Sunday, December 31, 2006

go SHAMU, go!!

well, it's about damn time!
this is old news, but kasatka the killer whale, or as she's affectionately known by her 'adoring' fans at sea world, shamu, has spoken up! or shall we say down--and it wasn't in the gruff, deep-toned voice one would expect a killer whale to possess. it was in one swift, simple act of pushing her trainer to the bottom of the tank, nearly drowning him. see the headline below with a bit of a comic twist (sorry for the manual click--youtube is shady today):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vz8AuKmItwM

and this wouldn't be the effing truth if i didn't open my big mouth to voice some loud ass, clever opinion on the matter. you know what i say about all this? good for the friggin trainer--he, as well as the rest of the sea world crew, had it coming. the only tragedy here is that nobody learned a real lesson...he survived. i can't say much more about kasatka.
as david letterman said, it IS a killer whale, for heaven's sake--you have to admit it--it's way fucked up to remove an animal from it's natural habitat, stick it in a cage, and make it do tricks. and the ignotards out there can't use the whole meat argument either (i.e. "that's what they're here for.") either. if you depend on a tiger to provide viable entertainment for you, you're a sad, fucked up individual who should promptly return to your trailer.
it's just like when roy, of the eponymous siegfried & roy circus mess, was mauled by a tiger during a performance. good for the fucker! after years of being beaten and stuck with electric prods, forced to do ridiculous tricks, it's a wonder the tiger hadn't stepped up sooner!
when questioned about motives after the incident, roy referred to the tiger, named montecore, as his baby and friend. now, i ask you--who in gay hell steals their friends from the wild?! some of my friends act like wild animals, but i assure you they came from legitimate nurseries.
fortunately for him, liberace's protege has some pretty heavy recovery time ahead of him--plenty of time to consider more humane, sensible ways to entertain people. unfortunately, most of the world felt sorry for him.

what do these incidents say about our culture? that despite boasting some of the most technologically advanced educational institutions, fostering children to be so intellectually competitive, they'll fight to the death to win a spelling bee, and taking note of the increase in college graduates, we still get off on watching elephants balance on balls and tigers dance around in toutous? what's even sadder is that, according to the national humane society, the number of tigers living in captivity in this grand nation of ours is roughly equivalent to all the tigers living in the wild. i suppose the same goes for elephants, lions, and other wild beasts subjected to the involuntary perils of a life in the bondage of 'show business.' and if the sum of these attacks don't hint around to something, maybe this little factoid from the humane society can make it a bit clearer: in the past five years, nine people have been killed by tigers in the united states. nine people--and tigers aren't even indigenous to the u.s.! get the fucking picture--wild animals belong in the wild. if they kill you there, it's because you've invaded their home. once you bring them into yours, it's your own damn fault if your fat ass liver provides a tasty foie gras to them.

new year's resolutions:
  1. adopt a dog (and by adopt, i don't mean fund puppy mills by giving money to a pet store for a dog--i mean adopt a perfectly fabulous friend from the s.p.c.a. and save a life)
  2. shoot circus trainers
  3. make five people give up veal (hey--if you want to ingest antibiotics and growth hormones, just go to the david barton gym)
peace out, cub scout.

Monday, December 25, 2006

diaz day


i wish today were cameron diaz's real birthday. it's actually august 30th, but i don't know that because i'm some obsessed fan--i just imdb'd it. and i'm not just saying all this because it's Christmas eve, either.
i just need to say that cameron diaz is really amazing. i feel that she's the only celeb (and by celeb, i'm simply referring to the term cam has been such with by society, as well as us weekly) who's the real deal. i have a feeling i'm going to be repeating that term quite frequently throughout my little 'festo.
but i digress.
i think she's my favorite well-known person. there, that's better. she's the only one who seems really real--ya know what i mean? she doesn't stick her ass in every camera lens that comes her way, a la paris, and i think she's one of the few great actresses that actually still consider their trade a job. cameron wakes up, makes a movie, eats dinner, and goes to bed. she's normal.
but more than that, she's cool. i really think we're destined to be great friends. one day i'm going to meet her at some function, and something really cliche is going to happen. i'll trip over her leg or something. and she'll say, "oh, i'm sorry!" and notice a certain accessory i'll no doubt be wearing--like suspenders--and say, "great suspenders, though!" or maybe she'll take note of my daring rat tail. "is that rat tail?" she'll inquire, to which i'll gleefully respond, "it sure is! let's have a drink and toast to rat tails!" and she'll say, "it's on!"
and from that point cam and i will be awesome friends. she'll come over and we'll do facials and watch my golden girls dvds.
but let's talk about her more. she's the real deal. and she's got such great style that i honestly feel is inherent. i wouldn't at all be surprised to find out she doesn't have a stylist. i feel like she has her own eye for incredible fashion, and poo pooh's the idea of allowing someone else's ideals to eclipse her own unique perspectives. have you ever seen cameron diaz on a worst-dressed list? and if so, it was probably because the stupid magazine running it ran out of space on the best-dressed list. like, if she decided to wear a black number with netting and some underlying crinoline that, no doubt, looked incred, they'd condemn her for trying to be goth or something. it's like, "hello people--she's cameron diaz. she knows what she's doing. and black looks good on everybody, so go to your macy*s sale and shut up."

i also think she'd be really fun to go discount shopping with. making an entire day of random stops to marshall's, tj maxx, etc. and raid the home sections for odd vases, knick-knacks and discontinued flatware with holiday handles. we could host odd little dinner parties and invite people we've always wanted to know, like catherine zeta jones (another real deal) and miuccia prada.

and even though this little manifesto sort of makes me borderline weirdo, i think if cam were to read it, she'd say, "this kid is the real deal too. let's totes get togeth!" and when we go out, she'd be totally crazy--but the good kind of crazy. like the kind that gets sloshed (because you can tell she's a funny drunk--like moi) really early in the night so by the time you get home, you're all better and you can wake up at 11 and meet for brunch and spend the day reading magazines and shopping for fun body exfoliants. maybe she'd even join me on my crusade for the homeless!

but anywho--today is cameron diaz day, but instead of going out to buy some rotten tabloid and read about her that way, don a blond wig, go out on the town, and party like the real cameron!

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

i'm funny


that's right. i'm really f-ing funny. i realized i was super funny a few minutes ago when, as usual, i was laughing at one of my own jokes, and i caught my reflection in a mirror (one of the many i keep near my desk). what i saw didn't really surprise me--pure and utter glee! i wasn't only laughing at my own joke to imbue others to follow suit--i was really enjoying it! i'm super funny.

you know what really grinds my gears? even more than the eternity pharmacists take to fill ambien prescriptions? the fact that it's easier to regenerate a limb than to get a doctor's appointment within a year. my sinuses have been hosting their own rager for the past three weeks, and my LAX-->JFK flight the other night was the icing on the cake...the spray on the hair...the blood on the windshield. my genetic predisposition to bad sinuses provided me with the most excruciating pain that lasted the entire time we were above 100 feet...5 horrifying hours. 5 hours of pressure, throbbing pain, and viscous blood chunks falling out of my nose, that helped me to conclude that i need to see a doctor again so i can get those glorious instruments shoved up my anesthetized nose and free me from the bondage of chronic sinusitis! they just better be wary of my deviated septum...the last thing i want to lose is my endearing snort.
but i digress. so i called the doctor, stated my em-urgency (good one, right?!) and the bitch says, "the doctor can't see you until next......wednesday." wednesday. WEDNESDAY?! hello, did i leave out the part where i'm in pain and dying? and is it not evident that the sinuses, located directly behind the nose, just happen to lurk around the corner from the brain? what if the drama spreads? i'll get meningitis! or encephalitis! i could die of a swollen head, and won't THAT look good plastered on the cover of US Weekly. i mean, really.
nevertheless, i still didn't get a fuckin appointment, so i'm going home tonight to do a little irrigation. i hope the blood doesn't stain my sink.

on a lighter note, i'm totally back! i promise to be faithful to at least every-other-day postings. even if they're stupid, arbitrary postings, like the dedication to evita. especially since i can access le blog via my blackberry. a day without bryan is no day at all.

so let's talk LA. i had the most incred weekend in the city of angels. i shot my fashion piece on silent film. i'm not sure if my favorite part was the army of rolling muscle and carefully coiffed hair, otherwise known as the male models, or the fact that every shot was worth $100K. either way, what bliss! speaking of--if anybody needs a gift idea for moi, check out www.blissspa.com. if the words 'lowfat,' 'deep,' or 'detox' are involved, it's a pretty safe bet i'll covet it!
back to LA. so we shot with a certain photographer whose working reputation, shall we say, precedes him, but i'll definitely say that he was the most incredible, visionary, talented person i've ever worked with. and if you know how to take a good joke (and i do) he's a total plesh to work with. the big secret will be revealed in the feb/mar hollywood issue of blackbook.

so i'll be back in the valley as of this friday, and staying for the week, so if you're interested in watching trash, crashing gertrude hawk post-holiday liquidation sales, and feeding my inevitable-to-develop gambling addiction, hit a brother up. i'll be there.
i imagine by wednesday i'll be climbing the walls to get out, as my i-miss-ny psychosis sets in. no matter how cozy a refuge the valley affords me, more than four days of no traffic, double negatives, smoking sections and 2am closing times can drive this boy to near-insanity.

and with that, he was gone!

Saturday, December 16, 2006

on break!!

Ok so I'm posting this bitch from LA on 'business,' if you can call a weekend spent in and out of photo studios and on windy beaches in malibu a business trip.
But, alas, at the end of the day it is.
More later.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

whorebag zeitgeist

so i'll tell you what's up today--i am as puffy as the marshmallow man. not the special effects marshmallow man of the ghostbusters movie, but the one depicted in the cartoon version because he has puffier eyes.

and it's my own fault because i decided to eat--gasp--chinese food after eight last night. the profound correlation between sodium-rich foods and increased eye puffage has taken a grossly overrated manifestation on my pretty visage. IT'S NOT FAIR! and having the most technologically advanced cosmetic potions on hand does nothing. do you hear me, la prairie? NOTHING! do you hear me YSL? not a damn thing for puffiness!
so here i sit with two little air-inflated trampolines under my eyes and a face that rivals that of fat anna nicole.
real cute.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

the word of the day is

"last time i took someone's word for it..."
so today, while eavesdropping, as usual, on the conversation behind me, i overheard a colleague remark, "she said to take her word for it." my mind snapped into action, like a rubber band. "time for a witty remark," i thought.
so i turned around, and as nonchalantly as putting a stack of napkins in a drawer, i said, "last time i took someone's word for it, i ended up with crabs."**
the look of horror on their faces would've made any mother cry. stunning.

so, kids, your assignment today is to contribute to the vice "the last time i took someone's word for it" pool. and keep it dirty.

**this statement is obviously untrue, but if it'll make you happier to think i once endured an std, by all means keep it.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

the rant issue

it's that time of week where either i spontaneously realize that something has consistently pissed me off and it's time to illuminate it, or i've had a particularly stressful day and the occurrence of a certain annoying act has sent me over the edge and into a fit of ranting and raging.
so here goes.

rant
bluetooth earpiece devices
nothing is more annoying than people who walk around with these fucking things stuck to their ears. as a matter of fact, i don't think they're even people anymore. they've got to be a race of once-perfect humans who, in an impulse to seamlessly fit in with ever-evolving technological advancements, sold their souls and certain organic human elements to some dark force that facilitated their transformation into cyborgs (read: part human, part robot). and these cyborgs run every walk of life, from office managers to construction workers to soccer moms to elderly citizens with too much modern knowledge of technology for their own good (or their former good). why else, then, is it necessary to go EVERYWHERE with these electronic modules attached to one's head? and i'm not using 'everywhere' as some convenient, all-inclusive word--it IS everywhere, from casual trips in the car (the only real acceptable reason for constant use of this device), to parking lot walks from the car to the wal*mart, to day-long jaunts at the mall (which makes attempts at fashionable dressing quite futile--no matter how many colors the fucking thing comes in, it STILL isn't a viable accessory!), even to church! to endure the whole mass, as if God plans on singling out his new team of apostles via private cellphone calls!
so the word is--it's a great thing to possess such technology that allows one to perform the once tedious act of making a phone call (remember all that sliding around the dial of a rotary phone?! oy!) without one stroke of a finger, but it's quite another to allow such a advancement to place us in such bondage, such arresting positions as to require the constant usage of a device--are we on house arrest? for cryin' in the sink!

rant #2
price of traveling

this is an issue with which i've had a huge, longwithstanding problem, but always thought it inappropriate to bitch about...but here goes. after picking around ikea tonight (i'm sick, and looking haggard at ikea is much more acceptable than at neiman marcus), i was walking out to my car and i couldn't help but watch as plane after plane took off from the newark airport. there's no denying that everyone aboard those planes was going somewhere--some for pleasure, some for business, some to attend shiva, some without plans of returning. whatev--i digress. and it made me think that i'd like to travel more--a lot more. unfortunately, though my job is fabulous, it sure doesn't pay that way and so my two-month safari through egypt is indefinitely on hold. and this prompted me to contemplate, why in fucking hell does it cost so much to travel? we're all on the same earth--it's not like the pyramids and paris lie in different universes. they're both mere hours away, and also thousands of dollars. like, who suddenly said, "let's make the otherwise easy task of going from 'here' to 'there' difficult and expensive!!?" honestly--it's getting out of control.
even more so that i deserve to travel to amazing places. i'm the type of person who, upon landing in a foreign culture, strives to immerse himself in that culture as a way of seeing his poor, gentrified, sadly-undercultured, saturated-fat-obsessed (read: AMERICAN) culture from a different perspective. i deserve to live amongst the masai warriors of kenya and outrun lions and eat warthogs, and look back on my pennsylvania upbringing and say, "take this up the mall, fuckers!" you know, "eat that with your stone-washed boot-cut jeans. and when you're done, go build another abercombie!" yeah. ok i'm done with that.
but back to the point. i deserve to have a house on bondi beach in australia, and a shack amongst the aborigines of new zealand, raising sheep and eating indiginous food. and yet my wallet lies empty, next to my yearnings.
but don't you worry, because when i take over, i'm going to make world travel a government-subsidized institution, so that everybody who years to discover new cultures and see the seven wonders of the world in a week and fuck a prostitute in amsterdan can do so--and the only thing they'll have to pay for is the five-star hotel or cheap brothel in which they choose to accommodate themselves. airborne terrorism will be a thing of the past, as every pissed off muslim renegade will see his chance to realize boyhood dreams of running naked through the irish countryside with a red-haired virgin and a labrador retriever on his heels and totally ditch osama and all that crazy shizz. and plenty of hot indians will come to america to instinctually find me and ask me to write books about them. and the whole america=white trash situation will totally resolve itself, as those yearning to escape the oppressive reign of the oklahoma government will see themselves going east or west on the amtrak express, pro bono, to pursue dreams of becoming actors and actresses or senate officials or hustlers (or both), while those who are fed up with the fast-track life on opposing coasts can move back home to the midwest, reclaiming their white trash youths, for the plane ticket they thought would completely sop up a year's worth of rent is suddenly not an issue. america will be fabulous again. maybe we'll even change our colors--i may be alone here, but i'm a little tired of red, whie & blue. how about red, black and orange? hot!
all because of me.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

a new argentina day

today is dedicated to the song a new argentina from the evita soundtrack--the madonna one, of course.

rude awakening

so this morning, as i struggled to stay upright against the couch while my morning raged on, the usual commercial lineup of lifetime tv played as usual: campbell's tomato soup...the sunday movie premiere ("murder in the hamptons"), and sally field's new venture, the osteoporosis solution boniva. then suddenly, a familiar tune caught my ear--rock the casbah! just the melody, mind you, but played to the most obscure of visuals-a DRYEL commercial! the home dry-cleaning system, complete with an 800 number and all, was being acted out by some brunette to the tune of one of my top 5 iTunes played songs! go fig. what would inspire such a combination?
what correlation does 'rock the casbah' and dryel have in common?
i'm perplexed...i really am.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

PROTEST DAY!!

today we're going to protest all sorts of things--not typical protest fare, like fur and foie gras and the circus, but real issues that cause all sorts of daily inconveniences...like ketchup packets and hot air hand dryers.

ketchup packets:
they're too small, terribly messy, and always dirty. just because a foil and plastic sheath separates the miniscule amount of america's premier condiment from the rest of the filthy world doesn't mean contamination never happens. because it does.
and why are they so damn small? i mean, honestly--unless one fry constitutes a meal for someone, and i'm sure in some far reach of the world it does, one packet of ketchup is NEVER enough. no circumstance calls for a mere teaspoon full of ketchup, half of which gets stuck to the gross packaging anyway. what about double-size ketchup packets? it only makes sense--it's not THAT much more, and just think of the auxiliary benefits! advertisers can put pictures and ads on the back--bigger space means more words, larger pictures and therefore, better ads! yeah!

hot air hand dryers:
ugh. number one--who has the fucking time to wait? i know environmentalists around the world will condemn my scoff of this exceptionally waste-free means of drying one's hands, but for real--i don't have time to stand in front of a dryer for a minute and a half while others wait to do the same behind me...tapping their feet impatiently, as if i have control over the water's evaporation from my hands. oy.

Monday, November 06, 2006

OY VEY!

no, i'm not jewish. it just made sense.

i'm not taking the usual pains to point out that it's been forev since my last posting, and to blab on about what those hindering reasons may have been. the fact is i'm here, and that's a good thing.

so the first thing is the newly gay neil patrick harris! yeah, welcome to the club! we're so supportive!!

NOT!



ooh, he's gay! no. 1: who gives a shit? so am i! so is chris! so is david! so is mary, deborah, and millions of other people out there. it's just that they don't get the revelation dragged out of them.
i just think it's so pathetic that for celebrities, coming out is such a negative thing. sure, it's just another gay rights ally in the public eye, but what does it take for them to get there? months and years of outright denial and constant pestering, until, finally, they *admit* the rumors are true.

no. 2: i speak for america when i say that rumors are rarely good things. nobody starts rumors like, "marybeth's hair looks wonderful! pass it on," or, "joe is such a wonderful person--can you believe it?!" no, it's all negative negative negative--and for one to come out after such a long period of speculation has had a chance to ferment and become more potent, they're simply giving the crowd that created such negative publicity exactly what they want.

just once i'd love to see a celebrity, upon the first speculation that they just might be a homo, come out and say, "yes, i'm gay. get the fuck over it." even if they're not, it would be nice of them to give a more detailed answer, rather than just let the foaming mouth of rumors get all gross. they could say, "i know why you think i'm gay--i dress to kill, my skin is gorgeous, and i'm friends with alan cumming--but i'm not, so stop." that's all the fucking media would need!

i also think to be so apprehensive indicates that people should, indeed, express unnecessary concern that one is gay; that such an admittance is, in fact, deserving of a negative, perlustrous response.
the end.
goodNESS!

so now i'd also like to talk about my new favorite spectating activity: it's called "the iPod snag," and it's popping up everywhere. none of us are safe.
perhaps you've even experienced the iPod snag for yourself! picture walking down the street, iPod tucked in your pocket, safely away from nefarious children and iPod snatchers, earbuds in your ears, and that wire dangling from ear to pocket is dangerously attractive to protruding buttons, zipper pulls and fingers. one minute the music is pleasantly blaring in your ears. the next, one of the aforementioned liabilities snags that loose wire, rudely yanking the earbuds RIGHT out of your ears, abruptly interrupting your tune flow and screwing up the lines you were singing.
the real challenge in this situation is just to whom we should direct our sudden, yet very appropriate, anger: the person, whose inanimate button inadvertently snagged your iPod wire, or apple, the prolific mother of the iPod, who haven't yet introduced a way for one to enjoy their iPod without such burdensome hassles as a wire.
personally, i direct my anger to the bastard who's unfortunate enough to own, or wear, the item that snags my wire.
on the brighter side, maybe it's not such a bad thing--one can potentially 'snag their soulmate in such a manner!

and with that, i'm out!!

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

ny stuff



so it's no wonder the apple logo is stylistically formed out of a rainbow--the store is a haven for cruising! not since the viewing booths at chelsea's "the blue" have i seen such aggressive attempts at picking up guys. i walked into the soho location to expedite purchasing an iTrip for the car so, naturally, i had electronics on my mind. motherboards and shiny black lacquer and technical words such as "upgrade" and "operating system." i thought 75% of the other shoppers had the same mindset (the other 25% are those bridge-and-tunnel weirdos who use the apple store solely for checking their email). i was wrong. i walked in, made a beeline directly to the section that i THOUGHT contained the selection of car adapters, realized i had gone to the wrong part, and looked around to correct myself. no sooner had i looked up from the floor was my gaze greeted by a shaggy-haired "abercrombie-type" (you can't imagine the restraint i must use right now to prevent myself from vomiting from using that term, but really--their shallow efforts deserve just as shallow a title) who was clearly looking for a little more than a laptop. i made my disgust evident as i looked away, only to catch yet ANOTHER pair of hungry eyes! i know i'm hot shit strutting around in there, i dress myself, but i'm not exactly on display in a window somewhere. oh, hell, i love the attention.

it's quite sad that it's come to this, really, especially with the multitude of other more apt crusing spots available in this gay old city. i mean, when you think about it, the apple store is really a glorified radio shack with much chicer merchandise, and when's the last time you heard yourself recalling "the hot guy from radio shack"?

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

grrrr, newark

well, you sure don't have to be an italian str8 acting dom jock to know they must've scored some big gain in today's world cup game. if you're in newark, all you need is a functioning set of ears. i just went from a moment of silence (disregarding, of course, the sci-fi channel's 'twilight zone' marathon in the background) to an uproar of screams, shouts, car horns and aerosol bullhorns. "what on earth?" i thought to myself.



previously, it had been the local brazilian, portuguese, and ecuadorian populations that so noisily rejoiced when their respective teams won these games, but not this. not my people. now the italians are the latest ethnicity to create this audible spectacle of celebration.
now don't think i'm hating on any certain culture here--i really don't give a damn who's out there swinging flags and hanging out of car windows, or what their ethnicity is. what i do care about, however, is the way in which they do it. does one think, "oh, if our team wins the world cup today, let's get in the car, drive all around newark, beeping our horns to some sort of song, and hang out the windows!" they probably fill up their gas tanks the night before to prepare for such a ritual.
do the girls all congregate around the tv and sew skimpy little dresses out of flags, even if they're unsure of who's going to win? i mean, WHO DOES THAT? there's got to be some law against the hanging out of car windows...unless you're a dog, of course, and there are many a mutt dragged into the festivities. believe me.




i've heard of people whistling out their front doors and beating pots and pans with spoons...or maybe that's just a pennsylvania new year's thing, but the traffic's a blur of italian flags and all these ragazze calde shaking it all over the place, and it's just too much. what happened to a few beers in front of the tv?

on that note, today is independence day. american independence day. AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE DAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! put away the damn red, white and GREEN and flaunt the friggin stars and stripes!

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

i'm alive!

so here i am...over a year later, and i've still got it.

why haven't i written in over a year? because i've been busy, that's why. busy with blackbook magazine, busy with apartment hunting, and busy with staying busy.
so in the tradition of every other blog out there today, i'm going to commence my resurrection with some extra commentary on celebrity shit.

let's start with miss marcia cross...or should i say MRS. Marcia whatever, because she's married now.

ok i love marcia cross--she's my favorite character on 'desperate housewives.' she's also super nice (i've run into her in person). why, then, is she so damn plain jane?! i want to look at her and say, "whoa, she's one hot babe!" but i just can't seem to get past her pastel 2-for-$16 gap long-sleeve tees! all that money, and absolutely no fashion sense. where's her stylist? why isn't (s)he doing their job? if i were marcia cross, i'd whip that fiery mane up into luscious, marilyn curls and wear tons of eye makeup. i'd give the girls some much-needed exposure in a low-cut SOMEthing, and the last thing you'd see on my feet are those orthopedic monstrosities she's famous for sporting. fashion over function, sweetie--cute over comfort. you're a celebrity now. it's not only your job to play bree for us one night a week, but now you're also expected to fill a full schedule of stunning sightings and head turning appearances. make us hard, marcia, arouse us!
what's worse is now that she's married, what kind of deeper slump can she possibly fall into? perhaps she'll fall for the four most dreaded words of fashion: old navy cargo pants.

i know this is like a week late, but i still must pitch in my two cents on...

THE SANDRA BERNHARD TELL OFF CONTEST!
for those of you who missed this spectacle last week, sandra bernhard was on the view. but she wasn't only ON the view, she WAS the view! she painted the room, honey. she hands-down won the 'tell it like it is' award for letting the four deranged matrons of the couch know who's really the boss. and she wielded the word "honey" like a bowie knife. she waved it in the air before she brushed the throats of any woman who would potentially challenge her opinions on mariah, laura bush, or women's reproductive liberties. she wasn't hearing a "no" in that conversation...especially when two of the three brain cells elizabeth hasselback possesses decided to speak up and protest bernhard's opinion of the heavily-medicated laura bush. she piped up with, "why is she heavily medicated? because she advocates the education system?" girl, if you're going to make a statement and pretend to be some kind of activist, make it believable. what do the two have to do with each other? her blatant disregard for sensible war cries just outed her as yet another hamptons bitch republican. go wrap a cashmere around your shoulders and shut up.
star, on the other hand, a perpetual member of my shit list, played it safe and declared herself too cute to argue with sandra at that moment...and because i'm happy that the big bern got her way, i have to agree.
VIVA LA BERNHARD!

finally, i just have to be the one to say it. i have a ton of respect and admiration for anna wintour, EIC of 'vogue,' but honestly, when it comes to the book and movie 'the devil wears prada,'

WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL?
so an angry, disgruntled assistant wrote a whole bunch of shit about you and fuckin' banked on it with a book...and a movie...and an oscar blandi haircare set at sephora. you're still anna wintour. you're still the editor-in-chief of 'vogue,' honey. take a damn pill. you're the last person i'd expect to be offended by a simple memoir, babe. so she said you're a bitch, and difficult, and quite irrational at times. sticks and stones may break your bones (and the occasional PETA-thrown cream pie may clog your pores) but do names really hurt you?
i can't believe a grown woman is freaking about so! you've even caused the whole conde nast establishment to get its cosabella panties in quite a bunch. poor anne hathaway won't ever see her face on the cover of 'allure' again...and with such peaches and cream skin. you're cutting off your nose to spite your face. what's next, sending grenades to every piece of hate mail that hits vogue from poor middle-americans? target's hip too now, ya know.
the only names you should be worrying about are those emblazoned on the tags of your clothes.

and with that, i sign off for the day.

expect much more in the future--the bitch is back.