Tidbits. From the desk of...

A few things. There may be a really disturbing union in the works... with Mark the Cobra Snake. Doubtful, but we'll see (xoxo to Amy @ LAX! So fucking HOT baby! Loves ya!). Just as Phil of The Future became my favorite new show (solely because of Alyson Michalka!), it was cancelled. A word or two about Alyson though - She has a much less attractive sister, and she is Hilary Duff's voice fill in Raise Your Voice, Lilo's in Herbie, and Michelle Trantenberg's in Ice Princess! She's the one who sings all of those amazing songs that lets you know what the girls are thinking (to compensate for inability to act. Speaking of, can someone give Mischa her phone number?). Speaking of Mischa, she'll be sworn in as an American citizen next month - I guess the good taste in dudes is not a prerequisite. Maybe if Arnold has his way, she'll... totally, like, one day be president & stuff! Heeeey.

Sure, there are many great things about the Sunday LA Times, but the Los Angeles Time Magazine was the best... until a few weeks ago anyway when it disappeared! I've been buying it in the store recently, so I don't know if still comes with delivery. Can someone let me know?!

The best compliment I received this month (thanks ellen!): "You smell amazing! Like pretty girls... and high school!"

I've always been a lil disturbed by Luke Perry Syndrome. I mean, suspension of disbelief becomes even more difficult when you know the captain of the football team is signing up for the AARP. Rachel McAdams definitely shocked me a bit, and Kristen Bell too (but she's adorable, so it's cool!)... it's one of those things you just kinda have to move past. But finding out that Miss Seventeen, Jennifer Steele was a twenty year old student at the University of Wisconsin really blew me away! With her 13 year-old face, freckles, and sweet, sweet braces, I was ready to love her to pieces! But she did what so many vapid chicks do - she made her hardship her defining characteristic. Maybe it just means she's a marketing genius, but a quick search for any biographical information produces only slight variations of the same sob story she offered throughout the show. We all had a shitty childhood and we were all dealt a shitty hand at some point - the rest of us got over it! Good luck with your pity party fucker, I hope it takes you far. She's not a leader, she's not a role model, and she's definitely not a Seventeen-year-old girl! God, why couldn't she just be more like Kristin!

Since everyone else here is doing the silent thing, I'll give a quick overview:

• Cindy was amazing and beautiful on Jeopardy last week!


• A bunch of millions of people are going to hear Isolatrix's voice during the super bowl


• Stacy face is finally moving back where she belongs! She'll be in town all week looking at lofts.

xoxo

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The Kid Stays In The Picture

Modesty. I've been trying to understand success. What it means to different people and how they achieve that... It's relationship to the elusive Happiness - the ultimate treasure chest that most people spend their lives searching for, but few actually find. Is happiness / success blowing late-night rails off a table at FortyDeuce with Ashlee Simpson or is it being the center of attention every time you recount the tale for the next eleven years? (Hopefully neither, but we'll call it the Shania Twain paradox). Eons before Huckabees, though, Married... With Children introduced us to a small town's only celebrity: The man who met Annndy Griffith. Spectacular enough to a small community that they could look past the fact that he was also a serial killer.

Success may not be the first thing that comes to mind when seeing a Burbank poseur dry fuck a still-young Ashly Blue on late-night norno (thats softcore porn for those who don't know), but considering she was last seen taking two San-Bernardino-biker cocks in her ass at the same time while squealing her catchphrase, "This is so fucking dirty! I love it," 3a.m. Cinemax may be her end of the rainbow.

Worse, maybe that underage extreme ass-fucking (though maybe less responsible for rectal prolapse) is the despicable, compulsive namefucking that feeds on every nuance of this city. There are some ringers in this sport - infotainment superstars, Melissa & Joan, Pat & Mary, even Jillian... but there are also some Muhammed Alis, some David Beckhams of desperate namedropping, and I think you know who they are!

• Robert Evans: considered a legend by the drones of people who buy into his bullshit, hoping to somehow live vicariously through his wagon which has been hitched to a few too many stars. This guy can't sneeze without spraying five oscar statues. He made blockbuster movie that was nothing but him listing the famous people he knew! Rediculous.
  
• Rodney Bingenheimer: one really lonely night i drove around the LAX arrivals terminal forty three times... it's just what I do... it was halloween weekend and that night I listened to Rodney's radio show for the first time - a halloween mix special. This was before indie 103.1 was on air, and it was the best radio I had ever heard. I learn that the man introduced America to most of the greatest music of the past twenty years... but also that he's a sad, hallow shell of a man... it's not rare that a being great comes at the expense of being horribly tortured, but something about his desperation - the way that he is always talking to someone, always seen with someone, but deliberately so. It was hard to watch Mayor of the Sunset Strip because it so clearly illustrated his psychosis... except maybe to him. In some ways he's the antithesis of Robert Evans, but in mostly they're the same... Kate Hudson's Penny Lane: always surrounded but always alone. ( Note: That's how Matt described me when we first met).
  
• Brett Ratner: This guy is just an asshole. A pathetic starfucking asshole, but an asshole none the less. Recently he released a book of polaroid strips taken in the photo booth in his home (Ingrid Bergman's former manse! Didn't you know?!). The book is more or less an illustrated name-drop. In an interview, i think for BlackBook magazine back in the day, Brett had to make it clear that, "The pictures were not staged or planned. I just had my friends - Michael Jackson, Heidi Klum, Paris Hilton [with Leo Di Caprio] - take pictures because they're always at my house anyway! Did you know it once belonged to Ingrid Bergman?!" And don't worry - Robert Evans not only sports a fancy spread (page 177), he also wrote the introduction to the book! It's like... i don't even know, but it's like something spectacular! Ratner may be the worst, because no matter how much you loathe him and know his life is a joke, you're afraid to talk shit about him because you know he's gonna name-drop you next time he's on Entertainment Tonight, and you know you were only at the Hilhaven afterparty because you were looking to score some blow but then he saw you and you had to tell him that you were between scripts right now but you'd definitely take a look at his... a sordid mess, yes?!
  

But these people are "successful." They're more-or-less wealthy, envied by many, and live the life that 50 million desperate housewives between Fontana and Prospect Heights wish for every week when they flip open their copy of The National Enquirer, STAR, In Touch, or when they turn on Pat O'Brien, Mary Hart, even Hal Sparks.

This was originally going to be about meeting Heidi Fleiss. After ten or fifteen minutes of casual conversation, her infamous past was completely eclipsed by her tragic fetishization of money and her pathological substitution of wealth for happiness (a condition that is intrinsically responsible for her degenerate lifestyle and eventual decline. Call it Tony Montana syndrome - to get precisely wha you've always wanted until it quickly and violently destroys you). I guess this makes me a starfucker. Whatevs. The face of a desperate woman.

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Bubbles & a Rub-A-Dub

So, i thought the homo british accent only worked on ditzy american chicks in san francisco.... but Kate Moss has been canoodling with Jack Osborne around town! Bitches are losing ground left and right around here! I hate alt, indie-rock, scenster, williamsburg/silverlake rocker fags... for like, literally a hundred different reasons, but mostly because they're so unapologetically social-climbing to be something big. They're like the desperate girl, wandering around the party at the end of the night: Maybe they won't out-n-out ask you to fuck, but they'll stand next to you and rub on your junk until it just happens. Case: Strokes drummer starfucking Drew 'piglet' Barrymore.

I think there were at least a dozen things i wanted to mention here, whatevs though, right?! I mean, when the fuck are people going to stop talking about Angelina and Brad... Okay, he's rough trade and she's got big tits and makes out with her brother - move the fuck on, k! Willa Holland (aka Caitlin Cooper) is a funny little slut... if i didn't know better I'd think she was a Pacific Palisades cocktease... her myspace is hilarious because she drops the N-- bomb and gets titface drunk just like me! Kisses Caitlin! Someday soon I'll post some of my myspace greatest, but for now I'll let your mind wander.

Stacy Face is coming back to me and I'm soooo fucking excited! you don't even know, right?! So what if we're cooler than you are?! We're gonna tear this town a-fucking-part! I'm still waiting for something sweet from you here stacy... and C... please, please... i got rid of Kristin and everything... come on!

This is a photo of Piper... a pretty girl, Kappa, and i guess she thinks she's a singer or something. Her sister used to be totally fly, but i guess now she's a newscaster in Iowa. Go buckeyes!

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Red White & Ewww!

So this may be catering to the lowest class, but by lowest class, I

mean girls who wear shitty poorman's juicy white stretch pants in public, particularly when there's a possibility that they're surfing the crimson wave. Ewww! John Waters [famously?] said in his docu-biopic, "I'm sorry, but if you wear white after Labor Day, just don't think we can be friends." Unless she's a HUGE South Park fan, there's just no excuse... Kudos to Jack Black for fucking her in a rodeo stall (or doing whatever it is he's doing back there.

Remember when I loved you with all my heart and you meant the world to me?! Your luck can change just that fast baby!

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Like Being Pelted with Marshmallows

My biggest problem with Lost in Translation was that Scarlett and Bill Murray did not fall in love in the end, my biggest problem with Garden State was that Natalie and Zach did.

Shopgirl is one of my favorite things of 2005. If you know anything about me it's pretty obvious why that's true (and yes, I'm sure it was an even more amazing book, but I'm illiterate, so fuck off for a sec, thanks!)... It was kinda like Lost in Translation, but if Scarlett and Bill fell in love... Not that Steve Martin falls in love with Claire Danes, but, well, ya know... That, and Jason Schwartzman actually beat the odds and out-hipstered Giovanni Ribisi in the tragically emo hipster / scenester kid playing an iteration of himself category - truly a feat!

Bill Murray and Steve Martin make these movies great... any attempt to explain why would sound waaay too much like dave, and it's too cold outside for seppuku, so I'll let you complete that thought. Scarlett Johanson kinda sucks a lot, but she's actually decent in Lost, probably because she's basically playing herself. If you ask any girl with a bit of pink bits, she'll tell you that she has a special place in her heart for Claire Danes a la My So-Called Life, but to me she'll always be fair Juliet Capulet or the impecibly named Sookie Sapperstein. She plays demure well, which is completely fucking hot, but as Mirabelle, she's exemplifies girls' kittyish instinctual loyalty.

I always liked Elisa Donovan, particularly in her cocaine face stage. Coach Deemer just made her crabwalk a lap around the gym to FIGHT ON!, the USC Trojan Victory Song... National Champs forever and ever!

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Link

Think Outside Her Box...

I predicted it a month ago... some of the foxiest Kristin on Kristen hottness - things you couldn't dream! This is a photograph of the beach near my house on New Years Eve. Remind me again why New York is sooo cool?!

I kinda let sentiment slide this year - there are no heartwarming memories to recount, nor any songs / movies / events to list (like you didnt see, hear, and experience the same fucking shit!). The REAL OC soared past the "real" OC, Notre Dame made my heart stop with four point three seconds on the clock, and Katie Morgan (named after her drink of choice, kinda like Malibu Cindy!) said it best:
"You can come on anything, just not in anywhere."

I've been bad. I'll write more... I just hope you'll keep reading!

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