Saturday, July 31, 2004

Whoa! Craaaazy Nicolas Cage married the 20-year-old sushi waitress he's been dating! From

"Oscar-winning actor Nicolas Cage has married for the third time.

The "Leaving Las Vegas" star wed 20-year-old Alice Kim on Friday at a private ceremony on a ranch in Northern California, publicist Annett Wolf told The Associated Press.

It is the third wedding for Cage, 40, who split with his previous wife Lisa Marie Presley after less than four months in 2002.

Before that, he was married for six years to actress Patricia Arquette.

Kim, a former sushi waitress, met Cage when the actor visited the Los Angeles restaurant where she worked. This is her first marriage.

They started dating in February and reportedly became engaged after about two months.

Wolf declined to provide addition details on the nuptials.

No photo was released."

Yeah, I'll BET no photo was released--Nicolas Cage, with his comb-over, bending down to plant a kiss on his tiny, UNDER 21 bride--EWWW! He made a big stink recently because the bar at the hotel they were staying in (I think in Hawaii) refused to serve his wee under-drinking-age galpal. Well, sir, it's illegal! No matter how much dough you spread around a joint, it's still ILLEGAL!! Sheesh.

I remember when he was my big crush, from the "Valley Girl" years, before the weird surgeries, the weird hair, the general seems so long agao. Oh, Nicky, we hardly knew ye (in your former state of being)...

Friday, July 30, 2004

I promised in the Felt Up: The Blog Mission Statement (above) that I would, from time to time, bring "news from the low-carb diet front." Mainly what I meant was that whenever I found a new product that made life worth living, I would talk about it ad nauseum. I don't do this too often because a) if you're not on a low-carb diet this is incredibly boring, and b) I rarely find such products (the last one I mentioned was the Breyer's low-carb ice-cream, which has enabled me to enjoy one of my all-time favorites--the Diet Coke Float--again). Well, I found another one! It is a breakfast cereal called Hi-Lo, and is made by the good people at Nutricious Living. The one I got has dried strawberries in it; it has 12g protein and 5g net carbs, and is only $2.99 a box (compared with $5-6 for Atkins brand cereal)! I had to add a packet of Splenda to make it more palatable, but overall I must say kudos, Nutricious Living, for providing me with a bowl of cereal that doesn't make me gag! Yippee! Hoorah! Another reason to live!
Another bright note on an otherwise bleak, rainy day: Terri R., Tanya B., and your humble Felt Up Bloggette were not alone in thinking that Johh Kerry's acceptance speech was totally and completely awesome! According to, the tv wonks and pundits who had been pretty critical up to this point agreed that this was by far the best speech of Kerry's life, and that he was right to "take off the gloves" and go after the Bush administration for taking the US into a war under false pretenses, etc etc. Terri R. and yours truly, who watched the speech on C-SPAN together, thought that the speech gave voice to the hardly-dared-spoken idea that we as a nation have basically been living under a Constitution-free fascist dictatorship since 9/11. And those at the convention seemed to agree: Every time Kerry said the word "Constitution," the crowd erupted into applause. Yay Constitution! Go Bill of Rights! Whoo-hoo! Who would've believed that something as basic and fundamental as our country's founding document would cause squeals, shrieks, and cheers? It's kind of sad...

One funny thing we all noticed, and that I can't believe he's not being crucified over (yet), was the "hair pollution" slip-of-the-tongue. Kerry was talking about people in Harlem not being able to breathe because of "hair pollution." Couldn't help giggling. We are, after all, lusty, zestful Americans!

Hey, Constitution, it's your birthday; we're going to party like it's your birthday! Shout-out to the Founding Fathers! Whoop, there it is!
Just when the hour becomes darkest, that's when I should, by now, expect the light of dawn and the arrival of People magazine...the cover of which screams "Livin' Large" and has an ultra-flattering, draped-in-fabric picture of KIRSTIE ALLEY! Yippee! The accompanying article starts off with Kirstie offering the reporter a selection of tasty treats from the local bakery and saying, "Or you can have both. That's the beauty of being in a fat person's house." Double yippee!

She claims to be 203 pounds, not the 300+ reported by the tabloids (who knows? 300 is awfully high, like Chris Farley-high, but I'm a bad judge of weight), which she calls "a gross exaggeration." She says that she's "forever walking around in grocery stores and people go, 'You don't look that fat! How did you lose that weight so fast?'...I haven't lost a pound." The reporter actually has the nerve to ask her "why she let herself go," to which she replies, quite sensibly, I think: "If I'm really happy, then I live my life like it's Christmas vacation."

Kirstie also comments on photos of herself taken over the course of her career, and reveals that she was more insecure about her weight when she was THIN: "I was totally embarrassed and I thought I was way too fat to have a [Playboy] bunny costume on. I probably weighed 122." (I actually saw this made-for-tv movie about Gloria Steinem going undercover as a Bunny for an article she was writing. I liked it!) She talks about her cocaine problem, joining the Scientologists, being divorced, living single--all the things I WANT Kirstie to talk about! Viva Kirstie! Bravo!

Also check out the picture of the Hives in the cd reviews--they're still wearing their Blue Velvet shoes! (Note: The shoes are all scuffed up. Another quality product from the little vintage store that could.)

Blechh. Bah humbug. I suppose "apres le deluge...." applies here, both literally and figuratively. The rainstorm cleaned all the trash off the streets--and apparently, off the internet. There's NO GOOD NON-NEWS TODAY. So I will simply rehash the best parts of the Star magazine I bought yesterday at the grocery store, in a fit of self-indulgence. (I feel guilty ONLY about paying full cover price, not for the trash-mongering rag itself). On the cover (and here's what got me to fork over $3.29--they sure are smart over there at Star...): "Busts & Butts! Hollywood's Best & Worst! Who's Popping Up! Who's Drooping Down!" There are photos of Britney's ass with "Cellulite at 22!" and Mariah Carey's bosom (BEFORE AND AFTER)--not much explanation, I guess the boobs are supposed to speak for themselves, and actually, they do (Popping Up)!

The accompanying article is kind of odd, in that it divides "Boobs" into "Too Good to Be True?" (Answer: YES) and "Natural Women" (HA!), but then the "Butts" are rated under the "Best & Worst." So, they don't rate the boobs like they do the butts, which is kind of disappointing. I would have given some kind of Lifetime Achievement Award in Bad Boobage to Gwyneth "Flapjacks" Paltrow, although her pregnancy has left her bust much-improved. (For NOW. What happens to those saggy old fried eggs after she's done with breast-feeding? Ewwww!) For Best Non-Natural Boobs they gave Pam Anderson the "top" prize and noted that she is a 36DD+. Jessica "Genius" Simpson was awarded "Best Natural Boobs." Sigh. Naive fools!

Then it's "Best & Worst Butts": Cameron Diaz, Serena Williams, Anna Kournikova, and Gisele Bundchen are listed under "Best." Note that two of the best belong to professional athletes; so, sure, I too could have an awesome ass if I chose to you know, EXERCISE all the time. Sheesh. The tie for first place goes to Kylie Minogue and Beyonce Knowles. (Terri R. rightfully pointed out the strange lack of J.Lo's can in this homage to booty, and asks, "Do they hate her now that she is 'private'?" Answer: YES.) In the Worst Butts category, we have Kirstie Alley, of course; Monica Lewinsky (quite sad, the picure is TERRIBLE, somebody buy this girl a non-thong underpant, PLEASE!); and, happily, Paris Hilton for having "one bony bottom." Britney Spears is also here because of the above-mentioned cellulite; I have to say that if she would just keep her butt covered in more fabric it would look great. The shape is pretty much perfect; I would KILL to have that ass. So what if it's a little mottled? I think the cellulite gives it character. I'm all for character, BELIEVE me. They also give a special "prize" to Uma Thurman for daring to have the "Most Overexposed Butt," and of course there's a photo of her crack while she pulls on the sides of her bikini bottoms. Star magazine, isn't that a tad hypocritical of you? You, Sirs, are the ones who constantly printed photo after photo of Uma frolicking on the beach in a droopy bikini, and gleefully proclaimed her newfound joie de vivre after leaving Ethan Hawke. YOU created this monster, you! J'accuse, Star magazine, j'accuse! (A lot of French today, I don't know what's coming over me. Oh, well. Que sera, sera.) Also a lot of love/hate with Star...c'est la vie!

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Well, after a dry spell it is suddenly a downpour of news and non-news alike. In the news dept., we have a report from Michele S., who bravely went where your humble Felt Up Bloggette was too tired to go---the Crawford, TX screening of "Farehnheit 9/11." She and Terri R. drove in a caravan of cars from the Alamo Drafthouse, and said they got to the screening "just in time," because the line got so long after they got in it that it stretched on for what seemed like eternity. Later she heard that 5,000 people had shown up, but many had to be turned away for lack of room. Michele S. also noted that there were some pro-Bushies in attendance who "clapped every time Bush's face came on the screen," which to her was quite funny, since most times he appeared he was in full nincompoop mode. It sounds like there were no riots or other traumas, though, so that's somewhat reassuring. She and Terri R. didn't make it back to A-Town until 1:30 am, but Michele S. ended her report by saying that she was "so glad" they went.

Ooh, wait, this just in: Terri R. sent me her view of last night's events. She says that "most of the protestors were in town, hanging out on the sidewalks, by the storefronts." She saw "one lady wearing a rubber chicken mask (since Michael Moore was too 'chicken' to show up
for the screening) and a sign that said something about 'Mooron, Kerry and Hanoi Jane'! Hanoi Jane!" which totally outraged Terri R.'s delicate sensiblities: "What year is it? For crying out loud! Let it go, people!" Well said, milady. Well said. (She also wants it to be known that "Mooron" is not a typo, but some knucklehead's idea of a "clever" play on "Michael Moore" being a "Moron." Wow, that IS clever! Move over Oscar Wilde!)

Extra-special big kudos to my brave friends!

From the non-news file: first off, a description of Jack Nicholson's tribute to Marlon Brando in the new Rolling Stone. From the IMDB:

"Veteran actor Jack Nicholson has written an emotional obituary for his pal, mentor and neighbor Marlon Brando in the new Rolling Stone magazine. The actor, who lived next door to Brando's Mulholland Drive compound, admits in the piece that Brando has been 'my idol all my professional life.' Nicholson states of his friend, 'He had this extraordinary physical beauty and a power that was hard to define but completely undeniable... The movie audience just knew that he was it.' The actor also recalls the first time he came face to face with Brando, who he compares to his favorite artist Pablo Picasso, on the MGM studio lot. He remembers, "When Marlon came on the lot, you should have seen those Venetian blinds flying up in the air and those secretaries sticking their heads out the window. This man was a true sensation." Nicholson actually sneaked onto The Teahouse Of The August Moon set to watch his hero. He reveals, 'On that picture, the crew had these smocks and kimonos to identify them, so it took me a little work to sneak in there and watch him. But nothing could have stopped me from watching Marlon Brando up close.' In the obituary, Nicholson also regrets that everyone focused on his pal's weight issues in the last decade of his life - and not his greatness. He adds, 'It disturbs me that toward the end, all some people could speak about was his weight... What Mr. Brando does for a living ain't done by the pound.' "

What else can I add to that? (It's really hard to type when you are teary-eyed. Oh, Marlon! Sob!)

How's this for silly non-news: Richard "Dick" Johnson writes in his "Page Six" column that "in case anyone needed further proof that Kabbalah, the branch of Jewish mysticism embraced by celebs like Madonna, is a money-making venture, look no further than Target. The store is now selling red Kabbalah strings — like the ones Madonna, Demi Moore and Britney Spears wear — for $25.99. Listed as a 'hot buy' on Target's Web site, the string is 'believed to protect against the evil eye.' Each is guaranteed to have 'traveled to Israel, to the ancient tomb of Rachel the Matriarch, and returned imbued with the essence of protection.' Many mainstream Jewish leaders have blasted the Kabbalah Center's commercial ventures like selling the strings and 'Kabbalah water.'"

Oy, vey. Are we really supposed to believe that Target is sending cases of Kabbalah strings to the "ancient tomb of Rachel the Matriarch"? I can't even get an Isaac Mizrahi skirt in my size at the joint, and now they're peddling "evil eye" protective strings? Does all the money flow back to Madonna somehow? I'm getting (even more) scared of her. Eeek!

From the "Where Can I Get a Copy of this Magazine?" file, again from Mr. Johnson:

"PNEUMATIC nut case Anna Nicole Smith has posed nude for a fashion magazine to prove she didn't have gastric-bypass surgery. The merry widow recently shed 80 pounds. Although she attributes it to Trimspa, the diet supplement she hawks, surgery rumors have circulated. A few weeks ago she took it all off for MAO, a Fashion Week publication that comes out during the shows in September and through 'We asked her to re-create the famous Marilyn Monroe pose for the centerfold of our Icon issue,' MAO rep Roger Padilha tells us. 'She thought it would be a good way to quash the rumors. I was there and can 100 percent vouch that she had no scars.'"

Oh, craaaaazy Anna Nicole, I heart you. Fat or thin, gastric bypass surgery or crystal meth or la cocaina or whatever you did to lose that weight, I will always heart you. Por vida!

And finally, Johnson reports that one of my favorite nutty Scots got into a scrap with extra-crazy right-wing panderer Bill O'Reilly:

" 'X-MEN: 2' star Alan Cumming butted heads with Bill O'Reilly at a Creative Coalition panel on arts funding that featured Arianna Huffington, Rep. Louise Slaughter and Alfre Woodward. 'I told him he was insane,' Cumming told us later. 'He was on this long rant about arts funding and I just turned to him and said, "You're insane!"' He didn't say anything. He just ignored me.' "

Hee hee. Ha ha! I heart anyone who will get in Bill O'Reilly's mean, ugly, unfair and unbalanced face. Bravo, Alan Cumming. BRAVO!

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Just a quickie, today, and then I have to dash off to the ultra-glamourous Hill Country to look for crap, I mean treasures. Precious, precious treasures. From Richard "Dick" Johnson's Page Six column:

"DIVA designer Donatella Versace is in rehab for cocaine addiction.

The perpetually tanned queen of the fashion world recently quietly checked into a center for the drug-plagued at an undisclosed location, a top industry source told Page Six.

Friends said the 49-year-old designer of the family's famed clothing line has been privately battling a drug problem for years... The blond-maned designer had failed to do her usual couture show in Paris for the first time this year, setting tongues wagging that drugs may have already gotten the best of her.

But the family rep denied the couture no-show was because of Versace's drug woes. He said it was simply a company business decision."

Ooooooh, I love crazy old cokehead Donatella, she is a HOOT. Or should I say TOOT? Hee, hee. God, I love non-news like this. Brightens my day during these trying times...

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

From the "Kind of a Letdown" file:

CNN: "Making her first public appearance since being hospitalized as a fugitive two weeks ago, rocker Courtney Love was sentenced Tuesday to mandatory drug treatment in one of four criminal cases against her.

"I've got to stop drinking. It's gonna be fun,' the 40-year-old widow of grunge rock star Kurt Cobain told a mob of reporters outside the Los Angeles courthouse following the brief proceeding. 'It's profound, it's deep.'"

Uhhh...yeah, right. Whatever, Crazy Lady. I can't help it, I wanted some kind of drama in the courtroom, I wanted her to thrash around like Frances Farmer getting carted off to the nut house. Oh, well. There are still three more trial dates, on two coasts. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. When it's all over, I say we throw her in a wrestling ring with Sharon Stone and Brittany Murphy (Sharon against the other two. It has to be a fair match). Put it on pay-per-view. Why do these great ideas go unheeded? They are so crazy that THEY JUST MIGHT WORK!
Every now and then (who am I kidding? TWICE A DAY AT LEAST) your humble Felt Up Bloggette likes to check up on how many people are looking at the site, and where they came from. Thanks to Jenny H. at Sublme Stitching, who helped set up Felt Up: The Blog, I've got a very fancy, high-tech tracker thingy; sometimes it is highly amusing to see what search engine queries have paved the way to my (virtual) door are some recent ones that tickled my funny bone:

"naked Hawaiian" (huh?)
"the guide to Hawaiian style money folds" (double huh?)
"Elvis Costello + Courtney threesomes" (I talk about them separately, but not together--eek!)
"Deborah Beasley LaFave" (the school teacher who had an affair with a 14 yr old--see earlier post)
"u remind me of my jeep lyrics" (r. kelly--poet laureaute of the USA)
"Ian Michael black gay" (he's not; he's married and has a child, sadly)
"unflattering photos of Kirstie Alley" (yippee!)
"the watch hat Dirk Bogarde wore in victim" (no idea)

and drumroll please, the number one most-used search engine query:

"Mary-Kate Olsen anorexic red bracelet"

I'm so proud...

"A special screening of Fahrenheit 9/11 hosted by Michael Moore:

This last-minute, one-time screening will be at 9:00pm on Wed July 28 in Crawford, Texas at the Crawford High School Football Stadium.

It seems certain "political forces" have conspired to keep Michael Moore's controversial film 'Fahrenheit 9/11' from screening in the Crawford, Texas area (home of George W. Bush) – can you believe it?! According to an article in the Austin American-Statesman, sparked by an editorial in the Waco Tribune, local residents who found this appalling began a campaign to correct this several weeks ago. Rallying around the Crawford Peace House they contacted Moore directly for some help. Being the gauntlet-throwing kinda guy he is, Moore apparently took a quick liking to the idea. He called Lions Gate. Last week Lions Gate contacted us. And just like that you've got your self an on-the-fly addition to our Rolling Roadshow calendar!

Michael Moore is flying in to host this event and has personally invited the President to attend via an open letter posted to his website!

Alamo Drafthouse is not selling tickets to this event. Seating is plentiful, and the Crawford Peace House is merely asking for a donation of $8 per attendee.

Like other Roadshows, the screening should commence just after dark at around 900pm. Please bring all your own standard Roadshow gear: Camping Chairs, Quilts, Flash Lights, Bug Spray, etc.

Also please bring a battery powered Boom Box, Radio Walkman, or the like!! We think there is a strong possibility that the-powers-that-be will attempt to force us to stop the screening by invoking the Noise Ordinance. Our back-up plan will be to completely shut down the PA system and continue the film with the audio broadcasting from a low-powered FM transmitter.

This Roadshow is RAIN OR SHINE.

Austinites planning to attend are welcome to use the Alamo Village parking lot as a rallying area for caravanning up to the screening location in Crawford, Texas which is 25 minutes west of Waco. The caravan should pull out at about 6:00 pm, allowing 3 hours for travel and check-in in Crawford.

Important Note
Make no mistake, there many residents (including you-know-who) who are not real happy about this idea. Some of the past events of similar natures held in and around Crawford have resulted in altercations with the local police and other trying occurrences. By choosing to attend you are effectively going to a political demonstration held in a less than friendly territory. You do so at your own risk."

Wow. I'm kind of scared to go. Does this mean I would have been too lame to march in Selma? Am I REALLY THIS LAME? Probably. Sigh. I haven't even seen the movie yet! Well, I have until tomorrow to decide...

And I can't believe the high school is letting them use their (gasp!) holiest-of-holies FOOTBALL STADIUM!! Is this going to be one of those "I wish I'd been there" moments in history, or an "Oh, God, why did I come to this long night in hell?" moment in misery? Or both? Hard to say.

..."Waiting For Guffman," directed by Christopher Guest. I know, I know. I've already seen this, yes, but only once when it first came out, plus the DVD has some nice extras. It was fun to go back and see this AFTER seeing "Best in Show" and "A Mighty Wind," because I looked a little more carefully at the actors. Michael Hitchcock, who played Parker Posey's braces-wearing neurotic husband ("You didn't get the Busy Bee?!?") in "Best in Show," is very, very funny here as a wannabe-actor who LOVES Corky St. Clair (Christopher Guest) a bit too much. One of the funniest scenes in the whole movie has Hitchcock shrieking "Corky! CORKY! COOOORRRRKKKKYYY!" like a little girl overcome with Beatlemania. Or Corkymania, as it were. Totally hysterical. Also noticed David Cross as the crop-circle enthusiast ("The weather is always the same. Always. It's always 72 degreees with a 40% chance of rain."). I don't think I knew who he was when I saw this the first time...

Like all of Guest's movies, the funny parts are undercut with a twinge of melancholy; in the deleted scenes on the DVD, there's an alternate ending for the Fred Willard/Cathering O'Hara married characters...O'Hara is much more hardened and bitter-looking in the deleted scene, and it's quite sad to see their dreams of Hollywood squashed ("We don't have a car," she says. He replies, "You don't really need a car in L.A."). There's another one where they are in the backyard of their home in Blaine and she is forced by Fred Willard to pitch him baseballs while he calls out famous plays by DiMaggio and other legends...she rolls her eyes, shoots him mean looks, and is obviously very unhappy while he blathers on his upbeat, insane Fred Willard-y way.

My favorite deleted scenes were some musical numbers from "Red, White, and Blaine" that never made it into the movie...the best of these is the beginning section to the "Nothing Ever Happens on Mars" routine. The song is included in the credits of the movie, but not the scene; in it the cast does a kind of interpretive scarecrow dance and sings "Nothing Ever Happens in Blaine." THEN Eugene Levy leaves and comes back as the Martian. I thought the Blaine section helped the Mars song make more sense and it's a shame they couldn't fit it into the actual movie...There's also a sad/funny song about a flood called "The Bulging River," in which Corky thanks his dad (Fred Willard) for teaching him "how to be a man." I'm a sucker for musical numbers, I really am, and this movie has some great ones.

Some of the other deleted parts: Corky showing off his "Remains of the Day" lunch boxes; Eugene Levy going into more depth about his move to Miami (again, kind of sad; he broke up with his wife and doesn't get to see their son); and a funny turkey hunting scene with Willie Nelson in full camo disguise (Corky is wearing bright orange neon camo).

Even if you've seen the movie a million times, I think the DVD is worthwhile. Who can say no to more Corky St. Clair? Not me!

Ecch. There's still a dearth of non-news today; I think it's the summer doldrums or something. Here's one teeny-weeny thing I thought was fairly amusing, from the IMDB:

"Comic-turned-chat show host Ellen DeGeneres is considering dragging Brittany Murphy and her mother onto her hit program to give them a lie detector test about the actress' early speech skills. Guests like Sharon Stone and Christina Ricci have poured scorn on Murphy's claims that she could talk at four-months-old, and now DeGeneres is keen to help the actress prove she's not lying. Former Mensa student Stone, who is one of the cleverest actresses in Hollywood, insists Murphy is either talking about 'baby talk' or she has a good imagination. The Basic Instinct beauty recently suggested on DeGeneres' show, 'That's why she's an actress - because she has an imagination.' But Ellen wants to give Murphy the chance to back her claims up: 'We're gonna have her and her mother on and hook them up to lie detector tests.'

I have a better idea: How about we get craaaazy Sharon Stone and craaaazy Brittany Murphy into a "Who's Craaaaazier" contest? They could do a sort of obstacle course: Leaping over a trail of ex-boyfriends/husbands, they would wade through a giant tub of little pills, skip through a "diet jungle," jump up and down with WAY TOO MUCH pep, flush their careers down a symbolic toilet, and then whoever sings loudest back-up with Liza wins. Then, and only then, the winner gets to have a highly intellectual debate with Christina "I Used to Be Cute" Ricci.

Sorry, even though Brittany has a fine future of wacked-out, speed-freaky behavior before her, my money is on Madame Stone to CRUSH her like the itsy-bitsy, anorexic, insane twig that she is. I have a few rules I live by, and one of them is always bet on Sharon Stone in a craziness contest. Also, I NEVER, EVER want to meet Sharon Stone in a dark alley. (The other is that I NEVER, EVER want to come between Catherine Zeta-Jones and the limelight.)

Can I also mention that I am so very, very tired of hearing about La Stone's high IQ and her membership in Mensa? Where is the proof? Does she carry around an IQ test? (The answer: YES.) I suppose if extreme wackiness is the only qualification for Mensa, then fine, I can accept that. I am getting a bit peeved in general at these celebs trying to prove they are not just smart, but GENIUS-LEVEL smart. Jessica "I Don't Eat Buffalo" Simpson's mother claims she tested 160 in a fifth-grade IQ test. RIGHT. And of course we have the Brittany Murphy "I spoke at 4 months" claim above. (I believe it, but only if her first words were "me so crazy.") I swear, can't celebs just a)try and at least pretend to be humble, or b)SHUT UP? (The answer: NO.) Here's a modest proposal: Let's put all these "genius" celebs like Jessica, Sharon, and Brittany, up against the Jeopardy Guy and see what happens...(The answer: THEY DISMEMBER AND EAT HIM.) Eeeek! Run for your lives!

Monday, July 26, 2004

Sorry, my little chickadees (all five of you), but it is SLIM PICKINS' in the celeb-non-news department today. I mean, do I give a crap what the new "Star Wars" travesty is going to be called? (It's "Revenge of the Sith" for you nerds that DO care.) Even the Liza/David Guest divorce case has been put on hold until their little "she hit me and now I can't leave Hawaii" lawsuit gets cleared up. Hurry up, dammit! I want the divorce case to start in earnest, and I want ALL the most intimate details of their short-lived-but-fascinatingly-insane marriage, and I want them NOW! And where is the footage from their short-lived-but-fascinatingly-insane REALITY SHOW????It's so tantalizing I can't stand it.

The only remotely interesting thing was about Courteny Love, naturuellement...

From the IMDB:

"Troubled rocker Courtney Love surrendered to Los Angeles police on Friday - two weeks after a warrant for her arrest regarding an assault charge was issued. The former Hole singer failed to appear at an arraignment hearing last week following the incident in April where she is alleged to have attacked a woman at the home of ex-lover Jim Barber with a bottle and a torch. Love... has spent the past few days in a New York hospital suffering from an undisclosed gynecological condition but returned to Los Angeles to face police. And officers say Love was extremely well-behaved when she arrived. Captain Pat Findley of the LA police department said, 'She was extremely co-operative. She was pleasant. She was very coherent.' "

Gee, she was coherent? Congratulations crazy lady! You were coherent as you turned yourself to the police! Break out the champagne! No, wait, don't do that. Forget I said it.

Now, the careful reader of the above report will notice a word that caused your humble Felt Up Bloggette a raised eyebrow moment, and that word is "torch." The IMDB "reporter" (who apparently scrounges the internet for other people's gossip and regurgitates it--how lame is that? No, wait, it's really, REALLY cool and quite difficult) is a pale Brit, I believe, and so the word "torch" is open to a bit of interpretation. In England "torch" means "flashlight," but of course here in the US "torch" COULD mean "blow torch" or "Frankenstein-townspeople-carrying-lit-bundles-of-sticks." I am going to go with "flashlight," but isn't it nice to speculate about some lady being attacked by a deranged, botoxed, duck-lipped, drugged-out, blow-torch-and-bottle-wielding Courtney Love? EEEK!

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Here's some non-celeb news you can't use: Last night your humble Felt Up Blogette spent some quality time with some of her loyal Felt Up readers, ie, her friends. (OK, I have to drop the third person thing, it plum tuckers me out.) We were celebrating the dual birthdays of Steve. M. and Gil C., who are both spring chickens in the prime of life and not at all middle-aged. (One is a year older than me, one a 1/2 year younger). They sucked down some Dr. Skulls (a delightful smoothie-with-booze available only, to my knowledge, at Tien Hong on Burnet Rd.--HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!). Also on hand were TWO Flaming Volcanoes, with Pee-Wee Herman-style ridiculously long straws. What with the words "Dr. Skull" and "Flaming Volcano" being tossed around (not to mention copious amounts of rum), many in our group quickly reverted to their inner second-grader and/or Redd Foxx and started working very blue, and very, very silly. Lots of "suck down that hot magma"-type material. Always a hit! It was like the Algonquin Round Table, except without the uh, you know, witty repartee. The table WAS round, though. Our waiter was patient, helpful, and patently adorable. Kudos, Tien Hong, for another swell evening in A-Town!

Then it was on to the stately home of Steve M. and Michele S., where we downed birthday tequila, beers, and Michele S.' ingenious and highly addictive margaritas, while slouched around in comfy chairs, opium-den-style. I had a granny blanket around me. Tanya B. snoozed on the air mattress with Olive M.-S., the wire-fox terrier that has captured a weary nation's heart. This is what happens when people in their mid-thirties start drinking Dr. Skulls at 8pm. It wasn't pretty, but it was nice to be around my Chinese-food-engorged, drunken pals. Happy Birthday, sweet princes!

Tomorrow it's back to the celeb trenches!

Saturday, July 24, 2004

Just got my mitts on the new Us Weekly, which was kind of a snooze, sadly. The cover screams "JUSTIN DIDN'T CHEAT ON ME" over a very large picture of Cameron "Boring" Diaz. I don't know why, but she is extremely uninteresting to me; she's too nice or pretty or something. Her tragic, TRAGIC skin breakouts sometimes intrigue, especially when she has a diva hissy fit over photographers taking pictures of her zits, but that's about as far as it goes for your humble Felt Up Blogette. The accompanying article shrieks "We Are Solid!" and sounds a little "she doth protest too much" to seem based in any kind of non-celeb reality. One interesting thing is that the "other woman" is a Lara Croft impersonator, which is weird, because I just read an article about ANOTHER Lara Croft impersonator in Marie Claire magazine. Which begs the question: Just HOW MANY Lara Croft/Angelina Jolie impersonators are out there, making a living at this? Another funny bit is that the English press refer to Justin Timberlake as "Trousersnake" (they love their nicknames, those pale Brits, they really do); there's a teeny picture of a page from a British tabloid that is headlined "Trousersnake did dirty on Diaz with me (twice!)," which makes me once again long for my homeland and its insanely out-of-control celeb-obsessed "press." Sigh.

What else graces the pages of the new Us, you ask? The usual suspects, of course. Mary-Kate Olsen leaving her "anorexia rehab," if you choose to believe that THAT was she was being treated for, and not the cocaina; the Kirsten Dunst/Jake Gyllenhaal breakup; Nick and Jessica Simpson returning to their Austin (shout out A-Town!) wedding chapel to "renew their vows" (AFTER TWO YEARS???) with "no guests except for a "Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica" camera crew--not even family--and only one church employee"--gee, how touching, only a camera crew to witness this sacred moment, I'm getting teary-eyed!: Britney Spears "plays stepmother" to her trashy fiance's first child--how sweet!; and Britney and her trashy fiance canoodling all over an LA hotel--by the pool (bikini, OF COURSE), on the balcony, etc., it's kind of gross.

There is also a totally Us Weekly featurette showing various celebs who tend to have the exact same facial expressions in multiple photos (there's a wee Queen Elizabeth I with "Am I Nic's inspiration?" coming out of her mouth by the wax-figure hideous visage of Nicole Kidman ; a tiny picture of Jack Nicholson as the Joker saying "Ha, ha, ha. Jennifer, what's so funny?" by Jennifer Garner and her craaazy smile, and a teeny Ben Stiller as Derek Zoolander pouting "My lips are totally fuller than Angelina's!"). Us enlists the totally ridiculous advice of a "face reading expert" who says things like Renee Zellweger's "eyes are not smiling. It's a look of resignation and disgust." Well, duh. I'm resigned and disgusted every time I ponder Renee Zellweger's career, too. How she can SEE out of those squinty little slits is a total mystery to me. About Angelina Jolie's "Perma-Pout," the face-reader solemnly lays down this verdict: "This is a studied, intentional, sexy's saying, I'm going to capture you." EEK! She's the Black Widow! She mates and she kills! EEEEEEEK! But seriously. Do we really need the author of "The Power of Face Reading" to tell us that Angelina Jolie is trying to pout in a sexy manner? WE HAVE EYES, Rose Rosetree (if that is your real name) WE HAVE EYES. Well, except Renee Zellweger.

Friday, July 23, 2004

Thanks to Michele S., who forwarded me this delightful bit of news, knowing of my obsession with overweight celebrities:

"Kirstie Alley starring in TV comedy 'Fat Actress'

LOS ANGELES - Kirstie Alley will take on tabloids, Hollywood and herself in Showtime's "Fat Actress," a reality-comedy series about the life of an overweight celebrity.

Alley proposed the series to the cable channel as a "send-up of her own image as well as Hollywood's obsession with weight and beauty," said Robert Greenblatt, entertainment president for Showtime Networks Inc.

The actress, heavier than when she starred in "Cheers" and "Veronica's Closet" and films including "Look Who's Talking," has been the subject of unflattering photos in supermarket tabloids."--ASSOCIATED PRESS

Wow. Does this mean Terri R. has to get Showtime so I can watch this at her place? Since her fave writer Jonathan Ames is going to have a new Showtime series as well, I think the answer is YES.

Oooh, speaking of Terri R. she just came rushing into Felt Up headquarters clutching a copy of the Dallas Morning News, which has an article in its Overnight section titled "Kirstie At Large," about, yes, the Showtime Kirstie Alley show. Good to know we are literally all on the same page. THIS article mentions that she brought two dozen Krispy Kreme donuts to the press conference "to make her point" about being ready to make fun of her fatness. She also wolfed down "an oversized plate of spaghetti" and asked "Is there any more butter?" afterwards. KUDOS, milady, kudos! And special deluxe kudos to Terri R., too. Now get that Showtime, dammit. PRONTO.
Quite a bit of non-news today, most of it suspect, but who cares? I am as happy to wildly speculate at the next gal. Today the IMDB was chock full of tidbits: Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck are supposed to be dating (while her ex Michael Vartan is co-starring with J. Lo in a new movie--the mind boggles!); Winona Ryder had a crying fit in the bathroom of an LA restaurant while on a borrowed cell phone (what else is new?); Jack Nicholson, fulfilling my prophecy, is thinking about buying Marlon Brando's property which sits right under his--I know, because my mother and I used to "cruise" their shared Mullholland Drive gate in hopes of seeing either one of them come and get the mail or whatever, but sadly, it never happened; Britney Spears is signing a pre-nup (whew! our long national nightmare over THAT one may be over!); and Linda Ronstadt may be brought back to the Aladdin to sing a duet of "America the Beautiful" with Michael Moore--after it is SOLD to new owners. The current owners would apparently rather poke their eyeballs out with hot pokers than let Linda get her clothes out of her hotel room.


..."The Night Porter," the 1974 Nazi-themed naughty movie that I've always heard/read about, but never seen, until now. The artsy-fartsiness was a LITTLE much for my taste, but then, my taste is pretty lowbrow; at one point a beloinclothed male dancer does '70s-style interpretive ballet (complete with miming the old "what is this on my hands? I am filled with anguish!" routine) in an abandoned hospital or somesuch in front of a bunch of bored-looking Nazis. I thought this was supposed to be a kinky sex movie! The naughty stuff mainly has to do with Charlotte "She Is Gorgeous Therefore I Hate Her" Rampling, as a former concentration camp victim, resuming her torrid, doomed affair with her Nazi lover/tormentor Dirk Bogarde after a chance meeting in Vienna 12 years after the war. Bogarde is the night porter at the hotel where Rampling's character is staying with her conductor/cuckold husband. There are creepy Nazis who are somehow in charge of Nazi war trials; a creepy hotel maintenance man who turns on the night porter and made me scared; the creepy famous scene of Charlotte Rampling's character singing some Marlene Dietrich-y German torch song in suspenders, Nazi pants, Nazi cap and nothing else at the same abandoned hospital place to a bunch of bored-looking Nazis, including the night porter, who looks less bored because he loves her; there's a creepy countess/Nazi sympathizer who lives at the hotel; and more general creepiness, dread, and unease throughout the whole movie. The absolute creepiest thing is at the end, when Bogarde puts on his old Nazi uniform and Rampling is dressed like a leetle gurrl in a short pink dress and knee high socks. Ewww! I sorta liked this movie, even though it dealt with the Holocaust (creepy scene where you see young girls, including Rampling, on one of those amusement park swing rides, and then you realize the Nazis are shooting them off, one by one); since it was mostly in short flashbacks I was able to take it. I was a teensy bit disappointed that the relationship between the night porter and "his leetle gurrl" wasn't hotter, but really, it's not that kind of party. This is definitely an Art Film, but at least an interesting one, all in all. Lots of Big Questions about survivor's guilt, Nazi criminal guilt (or lack thereof), Fate, Destiny, etc etc. Great performances from everyone, especially the late Dirk Bogarde. If only they'd left out the male-ballet-dancer-in-loincloth interpretive dance...

Somewhere between Second and Third Base.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Your humble Felt Up Blogette just came home from walking the Corgi, who started a mini-riot at the dog park. He was just sniffing around the perimeter of the dog park, because sweet Jesus, he's not able to actually enter the damn thing--he'd probably choke to death on his own outraged Corgi bile--but it was enough to set off the sensitive Corgi-hating nose of a wee Scottie. Now, Welsh/Scottish animosity goes back eons, to the time of the druids (or at least to the time of Bohemian Grove druid-like activities--see earlier post) and it runs deep in the very core of their beings; so when I realized there was a Scottie about, I tried to avert an international incident by doing the only thing I could do, which was try to drag him, kicking and bucking, away from the scene. But soon other dogs came out of nowhere, hearing the Scottie's ancient, angry call, and suddenly it was like that scene at the end of "The Wanderers" when the Ducky Boys show up and scare the living daylights out of the Italian, Black, and Asian gangs at the football game. There were white dogs, black dogs; mixed dogs; and holy mother of god, a damned DAUCHSUND, another mortal enemy of the Corgi! Needless to say, it was a great relief when the Corgi decided to simply pee on the fence and move along. He had other important things to attend to--such as doing his number two-type business--right on top of some nice person's rosemary bush, which left the dog smelling not unlike some tragically over-herbed Olive Garden entree.

When I returned home I wanted and needed to get the smellin' salts, but instead went straight to the old computer, where I saw that has brought up something that has been bothering me lately....but I didn't know quite why. Since Felt Up is based in Texas, your humble Blogette sees a Dairy Queen about every mile or so. And lately each and every Dairy Queen has been advertising a new frozen drink called a "MooLatte." Call me stupid, but I just could't place what was so troubling about that name. MooLatte, MooLatte, hmmm....To my great shame it took to tell me why: In an article called "The Tragic MooLatte," Timothy Noah points out the uncanny similarity between the words "MooLatte" and "mulatto," and gee, the light bulb, dim as it may be, finally went off above my head. Ironically enough, I believe the MooLatte is some unholy combination of vanilla, chocolate, and coffee (or more likely, "coffee-like flavoring"). At the end of his aritcle, Noah asks, sensibly enough:

"Doesn't Dairy Queen have any black employees? Or at least somebody who's seen 'Show Boat'? Why didn't anyone point out the MooLatte-mulatto problem? It seems inconceivable that the resemblance would be deliberate, given corporate skittishness about generating controversy in the marketplace."

As someone who has spent quality time in DQ Country, let me answer the first part of that question: No. There are no black employees at Dairy Queen. At least I've never, ever seen one. Hispanic? Yes. White as white can be? You betcha. But Black? No sir, I don't believe so. As to the "Show Boat" issue, that I cannot answer, as I lack access to the upper-levels of the DQ power structure. The last part? To that I can only say to Mr. Noah that I have no answer, except: Forget it, Jake, it's Dairy Queen.
To paraphrase Brini Maxwell, from the "Why Didn't I Think of That?" file, Cintra Wilson at is doing a series of tributes to underrated actors. The first one is about Chris Penn, and I have to say, she did a great job evaluating the hideously underrated younger Penn and his long, hideously underappreciated career. And anyone who makes reference to Dan Pelzer's "A Child Called It" in a discussion of the Penn family dynamics is all right in MY book.

My only beef is that she left out one of my favorite 1980s teen movies called "The Wild Life," in which Chris Penn utters the line that the producers were obviously hoping would become a ubiquitous catchphrase, "It's casual," like 5 million times. But since no one actually saw this movie, "It's casual" didn't really take hold in the national lexicon. Except at my house. "The Wild Life" also starred Nicholas Cage's ex-wife Jenny Wright (so cute! the only other movie I remember her in was "St. Elmo's Fire," as Rob Lowe's baby mama), Hart Bochner (love him!), Lea "Howard the Duck" Thompson (ex-fiance of Dennis Quaid), Rick Moranis (sporting the best '80s hairdo EVER), Ilan Mitchell-Smith (so cute! only other movie I remember him in was "Weird Science"), the always great Randy Quaid in a brilliant turn as a heroin-addicted Vietnam vet, and Eric Stoltz (yawn). Leo Penn, the patriarch of the Penn dynasty, even has a little cameo as Chris' dad! Now that I think about it, there's about a zillion cameos, including Nancy Wilson (Cameron Crowe's wife, the thin Wilson sister from Heart), Lee Ving from Fear as the cable guy, Ben "Buehller, Bueller" Stein as an army-navy surplus store-owner, Dick "I'm In Every Alex Cox Movie Ever Made" Rude, and Russ Meyer's muse Kitten Natividad as, of course, a stipper! She frolics in a bubbly champagne glass!

Poor Chris Penn. They were kind of marketing "The Wild Life" as a follow-up to "Fast Times at Ridgemont High," since it was written by Cameron Crowe, but it didn't pan out. They even had a Bananarama theme song! How could they go wrong? I think I can pinpoint the failure of this movie as the pivotal juncture in Chris Penn's career, when he decided "Fuck it. I'm never going to be a movie star so I will just get fat and become a character actor who only plays cops and/or mobsters." Looking back, he seemed like one of those guys who have to a)snort a ton of cocaina, or b)speed, or c) both, to stay thin; like he was unusally thin for him and he had to work really, really hard to stay that way. That's just a theory, though. (I always think it's funny that people see Chris Penn, Linda Rondstadt, Sharon Gless, the fatter Wilson sister in Heart, or whoever and think, Wow, they got so fat! They really let themselves go! When the truly amazing thing is the time when they were THIN. Most of these people were chubby/fat when they were kids or teens and then went on las drugas some time in the 1970s or '80s and got ABNORMALLY thin, then cleaned up and got off las drugas and went back to their natural, fat state of being. And were then ridiculed mercilessly by the press, like poor Kirstie Alley is now. God, I am going to be so sad when she has the gastric bipass surgery and is thin again. But I digress.)

Even though she is guilty of leaving out "The Wild Life" in her critique, Cintra Wilson has given the (online) world a funny, well-written, and long-overdue look at the great Chris Penn, whom I often call the (darker, fatter) Aldo Ray of my generation. I do! I sit around and think, Who is the new Charles Bronson? (Still no answer to THAT one). Who is the new Warren Oates (ditto). But who is the new (darker, fatter) Aldo Ray? Why, Chris Penn, of course. Wilson compares Penn to J.T. Walsh, and believe me, I LOVED J.T. Walsh, but I disagree with her assessment. It's Aldo Ray all the way. (I had high hopes for Aldo's actual, real-life son, Eric de Re, who was "Leo" on Twin Peaks, but I haven't seen enough of his work to really make an informed evaluation). Too bad no one reads Salon now that you have to sit through ads or (gasp!) pay for reading it. I wonder who the next Underrated Actor will be? My vote: Aldo Ray, naturally. Somehow I doubt that's going to happen. Maybe I'll do it.
There's a funny/sad article in the current NY Times about the increasing drunkenness of my pale British forbears. Apparently binge drinking in Britain has gotten so out of hand that the government is considering the unprecedented and possibly deranged idea to EXTEND pubs' hours past the current 11 pm cutoff. The thinking is that people go crazy before last call and pour as many pints as possible down their pale British gullets before 11, leading to hooliganism and random stupidity in the mean streets of places like Heyward's Heath (where my wee brother did us right proud by defiling a hedgerow as a young lad visiting relatives.) I humbly ask: Won't the pale Brits still do that if they extend the hours, but with the addition of more quality drinkin' time under their belts? It only seems logical. If they extended our local drinking cutoff time to 4am, I'm sure I would drink as usual until 3:30 and then slam down as many Dewar's-n-sodas as I could get my mitts on before 4, as is my wont.

Here's the best quote, from a doctor who has to treat a lot of pale British drunks:

" 'There's no social group that's immune to binge drinking, except the elderly,' Dr. Atkinson said, 'although we recently had a 90-year-old who drank five pints and fell down as he tried to leave his local pub. It's very common to have head injuries - dental injuries, facial injuries. I've had people who've inhaled their teeth into their lungs.' "

Whew! And I thought throwing up in the Players' drive-through line was bad!

The other startling bit of info is a graph showing the percentage of men and women who binge drink at least once a week in various European countries. Not surprisingly, the other half of my pale family tree tops the list: 48% of Irish men, 16% of Irish women. Britain is second: 34% of the men, 12% of the ladies. The next highest country is Finland, way down at 16% of men, and a measly 3% of women. When a people trounce the FINNS in the drinking department, I do believe you have a national crisis on your hands. Not that I've ever been to Finland, mind you, but I have heard many a tale from people in the know--mainly in the Austin rockabilly scene (which is HUGE in Finland, maybe huger than in Austin)--that indicate the Finns like their booze. A LOT. It's freezing cold up there, what else do they have to do, besides listen to rockabilly? I wonder if I have a little Finnish in me, as well? Hard to say. I do like to jitterbug on festive occasions.

..."Wet Hot American Summer," and it was totally awesome! Somehow I missed this movie, which was directed by David Wain and co-written with Michael Showalter, both of whom were on MTV's "The State," and also do the "Stellla" weekly NYC live comedy show with fellow State castmember Ian Michael Black (AKA "Johnny Blue Jeans" from "Viva Variety.") This is a satire of campy camp classics like "Meatballs" and "Little Darlings," and boy, does it deliver the laffs. The cast includes Janeane Garofalo as the hippie camp director; David Hyde Pierce (AKA "Frasier's brother") as her astro-physicist love interest; Showalter as a dorky camp counselor; Black as a gay camp counselor; Amy Poehler as camp counselor/hard-ass talent show director; Paul Rudd as a jerky/studly camp counselor; Chris Meloni (from "Oz" and "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit") as a deranged cook; Molly Shannon as the arts and crafts teacher going through a divorce; and various and sundry "State" cast members as more camp counselors. Although there were a couple of bothersome anachronisms (like the "Cure" girl, who I thought was a little out of place in a 1981 camp movie--but maybe THAT'S the joke, who knows?), mostly they got the look and mood of those late '70s/early '80s camp movies down pat, complete with a soundtrack TEEMING with Loverboy songs. There's a very funny montage of the counselors going into town; they go from smoking cigarrettes to smoking weed to laying around a flop house in a heroin-induced stupor in the course of an hour. I also really liked the arts and crafts kids who speak very adultly to Molly Shannon about her breakup; the "rag-tag group of misfit" campers deciding that the softball championship game is "too trite" to carry out; the various kids tossed out of a speeding van when they became troublesome; the serial make-out queen; the gay wedding scene with Ian Michael Black and his lover wearing dashikis and flowers in their hair; Amy Poehler chewing out the kids doing a number from "Godspell" because they are not taking their "craft" seriously enough; oh, I could go on and on.

The DVD contains lots of extras, including many deleted scenes, with or without commentary by Showalter and Wain; one of the deleted scenes has Wain and Kerry Kenney from "Reno 911!" and "Viva Variety"; there were also more scenes of Amy Poehler saying things like "if you treat your craft like a lover, it will pay you back." I also enjoyed the deleted shot-by-shot re-enactment of a scene from "Animal House" that the director said no one "got" at the preview screening. Well, I got it and laughed my ass off! There are also interviews with some of the cast members about why they did the movie; a "making of" mini-documentary; trailers; songs; and cast/crew bios.

This definitely seemed like a labor of love for everyone involved; it was fun to see people like Chris Meloni flexing their comic muscles instead of scary "Oz" ones, and the whole movie is just thoroughly enjoyable and funny and over-the-top. Rent or Netflix it before the summer is over!

Felt Up Score:
Home Run!

NEXT UP: "The Night Porter," which breaks my cardinal rule of never watching ANYthing about the Holocaust, but since it involves kinky sex...well, what the hell.
The lead story in today's Page Six column by Richard "Dick" Johnson is a real humdinger! It seems that one of the butlers at the Bohemian Grove, the wacky-but-exclusive annual rich conservative guy retreat, is a former gay porn star. Yippee! Here's an edited account:


THE power-moguls and political heavyweights now luxuriating at ultra-exclusive retreat Bohemian Grove are unaware that they're being waited on hand-and-foot by a famous gay porn star.

We're told that "Chad Savage," who has appeared in such carnal classics as "How the West Was Hung," is supplementing his sex job by working as a valet at Bohemian Grove, the all-male annual gathering inside a 2,700-acre redwood forest in Monte Rio, Calif., that has been attended by every Republican president since Calvin Coolidge, as well as by industrial titans and media magnates...Grove spokesman Sam Singer...said the club didn't care about his past. "All that matters is that the valets do good service," he said. "That's really all that matters."

Savage sure knows how to provide "service." When he starred in "How the West Was Hung" in 1999, one reviewer wrote that he wore a "beatific grin" while engaging in an orgy, and added that his "youthful enthusiasm is entirely winning."

When they're not listening to policy speeches, "Bohos" are known to urinate freely in the redwoods and perform mock-druidic rituals that revolve around a 40-foot-tall stone owl. In one ritual, called "Cremation of Care," members wearing red-hooded robes cremate a coffin effigy of "Dull Care" at the base of the owl altar.

While the club has claimed its share of accomplishments — Grovers privately boast that the Manhattan Project to develop the atom bomb was conceived on its grounds — its oddball activities aren't for everyone. Richard Nixon once famously described the gathering as "the most faggy goddamned thing you could ever imagine."

Hee hee! Druidic rituals around a giant stone owl? Oh, those Bohos are a real hoot! (Rim shot...try the veal, etc.) Can't rich guys ever think up something FUN to do? And who would ever think I'd agree with Richard "Dick" Nixon about ANYTHING? But I'm definitely with Dick on this one...
Is there anything better than a completely insane celebrity? How nice to wake up this morning and find a FABULOUSLY frightening, deliciously deranged quote from one of the craaaaziest celebs out there: Ms. Sharon Stone, of course. Seems after her brain aneurism scare (didn't she also have a breast cancer scare that she 'cured' by giving up coffee or some such thing?) she has a new lease on life. Well, here, listen to the insane diva herself, it's a delightful treat:

"When my brain exploded, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I have such a better life now. I'm at the point in my life where if you don't want my peaches, don't shake my tree. I'm into Happy Town, and if you don't want to live in Happy Town, move, hit the friggin' bricks, baby."---from IMDB

Now myself, I don't think I want to live in Happy Town. I prefer Mildly Depressed Town, thank you very much. But I must agree about one thing: If you shake my tree, you're GONNA get my damn peaches. Uh huh. That's right. You say it, Sharon.

By the way, there were some great pictures in InStyle of La Stone at the Cannes Film Festival, acting--what else?--all craaaazy. She was flapping her arms wildly at a sit-down charity the same party, hosted by Giorgio Armani, there was a whole flock of crazy, blowsy old birds: Donatella Versace hugging Liza Minella (EEK!), which I promptly cut out and framed for my refrigerator; Kathleen Turner, looking positively H-A-R-S-H (she has some illness or so they SAY); Jerry Hall; Rod Stewart. If only Carrie Fisher had been there, it could have been an official Blowsy Broad Ball! Can I also mention that craaaazy Sharon Stone, who was one of the mc's, "jokingly" called Rod Stewart an "immature little punk" after he lifted his kilt at her and that she sang BACK UP for Natalie Cole, Sheryl "Old" Crow, and Liza Minelli? And that after Liza got a standing ovation for singing her mom Judy Garland's "You Made Me Love You," Liza whispered "Thank you, and....bonsoir." Oh, Liza. Sigh. I LOVE crazy famous ladies! And their crazy mothers, too!

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

In an effort to constantly bring you as many mundane details of my life as possible via the glory of the internet, I am adding yet ANOTHER new feature to Felt Up. This one is called The Book Nook, and in it I blather on about whatever book I happened to finish recently.


I finished Ethan Coen's book of short stories, The Gates of Eden, last night. (Yes, yes, it was a swingin' good time chez Felt Up last night. Blogging, reading, Netflixing, it's a regular Moulin Rouge over here, I know.) Anyway, this book was published in 1998, but since I buy most of my books at thrift stores, I found it thrillingly new and exciting; ie, I had never heard of it. Ethan is one half of YES, THOSE Coen Brothers, the nerdier one who is not married to Frances McDormand. I had no idea either of them ever wrote anything besides their screenplays. Happily, Ethan is as excellent at short-story writing as he is at whatever part he plays in the Coen Brothers movie-making machine (I imagine he writes the screenplays? The other directs? Don't really know, sadly). I am normally not a huge short story fan, but these were all great. Very Coen-y. Many are set in Minnesota, "yah's"-n-all; a few are quite noirish; some are like scripts, with just dialogue and a few sound effects; all are very stylishly, intelligently written and highly enjoyable. One I liked in particular was called "The Boys," about a father and his two young sons on a camping trip. The boys are driving the dad mad with their borderline freakish obsessive/compulsive behavior that all little kids are prone to (one is totally obsessed with the Sesame Street catalog and will only eat jelly omelettes); it's a little sad, but still funny. I highly recommend this book, to Coen Brothers fans and anyone else (although I don't think I know a single person who dislikes the Coen Brothers).

Felt Up Heavy Petting Score:

Last night I Netflixed "Party Monster: The Shockumentary." I enjoyed it, yes, but I couldn't help feeling like I wanted more...but more what? What was lacking? There were the re-enactments of the various and sundry crimes committed by the Party Monster himself, Michael Alig...interviews with his druggie club kid cohorts, including the arch and bitchy James St. James...MICHAEL MUSTO(!)...some footage of the '80s/90s NYC club/party what was it? Oh, I know. More outfits! Jeez, I really, really wanted and expected to see a TON of craaaaaazy club kid outfits, and there just weren't enough! Sure, they showed some of the "classics"--Drug Baby, Boy With X Lips, Exposed Brain Guy, Knife In Mouth, the ill-fated Angel, regular (yawn) drag queens...but I just wanted more, more, MORE than I actually got. I also wanted to see some of those old "Geraldo" episodes, more footage of the parties at the Limelight, more reasons why Alig killed poor Angel, just more of everything in general. (Except more scenes of his mother. She made me sad. Ditto Angel's brother.) It was only 59 minutes long, so maybe they just didn't have a lot of money, but still. More, you bitches, more! is what I believe the Party Monster would have cried out. And so shall I.

I have yet to see the Macauly Culkin "Party Monster," but when I do I will compare it with this one in a frame-by-frame analysis that will make those frogs at Cahiers du Cinema look like a bunch of grade school chumps! I'm kidding! No, I'm not. Yes, I am. Maybe.

Felt-Up Heavy Petting Score:
Second Base

OK, I am BACK. And what do I find when I return from (more) southern climes? Oh, just that Stephen Hawking has rejected his entire theory of black holes, that's all. Now, you may not know it to look at her, but your humble Felt Up Blogette spends quite a bit of her time pondering such issues as "If I were to shove Celine Dion into a black hole, would she disappear entirely; get spit out in some even more hideous, mangled form; or merely get tranferred into a whole new universe, which she could rule with an even tinier fist and perhaps even a longer face?" I used to think that it was the last answer, but nooooooooo, Mr. Stephen Hawking says it's actually the second one. At least she would be mangled beyond recognition. Here's a brief intro from the page one story in the NY Times:

Hawking Says He Was Wrong About Black Holes

"DUBLIN, Ireland (AP) -- After 29 years of thinking about it, Stephen Hawking says he was wrong about black holes. The renowned Cambridge University physicist presented a paper Wednesday arguing that black holes, the celestial vortexes formed from collapsed stars, preserve traces of objects swallowed up and eventually could spit bits out ``in a mangled form.''

Hawking's radical new thinking caps his three-decade struggle to explain a paradox in scientific thinking: How can objects really ``disappear'' inside a black hole and leave no trace, as he long believed, when subatomic theory says matter can be transformed but never fully destroyed?"

How, indeed? Gee, you go to San Antonio for a few hours and come back to find that your entire theory of the universe has been turned upside down--like when I saw Tori Spelling's wedding on the cover of People magazine instead of the death of Marlon Brando. I still haven't recovered from THAT one. However, the article goes on to say that there were skeptics in the audience who scoffed at Hawking's radical re-thinking. And because of his debillitating illness and whatnot, they could only ask him two questions in the half-hour follow-up to his presentation. Maybe he will some day be proved wrong. I say that instead of sending up a perfect sphere to test Einstein's theories, we send up Celine Dion to test Hawking's! There's GOT to be a black hole somewhere nearby...ooh, that opens me up for a whole lot of naughty jokes, but I am taking the high road on this one. Oh, all right. How about we send Celine deep inside Whitney Houston and see if there really is a "crack" in the universal space/time continuum? (Sound of rim shot.) Thank you, ladies and germs, I'll be here all week. Try the veal!
Just a quickie today, I'm afraid, because I'm off to San Antonio in search of buried treasure!
Did see this, though at the IMDB:

"Hollywood beauty Kirsten Dunst has dumped her movie hunk boyfriend Jake Gyllenhaal, blaming "filming commitments". Spider-Man 2 actress Dunst and The Day After Tomorrow actor Gyllenhaal had been an item for two years before the surprise split two weeks ago. Since they began dating both Dunst and Gyllenhaal have become internationally famous, and Dunst's role in the Spider-Man movies has made her one of the most recognizable actresses in the world. An insider says, 'Kirsten and Jake had been spending a lot of time apart because they both had filming commitments. But Jake was totally besotted with her and is devastated that she has broken up with him. Kirsten's career has sky rocketed. She's one of the hottest young actresses in Hollywood right now. She felt her relationship with Jake was emotionally draining and she couldn't cope with it on top of her work. It's very sad for Jake. He is really heartbroken.' "

What a fool! IF this is even true. I have my doubts. What kind of freak would dump Jake Hunkenhaal? It just can't be true. Although if it IS true, that leaves him wide open for the likes of "Terri K."! Hee hee.

Also Martha Stewart got mad at Larry King for doing the OLDEST JOKE EVER--the "Martha Stewart can re-decorate her jail cell" bit--HA HA HA. Very good material, Mr. King, KUDOS. Especially funny to say it to Martha's face right before SHE GOES TO JAIL. Ooooh, she was NOT amused. Can you blame her? Mainly, it's simply NOT FUNNY. She did say that she is going to spend her jail time writing a 'self-help' book and stated without hesitation that it is going to be "a bestseller." It's that kind of humility that really won over the jury in her trial. But you know what? I think she's right. Hell, I know I would buy one.

And one last tidbit, from, just because it's funny:

"MOSCOW, Russia (AP) -- Drunken passengers often give air crews trouble, but Russia's leading airline on Tuesday reported an "unprecedented" reversal: A passenger was assaulted by intoxicated flight attendants.

Two crew members on a domestic Aeroflot flight beat up a passenger who had complained that the flight attendants were drunk, airline spokeswoman Irina Dannenberg said.

The passenger, identified only as A. Chernopup, was aboard a recent flight from Moscow to the Siberian city of Nizhnevartovsk, Dannenberg said. She said the crew belonged to another airline, Aviaenergo.

Seeing that the crew were intoxicated and were not fulfilling their duties, Chernopup asked to be served by a sober and competent flight attendant, Dannenberg said. He was then beaten up by crew members.

On Russian flights, attendants often have to struggle to keep intoxicated passengers under control. But on this flight, Dannenberg said, flight attendants were so intoxicated that they "behaved improperly" and only began catering to passengers 1 1/2 hours into the four-hour trip.

The daily Izvestia quoted another passenger as saying that half of the food the crew served ended up on the floor, leaving the aisle strewn with debris that passengers had to walk over as they disembarked. The flight attendants who beat Chernopup were men, Izvestia reported.

According to the passenger, Chernopup left the plane with a black eye and was promptly sent to a doctor. Izvestia also reported that a criminal case was opened after Chernopup reported the incident to the police."

Adios, amigos!

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

From the "Why Am I Not Rich?" File comes this little tidbit from InStyle:

"In the mood for a little in-room tub time? At any Ritz-Carlton or Four Seasons, unwind as you sip chilled champagne in a relaxing bath that has been drawn by a bath butler. In addition to getting bubbly with your bubbles, you can have extras like strewn rose petals, candles and chocolate-covered strawberries."

Bath butler? Somewhere there is a person who has the job title of "Bath Butler." Wow. I don't know what to say, except ME WANTIE!!

This was the issue that has caused a few non-news headlines, because it features J. Lo on the cover and she is PISSED that they talk about her wedding in the article. I guess they did the photo shoot before her nuptials to tiny, hideous Latin troll Marc Anthony; by the time the issue was ready to go to press, she'd already been married and that's what they wanted to focus the article on...I skimmed over the article (B-O-R-I-N-G) for anything untoward that might have incurred the wrath of La Lopez, but it is InStlye, after all, and so there's mainly a lot of "there were lots of clues to the impending marriage: At our photo shoot Anthony sat close by Lopez's side while she was being readied by hair and makeup stylists." Ooooh, that's cutting pretty close to the bone with some hard-hitting non-journalism, no WONDER she's throwing a diva fit! What I think is particularly funny is that she's Miss I Keep My Private Life Private all of a sudden, as if we never as a nation, and may I dare say, a species, were forced to endure the almost-never-ending accounts of the minutae of her private life as part of Bennifer. Oh, the gall. That girl has GALL! Chutzpah! Cajones! (Someone in that marriage has to....)
There's a great, but bittersweet, story about r&b legend Ruth Brown in the current online edition of the NY Times. She has had many, many health problems, including a stroke in 2000 that caused memory lapses, slurred speech, and other difficulties. She has recently begun singing in a chair, to great aclaim. Here's a great quote from the article:

"Ray called me and said, `I'm doing this movie,' " Ms. Brown said, recalling one of her last conversations with Charles, an old band mate. "He said, `Who do you want to play you?' And I said, `Halle Berry, you crazy fool!' He said, `I ain't that blind.' "

Sometimes the mortgage payment on her house in a retirement village outside of Las Vegas has to be paid by BB King or Bonnie The Sports Guy would say, it's getting dusty in here...Why else would I have tears in my eyes?

Check out the article at:
Your Felt Up Blogette is creating a new section called What I Netflixed Last Night. Here is the first installment...(sound of drumroll):

Last night I Netflixed "Confessions of A Dangerous Mind," directed by George Clooney. (Can I just mention my obession with the fact that Clooney was on TWO shows called ER? The first one, which apparently I and I alone have ever seen, was a comedy set in--yes, you guessed it--an ER, and starred Elliot Gould and that lady from "Dances With Wolves." The other show is, I believe, a drama.) The movie stars tiny cutie-pie Sam Rockwell, Clooney, Drew Barrymore, and Julia Roberts. It's based on the autobiography of Chuck Barris, creator of "The Gong Show," "The Dating Game," "The Newlywed Game," and my personal favorite, "The $1.98 Beauty Show." In his book, Barris claimed to also have been a contract hit man for the CIA. The movie takes him at his word, and uses his game-show-producer-by-day/CIA hitman-at-night story to create an interesting, fun, Soderburgh-esque (he was a producer, so there you go) look at the changing cultural landscape of the 1950s through the 1970s. Charlie Kaufman wrote the screenplay, so it has an odd, endearing-yet-dickish, offbeat quality that I enjoyed very much. Sam Rockwell is a genius and should have been nominated for an Academy Award for this.

I saw this movie in the theater, but it was good to see it on DVD as well. There's lots of worthwhile extra features, like the "Is it true?" section and the mini-documentary about Chuck Barris, plus real-life scenes from "The Gong Show." All of the deleted scenes were really good--so good that it seems a shame they couldn't squeeze them into the movie...All in all an entertaining, well-directed, creatively-shot and extremely well-acted movie. Too bad it kind of bombed at the box office. Oh, well. I heart Sam Rockwell! (I think he used to date that gorgeous Indian-American actress from "Mississippi Masala" but she married someone else. What a fool!)


(Scoring is modeled on that tried-but-true heavy-petting baseball metaphor:
Sucked--First Base
Sucky, But OK--Second Base
Good--Third Base
Really, really good--Home Run!)

In my next What I Netflixed Last Night: "Party Monster: The Shockumentary"
More signs of the End of the World, courtesy of

"LOS ANGELES, California (Reuters) -- Pop star Michael Jackson, facing a trial on child molestation charges, is about to become a father to four more children -- quadruplets -- by way of a surrogate mother, Us Weekly magazine reported Tuesday."

Ugh. Note that CNN and Reuters are citing Us Weekly as a reliable source. Hee-hee. Which reminds me: Are the news agencies getting advanced copies of Us Weekly or what? MY current issue contains no mention of wee Princes Michael III-VI gettin' ready in the pipeline. I have a SUBSCRIPTION to the thing, so why am I behind? I'm losing valuable gossip lead-time! By the time I get my mitts on my beloved trash-a-zine, it's OLD NEWS! Bah humbug.

Wow. And I thought Diet Mountain Dew and Whiskey didn't mix! Apparently neither do Michael Moore, Linda Ronstadt, and The Vegas:

"Singer Linda Ronstadt has become the latest celebrity political casualty, after being fired for praising Michael Moore's controversial film Fahrenheit 9/11 during a live performance. Before singing "Desperado" for an encore at Las Vegas' Aladdin hotel and casino on Saturday night, the 58-year-old singer called Moore a "great American patriot" and "someone who is spreading the truth". She also encouraged the audience to see the documentary, which criticizes American President George W Bush. Ronstadt's comments drew loud boos and some of the 4,500 people in attendance stormed out of the theatre. People also tore down concert posters and tossed cocktails into the air. Aladdin president Bill Timmins says, "It was a very ugly scene. She praised him and all of a sudden all bedlam broke loose." Timmins quickly decided Ronstadt had to go - for good. He says he didn't allow Ronstadt back in her luxury suite and she was escorted off the property. He adds, "(Ronstadt's antics) spoiled a wonderful evening for our guests and we had to do something about it. As long as I'm here, she's not going to play." Ronstadt had been booked to play the Aladdin for only one show. Last week, comedienne Whoopi Goldberg was dropped as a spokesperson for diet aid company Slim-Fast after she mocked Bush during a fund-raiser. "--IMDB

How tacky! Not letting Linda back into her suite? Kicking her to the curb? J'accuse, Aladdin president Bill Timmins, j'accuse! And who are these boobs and yahoos ripping down her posters and tossing perfectly good cocktails in the air in an anti-Michael Moore frenzy? J'accuse, boobs, j'accuse!

Note that this all happened during THE ENCORE. I will set the scene (imagine an Ibsen mob at the Aladdin): "We want Linda! We want Linda! We want...whaaa? Michael who? WHAT did she just say? Patriot? Oh, no she didn't! THIS COCKTAIL THAT I PAID $9 FOR IS GOING RIGHT IN THE AIR, LADY! That'll show you what I think of your left-wing anti-troops rhetoric! You can't praise Michael Moore in THIS town! THIS IS VEGAS! Where's that damn poster? THERE! RIGHT IN THE KISSER! Take THAT Miss Commie-Wannabe-Jane-Fonda-Singer-Lady! You're no good! You're no good! You're no good, baby, you're no gooooooooood..."
"WHICH celebutante has been caught snorting disco dust inside the ladies' rooms of more than one trendy Meatpacking District nightclub? So far, no one has turned her in. "--A 'blind item' in Richard 'Dick' Johnson's Page Six column

All I want to say about the above is that I don't know which word/phrase I love more: "celubutante" or "disco dust." Hard do say, but they BOTH just entered my permanent vocabulary list!

Also, in Dick's "Sightings" AKA The "Why Don't I Live in NYC?" File:

"PRINCE, clad in a silk robe and glow-in-the-dark sneakers, blowing kisses to himself onscreen at Butter as he watched a video of one of his Garden concerts with a crowd that included the Rev. Al Sharpton . . . "

Whoa. I would have paid a pretty penny to see THAT. Silk robe, glow-in-the-dark sneakers. Prince knows how to adore himself! At a club called 'Butter,' no less. Yowza!

Monday, July 19, 2004

Oy, it's a slow non-news day. Sure, Arnie "The Gubernator" made some silly comments about California Democrats being "girlie men," which got their underpants all bunched up (yes, it's an inane and totally Ahnuld thing to do and say--and not even HIS line, it was from SNL) but do they really expect any better from this man? Do they expect eloquence, "Four Score and Seven Years Ago"-type speechifying, from this goon? He's an absolutely insane, egomaniacal, lecherous Nazi dickwad who has turned his once-intelligent wife into an anorexic slobbering fool and who once made fun of/cursed out hearing-impaired Lou Ferrigno in front of his parents ON FILM ("Pumping Iron"). Anyway, what's to get worked up about?

But I did see this in Richard "Dick" Johnson's column:

"CONVINCING a dwarf to pose in a nude fashion layout is no small feat. Just ask the staff at hipster glossy Another Magazine, which launched a frenzied search last week to find an immodest male midget to star in a shoot with a batch of scantily clad Click agency models, lensed by photographer Alexi Hay. At the 11th hour, Craig Lechner's Impossible Casting delivered Little Jimmy, an emcee at the Coney Island Circus Side show, who just happens to hire himself out for bachelorette parties as a mini- male stripper. (He also ap peared as an Oompa Loompa in the 1971 classic, "Willy Wonka and the Choco late Factory.") "He's in his 60s, but he's a stud," Lechner told us. "He looks great." Ironically, Impossible Casting was also recently tapped to find a giant for a fashion spread in an upcoming issue of Italian Vogue. The agency came up with former wrestler Radu, a 7-foot-plus Russian who is making his big screen debut this fall as a villain in the new "Pink Panther" movie, which stars Steve Martin."

The end of civilization as we know it is upon us. Buy some canned food, a candle, bottled water, get your Netflix, and never venture out of your home. Ever again. That's what I plan to do, anyway. Although I WILL have to buy a copy of Another Magazine and Italian Vogue...hmmm...OK, but just that, and then I will run home and never leave. I mean it.

Friday, July 16, 2004

Just got the new People and boy it is D-U-L-L. The only highlights for me: a good, up-close picture of Courtney Love being taken off to Bellevue, shackled to the gurney and looking unbelievably bruised and freaky; and an in-depth profile of Mary Kay Letourneau, who is about to be released from prison. The frisky former teacher, who gave birth to two children by her former 12-year-old student/lover, wants to rekindle the flame of their (formerly) forbidden love, now that he is of legal age. Here's the best quote:

"And will Letourneau find him as good a catch at 21 as she did when he was 12? 'At some point they are going to realize they have nothing in common,' says Olsen [author of If Loving You Is Wrong, an account of the case]. 'Really, they barely know each other.'"

Oh, Mary Kay. Where will your crazy heart take you now? And where can I get a copy of If Loving You Is Wrong? I LOVED it in the second "Brady Bunch" movie when they kept playing that song whenever Greg and Marsha looked at each other. What a great name for a Mary Kay Letourneau bio! There was also a little sidebar on the newest female teacher/boy student affaire de scandale, involving 8th grade teacher Debra Beasley Lafave and her 14-year-old student gettin' down in Florida. The best part about their forbidden love story was when the boy's cousin didn't believe he was gettin' hot with teacher, they allegedly went and picked up the cousin in her SUV so he could drive them around while they did it in the backseat. I can see where she would be outraged that no one believed her teenage student/lover's big flappin' mouth and would want the record set straight. That makes a lot of sense.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Seems like the old New York punk pioneers are dropping like flies. Guitar player Bob Quine (Television, a ton of other great NY bands) died recently, and now I'm sad to report that Arthur Kane of the NY Dolls has died of leukemia; what doubly sucks is that the Dolls had recently re-formed and were playing shows in England (at a Morissey festival!!)and were planning one in NYC. Yahoo News had this to say:

"New York Dolls bassist Arthur Kane died Tuesday night in Los Angeles due to complications from leukemia, the pioneering '70s glam rock group's manager told Kane was 55.

The reunited Dolls were fresh off a well-received appearance at Morrissey's Meltdown Festival in London last month and had also opened some of Morrissey's concerts in May in New York. It is unclear if the David Johansen-led group will still perform next month at Little Steven's International Underground Garage Festival in New York...

Kane is the fourth member of the Dolls to pass away, including guitarist Johnny Thunders, who died of a drug overdose in 1991."

Is Arthur Kane the only NY Doll to die of natural causes? Not sure...
RUN, do not walk, to your nearest bookstore and get a copy of the new Paper Magazine, because it contains an awesome-sounding article on everyone's favorite genius/nutball/grumpy gus Vincent Gallo. According to Page Six:

"CRANKY actor/artist/film-maker Vincent Gallo always seems to be slamming his fellow celebrities, and now Paper magazine has compiled a handy compendium. On actor Tim Roth: 'Tim Roth is like holding a penis upside down to make it appear erect.' On Christina Ricci: 'I don't like her. But it's OK. She's basically a puppet. I told her what to do, and she did it.' Indie filmmaker Harmony Korine is 'a mini- dwarf, faggot date-raper.' And Gallo's hometown of Buffalo is ' "Deliverance' with smokestacks."' Paper left out Gallo's feud with movie critic Roger Ebert, on whom Gallo once told us he had put an 'unremovable black magic curse' that would give him colon cancer. When Ebert later contracted cancer of the salivary gland, Gallo was dubbed 'Vinny Black Magic' by pals."

Oh, I love a celeb who says vicious things about other celebs. I LOVE them! Terri R. is going to PEE her PANTs about this one.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Richard "Dick" Johnson had a couple of nice tidbits in his Page Six NY Post column today, such as a sighting of "Q-Tip showing up at the new Diner 24 at 11 p.m. and ordering a slice of Key lime pie to go — then returning 10 minutes later for another one." Sigh. Who is the lucky lady sending Q-Tip out for key lime pie? Whoever she is I am sure of one thing: I hate her.

Now THIS is the kind of dirty, backhanded, mean-spirited, and possibly untrue non-journalilsm I like to see:


NOW hair this: Christina Aguilera may be losing her locks. One well-placed follicle flunky tells us the singer's classy, curly new 'do is designed to cover up her bald spots. 'They don't know if it's alopecia, the disease, or if it's from wearing extensions all these years,' says our spy. 'Her hair is falling out. Her new look is supposed to cover up the hair that she's already lost.' But Aguilera's rep flatly denies the allegations: 'It's absolutely not true. There is nothing wrong with her hair.'"

This sort of reminds me of the "Tracy Turnblatt has roaches in her hair" rumor from "Hairspray." But this one is in print! Hooray! Can your hair really fall out from overusing extensions? Note to self...
Well, it's five o'clock SOMEwhere! That seems to be Ms. Britney Spears' attitude these days, and I must say, you go trashy girl, you go!

From the IMDB:

"Pop beauty Britney Spears stunned shoppers in Malibu, California yesterday by downing shots and eating junk food in the street at lunchtime. The singer, 22, was out with her new fiance Kevin Federline when the couple stopped to buy chips, orangeade, and a miniature bottle of whiskey before tucking in as they walked along. And onlookers were shocked by the disheveled appearance of the glamorous superstar, who paused briefly to drain the bottle dry. One says, 'I had to look twice - it didn't even look like Britney. Her hair was a mess and she looked like she was wearing his jeans, they were so long. The only giveaway was her bling-bling engagement ring.' The couple have just returned from a romantic break in Hawaii following the announcement of their engagement."

Yahoo! I love stories like these. Disheleved, slovenly, chips-n-orangeade-downing pop princess drains a mini-bottle of whiskey in an alley in Cali with her on-the-payroll totally icky fiance/backup dancer. Do you believe in likelihoods?

Monday, July 12, 2004

From the "Something Else To Worry About" file, which is already quite large, this little piece of joyous news from the NY Times:

"Will Compasses Point South?"

"The collapse of the Earth's magnetic field, which both guards the planet and guides many of its creatures, appears to have started in earnest about 150 years ago. The field's strength has waned 10 to 15 percent, and the deterioration has accelerated of late, increasing debate over whether it portends a reversal of the lines of magnetic force that normally envelop the Earth.

During a reversal, the main field weakens, almost vanishes, then reappears with opposite polarity. Afterward, compass needles that normally point north would point south, and during the thousands of years of transition, much in the heavens and Earth would go askew.

A reversal could knock out power grids, hurt astronauts and satellites, widen atmospheric ozone holes, send polar auroras flashing to the equator and confuse birds, fish and migratory animals that rely on the steadiness of the magnetic field as a navigation aid. But experts said the repercussions would fall short of catastrophic, despite a few proclamations of doom and sketchy evidence of past links between field reversals and species extinctions.

Although a total flip may be hundreds or thousands of years away, the rapid decline in magnetic strength is already damaging satellites."

OK. Call me a crazy loon, but the freakishly wet and mild summer we've had in these parts recently has totally convinced me that a "Day After Tomorrow" scenario is unfolding RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR EYES, and now this. Goddamn Magnetic Fields. It's not just a musical concept project anymore, people, it's the end of the world! "Species extinctions?" "Much in the heavens and Earth would GO ASKEW?" AAAAAAHHHHH! I am mentally running and screaming and waving my hands! I'm Chicken Little and the sky IS falling! (Or the earth is. I'm not a scientist, dammnit, I'm a Blogger!) And here I was foolishly worried about the deadly snakes! (By the way, The NY Times online edition has no mention that I can find of the monsoon, the five million homeless South Asians, or the floating killer snakes. But I'm still looking.) Compasses will point south? Confused fish and fowl? What's next, the raining down of frogs? The sea turning red? A leviathan floating ashore? It's getting really Biblical these days, and I for one don't like it ONE BIT!

What I need is some good old-fashioned celebrities-run-amok stories. Where the hell is Kirstie Alley when I need her? I want her to weigh, oh, four hundred pounds or something awesome like that. 300 is not enough. I want Anna Nicole to admit to a crystal meth diet. I'm not picky! I know, I know, Courtney Love. Bless her heart. Her poor, drug-addled, tired-ass heart. But she is, quite frankly, old news. Sure, she was taken this weekend to Bellevue wearing nothing but a camisole and handcuffs, shrieking to the authorities about celebrating her 40th birthday with an abortion/miscarriage, and sure, she showed up on the wrong coast of the U.S. for one of her many assault/drug court cases, but I've come to expect this kind of behavior from Lady Love and the thrill is just kind of...gone. Don't get me wrong, she's the most run-amok celeb we've got these days, and I thank God every day she's around to give inspiration to other up-n-comers (Lindsay Lohan? Britney? Keep your fingers crossed!), but I want more. I'm greedy. I want stick-thin, bulemic, mentally unstable crackheads with more money than sense--I want Whitney! Where the hell is that reality show with her and Bobby? I need to stop worrying about the magnetic fields and the crumbling of American democracy and the floating snakes and focus all my attention on what really matters: Whitney and Bobby. Is that so much to ask? Huh?

On a positive note, the good people at Star Magazine have kindly offered me a free four-issue trial subscription and I say, thank you, Star, I accept!
After that last entry I needed to cleanse myself with the strange healing powers of trashy gossip and non-news. Thanks, for this:

"Why there exists such a thing as an anti-Britney-engager-Kevin-Federline trucker hat is unclear. What are we saying "no" to? Is it his Fresno meth-lab upbringing, which makes him unable to shave his unfortunate wisps of clumpy facial gunk? His claim to being a dancer and appearing shirtless in paparazzi photos while still refusing to exhibit any manner of rippling abdominals? Is it... his love of trucker hats? And, if so, does this mean trucker hats are back?"

There's a link to an image that says "Just Say No to Kevin." Hee-hee. Was he actually raised in a Fresno meth-lab, or is that just bitchiness? Oh, if it were true it might almost make up for the five million homeless South Asians. Almost. Also, I sell trucker hats and they are totally back. They went away for like, five minutes, and now there's a retro retro revival of them. It's this whole self-ironic irony thing within a cynical meta ironic retro reference. If you know what I mean.
Your humble Felt Up Blogette does not often venture into the realm of real, non-celeb news, but after seeing this wee headline at she felt...a strange sense of disconnectedness, an existential crisis of some's hard to put into words, but here's what set her off:

"Millions Flee South Asia Floods"

"GUWAHATI, India (Reuters) -- Overflowing rivers, snakebites and landslides have killed dozens of people in South Asia and forced millions from their homes in the worst monsoon flooding in years, officials said Monday.

More than 5 million people were marooned or left homeless in low-lying parts of eastern India, Bangladesh and Nepal as river waters flooded huge swathes of land.

Thousands were stuck on rooftops, waiting for military helicopters to rescue them or provide food.

The chief minister of India's northeastern Assam state, where 2 million have been made homeless, appealed for international aid, saying the state was battling the worst floods in recent years."

FIVE MILLION PEOPLE are homeless? What the F? And let me tell you, this was not the lead story. A political story on how "safe" Americans feel during an election year was the lead. Because, you know, five million Indians/Nepalese/Bangladeshis...who cares? If FIVE Americans were in any way affected by a flood, it would be the lead story at CNN. I guaran-f-ing-tee it. I realize this is taking place on the other side of the world. But FIVE MILLION people? Can I donate a can of low-carb soup or something? They won't let me give blood anymore because the Red Cross thinks I might possibly have Mad Cow Disease from living in Scotland in the early '90s, so that's out. A blanket? A canoe? What to do? Where are these people going to go? Is there, like, a really big high school gymnasium somewhere in Bangladesh, like my family went to when it flooded in Tulsa, OK in 1976?

The mere mention of snakebites, too, just BLOWS my MIND, man...Just when you thought a monsoon was a bummer, then come...THE SNAKES!!! I can't even get through a pleasant summer evening listening to soft rock and watching "Anchorman" without complaining bitterly about the ants and lack of proper seating (see earlier blog entry), and these people have to contend with monsoons, floods, no electricity, no water, no gas...AND DEADLY SNAKES!!!!I am horribly ashamed. (Yet still bitter about the lack of chairs at the show.)
Another sad day: Isabel Sanford has died. She was best known for her role as "Weezie" Jefferson on "The Jeffersons." Years from now I'm sure we will all remember where we were when we heard the news...Oh, Weezie. She's movin' on up to the deluxe apartment in the sky.

In more upbeat news, from the "Why Don't I Have Cable Tv" file, the NY Times is running an article now about Will Ferrell crashing onto the set of a CNBC business news show called "Power Lunch," and here are some highlights:

"Since the day CNBC began broadcasts in April 1989, Sue Herera has been a steady presence on the cable channel, chronicling the news from the business world with a tone that is often sober.

So it might have been something of a shock last week for viewers to see her kiss a man square on the mouth at her anchor desk and to hear her purr as she was implored "to make hot Spanish love right now.''....

Dressed in an untucked golf shirt and rumpled cotton slacks, Mr. Ferrell appeared suddenly at the anchor desk as Ms. Herera was thanking a correspondent for a report on the results of an auction of five-year Treasury notes.

"G.E. is bankrupt,'' Mr. Ferrell announced, appearing to read a headline about CNBC's parent company from a sheaf of papers he had grabbed from the desk....

"Kenneth Lay likes to wear makeup as a woman,'' Mr. Ferrell intoned, ignoring Mr. Griffeth and again appearing to read a headline, this one about the indictment of the former Enron chief.

It was then that Mr. Ferrell leaned across the desk to plant a kiss on Ms. Herrera, who, despite never having met Mr. Ferrell, offered no resistance. She ended up locking lips with Mr. Ferrell five times, in less than a minute."

Damn, I wish I could've seen that! I love that he said "G.E. is bankrupt," since G.E. owns CNBC, NBC, etc. The executives must have peed their pants! Hee-hee. I heart Will Ferrell!

Friday, July 09, 2004

I am totally OUTRAGED! I just got my new People magazine in the mail, and the cover story is Tori Spelling's wedding, while up in a teeny, tiny corner is "Remembering Marlon Brando 1924-2004." What the F? TORI SPELLING????? I am speechless. I am without speech. Is it even necessary to go into the reasons for my outrage? My disbelief? TORI SPELLING???? Has the whole world gone insane? Is the Earth spinning backwards on its axis? Do I now live in Bizarro World? The erosion of civil liberties in the United States, sure, I can live with it. The probablity that in the next four years American women will lose their right to chose whether or not to have a zygote in their bodies, yeah, saw it coming. The deaths of Americans and Iraquis for a corrupt, lying, secretive right-wing Christian fundamentalist insane moronic president? OK. But Marlon Brando's life and death getting bumped from the cover of People for TORI SPELLING'S NUPTIALS? I don't want to live in a world where this can happen...If this was not a free promotional issue, I would totally cancel my subscription. J'accuse, People Magazine, J'accuse!
Another pretty slow non-news day. Did see these two funny quotes in the NY Post:

"If 12,000 Easter bunnies have to die for me to keep my mustache on straight or if one monkey has to die to cure cancer — then so be it. I am not against animals. I have animals and they are all stuffed. But, really, Iraq is more important to me than veal" — John Waters on "

Well, I totally agreee. If a hundred gazillion Easter bunnies had to die to keep John Waters' mustache on straight, then so be it. His mustache is what keeps me going, what gives me a reason to get up in the morning, to carry on in the face of world-wide catastrophe. And I LOVE Easter bunnies. I'm totally PRO-bunnies. I'm just MORE pro-John Waters' mustache. I'm not going to take a stand on the monkey/cancer issue because I'm simply not well-informed enough.

"BECAUSE of Bush's tax cuts, I saved a million and a half in taxes last year. Does anyone think that's fair?" — Ben Affleck at a John Kerry fund-raiser."

I think that's funny on a number of levels, the funniest being that if he hadn't ruined his career by going out with J-Lo, he probably would have paid a LOT MORE TAXES. They can't tax what you aren't earning, Mr. Gigli, did you ever think of that? At least he's a Democrat. Lucky us!

In other non-news, Terri R., Michele S. and her dog O., and I went to see the premiere of "Anchorman" at Waterloo Park last night. Now, I love the Alamo Drafthouse, and I ended up having a wonderful time, but the website clearly stated that if you bought a VIP advanced ticket you would be "guaranteed a seat." By which I inferred that there would be chairs of some kind. Now, anyone who has even a casual aquaintance with the Felt Up bloggette knows that she is not exactly Nature Girl. So you can imagine my chagrin (I can't keep up the third person thing, it's exhausting) when I found out that there were no chairs whatsoever and we would, in fact, be sittinng on the ground. I mean, I've been known to complain bitterly about the uncomfortable seating at the Village Alamo (not to mention the angled-by-the-devil seats in the Dobie Egyptian Tomb-themed theater), and I was actually worried that the chairs provided would be the folding/wedding kind that make your butt hurt in about twenty-two seconds. But no chairs at all? I don't want to sound like a world-class wimp; it's just that I had certain expectations, and hadn't prepared myself mentally or physically for such adventures--or brought a portable La-Z-Boy, comfy pillow, hair-dryer, mini-fan--or in fact taken ANY steps to ensure a modicum of outdoor comfort. I was also wearing a skirt.

Luckily Michele S. had a (small) blanket for the dog, but this event lasted several hours: pre-show announcements, wistful musings on '70s tv broadcasting by local Fox News anchor Dick Ellis (who is a lot tanner in person than he appears on tv), trivia contest (Aha! I won the best prize!), then an hour-long soft-rock set by local Felt Up faves Summer Breeze (AWEsome!), and THEN the movie. So that's a long time to be so close to nature. By the end of the evening there were ants in places no ant had ventured before (I hope). Not to be too graphic, but James Brown's "I've Got Ants in My Pants (And I Need To Dance)" would have been an appropriate soundtrack for most of the evening. Also there were only two porta-potties, which forced Michele S. and I to run across the street to the hospital for "bladder emergencies" to avoid missing the movie.

Other than those issues, though, the night was prettty damn fun. "Anchorman" was hysterical; I don't want to spoil anything, but let's just say that I had never properly considered the concept of "jazz flute" before. I may have to see it again soon in a regular theater, because there was a tree blocking part of the screen, and the screen itself was inflatable and kept swaying and warping in a disturbing acid-trippy way that kind of freaked me out a little and distracted me somewhat from the non-stop comedy high-jinks. The movie is chock full of funny cameos--ALL the usual funny suspects, I will say no more--and great performancees from Will "I Can Just Stand There and Be Funny" Ferrell, Christina Applegate, Stephen Correll (of "The Daily Show"), Paul Rudd, and of course Fred Willard. Go see "Anchorman," for God's sake, and bring your bug repellent.

PS: FYI: When trying to win a giant outdoors trivia contest, it's best to shout out the answer BEFORE they can finish the question. Unfair? Maybe. Evil genius? YES. Sometimes the two go hand-in-hand.