Wednesday, December 15, 2010
(image via usweekly)
Boy oh boy, Denise Richards sure knows how to pick 'em. After the emotional rollercoaster of being married to Charlie Sheen and then dating the ex-husband (Richie Sambora) of her now-ex-best friend (Dame Heather Locklear), she has wisely chosen to give her heart to noted humble gent Motley Crue bassist Nikki "I Like To Talk About Myself In the Third Person A Lot" Sixx, who seems to finally have gotten over Kat Von D, who dumped him for internationally-reviled cheater/possible Nazi Jesse James. Whew! I need a flow chart or something to keep track of all this l'amour.
Anyway, new couple! Let's take bets on how long it lasts...
Monday, December 13, 2010
(image via eriklerouge)
....and then drink in this very recent shot of Christina Ricci:
(image via the wow report)
I'm not crazy, right? Emma Samms for the WIN. (She's also looking just the teensiest bit like Ms. Shannon Doherty.) None of this is terrible news, of course, and she looks super-glam and all--it simply means that SHE DOES NOT LOOK LIKE CHRISTINA RICCI.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
And now, the YANG:
(image via thedailymail)
Ack! It's Lara Flynn Boyle! I think.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
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I hate to sound like Camille Grammer and make this all about ME, ME, ME, but I knew I was really going to regret not spending $250 to see Aretha Franklin in Austin a few years ago.
I just had a feeling...
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I just love the New York Times' "Critical Shopper" column, which reviews stores instead of movies or books; I'm sure being in the retail game (when not humbly blogging away, of course) may have something to do with it. There are exceptions: Uber-hipster Cintra Wilson's repulsively snobby and vicious review of the flagship JC Penney's in Manhattan, for example. However, today my two worlds have collided, in a delightful way, with the "Critical Shopper"'s report on Dash, the new New York outpost of the Kardashian Sisters' retail empire. Huzzah!
Writer Jon Caramanica gets the tone--humor without rancor--just right. He and his friends try to figure out which Kardashian they are ("Fleur was “a Khloé with a strong undercurrent of Kourtney”; Bolt, “a Khloé with Kim rising.” Ace pleaded ignorance, though she’s a Kim, through and through. Me, probably more Kourtney than I’d care to admit, so let’s say mostly Kim and call it a day." Except for having pals named Fleur, Bolt, and Ace, I can relate to this game. I believe myself to be mainly a shorter Khloé with a dash of Bruce Jenner.)
He and his friends find Dash to have the impermanent, empty feeling of a "pop-up store," as if the whole enterprise was simply an excuse/set piece for the new tv show "Kourtney and Kim Take New York," and perhaps that is exactly what it is.
As for the clothes, Caramanica describes some selections thusly:
A floppy suede Eugenia Kim hat ($276) suggested a daytime Kourtney, or a nighttime Khloé. One of the store’s best items was a hooded draped black vest, by Rachel Pally ($226), suitable either for a post-yoga Kim, or stylish pagans.Hee hee. There are also Kardashian-themed souvenirs and trinkets, like a $10 Kardashian bottled water. If you're into this kind of thing, the article is worth the full read. Kool kids krave Kardashian kicks!
(image via wowreport)
Doesn't she look incredible? She was, of course, very beautiful to begin with, but whatever work she's had done is very tasteful and effective. She is still recognizably Miss Lynda Carter, but, you know, enhanced. She is almost 60 years old, people. (Take note, Meg Ryan. It is possible to have plastic surgery and not end up looking like a cross between The Joker and Alvin Chipmunk.)
Monday, December 06, 2010
(image via sipseystreetirregulars)
(image via joeljamescomedy)
"Top Chef"'s Stephen Asprinio
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Wikileaks' Julian Assange
(image via the daily mail)
Friday, December 03, 2010
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Friends, your humble Felt Up blogette finally saw Burlesque last night, and despite all the bad reviews (mainly comparing it unfavorably with Showgirls, Chicago, and Cabaret), I can honestly say that it was a festive delight, especially since there was a loud, drunken group of middle-aged Latinas behind us who hooted and hollered in Spanish throughout the spectacle (especially at a brief glimpse of a male naked bottom) and the rest of the audience applauded the musical numbers and we all just generally had a gay ole time. Of course it's not as ridonkulous as Showgirls--NOTHING WILL EVER BE AS RIDONKULOUS AS SHOWGIRLS!--or as awesome as Cabaret or Chicago (which was almost ruined by Renee Zellweger's pinchy-faced weirdness, anyway)--but it does have CHER.
Whoever did the costumes on this thing did a pretty damn good job, even though I thought there should be at least one pair of pasties in a movie called Burlesque. If they give out a special Oscar for Best Use of Retro Underpants in a Musical, this movie should win it, hands down.
So, if you want some escapist good times featuring lots of frilly underbottoms, see-through mesh brassieres, not one but two Cher showcase lollapalooza musical numbers, and the great Stanley Tucci reprising his role from The Devil Wears Prada, then Burlesque is for you, especially after a few cocktails. (I must note, however, the CRIMINAL underuse of Dame Alan Cumming--I can only imagine there is a cutting room floor filled with some amazing scenes of his. Surely they could have lopped off one or two of the 5,000 Christina Aquilera-does-Etta-James numbers? Sigh...)
When the credits rolled, I was delighted to see that Steve Antin was the director. Steve Antin was the star of The Last American Virgin and was the bad guy in Goonies and used to date power gay David Geffen. I find his entire family entirely FASCINATING. His brother is Jonathan Antin, late of the greatest, most hilariously insane reality show ever, "Blow Out" (you know, the one about the uber-straight LA hairdresser, Jonathan, who sobbed uncontrollably when his line of hair products, Jonathan Product, got a bar code?) and his sister is Robin Antin, founder of The Pussycat Dolls, which before it became the harbinger of the muscical Apocalypse was a burlesque troupe (and yet she is not listed as a "consultant" on Burlesque, which is either an admirable rejection of Hollywood nepotism or proof of the long-standing feud I just made up in my head that exists between Steve and Robin). These three will stop at nothing as they scratch and claw their way to the D-List, and I applaud them for it!
Jonathan, Steve, and Robin Antin!
(image via acesshowbiz)
Most interesting of all? Just look at what Steve has done to his face over the years:
Last American Virgin heyday:
(image via NNDB)
(image via zimbio)
He doesn't look bad, or old--he just doesn't look particularly human; it's a little too Madame Tussaud's around the edges for my taste. But who am I to judge? He is part of America's royal family of second-tier entertainment, for god's sake! Long live the Antins!
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
In case you needed any more reasons to root for Michael Douglas' return to good health after his current battle with throat cancer, well look no further. As soon as he gets better he is supposed to star in Steven Soderbergh's new biopic as...LIBERACE.
I was super-crushed when the Liberace Museum closed down in Las Vegas (maybe the proposed--by Randy Quaid--Randy Quaid Musuem could take it's place?), but I'm hoping against hope that this movie will bring a whole new wave of Liberace-mania to the USA and beyond.
The fact that the director is Steven Soderbergh makes me think it might actually be a decent movie. And I think Michael Douglas is a really good fit for the role, actually, for some strange reason. I guess he will mainly be portraying later era Liberace, though. So get well soon, kid, and start a) practicing the piano, and b) getting those gams in shape!
(And while we're on the subject of Liberace, I'd like to direct your attention to the following photograph I found while researching the scandal-plagued Liberace Museum. Yes, that is a MINI-LIBERACE puppet protesting the closing of the museum. God, I love Vegas.)
(image via ken owens)
(image via vanity fair)
Christmas has come early! The new Vanity Fair has an in-depth profile of America's favorite fugitives, The Quaids, and it's already online.
Here are some choice tidbits I hadn't heard about until this article:
The Quaids are "sometimes" sleeping in their Prius in Vancouver.
Evi Quaid once had an L.A. art gallery show featuring "giant photographs of her pierced vagina."
When they showed up in court with Randy's Golden Globe, Evi also had a "valid credit card" attached to her forehead.
They tried to build a Randy Quaid Museum in Marfa, Texas. (And if it ever gets built, I guess I'm finally going to have to go to Marfa!)
The Quaids allegedly have not defrauded just one innkeeper, but a whole string of fancy California hotels: "They reportedly had unpaid charges at the Bel-Air in Beverly Hills ($17,000), the Biltmore in Montecito ($500), and San Francisco’s Nob Hill Hotel ($55,243)." Evi, naturally, "insisted they had paid all the bills in full."
Evi claims that Madonna tried to lure Randy away from her on the set of Bloodhounds of Broadway so she, Randy, and Jennifer Grey could have a ménage a trois.
They have pitched a reality show called Star Trackers, which has "Evi and Randy playing a Bonnie-and-Clyde-like couple that hunts down the Hollywood Star Whackers."
Evi directed a movie in 1999 called The Debtors, starring Randy and Michael Caine (!), which was never realeased due to the producers' squeamishness about a "squirting rubber penis."
Oh, there a thousand twists and turns in this story, including appearances by Robert Blake (framed!), Chris Penn (murdered!), Jeremy Piven (poisoned!), David Carradine (murdered!), Mel Gibson (framed!), Michael Jackson (part of a conspiracy!), Meg Ryan (jealous slut!), an Andy Warhol painting (with hidden meaning!)--it just goes on and on, and is really, really complicated. Go read the thing and see if you can make sense of the Quaids worldview, because it's too much for my noggin to wrap itself around.
Sadly, by all accounts, Randy Quaid was a sweet, relatively normal (for an actor) man whose wife turned him against his friends and supporters, spent all his money on fancy clothes, and may literally be driving him insane with her paranoid fantasies about a "cabal" of bankers, agents, lawyers, etc who conspired to take Randy's royalty checks and real estate. I hope nothing truly terrible happens; right now, it's kooky good gossip. But it could easily take a turn for tragic. Keep it kooky, kids! Please!