Monday, July 31, 2006

MELtdown!

CNN reports that anti-Semitic-ranter/boozehound/sugar-tit-caller Mel Gibson has entered into the inevitable rehab program:
Academy Award winning actor-director Mel Gibson entered a rehab program after his arrest on suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol, his publicist said Monday.

"He has entered into an ongoing program of recovery," said the publicist, Alan Nierob.

Harrumph. I'm not impressed, although I suppose career-wise he had no choice but to enter a 12-step program to get himself off the sauce; I just wonder if there's some kind of rehab he can enter for his hate-mongering crackpottery, sexist nutjobbery, and anti-Semitic looney-tunism?

Take a gander at his awesome mug shot--but be careful. Don't look too long at his craaaaazy eyes!

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Amazing what 20 some-odd years of insanity, alcoholism, and superstardom can do to a man. Compare the above oddly pervy-looking creep with this picture of Mel in his "Gallipoli" days, when he was a fresh-faced, handsome young actor with his whole future (and many, many terrible movies) ahead of him:

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Speaking of Mel, there is a great article in today's Slate called "Is Mel Gibson An Anti-Semite?" by Christopher Hitchens (who is no stranger to the lure of the bottle himself). Hitchens does not exactly have to wrestle very long with this question before he concludes:
It has been obvious for some time to the most meager intelligence that he is sick to his empty core with Jew-hatred.

Heh! This piece is part of Slate's front page slew of articles about The Gibson Affair, including handy guides to his arrest/meltdown, his level of drunkeness, and possible career repercussions--it's a veritable Melapalooza!

Plus, there's a plea on The Huffington Post from super-agent Ari Emmanuel--who was the model for Jeremy "I Found Inner Peace By Doing Outdoor Yoga On My Spiritual Journey To India" Piven's character on "Entourage," Ari Gold--for Hollywood to blackball ole Mel:
People in the entertainment community, whether Jew or gentile, need to demonstrate that they understand how much is at stake in this by professionally shunning Mel Gibson and refusing to work with him, even if it means a sacrifice to their bottom line.

Huzzahs for Ari Emmanuel! Hug it out!

Yes, Mel may be in his own private hell right now, but your humble Felt Up blogette is in heaven!

Please, allmighty Yahweh, please, I beseech thee: Let the Mel-bashing last just a lil' while longer, for it fills my heart with pure, blessed joy! Shalom!

Monday Mishmash


Your humble Felt Up blogette had a celebrity sighting last night--huzzah! Boyfriend of Felt Up and I went to the Alamo Drafthouse to see the Foleyvision presentation of "Hindi Superman," and who should sit down right in front of us? Mr. Quentin Tarantino, who is in town filming his portion of "Grindhouse." He sat down with a voluptuous brunette and drank a soda with his meal. Sadly, co-director Robert Rodriguez did not show up with homewrecking leading lady Rose MacGowan, which would have made the evening a trifecta of gossipy delight. Still, hicks in sticks take what they can get!

In other non-news, the The NY Times dips its dainty toes into the gossip muck today with a piece about the readers--and the new editor--of Marie Claire going off on Ashlee Simpson, after she did a cover article all about how people should be happy with their God-given bodies, and then went off and had her nose chopped off:
Ashlee Simpson appeared on the July cover of Marie Claire magazine extolling the virtues of appreciating one’s body as it is — then she had a nose job.

Ashlee Simpson talked about valuing one’s God-given attributes in the July Marie Claire. Maggie Gyllenhaal is featured in the first issue under full control of the magazine’s new editor.

Marie Claire readers erupted in fury at what they said was Ms. Simpson’s hypocrisy and the magazine’s “cluelessness.” They wrote 1,000 letters in protest to the magazine, according to Joanna Coles, the new editor of the magazine. And she agreed with them.

In the first issue (due Aug. 15) over which she exercises full editorial control, Ms. Coles gives expanded space in the letters column to readers to vent against Ms. Simpson. Ms. Coles adds in a note: “We’re dazed and confused — and disappointed — by her choice, too!”

The accompanying photos show the Ashlee cover--all tacky and orange and Cosmo-y--under the old editor, contrasted with the new Maggie Gyllenhaal cover under new editor Coles, which looks more like Jane-meets-Harper's Bazaar. I don't necessarily think of Marie Claire as a "thinking woman's" magazine, but it does seem a tad classier than many other crappy mags...plus it always has a horribly depressing article about women in some third world country getting sold by their families into sex slavery, returning home to be pariahs, getting gang-raped by neighboring villagers, and then stoned to death for being unclean. Followed by sex tips, the latest wedge shoes, and an in-depth look at Botox vs. laser treatments.

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The thing about Ahslee Simpson's nose job is that she had it done after she got famous. Why didn't her dad make her get one before? She went from a recognizable face to an un unrecognizable face. If her new photos didn't say "Ashlee Simpson" under them, I would have no idea who she was! Not since Jennifer Grey's post-"Dirty Dancing" nosejob has a person so radically changed their appearance while in the public eye. (Obviously, I am not counting hideous visages such as those belonging to Meg Ryan and Faye Dunaway, mainly because they were trying to look younger, and also because the mere mention of them is enough to give me nightmares for weeks. Oh, right. I just did mention them. AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!)

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

And finally, a juicy blind item from Janet Charlton's Hollywood:
This pretty actress has had a remarkably successful career in Hollywood - from TV to independent films. She met the man of her dreams and he happens to be one of the sexiest leading men onscreen. His chiseled physique makes all his movies memorable. She married him without realizing he changed his name to cover up his unsavory history. The guy had a drug problem, has spent time in prison, and there were child abuse charges involved. He was hustler on Santa Monica Blvd when he arrived in Hollywood and one of the men he slept with helped him get his first break. He clicked onscreen and never looked back. His sweet actress wife knows nothing of his past, and he hopes she never finds out.

As usual, this sounds like everyone in Hollywood to me, except for the "TV to independent films" bit. Any ideas on who this could be? Leave them in the comments box!

Saturday, July 29, 2006

That's OFFICER Sugar Tits To You, Mad Max

Well, just when you thought Mel Gibson's DUI arrest was shameful enough, it turns out Mr. Holy Roller went on an anti-Semitic verbal rampage during his booking by LA Sheriff's deputies. From TMZ.com:
Once inside the car, a source directly connected with the case says Gibson began banging himself against the seat. The report says Gibson told the deputy, "You mother f****r. I'm going to f*** you." The report also says "Gibson almost continually [sic] threatened me saying he 'owns Malibu' and will spend all of his money to 'get even' with me."

The report says Gibson then launched into a barrage of anti-Semitic statements: "F*****g Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." Gibson then asked the deputy, "Are you a Jew?"

The deputy became alarmed as Gibson's tirade escalated, and called ahead for a sergeant to meet them when they arrived at the station. When they arrived, a sergeant began videotaping Gibson, who noticed the camera and then said, "What the f*** do you think you're doing?"

And then my favorite part:
A law enforcement source says Gibson then noticed another female sergeant and yelled, "What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?"

Whoo-ee, boy! Why did this incident not make the evening news? According to TMZ, the arresting officer's report was "sanitized" by department higher-ups:
Sources say the sergeant on duty felt it was too "inflammatory." A lieutenant and captain then got involved and calls were made to Sheriff's headquarters. Sources say Mee was told Gibson's comments would incite a lot of "Jewish hatred," that the situation in Israel was "way too inflammatory." It was mentioned several times that Gibson, who wrote, directed, and produced 2004's "The Passion of the Christ," had incited "anti-Jewish sentiment" and "For a drunk driving arrest, is this really worth all that?"

Well, call me a clueless unpaid blogette, but I can't imagine anyone hating Jewish people after hearing this story; if anything, shouldn't we just hate and fear Mel Gibson even more than all good, decent people already do? I mean, even though he was in the midst of an alcoholic freakout, it sounds like the booze just acted as a kind of truth serum, letting all his darkest, truest feelings out into the open. His father is some kind of insane Holocaust denier, after all. The apple doesn't fall too far from the crazy tree...

Friday, July 28, 2006

Wet Wipes For Snipes?

Janet Charlton's Hollywood has this juicy lil' nugget o' non-news today:
We were THRILLED to read about Wesley Snipes' sticky sex habits as told by a former lap dancer to the News of the World - because now we feel free to reveal what he does here in the US!

According to the News, he met chatty Fran Murphy while filming his new movie "The Shooter" in Cardiff, Wales.

Among other things, Fran revealed that Wesley happened to have "strawberries and a big jug of chocolate sauce in his hotel room." (That was NO coincidence, my dear.) Fran started to nibble the strawberries but Wesley grabbed the sauce and poured it all over her and licked it off.

Little did she know Wesley has a history of mixing food and sex. Years ago we were told that Snipes was addicted to both barbecue sauce and womens feet! A high priced Hollywood call girl told us that allegedly Wesley had a standing weekly appointment with her and their kinky sessions involved very little sex. He liked to sniff and fondle her high heeled shoes and topped off their dates by smothering her feet in barbecue sauce and licking it off!

Well, gee, I don't know...this all sounds rather sweet to me, but maybe that's just because I love strawberries, chocolate, and barbecue sauce so much...although perhaps not on my stinky old feet. It's in these delicate kinds of situations that your humble Felt Up blogette's European attitude towards bathing gets her in trouble, let me tell you.

Personal Message To Mr. Wesley Snipes: If the situation ever arises where you are about to lick BBQ sauce off an (admitedly super-hot, irresitible) blogette's dainty feet, just be aware that that funny taste you are experiencing is merely the pungent tang of Dr. Scholl's Odor Destroyers Foot Deodorant, all right? It's perfectly harmless, I'm told. Is that a deal-breaker? Some people really like it! Hello?

Wesley?



Hello?

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I'm Just An Old-Fashioned Girl

Sigh. From the Why Don't I Have A High-Paying Job, Like, Say, Call Girl? File:



Yes, tomorrow night right here in Austin, one can experience an intimate evening with the one and only EARTHA KITT--including a sumptuous meal and cocktails--for only $175. For a few extra clams, one gets a "themed" table, ringside seats, and face-time with Eartha!

And nobody told me there was such a thing as the Austin Cabaret Theatre! Why wasn't I informed? Someday I plan to turn Felt Up into a cabaret act, with your humble blogette swathed in jewels, gowns, furs, and a turban. A few songs, a few laughs...maybe even a few tears. I'm working on my husky scotch voice as we speak!

I have to go and sob into my pillow now...

The Girl In The Plastic Bubble (Skirt)

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Ach! Blogger has been acting up this morning to the point where I couldn't even look at Felt Up--as is my wont--and bask in its greatness! And my need to blog about "Project Runway" has me about to burst! But everything seems back online for now, so let's get on with the rehash! (Why can't I stop using exclamation points?!)

First of all, I have to say that I almost peed my pants with excitement when I found out that not only was the challenge to design an outfit "inspired" by dogs, but that one of the dogs was a Welsh Pembroke Corgi--the same as beloved Pet of Felt Up Bugsy! Wheeeeeeeeee!

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Bugsy!

I watched with glee as the designers picked out their doggie muse; then the glee turned to fear as all the likable designers (Michael, Uli, Allison, Robert,Katherine,Bradley, Bonnie, Kayne) picked other breeds; and eventually the fear turned into absolute dread as it came down to Vincent, Keith,Jeffrey, Laura, and ewwww--Angela. I don't know if I could have forced myself to finish the rest of the episode if Angela The Bubble-Skirted Wonder had gotten her witch-like claws on a sweet, innocent Corgi, but luckily it ended up being the least-objectionable of the lot, Jeffrey (AKA Mr. Unflattering Tattoo That Draws Attention To An Oddly Proportioned Neck). I thought Laura was going to physically gag in revulsion at having to touch a dog--which begs the question, how did she ever tolerate having five children? (Friend of Felt Up Michele S.--who, like yours truly, suspects that Laura is actually a Male-To-Female transgendered person, might have had a surrogate go through all that yucky childbirth stuff for her.)

The challenge was not only to design an outfit for the model, but also to come up with a "narrative" about the person who might own the dog and to design something for the dog to wear! Yippee! Duh-duh! Duh-duh-duh! Duh-duh-duh-Duh! Dog Show!

The bulk of this episode was devoted to poor Spin Doctors-lead-singer-lookalike Bradley, whose birthday fell on judging day. He just seemed utterly lost, and Tim Gunn thought his top was a nightmare. From Tim's Take:
The top was a construction disaster. It looked as though he had sewn it with his feet. And the fraying at every seam and hem was horrifying.

The editors really tried to make it seem like there was no way Bradley was going to come out of this alive...

...And yet, of course, not only did he manage to get his outfit sewn together, but Nina Garcia liked the finished product so much that she gushed it could be photographed for Elle! You could have knocked me over with a feather. It didn't look terrible, but it sure wasn't something special. Vera Wang and hideous guest judge Ivanka Trump were enthralled with the sacklike, billowing top and plain wool skirt. Enthralled! I actually thought he might win the damn challenge!

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Bradley's design. Note the look on dog's face.

In the mean time, creepy Keith continued to produce beautiful work while annoying everyone (especially Laura The Former Architect And Possibly Former Man) and being
so arrogant as to not even bother to make an outfit for his dog. Tim and later the judges took him to task for this, but it was not enough to make him OUT. His dress was very pretty:

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Keith's design. Note naked dog.

Kayne's dress was fabulous, but since he had immunity from last week's win, the judges seemed to hardly take note of it. The show also continued its highly disturbing trend of completely ignoring Michael like he does not exist. His dress was amazing! Tim thought so, too:
Michael created one of the more innovative looks on the runway. His tan tweed dress with a criss-cross halter and two kick pleats in the skirt’s front was stunning. What I loved most about his innovation was the fact that this was still real clothing and not even remotely contrived or a joke. His corresponding outfit for Carly made the adorable pooch even more adorable. His design was another strong candidate for the win.

Hmmm...what is going on with the Michael shut-out on "Project Runway"? The judges never even mention him, and his screen time is practically nil. I also noticed that in the previews, they edited Heidi's comments about horrid Angela's outfit (about it being too booty-n-boobylicious) so that it looked like she was talking to Michael. Very odd, and perhaps not-so-subtly racist?

I didn't care much for Laura's furry-trimmed suit; it looked pretty nice, but it seems like everything she does is very similar. As Friend of Felt Up Rebekah M. said, she's very "one note." And that note is "rich beyotch." Also, the dog looked like it was wearing a beard. And it was real lamb's wool! Yuck!

Robert the Barbie Designer's outfit was nice, but a tad boring for my taste, and Vincent's managed to be both boring and grotesque:
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I didn't pay much attention to what Jeffrey, Mr. Unflattering Tattoo That Draws Attention To An Oddly Proportioned Neck, designed, because all I could look at was the Corgi! Flex the Corgi was wearing a delightful little shirt of some kind! And he either tripped on his sleeve or had an itchy ear, because Flex rubbed his sweet lil' head on the runway! Corgi! COOOOOOOORGI!

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COOOOOOOOOOOORGI!

Finally, it got down to the winner, who was Uli and her really amazing contrasting print dress, and the losers--Sporty Spice Katherine and, of course, Angela The Bubble-Skirted Wonder. Katherine's dress was dullsville, and Tim had tried to convince her to do a hooded jacket for the model that would match the one she did for the dog, but she ran out of time.

As for horrible Angela, of course she did a bubble skirt! That's all she knows! She actually wore one of her millions of bubble skirts to the runway, so she and her model were both standing there in ugly, shiny bubble skirts! Tim's take:
She has a point of view. There’s no question about that. And I suppose that it’s best described by looking at Angela: she is her own muse.

I'll say! And what on Earth could be worse than that?

I also can't help but think that there is an awful kind of Josephine Baker influence going on here. More subtle racism? Hmmmm....Maybe I'm reading too much into this because I despise Angela so much, but look:

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And the "narrative" that Angela came up with was totally and completely retarded. Tim says:
Who is this woman and where is she going with this dog? Answer: she’s British and works at a children’s art camp in Paris, and she’s hosting a birthday party for Pattycake. Huh? Why not just use that notorious explanation that we all love to hate: “She works in an art gallery.” Enough already!

Really, this look doesn't say "art camp counselor" so much as "1980s street-walker." Yes, I know I just said she looks like Josephine Baker, but both statements are true! Somehow!

In the end, the judges decided that Katherine's piece lacked ambition and was poorly executed, so she was OUT. Unfortunately for all of us watching at home, that also meant that Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Wonder, was f'ing IN. BOO! HISS!

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Careless Whispers

It's a real mixed bag, today, people! Here's what we got:

First up, George Michael says that his fairytale weddding to longtime boyfriend Kenny Goss was not called off because of his penchant for anonymous sex with pot-bellied old dudes, but because of the couple's fear of crazed paparazzi ruining their big day.

From BBC News:
Pop star George Michael has denied his civil partnership ceremony with partner Kenny Goss was called off over reports that he had sex with a stranger.

"It's never been an issue between us," he told Channel 4 daytime presenters Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan.

The 43-year-old phoned the programme to deny reports the encounter with a man on London's Hampstead Heath had caused a rift with his long-term boyfriend.

He said the ceremony had been put back over fears of "intrusion" by the press.

"With all the rubbish I've had to put up with in the last six months, we wouldn't get a small private wedding, which is what we want," he continued.

"I wanted something small and quiet, but I don't even think we'd get away with that at the moment."

The former Wham! singer begins his first UK tour in 15 years this September.

Extra concert dates were added in April after early ticket sales exceeded expectations.

Aww, come on George! A "small private wedding"? Phoeey! Make it a giant, extravagant affair, worthy of the Wham! legacy, for God's sake! Might I suggest something like fellow Brit Jordan's tasteful nuptials?



Andrew Ridgely could be flower girl! What about our needs, George?

In other non-news, former 'N Syncster Lance Bass is supposedly about to "officially" come out of the closet to People magazine, according to often-incorrect gossipeer Perez Hilton:
It's about time!

Our beloved Princess Frostylocks is coming out in the new issue of People magazine - out on newsstands later this week - multiple sources confirm exclusively to PerezHilton.com.

The photo shoot was held Tuesday at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, and - yes - Lance is getting the cover, we hear.

Work it out sister!!

Oh, the equisite agony of being gay in a boy band. All those screaming girls--every one a lie! A dirty lie! Is it any wonder Lance tried to launch himself into outer space by paying millions of dollars to become a cosmonaut a few years back? I'll bet he's glad he didn't waste all that money after all; he probably could use it right about now. (And by the way, how could someone named Lance Bass not be gay? It sounds like a gay superhero's hidden identity or something. I'm just sayin'.)



And now for something completely different: Somebody finally makes fun of Tom Cruise!

NY Daily News:
Colin Farrell thinks Tom Cruise is a laugh riot — but Cruise isn't likely to share his amusement.

While hyping his latest movie, "Miami Vice," yesterday on the "Today" show and "Live With Regis and Kelly," Farrell repeatedly mocked his "Minority Report" co-star.

Appearing with Matt Lauer — whom the committed Scientologist famously branded "glib" last year during a debate about psychiatry — Farrell joked: "Stop being glib, Matt! You're glib, Matt, you're glib, you're glib!" Moments later, as Lauer struggled not to lose it, Farrell demanded sternly: "Are you being glib again?"

On "Regis and Kelly," Farrell rubbed it in. When the show came back from a commercial break, the Irish actor was caught glad-handing audience members and dashed back to his seat onstage. "Doin' my best Tom Cruise impersonation," he quipped.

As much as I love anyone making fun of Tom Cruise--especially his infuriating "glib" comments about prescription psyhiatric drugs--this all just smacks of Desperate To Keep "Miami Vice" From Ruining My Career Syndrome. God, that thing looks like a big stink bomb...


The only "Miami Vice" I'll ever need!

Finally, good ole inscrutable Ted Casablancas has a couple of nearly impossible to understand blind items today in his column "The Awful Truth":
I swear, I'd love to tell you all the one about the reality-TV dude who's diddling other guys in the pools of Hollywood boy-boy shindigs, but that one's just as tired (ultimately) as the one I'm about to spill. I mean, come on.

Okay, okay, so I will do--so to speak--the guy dish first: See, there's this boob-tube celeb who's, like, rather good-looking. Meatless Member has a nice face. Decent arms 'n' legs, sweet smile--but not exactly a whole lotta sausage cookin' in the kitchen down below. I mean, it was very nervy of M.M. to start having sex with other guys in the pool, what with every bitchy fag around, just waiting to spill the beans with no frank, as it were.

But M. was horny, so he did anyway--so there.

I'm hardly surprised Mr. Member was there at the posh address, frolicking at a homo-happening soiree in the first place, but most of (naïve) America will be startled, fer sure. It's all very snore-pie predictable.

As is Shellack Attack's latest man-romping move. I mean, many folks know Shellack's got a thing for the showier, naughtier boys--despite S.A.'s heart o' gold appeal. And this latest romance Ms. A.'s so very visibly involved in is hardly the surprise in that regard.

But it should be.

That's because sexy Shellack has finally found herself a man who has a bigger appetite for sno-cones, powder-style, than she does. And that's sayin' somethin'!

Oy. Can't you infamous types out there please come up with some new Vices, besides drugs and dalliances? Can't somebody steal a script that results in an Academy Award from their best friend anymore? I mean, that's, like, what, a hundred years ago already, isn't it?

OK. Using my handy Casablancas-To-English dictionary, I'm pretty sure there are three blind items hidden in the above verbiage.

First we have an underendowed reality show gay man named Meatless Member, who, frankly, could be anyone. I would give my right arm if it turned out to be the reality show star whose name rhymes with Yawnathan Mantin, but that's probably just wishful thinking on my part.

Then we have Shellack Attack, who is a female celebrity of some sort (no profession given...interesting!) whose latest boyfriend is even more into la cocaina than she is...I wonder if it could be the actress whose name sounds something like Feather Cocklear? Her new beau--Gayvid Made--seems like the type.

Then Ted sneaks in one last dig at someone who stole from his or her best friend either a) an Academy Award-winning screenplay or b) a role in a film that won the actor an Academy Award. I think it's the former, but with Ted, it's a little hard to tell. Any thoughts on any of these items? Funny rhyming names? Leave 'em in the comments box, por favor!

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Flushing With Pride

See, I told you there would be something meatier today, thanks to The WOW Report. First of all, they report, via CelebritySpotlight, that Madonna requires brand-new toilet seats installed at each venue of her tour:
Madonna requests and gets a new toilet seat in her dressing room for every performance on her Confessions tour.

"The seat has to be inspected by her people, then installed, with an unbroken seal, by plumbers before every gig," a source has revealed.

Every performance. Does that mean if she has two shows at the same venue, she gets two fresh seats? And why plumbers?

Here's what else she gets: three candles to protect her from negative vibes, a foot spa, a lavender and chamomile body soak, Kabbalah water, and a love seat.

Apparently the Material Girl is a bit of a germaphobe. She wasn't so particular when she let Vanilla Ice put his yucky hands all over her lady parts, now was she?

I suppose Her Madgesty would never consider something a little simpler, not to mention cheaper:

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This reminds me of the awesome story from a few years back that Barbra Streisand refuses to look at her own poo, and so has special toilets installed that allow her to flush without turning around. How does Babs know if she's got good poo or bad? According to Friend of Felt Up Terri R.'s favorite book You: The Owner's Manual, it is necessary to examine one's poo now and then to make sure one's bowels are working properly. Does some miserable Streisan underling come in and inspect it every so often, and send a specimen to the lab? It's these kinds of questions that keep your humble Felt Up blogette up at night, let me tell you...

Then the WOWers provide this photo of Lindsay Lohan at Jeremy "I Was Spiritually Awakened By Outdoor Yoga On My Healing Journey To India" Piven's 41st birthday party. La Lohan is wearing a skin-toned bikini and to my ancient eyes, she looks like a skanked-out whorebag on her way to the bathroom to lick the last particles of crack off her dealer's dirty boot, just before getting strangled by her mother's pimp in a twenty dollar snuff film:

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But maybe that's just me.

And, finally, George Michael's long-suffering American boyfriend Kenny Goss has--surprise!--called off their wedding after yesterday's report of Georgy Boy's romp in the park with a creepy old man. Stay tuned!

La Cage Au Follies?

It's kind of a slow non-news day, I'm afraid, but here's a lil' somethin' somethin' to tide you over until something nice-n-juicy comes along. From TMZ (whose "Brokeback Piano" headline for this item has GOT to be the worst "Brokeback Mountain"-as-shorthand-for-gay "play on words" ever, really, people, this just has to stop! "Brokeback Piano" doesn't even make any sense! But I digress.):
Nicolas Cage is not leaving Las Vegas; indeed, he's coming back to it, starring in a new biopic about the life of that gold lame luminary, Liberace. What's more, Cage is producing the project as well, via his Saturn Films production company, based on a script by Aaron Seltzer and Jason Friedberg.

Friedberg and Seltzer are best known for the campy pop culture-derived hits "Scary Movie" and more recently, "Date Movie," but their look at Liberace's life is understood to be far more serious. And while the duo might seem to be the last choice for a serious biography, the deal kind of makes sense to us: Who, after all, was better at distilling highbrow classics into pop culture than Liberace himself?

Hmmmm...I don't know if Nicolas Cage would be my first choice to play Liberace; maybe not even my second, third, or four-hundredth.

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For some reason, I keep thinking poor ole Ben Affleck might be a good choice; maybe it's the pompadour or the association with diamonds and Bentleys from the late, lamented J-Lo Golden Era?




Then again, I'm always pushing for Alec Baldwin and his brilliant Charles Nelson Reilly impersonation, which would serve him well in this role, I think...



Any thoughts on who would make a better Liberace? Clay Aiken, perhaps? Jonathan Rhys-Meyers? I want to hear from Felt Up readers--both of you!

Monday, July 24, 2006

Dunst Cap

Having a bad day? Feeling less than cute? Well, at least you weren't insulted by Kirsten Dunst for no good reason. From the NY Daily News:
KIRSTEN DUNST seemed to be in a mood at L.A.'s Hyde the other night. As Mary-Kate Olsen and Paris Hilton chilled nearby, the "Spider-Man" actress turned to a woman who was minding her own business and, according to an ear-witness, meowed, "Your face looks really puffy."

Wow. Such beyotchitude I would normally expect from luminaries like Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan. The Dunst is supposed to be a part of more "enlightened" and "less skanky" Hollywood, but apparently that's all just a crock of crack. Hmmm....Thank God sweet lil' Jake Gyllenhaal got away from Miss Thing, that's all I have to say.

I am pleased, however, to announce that after much research--not to mention bribery--Felt Up was able to produce a photograph of the above encounter. It's a little dark inside Hyde, but if you squint you can tell that Dunst is the one on the right, and innocent Miss Puffy Face is on the left:




Hooray for Hollywoood!

What's Your Definition Of Dirty, Baby

Poor George Michael! His sex life has once again been splashed all over the tabloids! (The real George Michael, that is, not the one Michael Cera played on "Arrested Development." Boy, do I miss that show. It better win some Emmys this year, or else! But I digress.) Apparently, Mr. Michael went to a park in London for a little bit of the ole slap-n-tickle with a stranger, and the News of the World just happened to be there:
MEGA-RICH pop superstar George Michael this week sank to new levels of depravity—trawling for illegal gay sex thrills in a London park.

News of the World investigators caught the singer red-handed and red-faced as he emerged from the bushes after cavorting with a pot-bellied, 58-year-old, jobless van driver.

When challenged George, 43, was wild-eyed and trembling. Trying to hide his face under a baseball cap, he screamed:

"I don't believe it! F*** off! If you put those pictures in the paper I'll sue!"

Minutes earlier the one-time heart-throb had been lurking in the shadows at the notorious homosexual pick-up spot on Hampstead Heath.

George is a man with the world at his feet. He's on the brink of a lucrative 50-concert comeback tour, which sold out in half an hour.

Yet he ignored all the risks and dangers to pull seedy Norman Kirtland.

The pair kissed and groped each other before going even further. It was all in a public place and totally illegal — just like the day in 1998 when George flashed at an undercover cop in a California park toilet.

After the shock of being confronted by us, George stumbled to his flash Mercedes coupe, retrieved his keys from their hiding place on top of the rear wheel and roared off into the night — back to his world of showbiz, celebs and glitz.




The main problem the News seems to have with this encounter is that the man George hooked up with has a pot belly and is "seedy":
Meanwhile his new buddy Kirtland crept from the undergrowth looking sheepish and rushed to his Ford Transit van. As he opened the door a grubby, stained mattress was clearly visible in the back.

We later tracked him to his home 60 miles away—a squalid flat in Brighton, East Sussex.

Looking gross and dishevelled, Kirtland answered the door naked — pulling on grimy shorts as he invited us in.

The News was able to hide its disgust long enough to persuade Kirtland to pose for some glamor shots on the beach, however:


"Father Figure," indeed.

Ech. I feel sorry for George Michael; he seems to be on some kind of downward spiral. Even if he doesn't care about the effect on his career, surely it's dangerous to pick up strange men in the park in London. What about Jack The Ripper? American werewolves? Zombies? Pete Doherty? Plus he has a seemingly saint-like boyfriend, Kenny Goss!

I wonder if he's got "Took Too Long To Come Out of the Closet, Now On A Sex And Drug Rampage Syndrome"? (Take note, Dave Navarro!)

Sunday, July 23, 2006

A Project Runway Crumb To Tide You Over Until Wednesday

Just had to share a lil' tidbit from Salon TV reviewer Heather Havrilesky, whose "I Like To Watch" column contained some thumbnail sketches of the possible villains/crazies on this season of "Project Runway," including this right-on-the-money (and hilarious) evaluation of Angela, The Bubble-Skirted Midwestern Wonder:
A classic Bad News Jane, unable to play nicely with others, Angela is the kind of girl who tags around you on the playground, asking dumb questions, and then pushes you into a mud puddle and tells the whole class you peed in your pants. She spent the second episode whining that her partner, Vincent, was creating a dress that looked like "something I made in college." But for more clues on Angela, feast on this blurb from her bio: "Angela handcrafts each product in her solar-powered studio to reflect the quality of her work and lifestyle, which is unique, vibrant, visionary." Forget fashion, this woman belongs in publicity.

I don't care how much she faux apologizes for her behavior, Angela is still on my crap list! Boo, hiss!

Thursday, July 20, 2006

If I Were A (Karen) Carpenter, And You Were A Lady

Gee, what a surprise! Nicole Richie fainted dead away from starvation while shopping--at Kitson, of course. From Jeannette Walls' "Scoop" on MSNBC:
Did Nicole Richie take that phrase “shop until you drop” too seriously?

The super-skinny reality show star reportedly fainted while doing a little retail therapy. Richie — who has admitted that she’s too thin but has denied that she has an eating disorder — collapsed while browsing at Kitson, a chic LA boutique, on July 15, according to Life & Style.

“She was looking through a rack of clothes when she suddenly fainted and hit the floor,” an “eyewitness” told the mag. “The staff helped her to a chair and offered her something to eat. She shot back, ‘No!’ and mumbled something about it being ‘so hot.’” Although Richie turned away food, she did accept a glass of water, reports the mag, and after about 20 minutes “was steady enough to leave.”

I hope to God that wasn't a sparkling water they forced down Nicole's throat--some of those have sodium, which can cause bloat. A girl's got to watch her figure, after all...

I keed, I keed.

Ye gods, woman! When the act of moving your arm across a rack of "Team Aniston" t-shirts causes a physical collapse, it's time to eat a carb. I hate that whole "just eat a sandwich" thing that people say in these situations, because anorexia (not to mention "partying") is more complicated than that, but maybe your family should at least put you in a hospital, where they could, uh, make you eat a sandwich or something.



And don't give me that "it's the heat" stuff, lady. It's 101 degrees at midnight here in Texas, and no one at Felt Up HQ has fainted lately, and we don't have central A/C! I'm pretty sure the only thing that could make me faint--heatwave and all--would be the arrival of Ed McMahon and the Publisher's Clearing House crew at my door step, the creation of The Nude Javier Bardem School of Spanish in my neighborhood, or someone handing me a free gift certificate for personal jazz dance lessons from Liza Minelli. Yep, any of those things would probably do it. Or, say, not eating for about two years...

Angela's Asses


Well, what a pisser. The vile person who should've been eliminated from the show wasn't, and one of the freakiest, most watchable cast members was. Have the producers lost their minds? They've never sacrificed good tv like this before, I swear! But let's back up, shall we?

The show began with Heidi telling the contestants that they would be dressing "American Royalty." Sadly, that royal personage was not Prince or Queen Latifah, but the current Miss USA, Tara Conner, who is about to compete in the Miss Universe pagaent. The camera zoomed in on Kayne, who was clearly peeing his pants with excitement, as well he should. His Bravo bio notes that:
In 2003, Kayne met his partner Warren and bought Southern Charm, an established formal wear and pageant store in Norman, Oklahoma. Within three years, Kayne's success in the pageant industry soared. In December of 2005, he dressed the entire top five teens and the winner and first runner up in the Miss Oklahoma U.S.A. pageant.

He cites Bob Mackie and Roberto Cavalli as major influences on his work.

Barbie designer Robert also looked pretty keyed up; I swear he and Kayne are like the same person, with different color hair.

The challenge was to design a pageant gown! Wheeeeeeee!

The other big news from Heidi was that the designers would have to work in teams of two. The bombastic, scary music cues would have you believe that this announcement was only slightly less ominous than if Tim Gunn had added, "In the nude. While riding a horse. Bareback." Seriously, everyone looked absolutley horrified, probably because no one wanted to end up with crazy 401K-casher-inner Vincent or Angela "I Own A Terrible Bubble Skirt In Every Color" Keslar. Heidi and Tim also said that Miss USA would choose 7 dress designs from the group, and those whose sketches were chosen would get to pick their own partner.

Angela, who apparently has no skills beyond annoying the crap out of me, immediately sidled up to ole Kayne, seeing as he was the odds-on favorite to win. Luckily, Kayne saw through her brazen attempt to latch onto his rising star and decided her bubble skirt would just weigh him down. Everyone seemed pretty appalled at her machinations, especially since she wasn't even attempting to draw up any dress ideas.

The first person to present his sketch was last week's winner Keith, who, in order to convey his design ethos to Miss USA, lunged forward and lovingly cupped and caressed her boobs. Miss USA seemed to enjoy it.

Then Miss Kayne came in and gushed about how much he loves pagaents, and how he gets it, and he watched her win the USA crown, and his design would showcase her face and make her look really pretty. I just wanted to reach into the screen and pinch those pink cheeks, I really did! Kayne's I mean, not Miss USA's. She kind of scared me.

So then that Angela came in and had the gall to tell Miss USA that she "doesn't do sketches," and proceeded to ask her for input on what she likes, such as "empire waists" and whatnot, and you could tell Miss USA was not used to such affrontery as a person of such national--nay, even international--importance, and gave Angela a look like she'd just farted in her face, which, metaphorically speaking, she did.

Miss USA ended up picking Keith's design (all that breast fondling really worked some magic, I guess); the rest were Laura, Jeffrey, Malan, Uli, and Vincent(!). There was a moment of tension when it looked like Kayne might not get chosen and he'd grab Miss USA and run screaming to the window and leap to both of their deaths, but luckily, he was picked and all was right in the gay universe. Whew!

Then the team leaders had to pick their underlings. Kayne picked Robert, yippee! Suprisingly, rich lady architect Laura chose lovable Michael from Hotlanta. (I have to admit I am warming up to Laura, despite her constantly reminding everyone that she used to be an architect and the fact that she showed up for the first episode hauling a complete set of vintage Louis Vuitton luggage.) Everyone else chose until it was just Vincent and Angela--and Lord have mercy, they were stuck with each other. Whew boy!

Well, the rest of the episode pretty much focused on the trials and tribulations of Vincent, who had calmed down somewhat from the premiere's full-tilt craziness, as he tried to deal with useless, talentless, critical, wet blanket Angela The Shrew. She sighed, moaned, rolled her eyes, second-guessed everything, and basically was the biggest pain in the ass since God created boils. It was obvious that she thought Vincent's dress would be so terrible that the judges would hate it, so her plan was to make it clear that she had absolutely nothing to do with it and had, in fact, tried to sabotauge it out of existence. Vincent, to his credit, stuck by his vision and pretty much just axed her out of the whole enterprise, especially since the few times Angela actually tried to do something, she messed it up. At one point, Angela complained to Keith about Vincent, and Keith totally said, "Bitch, his design was picked, he's the team leader, and you suck ass." I'm paraphrasing here, of course.

The other drama involved Malan The Vampyre's gown, which Tim said looked like it was carved out of a log, and which I thought looked like it had been designed by Mr. Hankey. Malan's partner Katherine was also very, very worried about the length, which she kept saying was "half a foot too short, half a foot too short," like a mantra, and lo and behold, when the model fitting took place, the dress was indeed half a foot too short and had to be let out.

Finally, it was time to show the designs on the runway. Laura and Michael's dress had some nice sparkle to it, but the neckline reminded me of a bathing suit, and the whole thing had a full-length ice skating costume vibe about it, and not in a good way:



Uli and Bonnie's gown was pretty and fairly hip for a beauty pagaent, but I thought the model's boobs sagged unflatteringly in the halter top:



Next we had the House of Hankey's log dress, by Malan and Katherine. Howdy-Ho!





And, of course, Kayne and Robert's pagaent-abulous gown:



There was some talk amongst the judges (Michael Kors was replaced by the frighteningly severe Vera Wang) about Uli and Bonnie's dress being the most "modern," but in the end truth, justice, and the American Gay won out and Kayne and Robert won the challenge. And thank goodness, because I just love both of those boys!


Kayne!

During the judges' discussion, I was gratified and surprised to hear Miss USA stand up for Vincent's design, which, while not my cup of tea (especially the weird epaulets that looked like something from "Flash Gordon"), was not the disaster one might have expected from the man behind last episode's Basket Hat Incident. In fact, the judges seemed to like Vincent's design, and they noted that Angela was a no-good, back-stabbing, harpy witch who didn't lift a wizened stick finger to help her partner.


Vincent and only Vincent's dress.

In the end, though, the log dress trumped bitchy uselessness, and fabulously odd Malan, with his crazy faux British accent, bizarre teeth, tuxedo jackets, and extremely weird countenance was OUT, and bubble-skirted waste of space beyotch Angela was IN.

Tim Gunn knew we would all be shocked at this turn of events, since we had assumed that good TV was more important than anything else to this show. In his blog Tim's Take, he writes:
Lest anyone think that any designer is kept on the show because of personality, let Malan’s departure dispel that myth.

I still think it's unfair that the person who couldn't even make a SKETCH was kept on the show over the person with the bad design. Harrumph!

PS
Still no word on the big drama that's supposed to go down, and the whole scandal was conspicuously absent from the promos. We wait with baited breath, Bravo!

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Possible Project Runway Spoiler!

OK. If you want to read some (pretty convincing) speculation about what may or may not be the big scandal that Bravo keeps hinting at in the promo spots for "Project Runway," then read this. If not, then don't!

Whatever the situation is, I hope it's at least one tenth as dramatic and scintillating as the ads make it out to be, or heads will roll! (Except Tim Gunn's, he's too lovable to behead; Heidi Klum, on the other hand...)

Happiness Is A Warm Gunn



Last night Boyfriend of Felt Up Chepo P. and I were watching VH1's "Best Week Ever," as is our wont (well, perhaps more my wont than his), and who pops up as a commentator? Mr. TIM GUNN! And he wasn't just gabbing about "Project Runway," either! He was telling jokes and making fun of the week's entertainment stories just like Christian Finnegan or Frangela! I have to say, once the initial novelty wore off, it was kind of disconcerting. I mean, I love "Best Week Ever," but shoving sweet, odd Tim Gunn out there to talk about head-butting soccer players or whatnot just seems to lack dignity. However, I'm all for Tim Gunn taking over the world (he's already gotten an enlarged role on the show and in the ads for "Project Runway," thank God) and if this is the first step on his path to a 24-hour Tim Gunn TV network, then so be it.

In other, less pressing, non-news, Dave Navarro and Carmen Electra have finally ended their sham marriage, and Dave already has a new beard. It just goes to show that all the stripper aerobics in the world can't keep a (closeted gay) man happy at home!

And now for something new: Can you guess who the celebrity is in this photograph? The answer is at the bottom of this post! (Hint: It is not Cyd Charisse!)



And finally, here's a juicy, if almost impossible to decipher, blind item from Ted Casablancas. I know it is very difficult to cut through Ted's patented gossip-ese, but try!
Oh, this one's rich. So much so I'm going to fling my pumped up, only slightly limp wrists right past that network pretty boy who's doing every gym-going dude he can, not to mention the gorgeous matinee idol's daddy who's practically doing the same, as of late. Rather predictable, both of these closeted guys, if you ask me.

More fun, in my jaded book, would be Plumper Dumper's newfound cojones. But let me, uh, back up first, 'kay?

Mr. Dumper, also a man known more for his male-on-male activities than his female goings-on, flabbergasted more than a few of us fruits when he married Bertha Broom-Rider. Suddenly, P.D. attempted to be more discreet in his fraternizing 'n' fellah-collecting--activities he did not curb once he walked down the aisle with B.B.R. Though few expected him to, 'course.

Not even Ms. B.R. She just didn't want to know exactly what it was her husband was doing hanging out with guys all the time. Maybe they were playing ball? Denial, denial, denial--sorta like my mama still expects me to ask out some nice girl, but never mind...

So, it was a mucho shockarooney to Bertha (but not the friends she blabbed to later) when Plumper officially came out of the closet recently. Just to his wife, mind you. And just to sweetly rub it in, Mr. Dumper chose one of his wife's worst days ever for the boy-bombshell delivery.


B.B.R. was the only one majorly surprised. No one else.

No wonder that babe's pro schedule is all atwitter--her noggin's, like, nowhere in the vicinity of reality.

(Oh, and for the tasty record,
the above network pretty boy will be making his own debut in these Blinded pages soon enough. He's too big not to.)

OK, let's start at the beginning. The "network pretty boy" has got to be the actor whose name rhymes with Messy Petcalf, who has a new teen movie coming out. The gay rumors have been flying fast-n-furious about him for a while now. The "gorgeous matinee idol"'s gay daddy, though? That seems tougher. The idol could be a guy or a girl, after all, but if it is a female, wouldn't it be delightful if it was the singer/"actress" whose name rhymes with Messica Limpson? If her dad, the oh-so-Christian minister, was gay, well, that would really make my day. Maybe even my whole year.

As for Plumper Dumper and Bertha Broom-Rider (oh, Ted), that's pretty hard to figure out, since Ted doesn't give very many details, not even their professions. He does say that it "ain't" Kathie Lee Gifford, Britney Spears, or Jennifer Lopez (heh, heh, and HEH!)...Could it possibly be someone as obvious as the lady whose name rhymes with Jar Cones-Henolds? She did have a bad career day recently...but that seems too easy, and beneath Ted's abilities. Any ideas? Funny rhyming names? Ted Casablancas-to-English dictionaries? Leave 'em in the comments box!

PS
The picture is of BRITNEY SPEARS. Which admittedly might have been more difficult to ascertain if the photo did not say "BritneySpy.com" at the bottom, but I was too lazy to open PhotoShop and crop it. It's still a kooky picture, though, right?

Right?

Monday, July 17, 2006

Riviera Rampage!

Sorry for the late posting today, but the interweb was having some issuses at Felt Up HQ. And wouldn't you know it, today was the day we finally had some good gossip to sling around! From the UK Sun:
RAMPAGING Naomi Campbell smashed up her lover’s brand new yacht after a bust-up with an Italian chef, it was reported yesterday.

The supermodel wrecked £30,000 of furniture and fittings — because she did not like his starters or the wine.

Fiery Naomi, 36, clashed with the chef aboard £1.5million yacht Nasma on Italy’s Tuscan riviera.

Naomi asked him to create a memorable, romantic meal for her and new lover Badr Jafar, a Dubai-born prince.

But his simple tomato, mozzarella and dried ham starter with a local white wine failed to impress.

Reports say Naomi — already fired up after a row with a photographer — told him where to shove it, and he hit back in “colourful Tuscan dialect”.

Staff on the 100ft yacht ducked as she lashed out at antiques, light fittings, china plates and glasses.

A man in Viareggio harbour said: “All hell seemed to break loose. All you could hear was shouting and screaming in English. There was the sound of plates being broken.

“Some of the crew later said the kitchen was a complete mess and the curtains and cushions had all been ripped apart.”

The chef, called Andrea, works at Viareggio restaurant il Porto.

A colleague said last night: “He wouldn’t have taken insults from Naomi.”

Naomi’s Italian manager could not be contacted.

The star is already facing an Italian cops’ probe into an alleged fight in Rome last summer with model Yvonne Scio.

Last month a maid filed a personal injuries lawsuit and last week an aide sued for assault
.
O how much to I adore this story? Why is Naomi Campbell the only celebrity who gives me what I need, what I crave? Why does she, and only she, know how to turn the world on with her snarl? God, this is so awesome. Destroying a Dubai prince's yacht because the appetizers weren't up to snuff. NOTE TO SELF: IF I AM EVER CALLED UPON TO PREPARE A MEAL FOR NAOMI CAMPBELL, REMEMBER TO MAKE THE STARTERS MORE MEMORABLE AND ROMANTIC OR RISK LOSING AN EYEBALL.

The saddest part is that the description of the appetizer she rejected so violently--a "simple tomato, mozzarella and dried ham starter with a local white wine"--makes me drool and want to crawl on my hands and knees to the Tuscan Riviera and see if any of it survived being dumped overboard and/or beaten with a phone. One supermodel's disgusting, revolting, unedible trash is another poor blogger's coveted elegant repast, let me tell you.



Wouldn't it be great if Naomi and the chef were shipwrecked together on a Mediterranean island, a la "Swept Away," and the tables were turned and Naomi, while wearing a white pantsuit and a turban, had to crawl on her hands and knees across the dunes and beg for a scrap of food from the Socialist, shirtless cook, and then their mutual hatred turned into white hot erotic passion and eventually this led to a reversion to pre-Capitalist male/female sexual paradigms? Huh? Wouldn't it?

Friday, July 14, 2006

At Least I Posted Something!

There's no good gossip today, but if you're dying for some bathroom reading, I did post a couple of rants about tv commercials on my MySpace blog. If you already read those, well, I'm sorry. I am not God, people, I do not create gossip; I merely steal it from other web sites. Alas, today there is nothing to steal. Like Michaelangelo said, "Iffa there is a no clay, I cannota make-a."

Speaking of artistes, here is a recent painting from The Gallery of The Absurd for your viewing pleasure:



It's from a Star Magazine "Stars: Normal or Not Normal?" layout, in which Mickey Rourke was deemed "not normal" for his ginormous pompadour. I must say, Star, that Mickey's hair is the least of his "not normal" qualities, and bless all of 'em, every one!

Keep your fingers crossed that next week will bring plenty of clay...How I long for the glory days of Mariah Carey's breakdown. That was a golden time, and sadly, may never be repeated...

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Project FUNway!



So we had the big viewing party at Felt Up HQ for the season premiere of "Project Runway" last night, and your humble blogette has to say that champagne + fattening snax + reality design competition = good times! Overall, it looks to be another fantabulous season--although we all agreed that Season One was superior (in both design and personalities) to Season Two, especially when they brought back Jay and Austin for some updates on their careers. (Austin makes wedding dresses! How perfect is that?)

The first challenge was to make a dress out of materials from the apartments the contestants are living in for the show, and they went berserk ripping, shredding, and tearing apart every conceivable scrap in those rooms, let me tell you. (They were not amused when they returned after the challenge to find their apartments in exactly the torn-up state they left them in. Heh.)

The viewing party thought that lovable Michael from Hotlanta was totally robbed when his ingenious coffee filter dress did not merit even a mention from the judges, nor a spot in the top three. See for yourself:








Michael!

And it seems that Tim Gunn agreed with us. From his blog Tim's Take:
Michael surprised even me by his exclusive use of coffee filters. It was a “Wow!” Muslin was available to all of the designers for the purpose of prototyping and, if necessary, infrastructure. In Michael’s case, muslin was essential for the latter. His dress was sublime and I was surprised that he didn’t stay on the runway as one of the top three. But there was a lot of excellent competition. Bravo designers!

The winner was smug, self-satisfied know-it-all Keith, whom Tim took to task earlier in the show for being safe and boring by using a blue bed sheet for his material--something not too far off from a nice fabric any designer could use. But the judges didn't agree (including guest Kate Spade, whose hair was in an elaborately baroque updo) and made stupid Keith the winner. His dress was pretty, but it lacked originality or innovation. Harrumph.

Keith also better not pull an Emmett and constantly tell the audience that he' a "menswear designer," because believe you me, that gets old fast. And he already mentioned it a couple of times in the first episode, which doesn't bode well...


Keith's winning design. Phooey!

Hard to say who the villain(s) will be this time around. Ridculously egomaniacal Malan, with his "I was born in Taiwan and thus have a faux British accent" shtick, might be a contender, and I had a personal and rather intense immediate dislike for Laura because she is obviously incredibly wealthy (they show her at home in her enormous and fancy upper East Side apartment, which among many other fineries, seemed to contain an actual John Singer Sargent painting hanging on the wall, which made me want to kill someone, namely Laura, who, by the way, despite having five children, may be a man).

Sadsack Vincent--the forty-nine year-old dad who obsessivly mentions that he cashed in his 401K to live out his dream of becoming a fashion designer--is not evil enough to be a bad guy, but he does have a knack for making viewers distressingly uncomfortable with his desperate, needy behavior, not to mention forcing his model to wear a hideous be-chained basket on her head. Amazingly, he was not sent home on his first, terrible design (that dubious honor went to Stacey, whose ill-fitting flowing gown forced her to go back to her pre-"Runway" existence and try, somehow, to eke out a living with only a poor, pathetic Stanford B.A. and a Master's degree from Harvard to lean on--sniff, sniff!), but it's only a matter of time.

Once again, Bravo's evil marketing geniuses used crafty promo-editing to fool us into thinking there was going to be some kind of huge drama on the very first episode (related to a contestant getting kicked off for unknown nefarious deeds) which naturally did not take place and will probably end up being a whole lot less exciting than they lead us to believe. Why do you torture us with your mind games, Bravo? Just because we fall for it every single time does not mean we enjoy it!

Can hardly wait for next week. You win, Bravo. YOU WIN! WE ARE YOUR BITCHES FOR LIFE. Every time we try to get out, you pull us back in!

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

I Blew It

Sorry, folks. I was out of town today and totally dropped the ball(s). I don't know where my head is at, I feel like I should just get on my knees and cop to being lame and hope I don't gag or anything. Boy, do I suck.

Time Once More For...


Yes, it's time again to figure out another "blind item"--this time from good ole Janet Charlton:
This sexy actress is a longtime twelve stepper and she's been on and off the wagon for years. She controls her urges best when she faithfully attends AA meetings. Her beautiful young teenage daughter is also an aspiring actress and recently started to get work. But drugs got in the way of her ambition and she landed in AA also. Mother and daughter both attended the same meeting recently and they each shared with the group. Imagine their shock when they discovered they each had a weakness for the same lethal drug: crack. The mother was horrified to realize what her daughter might have inherited from her, besides good looks.

Hmmmm...could it possibly be the formerly "sexy" actress whose name rhymes with Sellanie Piffith--you know, the one who is somehow still married to the actor whose name sounds something like Mantonio Tanderas? Seems like Sellanie has had a driking problem and just might have a daughter who wants to be an actress...but who knows? The actress whose names rhymes with Boozan Abandon has a daughter who acts (she even co-starred with mom in the movie whose title sounds like "The Whanger Tipsters"), and I certainly think Boozan is sexy, but I've never heard she had any substance abuse problems. Oh, what the hell do I know? I am but a simple peasant blogger!

Got any better ideas? Funnier rhymes? Stick 'em in the comments box, along with that crack pipe you've been smokin'.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Sublime!

Friend of Felt Up, Queen of All Media, and embroidery artiste extraordinaire Jenny Hart of Sublime Stitching has a great portrait of recently dead Syd Barrett:



Check out her site for the gallery of her amazing portraits of the famous and fascinating.