October 2005 Archives

Interesting that only Nicky chose to wear a costume on Halloween.

R. Kelly has apparently decided to conceptualize a new version of his "hit" urban opera -- "Trapped In A Baghdad Closet."

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

I assume the finger guns are there because he couldn't whip out his Beretta, as is his wont, and wave it around haphazardly while urging us all to handle things "Christian-like." And presumably his lawyers forced him to go into Stealth Wang mode by camouflaging his crotch, rendering it naturally invisible so that no under-18s might see it and feel the threat of a golden shower raining down upon them. I'd suggest that he thank them for their ingenuity, and for them getting him through all the allegations and whatnot, but R. already took care of that in the liner notes for TP3: Reloaded, in which he expressed heartfelt gratitude for his attorneys' belief in him -- right after he thanked God, his four trainers, several gyms, the record people, some family, some friends, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, Ray Ban, Neil Patrick Harris, the closet, Andrew Lloyd Webber, porcelain bathtubs, and the cast and crew of The Englishman Who Went Up A Hill And Came Down A Mountain.

But, it's nice to see R. has come out of that period on top of his game, and not at all looking like he emerged from the aforementioned Closet of War having lost a ground battle with his own trousers. In fact, he may be trying to help us. By cleverly shoving on cutoffs and ankle cuffs over some trousers  he was already wearing, R. may in fact be trying to rush the hideous dresses-over-jeans trend to its natural conclusion: jeans over jeans. God, is there nothing this man won't do for us? He trapped himself in a closet to teach us all about relationships, and how complicated they are, and how if you come home and a phone rings in the vicinity of your closet, you should immediately check in the bathroom, the shower, under the bed, and in the dresser drawer before actually checking said closet, and how firing off a bullet in the air can really shut a bitch up, and how a woman shouldn't ride her husband too aggressively in the sack because it puts him in severe danger of getting a groin cramp, and how no matter how much needless exposition exists in your life, you will NEVER know who the hell Roxanne is, so just give up already.

The sheer number of life lessons that have come from him are spectacular. So forget the fugging, guys. Embrace him instead. I hope you too will go out and wear ankle cuffs and cutoffs over your pants. It's the least you can do for a man who's only trying to help. To quote the genius himself, "Let the R. do his thing," and if you can't, then "go get a goddamn job and leave [him] alone."

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Rachel McAdams is so pretty. Doesn't she look nice? Except... there's something bothering me about this picture, but I can't put my finger on it. Just can't get to the root of it. Hmm. God, and I was really rooting for this outfit, too... What could be the root of the problem? I need to find a route out of this muddle. I don't root what to root. I'm rootly embarrassed here. Root's so rooting and root root. ROOT.

Ahem. Sorry. I got distracted there. I think I was trying to say that I don't like the pockets.

Now, here's the thing. I secretly love Gwyneth Paltrow. I know! I know. But I do. I can't help it. She has such pretty hair. She's so Ralph Lauren-looking, all fresh-faced and clean. She looks like she smells like expensive soap.

Except for here:

Gywnie, Gywnie.  Why are you such a gloomy gauchos? All wrinkly and glum? Buck up! Things aren't so bad that you have to start dressing like an East German ice dancing judge circa 1982.

But your hair is still very pretty.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Oh, Amber. Don't even TRY to pretend that before your show wrapped, God came down and whispered in your ear that formal shorts weren't a mortal sin. God knows better. He's smote people for less. Don't be smote. Or smited. Smoted? Regardless, that sort of thing can really mess up a girl's hair.

If only Harry Potter were not fictional. I would send one Master Ronald Weasley a Howler regarding his hair. Behold!

Ron, Ron, Ron. I love you entirely, and spent the whole time I was reading Goblet of Fire worried that you were going to get killed off. BUT MY GOD, MAN. How can you SEE to cast your spells with all that HAIR IN YOUR EYES? You look like Shaun Cassidy. DON'T YOU HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITHOUT THE UPKEEP OF BANGS? WHY HAVE THE COSTUMERS DECIDED THIS WAS A GOOD LOOK FOR YOU?

And as if poor Ron's hair weren't tragic enough, apparently sweet little Rupert Grint has decided to keep it in real life:

Please tell me you're effecting the pose of The Thinker because you are reconsidering your bowl cut. You are ADORABLE. I am nothing if not a fan of the Family Weasley!  YOU'D LOOK SO MUCH BETTER IF YOU JUST GOT YOUR HAIR OUT OF YOUR -- oh, sweet God. I just turned into my mother, didn't I?

Sorry, Ron. Carry on.

We all loved that puppet-show scene in The Sound of Music. We all know about the poor lonely goatherd and his lusty yodeling, and the girl and her mama with the gleaming gloat, or coat, or whatever the hell the lyrics were. Basically, we all just liked watching the cute beer-swilling ones and those precious little big-eyed goats, and if you didn't think the goatboy and his girlfriend were cute then you have a heart made of tarred stone, and you really can't go wrong with Julie Andrews. At all.

(Unless we're talking about The Princess Diaries 2, in which case, don't watch it -- you will feel so depressed at how much that debacle disgraces her, although there is something fun about imagining her and Hector Elizondo doing shots in their trailers and bemoaning the bad old good old days when they were both in actual good movies, and wondering drunkenly whether they can bribe Garry Marshall into letting them burn the master print.)

But: back to the goatherd. Leelee Sobieski is apparently looking for him.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Her acting is as wooden as if she were a marionette herself, and certainly she could benefit from having La Andrews pull her strings. But generally speaking, Leelee Sobieski is not a maiden on a Swiss hilltop, and as far as I can tell, she's not milking anything except perhaps the ticking clock of her notoriety. So the whole The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Half-Pint motif she's got going here really might be better left inside her closet.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Kerry Washington failed the fugculus portion of her SATs, it seems. Let's go over the multiple-choice question:

Two mismatched wrongs + one hideous sash make ______:

a) a right

b) my right eyeball twitch

c) a girl aware of her right to remain silent while the fashion cops arrest her, on charges of reckless behavior, being a menace to society, DUI (dressing under the influence of idiots), and mixing white and cream.

d) both b and c.

I think the answer is clear, but sadly, Kerry chose A.

[Photos by Daily Celeb.]

I don't know a thing about this strange showgirl-nymph...

... except that she appears to be as startled by me as I am by her.

NICK: Hey, Jess, do you think they're buying it?

JESS: What?

NICK: IT. THIS. THIS SHAM OF A MARRIAGE WE'RE KEEPING UP FOR GOD KNOWS WHY. IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE CARES ABOUT US ANYMORE.

JESS: Huh? Oh, um. I dunno. Probably.

NICK: Seriously? HOW CAN YOU THINK THAT? EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S OVER!

JESS: Hmm? Sure, honey.

NICK: YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME.

JESS: Mmm-hmmm.

NICK: And what are you WEARING? Are those TIGHTS? WITH NO PANTS? UNDER A BIG SHIRT? AND A CROPPED SWEATER? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUUUUUU?

JESS: Uh-huh.

NICK: I WANT A DIVORCE!

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Ooh, Bobby -- you might want to have that thing looked at; I think it's infected.

I realize he was pretty smoldering in The English Patient, and that Jessica once had a (well-deserved) shrine to him in her college dorm room, but I do think that slumming it alongside Jennifer Lopez Noa Judd almost-Affleck Anthony has slowly sucked the life out of Ralph Fiennes.

Don't get me wrong:  I'm not even saying he's fugly, really. And his shirt, below, is quite a sassy color. But there's something in his coif... he looks like he's trying to corner the celluloid serial killer market -- perhaps campaigning to make the role of Younger Hannibal Lecter the new and ever-so-slightly more carnivorous James Bond:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

"Clariiiiiice... you stole my Rogaine, Clariiiiiice... I had to eat the hair plugs off Larry King last night, and it's murder to pick those out of your teeth, Clariiiiiiice, especially if you want to wear them... And I don't even LIKE men who taste like formaldehyde, Clariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice..."

It's not even Halloween yet, but Desperate Housewives' Andrea Bowen has apparently already debuted her Roy G. Biv costume:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Either that, or it's performance art representing the many layers of TV mom Teri Hatcher's career, from bottom to top: Red-hot, tepid, chilly, worthy of a Howie Long golden shower, totally in the crapper, and then finally, hot again in that "blood-boiling on-set feud" kind of way. It's really very sweet of Ms. Bowen to pay such a touching tribute to The Hatch (the one on ABC that's not a computer-operated den of insanity, illicit hygiene, and secret carbohydrates -- at least, as far as we know), but she should have considered that the many tints of Teri not only fight each other like attention whores at a magazine shoot, but devour her waist in the process.

Well, it's not like I expect "Downtown" Julie Brown to show up looking all sedate and stuff, but dude:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb]

This is a bit...Lori Petty by way of Jocelyn Wildenstein crossed with Amelia Earhart and topped with a fedora for me.

Dear Amber Tamblyn,

We are big fans of you here at GFY HQ. You're so cute! You're not a bobblehead! You're a pretty good little actress! Your Dad was awesome in Twin Peaks, and also clearly knows his way around both a switchblade AND a fan kick, thanks to his work in West Side Story, and God knows, we have no beef with genes like that. Finally, you clearly respect the power of properly fitting trousers, as saluted in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, a movie that absolutely did not make any of us cry, not once.

However.  This is a problem:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb]

Tragically, it gets worse:

Oh my God, y'all, it's been way too long since like we talked and stuff! But I have had my hands full with being all huge and pregnant because it turns out that being pregnant is actually sort of uncomfortable and even though I thought I would be all glowing and stuff the whole time, I actually mostly just had to pee a lot and then I had, like, this really big fight with my mom because she told me I looked broad as a barn, or something, which I think is just mean, because the Chillatos I was drinking were for her GRANDSON, hello, and then Kevin was just I don't even know where half the time, but all that's over now because I had the baby and now I'm back out at the Coffee Bean!

Okay, now, just wait a second. I know the pants are way too long. I know, I know, I know. They are. But I am a NEW MOTHER and I don't have time to be all running out to Demin Doctors or whatever to get my jeans hemmed up. I am BRINGING UP A CHILD. I am INVESTING IN THE FUTURE OF AMERICA THROUGH THE CHILDREN, or something. I don't have time for TAILORS and stuff. But other than that, seriously, don't you think I actually look pretty good, I mean, considering? I mean, didn't you sort of suspect that I might just totally start showing up places wearing like a muu-muu and one of those old lady rain hats made out of old plastic bags and chain-smoking or something? Like I would just decide that I was totally going to just give up on all that exercising they used to make me do and start living on, you know, fiery Cheetos and Jolt?  Okay, but listen, listen -- didn't you also think I was going to name the baby, like, Marlboro Milkshake Spears or something lame like that? DIDN'T YOU? I KNOW you did. And I DIDN'T. I DIDN'T. I named him SEAN. Like a NORMAL PERSON. See, I can be a TOTALLY NORMAL PERSON even though I have all these people with cameras following me around and my husband won't stop drinking Pabst straight out of the tap, like would it kill him to use a cup or something? Between you and me, and please seriously don't mention this to the Star or anything, he is really starting to get on my nerves. First of all, he was smoking a cigar to celebrate having the baby and that's totally fine but he actually lit the cigar with a two dollar bill that he set on fire and I told him that we don't have enough money to actually DO THAT and then he told me that a two dollar bill WASN'T REAL MONEY and then I actually had to take him to the McDonald's and buy some McNuggets with one before he would believe me that it was and honestly I am getting a little tired of his behavior and I am thinking about taking the baby and a couple of the nannies and getting in the car and going to Justin's and just throwing myself on his mercy because he totally can't turn down a girl who has a baby because that would just be mean.

And Kevin and my mother can just fend for themselves. See how they like it when I'm not even around anymore. Here's a hint: THEY WON'T.

INT.MISCHA'S BEDROOM.EVENING

MISCHA BARTON, a young actress, stands in front of her closet.

MISCHA:

What should I wear to the Ivy tonight? What to wear....what to wear....? The Jaclyn Smith Women's Collection caftan? No, that's so Mary Kate, and no one's seen her out and about in ages.  The argyle sweaterdress with the mukluks? No, too Ashlee Simpson. God forbid. I'd rather die. The gray twill jumpsuit? No, what if someone thinks I'm Maggie Gylllllenhallalalalll or whatever her name is? Like I would ever make a movie where I end up peeing myself just so some guy can spank me, or whatever happened at the end of that movie. God. I hate EVERYTHING I own. Everything! Except....

Yes! My BIKE SHORTS! I can even go to spinning class on the way to dinner. Excellent!

END SCENE.

There is a LOT going on here with Rachel True:

This outfit reminds me of nothing more than that old adage about accessories and the wisdom of removing one before leaving the house.   We've got boots! We've got fishnets! We've got one...no, TWO skirts! A BeDazzled shirt! A BeDazzled OVERshirt! Big spangly earrings! All floaty hems and autumnal colors, all the time! More! More! More!

I feel like at this point, you might as well throw on a cowboy hat and a gold-plated breastpiece and go for it. If you're going for too much, go for TOO MUCH.

Oh, MICHAEL STIPE.

I know you're all quirky and arty and stuff, but COME ON.

It's like a child's half-assed George Washington costume from the waist down, and, like, Baked Communications Professor on Graduation Day from the waist to the neck, and then, god, I don't even know, like, MY GRANDPA from the neck up.

So unless Michael Stipe woke up one morning and said, "today, I am going out dressed as Jessica's grandfather, if he were an academic obsessed with crossing the Delaware," then this is a MISSTEP.

WHEN will people learn the lesson about ruffles?

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

This dress makes her look like a mime crossed with a clown. She's ... a clime. Sweet God, aren't those two things bad enough on their own?

So, I have this little mental block surrounding Kelly Lynch:

I can not keep her and Kelly Preston apart in my mind. Which is, of course, ridiculous, as Kelly Lynch was all kind of cool and shit in Drugstore Cowboy, and was sort of fantastic in Charlie's Angels and is kind of interesting for those reasons, while Kelly Preston, you know, thinks Scientology rocks.  And yet, I always call Kelly Preston Kelly Lynch and Kelly Lynch Kelly Preston and just the other day, I couldn't remember for the life of me which one of them got nailed by Tom "Nutball" Cruise in the opening of Jerry Maguire, until I then realized that naturally it must have been Preston, because of their mutual belief in the rockingness of Scientology.

But I wonder if other people have problems keeping them apart in their minds, and if so, maybe that explains this outfit Kelly Lynch is wearing to the Domino premiere. It's like, defensive fashion. You see, I'm sure when other Scientologists mistakenly believe you are a super prominent Scientologist, they probably come up to you all the time and start yapping about clams and Thetans and Xenu and blah blah blah blah blah.  And if you are not said super prominent Scientologist, you probably get sick of having to tell people you're NOT a super prominent Scientologist, especially because then they are totally going to try to suck you in and make you a zombie incubator for the offspring of one of their high-ranking actor members, and nobody wants that. So what you need to do is wear something that will easily hypnotize, and/or induce seizures in someone who gets too close to you -- much like this dress! So when the Scientologist groupies come up to you and start blabbing, all you need to do is give a little shimmy, and when they fall to the floor gripping their temples and screaming about their eyes, you run!

So, see, Kelly Lynch is smart.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

It's not so much that Macy Gray looks fugly in this ensemble -- indeed, it's a lot better than anything you'd expect Macy Gray to wear. I even think the pink houndstooth coat is quite posh.

But she looks like she's playing -- like she thinks it's Halloween already, and she's going to the Domino premiere in costume as Oprah Winfrey, but she didn't feel like ironing the shirt or the salmon pants first. There's something alarmingly Soccer Mom about this Macy Gray, and I think that puts me outside my Macy Gray Comfort Zone. I'm used to, you know, whacked-out-and-crazy Macy Gray, not whacked-out-and-sensible Macy Gray. By nature she's more Miss J. Alexander than Miss J. Crew, and that's the way it should stay.

Oh, Mickey Rourke. I have to say, your crazy freakshow behavior and Satan's Drawing Room style sense is sort of starting to grow on me:

I mean, check out this outfit from the Domino premiere. How can you resist something that SHINY? That painfully mismatched? It's hypnotically tacky. It's...it's mesmerizing me. What's that, Mickey? You'd like to keep a vial of my blood, drawn at the quarter moon, in a leaded glass vial worn strapped to your leather man-necklace? Okay! You want me to burn a lock of my hair while chanting the Pater Noster backwards? That sounds like a great idea! You'd like me to light your cigarette with my teeth and take off my bra with my toes? DEAL!

Listen to me, girls, and hear me well: never underestimate the nefarious power of shiny paisley on a bad boy. You think you are immune, protected by the very hideousness that will eventually be your downfall. But in the end, it will do you more harm than good.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

This outfit is an exasperating blend of "Artful Dodger" and "Elizabethan fop grieving the loss of his nice trousers."

Better pants and shoes might've detracted from the former; as for that disastrous hat, I'll give Elisha Cuthbert the benefit of the doubt and assume that she only befouled herself with it because she absolutely couldn't wash her hair. The water in her abode was turned off for reasons beyond her control, or something, and all her friends and nearby relatives were indisposed and couldn't be relied upon to lend her some shower space. And when she stuck her head under the faucet at In-N-Out burger for a desperation rinse, her hair got caught in the fixture and it ripped a chunk out of her skull, so she had to choose a combination hat and turban -- a hurban -- to cover both the grease and the damage.

Yes. That covers it. Because there is absolutely no other rational explanation.

Celine Dion was thrilled to share with reporters her plan to star in and produce a one-woman Chicago -- and as a visual aid to prove it's possible, she arrived dressed both as Billy Flynn and Roxie Hart.

I get that the High-Waisted Jeans Tucked Into Boots is supposed to make you look, you know, leggy:

And I guess it does. You know, technically. But in this particular instance, the overall effect is less,  "oooh, leggy!" and more, "plucky lass disguising herself as a boy to get a job as a groom at a poncy English countryhouse, both because she loves horses, and because she loves the young lord of the manor, all of which leads to romantic hijinks when said lord begins to question his feelings for the feminine-seeming but ostensibly male young groom, and the plucky lass must decide whether to keep up the gender-bending facade or admit to everyone that she's been lying to them all along, circa 1987."

Which is fine, I guess, but it's awfully specific.

We all know Lori Petty is a few pitchers short of a full bullpen. But it doesn't make it any less creepy when she shows up looking like somebody just exhumed her and she's contemplating whether or not to snack on your flesh:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Fortunately for those attending this event, Zombie Petty had been too busy designing the sarcophagus in which she wants to be encased for all eternity -- or at least between feedings on the brains of the righteous -- to have any energy for a binge. So blessedly, nobody's mortal soul got caught in her teeth, and nobody's blood washed it down. Not this time.

Oh boy. It's back:

I hear they picnicked on her right before the event. Kurt's not laughing at her kooky personality; there's actually a trail of ants winding down her back and into her right armpit.

Bai Ling likes to call this ensemble, "Window of Opportunity":

I like to call it, "I Owe My Sanity -- And My Retinas -- To The Heroic Inventor of Underwear."

Have you ever been getting ready for an event, and thought to yourself, "Gee, what I really want right now is something that really play up my HIPS! I need to look HIPPIER. What can I wear that makes my hips seem GINORMOUS? Really, really HUGE? And whatever it is, it's got to be super DOWDY.  Something that screams 'LAURA INGALLS WILDER' -- but without the moxie!"

Well, then, this is for you. Thanks, Bijou!

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Somebody's been raiding Krystle Carrington's wardrobe again:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

I can't wait until linebacker shoulders come back again in full-force. The nighttime soap (Desperate Housewives? Pish -- it's no Dynasty) can't be far behind. And with that comes hurled martini glasses, trips to Capri, turbans, crystal cigarette lighters that are only slightly more portable than bowling balls, and champagne and caviar at 10 a.m., darling. Can't wait.

But that doesn't mean Marley Shelton should run around town like she's stuck inside an episode of Reunion.

This is how bad things have gotten: It takes her holding an adorable stuffed monkey hostage, swinging him from her belt loop, to make us shrug and say, "Well. It could be worse."

Although, possibly not for the monkey. The poor thing is begging for SPCA interference.

Well, folks, it's been a difficult week here at Go Fug Yourself HQ, for obvious reasons. Frankly, we feel as if a couple as truly commited to each other, as clearly deeply in love and as obviously devoted to honest and upfront communication as Man Paris and Paris Paris can't make it, what hope do any of the rest of us have for forging a true and lasting relationship?

Thank god Paris Paris is holding it together okay.

Or so it seems.

Look deeper. Can't you see that's it's just a facade? She's all going out in last summer's flirty cotton ruffled skirt and her sister's ugly tank top, pretending that it's 2004 and she hasn't even MET Man Paris yet and the only problem in her sunny, shiny life is how she keeps losing Tinkerbell and the way people keep falling into her vagina. On camera. 

But can't you smell the heartbreak? Don't you just know that the sunglasses are hiding tear-stained eyes? Isn't it obvious that after the event, she and Nicky are going to climb in their car and she's going to sob and sob all over Nicky's twee seersucker evening shorts, and eventually, she won't be able to hold it in anymore -- she'll unleash her barbaric, heartbroken yawp to the Southern Californian night air: "NICOLE'S GETTING MARRIED AND I'M NOOOOOOOOT!"

Remember when Richard Grieco... well, wait, first of all, do you remember Richard Grieco? He was the non-Depp heartthrob from 21 Jump Street, got his own spinoff called Booker based on that character, and went on to star in the role you probably cherish most: Tom in the smash hit Tomcat: Dangerous Desires.

Back in the day, he looked like this:

Those days are gone. I think we're at an Orange Alert* with this one, folks. Here he is now:

The dull eyes, the haunted face, the sallow, sunken cheeks that have never known the glorious, loving caress of a meatball sub... I'm not sure why or when Richard Grieco dieted into the undead realm, but he'd better be careful wearing that cross around his neck. He might accidentally ward off himself. Maybe that's already happened, hence the departure of flesh from his frame. Look, even his Yankees hat is depressed about it.

Maybe the emaciation is due to his last two films, Raiders of the Damned and Evil Breed: The Legend of Samhain. If it is, and he is just that committed to his acting, then I beg him and his agent to collaborate urgently on finding a more appropriate next role -- the lead in a movie called Carb Orgy, or Bet You Can't Eat Just One, or maybe The Amazing Adventures of the Crisco Kid.

Don't let this happen to you, celebrity men. Indeed, Richard Grieco, don't let this happen to you any more, either. Don't catch the disease Billy Bob Thornton made popular. Don't bobblehead yourself. For the love of cholesterol, please, put something with fat content in your mouth.

* Appendix: MANOREXIA WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

Out house-hunting with her new beau -- like, mere HOURS after news of her divorce broke -- Tori Spelling sets out to prove to America that cankles are the new calf implants:

Charlotte began to regret her decision to perform an S&M version of The Magic Flute when her pleather corset-dress actually snapped her ribs in half.