™!

Tiny is the new Huge!

UPDATE

Reliable sources claim this picture is neither new (it's been circulating for a while now via Towleroad) nor is it from Brokeback Mountain. However, the crucial elements, namely its Heathness and his nubbinness, remain accurate.

The Trend™ remains the same.

The Five Stages of Life: As Read Between the Lines of ChadAllenOnline.com

WHERE'S SWIFTY?

My reference to Swifty Lazar a couple posts back led to a quick Google Image search for a picture of his loveably bald, bespectacled head. What I got was three pictures of his grave, one of the cover of a book of eulogies (?) and none of him.

A little more searching led to this spooky sentence in his Wikipedia entry:

The internet is ripe with conspiracy theories on how a dearth of photographs for such a successful and well-known man exists. A Google image search only results in a picture of his tombstone.

Weird--right?? A further search through the 'ripe' internet turned up not much, though I did find this exchange on moviepoopshoot.com:

So yeah, he used to be HUGE, in the literary, theater, and movie world as an agent, I mean really freaking huge, and so…why are there no pictures of him on Google Images? You get his gravestone. And "Irving Lazar" doesn't get much better – no pix of him. And nothing at all for "Irving Paul Lazar."

Ryall: I know, right? It really bothered me, too, that the guy had a career that lasted maybe 172 years (or so), and yet there aren't any photos of him to be found on Google. Is it some great conspiracy? Is it that he was actually a vampire and didn't show up in pictures? I don't know. But I WILL find out some day... Google has photos of, like, the Garden of Eden and chupacabra, but none of Swifty... it's really puzzling. I'll try to re-open the case and see if I can find anything out.

If anyone has any theories out there, feel free to share them. I'm cold and scared!

WHERE'S SWIFTY???

UPDATE

A modified Google Image Search, from 'Swifty Lazar' to the broader 'Irving Swifty Lazar' did turn up one, um, 'enhanced' photo:

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I'm still cold and scared...

SECOND UPDATE

HOLY CRAP. Google Search for 'Irving Swifty Lazar' took down the above photo and now just features the two grave pics. If I disappear...the Grim Agent has been to my door...

The Rules Don't Prohibit Eating Your Own Children

No, this isn't one of those creepy quadruplet conventions. It's the cast of Amazing Race 8: Family Edition! And let me be the first to point out that the Black family is actually black. HAHAHAHAHA!!! That's hiLArious!!!

Grey Lady Gets Quadruple-Stuffed by Entourage Gang

Yet again, the New York Times gives Entourage the slobbering, fawning 'zeitgeist' treatment today. Don't be surprised if you soon find an entire new section called ENTOURAGES peeking out of their yawny Wednesday edition.

Despite what you think of the series, there is something inherently annoying to this report of packed agency conference rooms erupting into howling, knowing laughter when someone makes a winking reference to the show, regardless of how tired that reference is:

" 'Did you hear what Ari said?' is now a regular feature of our Monday staff meetings," said Jeremy Zimmer, a founding partner at United Talent Agency. He was referring to Ari Gold, the show's insufferable talent agent, played by Jeremy Piven in an expensive Caesar haircut. Meanwhile, at International Creative Management, the agent Brian Sher said he got huge laughs by announcing at a staff meeting that the priority project at Warner Brothers this fall would be "Aquaman." That's the show's fictional underwater action movie starring the groovy pop idol of "Entourage," Vincent Chase (Adrien Grenier), and directed by James Cameron (the actual director of "Titanic" and "Terminator 2" fame, playing himself).

"Even the most senior agents got the joke," Mr. Sher said. " 'Entourage' has become part of the fabric of what we do."

That last quote ushers nightmarish images of a giant floating Swifty Lazar head, chanting a Homer Simpsonesque "It's Funny 'Cause It's True" between hearty cackles.

Describing the show's bigger budgets and higher profile locations, the reporter finds the perfect combination of speed, pressure and tongue-swirling dynamics to use on these column inches:

The flashier locations also help. This season, with its higher production budget, "Entourage" shot scenes during the Sundance Festival, at a live U2 concert and courtside during a real Lakers game. This last setting provided a delicious meta-"Entourage" moment. The show's five stars sat in the $2,000 seats normally reserved for Ari Emanuel, the real-life Hollywood talent agent who is the model for Mr. Piven's character.

Am I being a Grumpy Gus if I find the cast of Entourage sitting in Ari Emanuel's courtsides being not at all 'delicious' and only marginally 'meta'? Where's my U2 shoutout? Where's my oft-repeated insidery industry catchphrase? I think I'll start one right now.

"Eat cancer, my loveable Muppet!"

Um...Let me work on it.

Fun With Studio System: The Downey - Levin Nuptials

PAGE SIX reports today that one habit Robert Downey Jr. can't seem to kick is the love of a good woman:

August 15, 2005 -- ROBERT Downey Jr. is tying the knot again the weekend of Aug. 28. Downey and Susan Levin, a film producer, are walking down the aisle "somewhere on the East Coast" according to a pal. This will be the actor's second marriage and Levin's first. He has a son, Indio, by his first wife, Deborah Falconer. Levin has helped Downey with his sobriety by being supportive and adding "stability," the friend says. Downey's rep declined to comment.

With this joyous news we bring to you the newest regular Feh Feature:

Fun With Studio System!

Studio System, for the uninitiated, is the all-seeing, all-knowing Industry Eye of Sauron, a subscription web service so creepily comprehensive, it's got to be wiretapping agency phones or using psychics to siphon ideas as soon as they pop into writers' balding heads.

As soon as we read about Ms. Levin's profession, we scuttled our fingertips over to the SS for some credit digging. Color commentary in red, click to view full size.

 

BREAKING: Paula Absolved

A just released statement from FOX found the weepy Maroulis-adoring seal-clapper innocent:

Lawyers who investigated claims by former contestant Corey Clark of a sexual relationship with Abdul could not substantiate his allegations, Fox said.

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FOX did not want to RUSH RUSH to judgement, and so sponsored the probe, which found the claims against Ms. Abdul falsely COLD HEARTED. As a result, she will not be KNOCKED OUT of the competition, and will continue her judging duties STRAIGHT UP to next season's finale, and possibly beyond. In a statement, Ms. Abdul told reporters "This is CRAZY COOL. It's impossible to BEND TIME BACK AROUND, but this decision provides the PROMISE OF A NEW DAY. THE WAY THAT YOU LOVE ME gives me the strength to go on." She then spent several minutes posing for photographs and BLOWING KISSES IN THE WIND. She then boarded a window-tinted Humvee with her close friends VIBEOLOGY and MEGAMIX MEDLEY by her side.

Give Your Friends Ayds!

If you are in your early thirties or older, you might remember the appetite supressing candy Ayds...and how it quickly disappeared after the mysterious new GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency) disease was rechristened with its more-inclusive and widely used moniker: AIDS. Thanks to B3TA, we have a fully intact UK TV spot for Ayds, the miracle weight-reducer!

Ceci N'est Pas Un Racist Headline

Desperate Housewives has been sold to a major Chinese Broadcaster, and what better way to herald this new era of US-Sino cultural openness and exchange than with a crass, bigoted headline in the Hollywood Reporter!

Who could blame them? The first thing I think of when I hear the word "China" is the left side of the Yang Chow menu! (Mmmmm...Slippery Shrimmmmparghdrooldrool....)

Also considered by the Reporter editors, but rejected as too 'colorful':

Little Yellow Men to Pull Rickshaws Up Wisteria Lane

Confucious Say: Despelate Housewife Find New Slanty Eyeballs

Ancient Chinee Secret: Teri Hatcher!

Curiously enough, while the 'menu' headline made it into the print publication (and onto every industry desk) this morning, the editors of the online version had no trouble seeing outside of the racist-headline-writing box: 

Location, Location, Location

What's the point of living in city like Los Angeles if you can't nerd-out movie-style once in a while. A recent debate over the site of Grease's Rydell High recently brought me here, to an admirably thorough guide to Hollywood area film locations.

The answer, by the way, is actually three different schools:

Venice High School, located at 13000 Venice Boulevard, was used for exterior shots of the school buildings. The interior classroom scenes and the big dance contest were shot at Huntington Park High School (at 6020 Miles Ave. in Huntington Park, CA). And the carnival scenes at the end of the movie were shot at John Marshall High (at 3939 Tracy St., in Los Feliz.)

Browse away, then plan a Sunday retracing your favorite protagonists steps! Personally, I'd like to check out the Dole residence from Halloween at 1530 Orange Grove and the house across the way at 1537, where Mike Meyers did the majority of his baby sitter julienning.

The Adventures of Captain Partypooper in the Land of the Hip Hop

Captain Partypooper, better known in his secret civilian guise as New York State Attorney General Eliot Spitzer, is hanging ten on a wave of positive public opinion, having just saved the world from evil Dr. Sony Payola and his plan to melt the brains of every man, woman and child through widespread Celine Dion-ballad broadcasting.

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Our hero's work is never done, though, as CP quickly flew to Planet Hot97 and used his Righteous Rays to stop the Gladiator-Ho' battles known to their bloodthirsty fans as SMACKFEST:

ALBANY, N.Y. -- A New York City radio station has agreed to stop its "Smackfest" promotion, in which women slap each other for prizes, under a $240,000 settlement announced Monday, said state Attorney General Eliot Spitzer.
"This agreement should be a wake up call to all those in the entertainment industry who think outrageousness is a clever marketing strategy," Spitzer said.

The four people that statement didn't pertain to had to wake up the old-fashioned way, with an alarm clock. Thus thanks to Captain Partypooper, the entire entertainment industry arrived on time to work this morning, and quickly started churning out another week's worth of ultraviolent, exploitative and demoralizing garbage product.

Kate Loses Her Groove

Kate Hudson all but mouthed 'help me' through a gritted smile  in her 'State of the Rocker-Starlet Union' interview last night with Access Hollywood:

"I don't believe (monogamy) is realistic. But, I believe that we, as people, have the power to make it happen."

When Billy Bush asked if she believed hubby Christ had turned to an outside remedy for the 6-year itch in his pants, the Hawn Spawn replied:

"If for some reason, that's what he has to go do, I just don't want to know. As long as things are good in our house, just please, don't get caught."

Seems her Crowe's more of a Dog.

Kate, I think it's time for a good ol'fashioned girl's weekend. I've booked you, me, Jeannie and Marla a room at the Wynn Las Vegas. Manis, pedis, and some front row seats to Thunder From Down Under should put your groove back in!

At First I Was Excited! But Then It Just Made Me Sad :(

 

SOUPREME COURT

OK! MAGAZINE VS BARBARA KRUGER

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If You Don't Have Enough of Them...Do You Still Call Them 'Extras'?

Full text here.

House of Windsor Does House of Wax

Unveiled today, a glorious life-size (6'3" - gracious!, Your Majesty) wax replica of Prince William at London's Madame Tussaud, with the heir's dashing mug frozen in a look of permanently refined discomfort, probably in anticipation of the roughly 18 billion women and gay men who will be licking him in the coming decades. I'm told Prince Harry has been cast as well, but the unveiling has been delayed until they can find every last pin, buckle and bootstrap for his Nazi Corporal uniform. Those Tussauders are sticklers for details!

The Five Stages of Life: As Read Between the Lines of CBS.com

 

Bingo, Gay Donkeys and Curly Fries: Name the Three Horsemen of Janice Dickinson's Personal Apocalypse

Looking for something fun to do tomorrow night? How about supporting your local LGBTDNC, the STONEWALL YOUNG DEMOCRATS, with some charity bingo at Hamburger Mary's in WeHo?

Still not enticed?

Well read the fine print! Everyone's favorite Barrel-O-Botox Janice Dickinson will be the celebrity number caller! Just think how hard you're going to laugh when you hear her say "I 29."

Moviegoing Public Has Spoken: 'We Like Our Wheelchair Athletes Smiling, Mongoloid'

The Associated Press does its best Fred Willard today, wondering aloud 'wha'happened?!' to the crowd pleasing Sundance audience-award-winning doc Murderball, which has had a flacid reception at the B.O. since premiering last Friday. Take heart, heartless big studio execs: the four-eyed pansies at THINKfilm use the very same blame deflecting tactics you do -- namely, sticking the equivalent of a "Kick Me, It's My Fault" sign to their stars' backs:

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"The only explanation is that people don't want to see something about handicapped people. There is some resistance," said Mark Urman, head of the theatrical division at the New York-based THINKFilm.

Easy for him to point the finger, and not just because he has full motor functioning. But a little market research may have revealed the real culprit may be the film's title: was it only my camp that had a game called "Murderball" involving Kodiak boots and ninja-like ambush blows to the groin? I've spent the rest of my life trying to suppress those memories, not relive them.

Still, this somewhat disappointing news about what sounds to be an admirable film has convinced me to see the movie. You should too! And while you're at it, make it an all-doc weekend and catch Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man, a brilliant meditation about the gayest 'straight' bear chaser you ever did see!