All About Me

The first time I saw Nicole Kidman was in My Life, which I had gone to see with my best friend at the time. This was some 13 years ago. And using all the 13 years of critiquing experience I had at the time I had decided she was one of the worst actresses I had ever seen. She talked wierd, she had big deer in headlight eyes, she didn't know what to do with her hands...she wasn't good. After that, I didn't give much thought to her.

I changed my mind the first time I saw To Die For. It was one of the most perfect casting choices I have ever seen. And, I have kept the opinion she is one of the coolest, classiest, most awesome people ever since that movie. I even go so far as to watch movies that I don't like on principal just because she is in it (see The Human Stain or Birth). There are times when I think she can do no wrong.

Now, my opinion on the new breed of "country" musicians:

Just because you can sing with a fake southern twang and wear a cowboy hat does not make you a cowboy nor a country singer. A pop beat to your "I love my daddy," "I love my daughter," "I love America," song does not make a true, heartbreaking country track. If you are from another country (i.e. Canada, for Christ's sake, or Australia) then you have absolutley no business singing American Southern music. You're a fake, a phony and worse yet, ANNOYING.

So let's put these two together and break my little, charcoaled heart.

Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban got married last weekend. Nicole Kidman, the classiest of ladies, got married to a frosted haired, perma-stubbeled, spray on tanned, super queer. Nicole, why didn't you call me? Ugh. I had dreamed of so much better for you...you were supposed to wed some handsome business tycoon and slowly fade out of the spotlight while doing charity work and being guests of honor at big state dinners. Not spend your days listening to Urban sing such ditties as "You look good in my shirt," or "Some days you gotta dance," whilst swapping eyeliner tips.

I hate you Keith.

You have soiled one of my favorite actresses.

May your vocal chords shrivel up and blow away.

...wait...What?

In this week's, nay, year's most astounding, jaw dropping news it looks like Backstreet Boys' geriatric member Kevin Richardson is, uh, quitting...?

I have a frown on my face right now. This is the look I get when I'm confused and irritated. Do the Backstreet Boys still exist? Do they still make music? Is there anything for Kevin to quit? Couldn't he just, like, not show up to the group's weekly bar/karoke night? Wouldn't the other members just get the hint?

Doesn't a band fading out count as not news worthy anymore?

(Apparently, Kevin's the douche in the middle.)

So many questions. So not enough interest to continue.

Geez, I Suck

Yeah. I haven't kept up. I have been reading and thinking about all the loonies of Hollywood but I haven't gotten around to typing it up and being productive.

I'm settled into my new job now and should have little excuse to keep up this little hobby...

So here we go again.

I Give Up, You Win

Masterful moron, David Blain, may not have succeeded in his latest feat of endurance this week, but he did succeed in getting me to write a post about him. I tried hard. I fought it. But I can't fight anymore, I'm weak, I tell you, weak. I must discuss this supreme jackass.

Blain is a magician. By all definition this should mean that he lives in his parent's basement for the rest of his life. He should be a virgin until he is 45 when he finally breaks down and meets a girl from the internet who is just as socially retarded as he. The relationship should last about 17 minutes altogether, including dinner and foreplay. He should earn money by selling comic books on EBay and working a part time job at Blockbuster. He should have one good friend, and that friend will be some sort of feline. His mom should cook dinner for him every night and his father should shout obscene alcoholic rants from the top of the basement steps about how he should "be a man!" and "grow some balls!"

This should be the life for any magician. But, not David Blain, noooooo, he had to be the cool magician.

His most recent waste of time was to spend a week submerged in the bottom of a fish tank. He has trained since December 2005 in order to endure the waterlogged trial of stubbornness with Navy Seals (all of whom I'm sure had nothing better to do than help a scrawny little peckerwood prove to his Daddy that he was indeed good enough to be born). He lost about 50 pounds, disobeyed doctors orders when they told him that his liver was failing ('cause you don't need that or anything) and still failed to stay in the water as long as he wanted. And for what? To say that he did it, of course. To say, "Well, I'm sure that giving birth is terrible, but how do you think I felt when I was a goldfish for a week?"

The thing that I really grinds my gears is the resources that are used in order to keep this man in glass boxes and in the newspapers. The people who have to help him prepare, the doctors, nurses, critical care personnel utilized just to make sure this man does not die due to a stunt he created himself. People all over the world are in real life peril. Human beings are starving, suffering, dying and praying to God that they can make it through another day all the while this douche is burying himself alive and living in water. The he has the balls to come out of his cages all "Ohh, I don't feel good. Will you guys hold me up? I think I might need some medical assistance."

I wish I could get everyone the world over and say, "Hey, let's not support David Blaine. Lets make him a pox on this century and move along." I know it's not going to happen. And, yep, I still give up.

Gina's Obsession

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SPECIAL POST DISCLAIMER:

Gina returns to her special post to reveal a darkly beautiful obsession:

Alec Baldwin.

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In an interesting bit of news, recently, stage actress Jan Maxwell left the Roundabout Theatre Company’s production of “Entertaining Mr. Sloane”. I know, I know, why do we care? When was the last time a proper pop culture addict breathlessly relayed gossip about a fracas at a tiny, non-famous, theatre troupe?

When the reason the actress left is named Alec Motherfucking Baldwin.

Apparently, Ms. Maxwell has been living underneath a rock for the past 15 years or so (which, incidentally, is the last time Alec Baldwin played a nice guy believably.) and expected her co-star to, like, not yell at her and berate her and shit.

Oh, Jan. Oh poor, naïve, Jan.

An email was leaked to the New York Post in which Ms. Maxwell revealed that Baldwin had endangered her physical safety, mental health, and artistic integrity. That he was “throwing things around with all of us cowering”, and that he gave the theatre an ultimatum. Her or him.

As we don’t all remember Jan Maxwell’s stunning, perfect performance in Glen Gary Glen Ross, naturally, she was given the axe.

Of course, the theatre denies any such incident, coupled with an issued statement from Maxwell claiming she is saddened a private email was made public, although, my guess is she leaked it herself. (well played, Maxwell, but do not think for three seconds that you can outfox the Baldwin.) Alec has yet to comment, but if I know him like I think I do, it will be a short matter of time before we get the standard Baldwin denial that goes basically like this: “Bitch be crazy, and I didn’t do anything wrong.” Just like how his ex-wife, Kim Basinger, was crazy.

You know, crazy.

Not abused.

Crazy.

In a way, I can’t help that Jan Maxwell brought this upon herself. If she had viewed the highlights of the Baldwin catalog, she would have discovered what I did long ago.

Nobody plays an asshole that well without actually being an asshole.

As Hollywood’s all time, number one, asshole, Alec Baldwin has built a career both playing and playing off his ability to be an unparalleled dickhead. A man cannot attain such an astounding level of abusive prick-hood without a lot of practice. And real-life, practical application.

Jan, I wish you could have called me. I could have given you such great advice for dealing with unrepentant assholes. I know it may be too late for you, but may I present for the future,

Three Key Elements to Dealing With An Asshole

You are probably asking yourself, “What makes this girl qualified?” Well, let me tell you, I’ve dated assholes, worked with assholes, worked for assholes, lived with assholes, been friends with assholes, and even, was raised by an asshole. I know assholes. Trust me.

1. Speak When Spoken to, and Do Not Make Direct Eye Contact.: If the asshole cannot see you or hear you, then s/he might forget you are around and therefore will not be able to scream at you about your incompetence, lack of talent, weight, facial features, ethnicity, lack of proper dental hygiene, body odor, stupidity, commonness, socio-economic status, hook arm, goggle eyes, and etc.

2. It’s Not a Matter of Whether or Not an Asshole Will Throw Something at You, It’s a Matter of When.: Never assume that an asshole isn’t capable of violence, no matter how docile or harmless they seem. Even the most weak and frail of assholes can still manage to stab you in the eye with a pencil, or throw a ten pound paperweight at your soft, vulnerable, skull. Learn to hone and trust your instincts. Does the asshole have a twitchy hand? Are they making their way over to the mantle, universal home of pointy, easily thrown, knickknacks? A smart victim learns when to take cover and hope for the best.

3. The Asshole is Right. Even When They are Maddeningly, Infuriatingly, Wrong.: If the asshole in your life tells you that the world is flat, a victim who wants to come out roses not only agrees to his aggressor’s face, but also behind his back. Why? Because this is where an asshole differs from a bully. A bully, once confronted, will generally back off. For example, A bully might say “The world is flat.” to which your reply would be “Not it’s not, you fucking moron. Do you even know how to read?” This zinger would be enough to send a mere bully sulking away with his tail between his legs. Not an asshole. Oh, no, not an asshole. When the asshole says “The world is flat” he knows that this is untrue, and is merely goading you into a trap of disagreement that will eventually climax in screaming, tears, and projectiles. Cut that asshole off at the pass. Bend over, spread, and give me a hearty and semi-sincere, “Yes, sir! I totally agree sir!”

That wraps up our lesson for today. While I know that I cannot help the abused minions of Alec Baldwin’s past, but I can dream that I may make life better for his future punching bags…I mean co-stars.

Keep on Loving Each Other,

Gina

Declaration of Independence

For all of us nosy assholes who are sick and tired (as sick and tired as reading about another David Blaine magic trick) of divorcing celebrities always declaring "irreconcilable differences" in their divorce papers, instead of divulging their innermost realm of secret secrets to us mass of strangers, may I present to you the beautifully written, sure to be Pulitzer prize winning, 17 paged "Declaration of Denise Richards."

This is not a divorce decree or even divorce papers...this my friends...is so far better it makes my teeth hurt with delight!

In this document Denise opens that whale sized lipped mouth of hers and we are told EVERYTHING. Down to the nitty gritty details. This makes up for Jen/Brad, Renee/Kenny, Tom/Nicole (although, that one is becoming more and more obvious), and Jessica/Nick ten times over. God bless you, Denise! Lets go through some of the key points.

1. The man has a serious gambling/drinking/pillpopping/sleeping with whores kinda problem. According to Denise, its all the man ever does. I don't understand how he has any energy to do all the other stuff she accuses him of because, damn!, he's busy.

2. He has threatened to kill her, her parents and her lawyer. He also told her he wishes she gets breast cancer and dies. Now, to be fair, cancer wouldn't be any worse than being killed by her insane, drug addled husband.

3. He became fascinated with the Nicole Brown murder. He even showed a picture of her body at the crime scene to Denise and Denise's mother.
He could have just been being funny, like, "ha ha see what happens when you don't listen to your husband," but still. I think its in bad taste.

4. He wanted Denise to have an abortion when she got pregnant with her first child with the excuse he wasn't ready to be a father. This one? I'm gonna take Charlie's side.

5. He became crazed when he found out that his daughter was getting childhood shots, accusing Denise of trying to poison the daughter he never even wanted, and he would not let Denise take the kid to the doctor. Then he phoned the doctor and screamed profanity at her so expertly that the doctor refused to see the kid again.

6. After Denise threw him out of the house, yet again, she let him back in so they could talk about the child arrangement. While she was holding her youngest daughter, Charlie became angry and pushed Denise over with child in hand and told her he wished she would just die. He's really not very creative, is he?

7. He has prostitutes over at his house while he has his court appointed time with his daughters. I guess they help watch the girls? Do you get paid extra for that?

8. Child porn. Not just girl child porn, but young boy, child porn. Charlie Sheen looks up child porn on the internet.


The best part of the document is the side evidence displaying six phone voicemails from Charlie to Denise. Heavily peppered with "you're a n****r","rot in hell," "piece of shit," "fuck you" and "fuck this" and just plain "fuck" they are the only part of this document that actually puts a the humanity in Charlie. And his humanity is such that you just can't imagine how someone hasn't put a bullet in his head long ago.

I want to present my favorite phone message. This one seemed so genuine and sincere, very much unlike the other messages where you could hear the screaming while reading. So, yeah, it seemed like he was being halfway decent... all the way until the end:

Hey I am going to go home early so if you wanted to come back early go ahead. I hate to leave early and then you come home and then I hear from Laura [lawyer]in a letter that costs me, you know, five grand that you know, I didn't let you know, I was leaving. So I gonna leave early. Okay? Dick face. That's what I'm gonna do. Good-bye.

It reads like a love letter I once received.

Memories.

Who Would Have 'Effin Thought?

First thing I learned this week: India is a fascinating place with many fascinating people. But those people are fucking CRAZY ASS CRAZY.
Second thing I learned this week: the Indian movie industry is alive with color, cookiness and some very popular people.
This past Wednesday, the leader in everything Bollywood, Raj Kumar died. And the people of Bangalore lost it, and caused my Wednesday to SUCK.

In America, when a well respected actor dies, there is a sense of mourning that varies from person to person depending on how important the actor fit into our lives. Some people send flowers or charitable donations to the actor's favorite cause. The person is discussed and remembered by the actor's friends and co-actors on Larry King Live. The actor is in the news for roughly a week. And then, for the most part...forgotten.

India? Not so much. The citizens of India were so distraught at the death of this man, so pissed off that they could not enter the house he was laying wake in, that they rioted to a point that would put the LA Riots to shame. The riots got so bad, the police not only used clubs to fight off the mobs, they had to move this poor dead man to a park in order to accomidate all the fans who wanted to see his corpse.

So why has this inevitably turned back to how it affects me? Because everything revolves around me? Perhaps. But not this time, it is something more tangible. I work for a large mortgage corporation, and like every large corporation in America, we have a sister office in India. And because the riots got so bad that the employees of the India office could not get to work, my department had to do our job x2 on Wednesday. The only good thing about it was that I didn't have to listen to any customer on the phone complain about the India employees accents.

Yeah.
I know.
It sucked for us.

So please, India. Don't let anymore Bollywood Icons die. I just hate working more for the same amount of money. I'm American afterall.

It's Called Being Funny

People are stupid. People who write entertainment articles are even more stupid. There have been several articles that I have read today breaking the unbelievable news that (gasp) Heather Locklear and David Spade have been trading hair highlighting secrets, oh, and making out. These writers act like there is no way on God's green earth that this union could ever make sense...How small and naive you are.

My two close girl friends and I have always contended that if we were men, we would have the hottest girlfriends ever. The secret? Be Funny. Girls love funny guys. Have you EVER seen a comedian with even a "common" looking wife?

Nope.

They are always hot.

Grow up, writers. And remember, Heather's been married to Ritchie Sambora for over a decade...She probably hasn't had a good chuckle since 1994. That's a lot of catching up to do.



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After Donald Trump's lastest baby was born:

"And in a classless move Trump issued a statment saying 'Try doing that with your dusty old uterus, Martha Stewart!'"--David Spade, The Showbiz Show

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Divorce Take Two

He's cleaning out his closet...and apparently his wife is soooo last season. Eminem has done it again, and by "it," I mean ceased to amaze. He has (yawn) filed for divorce from his punching bag, aka, wife Kim Mathers, uh, again.

These two just got their shit back together and married for the second time in January. January 2006. Why do we even bother giving people like these two morons actual marriage licenses? Wouldn't it be better to give them like five year temporary tags or something? They could hang them from their car rear view mirrors...real convenient like.


I haven't any idea why the kiddies nowadays have no respect for the sanctity of marriage. I can't wait until I start hearing my fourteen year old cousin start a conversation with, "Well, in my first marriage I wanna have a condo...but by the third I think I need a mansion in Maui..."

Let's Just Blame Cruise Sr.

Stupid standards.

Well, I am not going to make fun of someone who was verbally and physically abused by their father. I mean, I am not going to make fun of the fact that he was abused.

However, Is it really any surprise when a "superstar" admits to being abused as a child? Isn't that the whole reason to go into acting in the first place? Isn't acting just a ploy to get all the attention and love that abused kids missed out in their childhoods to be squished and pulled with the love from psycho fans and fill some neverending hole in their heart?

Well, I guess you showed him, Tom. You're successful, rich, good looking, baby on the way and stone cold crazy. Dad must be kicking his own ass right now.

What's Up with That Hill?

Apparently One Tree Hill is a schmoopy teen show on the WB that even I, even I, have the good taste not to watch. But things have been happening off set of that show that have come to my attention and I feel that they need to be addressed.

Again, never having watched the show, I do not know what the magnetic appeal of uber All-American boy Chad Michael Murray is, but apparently this guy is getting more Tree ass than a dendrophiliac. The boy came to my attention when his sudden marriage to his "soul mate" went belly up within the span of a couple months. And since he married his costar, he has the priviledge to see her daily. I don't know about you, but, I love the idea of an actor having to work with someone they just broke up with (or better yet, married to) because it just serves them right. Don't shit where you eat, you know?

Chad, tsk tsk, hasn't learned his lesson, however. According to this article, Chad (2nd worst guy name ever, btw) has found a new love in WBville...a lowly, 18 year old extra from One Tree that he may, or may not have, impregnated and is now marrying. They have been dating a total of about four months, which must be like a lifetime to Chad, who divorced first wife Sophia Bush, another One Tree actress, after about five months. Time sure does fly at the WB.

Does Chad have a thing for marrying barely legal broads or is there just too much stagnant love to wade through in the air around that set?

Either way, another reason to not watch the WB.

(Except for America's Next Top Model, which should go without saying.)