December 2007 Archives

It's been a merry day at GFY HQ on this Friday before Christmas Day, and we've been hard at work on holiday cheer -- for instance, Intern George spiked the egg nog, Intern George wrapped all our presents for us, Intern George donned a Santa suit and let us sit on his lap for photographs, and Intern George performed a spirited and, at times, sensitive and heartfelt Christmas Carol medley that began with him bursting out of a giant figgy pudding and ended in him hitting the high notes of "O Holy Night" while confetti cannons exploded behind him. [Then, bless him, Intern George cleaned up his mess.]

And what better way to pay forward that remarkable jolly-holiday aura than to supply a photo that embodies the very essence of sugar and spice and everything nice. We present to you the winner of the Cutest Celebuspawn of 2007:

[Photo: Splash News]

It was a tough contest between her and just about every other famous baby, but since Violet Affleck is so adorable and smiley all the time -- especially here in her hat and wee pea coat, playing in the park with her mother -- we can't help but deem her the most darling. We'll take two of them, please, and don't skimp on the cute accessories.

Hopefully the image of Violet will warm your heart throughout next week, which we are taking as a vacation so that we can marinate in the joys of the season and give our computer screens a welcome break. We'll be back Jan. 2 to ring in 2008 with a hearty dose of fresh fuggings. In the meantime, we have one more present for you: news of the existence of this fugtrocious marvel of fabric, passed along to us by a reader, and which we could not help but share. Why? To serve as a helpful holiday reminder that no matter how much you hate that sweater your grandmother is about to give you, it will never, ever be as bad as those.

Happy holidays, and thanks so much for sticking with us day after day. Cheers!

Periodically, as their busy spa and Hyde schedules allow, celebrity experts will join us to answer your questions about how to fug up your life as thoroughly as they do theirs. This week's expert is a mother of three who is currently working on a doctorate in banging her head against the wall, is penning a new Young Adult book called Sperm Hates You, and has developed a sudden passion for the Siberian real-estate market.

Dear Aunt Fugly,

I hate the holidays. They are so stressful. I feel like I have a million things to do and no time to get it all done.  This year, the real problem is my husband. He expects me to buy all the gifts for his family as well as my own and I barely know them, Aunt Fugly -- we just eloped six weeks ago! I haven't even met his mom. How am I supposed to know what to buy her? Why is he being so ANNOYING? What should I do?

Yours,

Mrs. Grinch

Dear Mrs. Grinch,

That's a tough situation. My daughter is really busy, so she always buys us gift cards, like the year we all got a $20 credit at KFC, or the time she sent me a coupon for 2-for-1 sirloin at the local market. So try that. Especially if his family is as DUMB as my daughter is.

I can't believe your husband put you in this position. Men ARE real pills, aren't they? They're ALL about jamming us into positions we don't really want to be in. Or, they're all sweetness and peaches and Christmas cheer, and then one day you find out they're burning their yule log in your daughter's pants, at which point they turn quiet and surly and start calling you "Ma'am," and suddenly your publisher wants you to stop writing about parenting and unfortunately the only other thing you know enough about for a whole book would be, like, The Encyclopedia of Unexpected Smells, or How To Swallow Your Swelling Ball of Face-Enflaming Rage And Refrain From Disowning Your Child. I mean, seriously. They're all scum. And since your husband sounds like that kind of asshat -- trust me, I know 'em when I see 'em -- maybe give HIM a surprise vasectomy and call it a GIFT FROM SOCIETY. Right!? YES.

Dear Aunt Fugly,

I have a problem with my ex-wife. I'm still in love with her and I think she's still in love with me.  We have two beautiful kids.The problem is that she keeps marrying other dudes! And not like brain surgeons or professors or something. Like LOSER DUDES. Who are sort of like ME, but LAMER and less successful and grosser. This most recent loser was even in a sex tape --like me! -- but with PARIS HILTON, which I think we can all agree is not nearly as awesome as making a sex tape in which you drive a boat with your wang. Right? I mean, I'm right, right?  Look, Aunt Fugly, my ex and I have had a LOT of problems (a lot; I might have given her the Hep, for example). But she's awesome and I miss her rack and want her back. How can I convince her to divorce this guy and come back to MY sex swing?

Rock on,

Johnny Tee

Dear Mr. Tee (HAHAHA, see what I did there? Oh, God, now I sound like my DAUGHTER, I need a drink),

Have you ever considered that maybe it's your fault? That maybe she keeps getting married to random-seeming people, and making bad decisions, and getting drunk, and running off to Vegas, because you are MAKING HER INSANE and she's just disturbed in the head and needs a little PROPER love and guidance and support and a bath?

Wait, I'm sorry. I can't push blame on anyone. I can't be a blame-pusher. Nothing is anyone's fault. [DO YOU HEAR ME? NOTHING IS ANYONE'S FAULT, YOU HEARTLESS BLAME-PUSHERS.] Maybe you should sit down and write her a sensitive letter or a song. Lay down some mad-awesome trippin' love-beats, as my son-in-law says, all about how magical she and her chest are. Call it something like "Rack of Hearts." But don't put any stupid made-up-sounding words in it. Girls hate that. Trust me; one time I had to listen to a two-week argument about that, which ended in a certain person screaming, "OH YEAH, WELL, THERE'S A REASON 'POPOZAO' RHYMES WITH 'SHUT YOUR CHEETOHOLE, YOU DUMB COW.'" You do not want your song to end that way.

Or, just knock her up. APPARENTLY THAT WORKS TOO. GOD.

Dear Aunt Fugly,

Listen, I am seriously having a problem. I am dating this guy who is like really famous in Texas, which is where I grew up.  Let's say he's the most famous guy on the Dallas Curling Team, okay? And people are REALLY INTO Curling around here, okay? Like REALLY INTO IT. Anyway, I went to one of his curling matches and it's like all of a sudden he could not curl AT ALL. He was like the WORST CURLER EVER all of a sudden. But instead of being like, WHY CAN'T TONY CURL ANYMORE? all the papers are blaming ME for him being all sucky all of a sudden! Like I am the REASON he's a cruddy curler now or something. Aunt Fugly, I have done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I am not MAGICAL. I can't change people's CURLING SKILLS. It's SO UNFAIR. I got BOOED at the Sonic yesterday. I can't live like this anymore, okay? I need to be able to get onion rings in peace. And I really like this guy! I've had really bad luck with men since....a while. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Jes -- er, I mean, "OJ" Simpson

Dear OJ,

Well, I can certainly understand your pain, honey. We all know at least ONE person in life who suddenly sucks at things they used to be good at, like curling, or bathing, or singing, or basic speech. Am I right? Haven't we all been there, when suddenly someone you love is not performing the way you expected them to, and it makes you really freaking mad at them but you have to bite your tongue and love them anyway because otherwise you might never see your grandchildren again? Are you WITH ME? Who among us HASN'T taken the blame for stuff that is NOT OUR FAULT, like, what are we supposed to do, STAND OVER THE BED and STRAP THE CONDOM ON FOR THEM OURSELVES?!?!?! WE ARE ONLY HUMAN AND THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH WE CAN DO TO STOP SOMEONE ELSE FROM BEING A COMPLETE GODDAMN MORON. So you know what you should do? JUST GIVE UP. Seriously. It's over. You tried. People suck. Disappear somewhere nobody will ever find you, where they don't have gossip magazines or Nickelodeon or HAIR EXTENSIONS or any of that goddamn stuff. I'm so tired. Please make it stop.

Thank you, Lynn Whitfield, for kindly demonstrating for us why a bubble skirt with pockets, of a certain length, is a bitch:

You are fifty-four years old. And you look AWESOME. You look EASILY 15 years younger than that, for real. And I feel like if this skirt had been just a wee bit shorter, you would have officially been the first 50-something to pull off anything in the bubble skirt genre. As it is, unfortunately, you appear to have come down with a mild case of Stumpiphobia. We've all been there, though, and luckily, the cure can be found in the bottom of a glass of champagne. Go drink to having discovered the fountain of youth and drunk dial your tailor.

ED WESTWICK: Man, it is SO HARD to keep my clothes on these days.

PENN BADGLEY: It's okay, America. I won't take my clothes off until we're both completely ready to go to the next level together.

CHACE CRAWFORD: I'm BAAAAD. Check it! My hair is messy! And I DIDN'T SHAVE! Take THAT, world!

ED: I have so much pretend-sex for my day job that it's just impossible to wear these scratchy "shirts" any more in the real world. Does anyone want to have sex NOW, by any chance? I'm pretty much ready. One good deep breath and this thing is going to come right off.

PENN: Whereas I won't breathe deeply until we are both completely sure we're ready to breathe deeply together, because I respect you and your feelings. I am your perfect boy. Trust me.

ED: SNORE. As if! Which one of us is the dark brooding bad-boy hero, huh? Whose mouth do you want to wash out with soap? TONGUE soap?

CHACE: ME! Mine! I'm not a good boy! I'm SCRUFFY and everything! I didn't even floss last night!

PENN: Whatever. The point is, I'm so charming on my show that I could probably pull off wearing Ed's "shirt" and you'd call me a sensitive poet. See, I'm like the junior McDreamy. You'll find me in your Happy Meal along with a really cute toy we'll name something adorable, like Mr. Puddles.

CHACE: Screw poetry! It's for geeks! I haven't written a poem in weeks! ... Wait, that one didn't count, did it?

ED: Just relax, Chace. If I might paraphrase the Gospel According To The Pussycat Dolls, loosen up your buttons, baby.

PENN: Whereas I will only loosen your buttons when you and I feel emotionally ready to take that step together.

ED: You bitches are so boring. I'm going to go home and cut holes in my pants.

When I originally pulled this Bazaar cover with Uma Thurman, I remember thinking, "Oh, UMA. No."

But now that I am looking at it again, I don't know that my first instinct was right. (Bear in mind that I hadn't had any coffee at that point. What was I doing, making judgment calls?) Sure, she looks a bit orange and I don't know that this is the most flattering pose for anyone (it looks more and more uncomfortable the longer you look at it, though it's ostensibly casual), but....you know, she's hot. And she looks recognizably like herself.  And I kind of appreciate the fact that "TEN LEG LIFTS THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE" isn't splashed over her forehead.

And then I saw the OTHER Bazaar cover (I guess one is for subscribers and this one is for newsstands):

All Uma Thurman wants this Christmahanukwanzukah is a proper pair of gloves, so that she no longer has to strap on some oven mitts to get through the cold New York winter.

[Photo: infdaily.com]

At first this reminded me of that episode of Friends where Phoebe's old flame Charlie Sheen comes to town right as she gets the chicken pox, so they spend the entire episode making out with potholders taped to their hands to dissuade them from any sexy scratching of their scabs. In THAT instance, I get it -- it's bad to pick at those suckers, and all his problems aside, I can totally respect the importance of macking on the Ma-Sheen.

Unfortunately for Uma, though, I realized this is ALSO reminiscent of another classic TV moment.

Could someone please explain to me what the deal is with Mischa's teeth here?

Right? I mean, she looks generically lovely here -- although not entirely like herself -- but....a bit rabbity, no? And I don't think I've ever thought that about her, not in all the years I spent complaining about how wooden she was on The OC. She almost looks like she's got a retainer in. And other than prompting me to waste twenty valuable minutes that I should be spending wrapping gifts or quaffing wassail on deep thoughts about Mischa Barton's dental situation, this cover has also led me to waste hardcore cookie-eating time on thinking about the 10 MASSAGES THAT'LL CHANGE MY LIFE. For one thing, that sounds dirty. For another, are there really TEN? I can't help imagining the poor writer assigned to this story, stuck on massage number seven and frantically asking her co-workers if they can think of ANY life-changing massages, AT ALL, so she can finish this thing and head down to the pub with everyone else. This wassail's for you, Tatler staffer.

So, Janine "Northern Exposure" Turner is doing this for a role, right?

I mean, she's still beautiful, but there's something going on here that screams, "I'm playing the title role in a kicky biopic of Carol Channing," and Janine Turner is a lot of things -- according to her website site, she is: the author of a new book about single mothers; currently appearing in a Christian yoga DVD; the artist behind a CD featuring "60 minutes of New Non-Vocal Meditational Renditions of 'Traditional Hymns,"' and also raising a passel of Longhorns which she will sell to you if you promise not to eat them, which, you know, I applaud people who pursue a wide range of interests --  but she is NOT yet a remarkably active 85 year old, as far as I know.

Although I am compelled to add that it seems that Carol Channing recently married (for the fourth time!) her junior high school sweetheart (!), who contacted her after she said nice things about him in her memoirs, and she 's been gallivanting around California to raise awareness for the need for arts education in public schools. So she's not a bad person to emulate when it comes right down to it (I sort of am in love with Carol Channing thanks to the Wikipedia-ing I ended up doing when I was innocently trying to figure out how old she is, and I am not ashamed to admit it). But maybe it's advisable to wait to adopt the LOOK until you are of the appropriate age to actually pull off Kicky Old Broad.

This is the part of the day when we get emails saying, "that is totally not Janine Turner. YOU'RE an old lady. Put on your glasses!" So I direct you to the close-up:

Congratulations to Arden Wohl, whose unique approach to clubbing attire has led to the greatest invention since the historic Jump To Conclusions Mat.

[Photo: Splash News]

They appear to be Crotchtrot Pants, teaching nimble suitors how to foxtrot their way to the promised land. If the faces on her t-shirt are part of the advertisement,there are about eight satisfied customers. Sadly, if we go by her expression, Arden is not among them. Oh, but cheer up, pet -- it's almost bedtime, and when it gets here all you'll have to do is floss and take off your boots.

No, Lindsay.

BUY PANTS.

Rachel Melvin is very cute. She's on Days of our Lives, playing one of those sassy and screwed-up college kids who are supposed to attract young people back to the soaps, but don't, because none of the writers are particularly hip to today's kids and their crazy nowadays-jive -- or indeed, these days, even there at all, because of the strike. But she's quite good on the show despite some truly excruciating storylines (including now, it seems, that old chestnut Oops I Killed A Dude By Accident But The Best Way To Deal With It Is To Cover It Up And Then Act Really Guilty, which has been displayed to equally excruciating yet more exquisitely acted extent on Friday Night Lights), and so I wish her a jolly 2008.

One thing that does apparently dog this girl from time to time, however, is having to deal with people who think she is ANOTHER famous dark-haired Rachel --which is to say, Rachel Bilson. Perhaps that's why La Melvin decided to go out in public wearing this:

[Photo: Splash News]

Since I have to believe there is no WAY Rachel Bilson would ever be caught dead in that cheap-looking tangerine ode to the Charlotte Russe clearance rack, this ensemble should have saved Rachel Melvin quite effectively from spending the entire night denying any firsthand olfactory knowledge of Adam Brody's natural musk.

In searching for information on actress Menna Shalabi, I accidentally stumbled through the looking glass: There is no Wikipedia page for her. How can that be? How is it that there is no self-proclaimed expert on all things Menna Shalabi -- not even Menna Shalabi herself -- who has devoted a free online page to the details of her career and salacious rumors about her personal life, or her pets, or the mysteries of her shoe size? All you get if you Google her is an unsatisfactory IMDb page, a comment on a blog entry that deems her "vulgar," and YouTube footage that indicates that she might once have been in some kind of car accident. Such is my life that when Wikipedia draws a blank, so do I; ergo, I have no choice but to infer from those fuzzy snippets that Menna is an actress who is passionately committed to swearing and has poor vehicular karma. And whose name anagrams either to A Blase Ham Inn -- which sounds unappealing, as there is nothing more disheartening than a bed-and-breakfast that is not fully enthusiastic about ham -- and Inane Lab Sham, which implies she might be prone to skulking around hospitals to pull DNA test switcheroos.

None of which has anything to do with what she was wearing. I just needed to share my frustration. Thank you, readers, for being a friend. But let's get to the point now, which is this:

Truthfully, I'm not sure how you're SUPPOSED to wear a dress with a sheer front. It's a bit like debating how high to pull up your legwarmers, or whether you should wear a turtleneck with the barrel you have poked your legs through -- is there REALLY a RIGHT way to do it? Indeed, having decided that a nude boobular contraption would blend right into nude gauze and fade away from sight, Menna appears to have strapped herself into a serious Bad Idea Bustier on this occasion. On the plus side: If Project Runway ever again asks someone to recontextualize the mighty shoulder pad, this makes for an amusing blueprint. Sure, it'll end up on a Mannequin of Shame, but it'd be worth it just to see Tim Gunn's brow furrow as he scrapes together the last vestiges of tact in his arsenal.

Keri Hilson, in addition to having a debut album coming out at some point, is a longtime songwriter. You may know her from Britney Spears' "Gimme More," which you probably can't get out of your head despite the fact that you are trying really hard, because supporting it feels like endorsing Wrecked Britney; in a way, it's Hilson's fault if you, say, wound up with that song on your iTunes and inadvertently boogie -- yes, BOOGIE -- in your chair when it comes on while I... um, I mean YOU... casually read gossip blogs on the Intertubes.

Not that it's Hilson's fault that Britney makes me sad. I'm sure Keri is a very nice girl. She's certainly pretty:

Unfortunately, it deteriorates from there. Obviously, the legwarmers are a refried slice of crazy, but what really confounds me is the jacket. What is the point of all those zippers? Why is there a short one on her cuff? What happens if you keep zipping up all the way around her shoulders? Do the sleeves come off completely, leaving her with a very elaborate bib? Or do they adjoin somehow in the back and become a cape? What am I supposed to take from this -- that I cannot truly contemplate the zippers of others until I have examined my own? If "X.Y.Z.P.D.Q." is the title of her first single, I might begin to understand. Otherwise the jacket just feels as if it's a pointless display that's all frills and no function or substance -- kind of like whatever new razor added one more blade than the other guy's. Or the Pussycat Dolls.

Why, look what Santa brought us for Christmas!

I feel like there's a "ho, ho, ho" joke in here, but that's really just too easy.

I'm just going to come out and say that I don't think a giant bow ever works, unless it's splashed across the hood of a new car:

Because I feel like Amy Adams looks a bit dowdy and somewhat droopy in this, and Amy Adams is far too young and lithe to look dowdy. And yet, here she is, all in costume as Dowdy Droopy McDated, with the huge bow and the pink lipstick and the toes and nails matching the lips and it's like all of a sudden I'm back at my junior high school's multi-purpose room heading into the eighth grade graduation dance -- at which I, for the record, ALSO wore something with a bow AND tiered ruffles. Although it was 1989, and I was 13, and the flowers on my dress coordinated with the elastics on my braces, so I think I looked pretty rad. But while this particular dress would have been, of course, far far too sophisticated for a junior high dance, there is still something about it that's Not Quite Right for 2008, if you're 75 or younger.

How nice of Nicole Kidman to detour off the Yellow Brick Road for her movie premiere.

But be warned, Nic: Now that the Tin Man has a heart, he's going to have LOTS of horny women dressed in aluminum foil competing for the chance to break it. So you'd better get going again if you want to be the one manning his oil can.

I can't decide if Carmen Lebbos here is AWESOME or out of her mind:

A cape! A corset top! Wide-legged pants! All in BLACK SATIN! It's like Dracula: Saturday Night Fever.

Arden Wohl is a socialite who denies being a socialite, and who has a penchant for accessorizing her forehead.

Arden Wohl was ALSO recently flown out of her nursery in the middle of the night by a betighted prepubescent boy, taken to a strange land where a bunch of young kids somehow manage to live together despite having no discernible way of doing laundry, pissed off a jealous fairy, had a series of pirate-adjacent adventures that no doubt contributed to that dirt smudge on her white tights, and was then dropped off in the Real World in time to make an appearance at this party. It's nice of Neverland to respect Arden's social schedule, but I suspect their willingness to work around it has something to do with her fashioning a bag and shoes out of Captain Hook's famous nemesis.

Erin Fetherston designs really cute, very girly, whimsical dresses the likes of which you see on, say, Zooey Deschanel. So I am not really sure why she's gone out in what appears to be the robes my high school choir wore when we performed Cool Yule '93! A Celebration of Holiday Cheer:

Although I imagine she is very comfortable, and able to race through her mee-may-mah-mo-moo warm-ups with great ease.

Still love the bangs, though.

Well, at least Piper Perabo has cheered up considerably.

However, it's possible she hasn't taken a shower in two days, which kind of undermines the grin.

It's funny -- if she had tried a little harder she might be getting a Well Played, or at least getting ignored. The dress itself could be cute in a different context; I'm not sure I get the black triangles up by the straps, because on first glance they look like the tops of a very aggressive bra, but the pattern and colors are interesting. So if she'd just bothered to do up her hair in a more sleek (or brushed, or not-fried-looking) manner and matched it with less lazy shoes -- I mean, I love a red peep toe too, but not here -- or even just gave off the impression that she did not roll out of bed half an hour beforehand, she might've pulled off the whole thing nicely. Instead it's all schlumpy, like she wore it around all day while she was on the couch eating Doritos and watching college basketball and then dug out some shoes that would mostly hide her chipped pedicure and yawned her way out the door to a party.

Rachel Bilson has been looking so cute lately. Why doesn't this girl have a regular job?

Seriously, someone needs to pay her once this strike is over to do more episodic work.  She was terrific as Summer, she was adorable a few weeks ago in a two-episode stint on Chuck -- where, ironically, she worked in a deli and extolled the virtues of sandwiches that I kind of wish she ate more of in real life -- and yet she only has one movie in the can since. You know, she would have been great in Samaire Armstrong's part on Dirty Sexy Money, but alas, that's not an option at this point. If only I had been consulted.

Fortunately this relative inactivity has not reduced her to a reclusive and messy life of Pringles-stained sweatpants and trucker hats. This dress is flattering, sophisticated, and a beautiful color, and I wish it were in my closet right now. Maybe Santa will drop it there while he's running around picking up everyone's Christmas lists and checking to make sure he can fit down everyone's chimneys despite having thirds at the dessert buffet last night. Come on, Santa. Snap out of the sugar coma.

ZAC EFRON:...and THEN I said, I'm gonna wear this FISHERMAN'S CAP AND I'M GONNA LOVE IT.

VANESSA HUDGENS: I just love you, Zac. I'm going to stare adoringly at your left ear.

JOHN MAYER: Wow, this kid seems hammered.

ZAC: AND I'm gonna wear my high school uniform shirt with it! THAT'S WHAT I'M GONNA DO.

VANESSA: I love how shiny you are, Zac. It's so manly to eschew blotting papers.

JOHN: This is amazing. This is so going on my blog.

ZAC: It's UNBELIEVABLE that no one seems to have nooooooooticed that I OFTEN look really OUT OF IT IN PHOTOSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. ISN'T IT?

VANESSA: Allegedly, baby. Allegedly out of it in photos.

JOHN: I have to start coming to more of these parties.  Also, this haircut was the right call on me, wasn't it? I love being right.

I had never heard of Nazanin Boniadi until a couple of days ago, when she started popping up all over the place. I guess she used to be (is still?) on General Hospital, and now she's in Charlie Wilson's War (please don't get me started on the ads running for that right now, as they seem to solely feature Julia Roberts doing that big honking guffaw that was really charming in Pretty Woman and totally annoying now). My bet is she has a new PR team pushing her. But whatever. My point is, she is REALLY PRETTY.

I just love that. It's so holiday-appropriate and festive and flattering and slightly unusual, and I want it. I mean, she's getting a lot of help from the fact that there's something about her that reminds me vaguely of Thandie Newton, but in addition to being all over this dress, I'd like to give the girl a hand for upgrading from this, nearly a year ago:

Being as she was born in 1988, Tamsin Egerton missed black mesh armwarmers the first time around. So I suppose I could give her a pass for resurrecting them, figuring she didn't necessarily know better.

Unfortunately, by virtue of the fact that they are black mesh armwarmers, she automatically should have known better. Her foremothers did yeoman's work in allowing themselves to be documented in things like that, so that future generations would live a wiser life. So unless Tamsin has been diagnosed with a near-fatal case of olecranondular hyposanguination -- the medical-sounding name I made up for what history will call Really Freaking Cold Elbow Syndrome -- then there is no Get Out Of Jail Free card available here. Indeed, this might be the photo equivalent of landing on Boardwalk with a hotel on it.

Well, maybe not Boardwalk. But at LEAST Marvin Gardens, which was always my favorite property name in that otherwise horrible, evil game that I cannot ever win. When Ridley Scott makes his movie of Monopoly -- if the apocalypse does not first arrive via a swarm of giant silver top hats -- I somehow envision Jim Carrey playing Marvin Gardens as a slightly filthier Ace Ventura who owns a combination saloon and flower shop.

I have really varying reactions to the ads for P.S I Love You, Hilary Swank's new rom-com, in which she -- I believe -- has to find looooove after her husband kicks it. (That's not a spoiler, it's in the preview.) Anyway, recent ads seem to have omitted the whole Husband Kicks It thing -- too much of a bummer for the holidays? -- making it look like a kind of bubbly half-assed Sex and the City thing, and I hate it when they do that. Don't make an ad for the movie you think people are going to want to see. Make an ad for the movie you actually made. Anyway, the movie looks kind of entertaining, possibly, and all the boys in it are cute, which is a plus. But it could also turn out to be just excruciating, of course. It could go either way.

As could Hilary's dress at the premiere:

It sure is ruffly...or feather-y....or furry? I can't quite tell what died to get belted to the front of her dress here.  And while I've heard rumblings from the peanut gallery that this thing is TERRRIBLE (the peanut gallery being my UPS guy), I don't know. There's something about it that I find kind of charming and John Singer Sargent-y, and I love the belt.

Your turn:

Presumably, as they say, this is not Oprah's first rodeo.

[Photo: Splash News]

Nor is it an ACTUAL rodeo. So she might want to consider putting that 10-pound skirt and 20-pound bling shirt back in the "Annie Oakley" box for when someone makes Annie Get Your Glitter Gun, about our favorite plucky cowgirl being forced to head up her prom committee.

It seems like as soon as I asked the internet about the whereabouts of Mischa Barton, she appeared all over the place and on the cover of everything. Like Citizen K, which, as far as I can tell, is a Spanish magazine (I brilliantly deduced that from the words  "Espana" on the cover) covering fashion and entertainment and the like:

Sadly, it seems as though she's been using her downtime to do something unspeakable to Oscar the Grouch, not even giving him the honor of being an entire coat, but simply making him into sleeves.  As a huge fan of the seminal tune "I Love Trash," -- truly, it's neck and neck with "Rubber Ducky" as the best Sesame Street song ever, in my opinion, with honorable mention going to "C Is For Cookie," which I hear has been replaced by "Cookies Are A Sometimes Food," which, I sorry, is bullshit, because cookies are an ALWAYS food, they're just not a MASS QUANTITIES food. Why you gotta play me like this, Sesame Street? - I must protest this terrible injustice. I wonder if PETA has a Muppet Division?

Things are just as bad, in a wholly different way, inside the magazine:

I know the holidays are a confusing time, when we're all telling ourself lies about how we're going to eat less sugar this time around and not splurge as much on gifts, and then all of a sudden we're sitting on the couch watching Blackadder's Christmas Carol while shoving mince pies into our faces with tape stuck to our legs because we're wrapping a a neverending pile of presents. It's a roller-coaster. But that's no excuse for this:

I mean, I shouldn't HAVE to point out that "tree skirt" actually DOES mean "skirt for the base of your tree." And yet I could swear I saw one in this exact style on sale at Target the other day. I suppose it's a bit of Project Runway-style creativity to cross-breed one of them with a ski jacket, but in all, I am reasonably certain I could stick Pauletta under my tree and cover her in presents and no one would know the difference.

[Photo: Splash News]

REBECCA MILLER: I didn't do it.

DANIEL DAY LEWIS: You know who I love? Sherlock Holmes.

REBECCA: I cannot stress enough that I did not do it.

DANIEL: I also sometimes like to look like upholstered furniture from the 70s.

REBECCA: And since I don't have a giant ottoman fetish, or a fetish for giant ottomans, it should be clear to you by now that I was in no way involved with this. PLEASE BELIEVE ME.

DANIEL: And Rebecca LOVES this suit.

REBECCA: My soul is so tired.

I actually like Rachel Nichols's dress here. It's kind of cute and festive, like the dress version of a non-denominational holiday wine gift bag:

But wait! What's going on with her headsuit?

I do not know what was going on at the finale party for The Hills last night, but clearly something was in the water. (Fair warning: if last night's episode is still sitting on your TiVo waiting for you, you should probably go read something else, as I am totally going to spoil it for you. Well, not that anything unpredictable happened. It's not like Spencer and Lo ran off to Tanzania together after Heidi poisoned Lauren and framed them, or something.)

First of all, Heidi decided to wear the dress in her closet which most dramatically illustrated the magical power of silicone:

I am totally pro-boob. Stick 'em out, stuff 'em into a turtleneck, pour 'em into a cocktail dress -- have at it.  Mine are propped up in a coconut-shell-bra right now. Howsoever, it seems that Miss Heidi here has fallen into the tragedy of having her boobs wear HER, as they are all I can see when I look at this, and while I imagine that was what she was going for, it all feels a little The Girls Next Door to me, and not in that fun, "those girls are having so much fun throwing a birthday part for the dog!" way, but in the "ew, I just remembered those girls are all sleeping with the same man, who is old enough to be their grandpa" way. And, you know, Spencer is kind of a smarmy tool, but at least he's age-appropriate. In fact, I would venture to say that it is a rare woman who didn't date at least one smarmy tool when she was Heidi's age.

I would also venture to say that it is a rare woman who puts her rack through this:

It pains me to point my finger of judgment in the direction of the fine people at How I Met Your Mother, because without them, I would never have gotten to bask in the glory of Robin Sparkles, Marshall's perfect punter's calves, or the sheer open-palmed joy of a good slap bet.

However, I need to express my indignation at what Robin got stuck wearing last night. The following photos are brought to you by Jessica and her digital camera, which for some unknown reason (or so she claims) independently chose to christen them "Cookie Jar 001" and "Cookie Jar 002." I am certain this is actually because Jessica secretly is building up and photographing a priceless collection of ceramic cookie jars as an homage to the life's passion of 30 Rock's great and powerful Jack Donaghy, but I prefer to think it's because the camera is attempting to crack a joke about a lid being lifted to expose Robin's baked goods.

In that cardigan and corset combo I am pretty sure that Robin is Mister Rogers' ideal woman, but on our normal plane in which we don't take trolley rides to imaginary lands, it's completely insane. At first, I thought she was wearing a shirt that popped open by accident, but then I realized that the writers' strike theoretically does not affect the crew's ability to re-shoot a scene in which your lead actress accidentally steals the cookies from her own cookie jar (okay, fine, so that metaphor doesn't make a lick of sense -- blame Jessica's camera). But then of course I noticed that it's a shaggy, schlumpy cardigan, and the peekaboo is on purpose. Look, Inappropriate Cardigans are super comfy on a cold day when all you want to do is bundle up, drink hot chocolate, and watch Crossroads and weep for what might have been. They are not, however, ideal for actually going outside somewhere people might lay eyes on you, and are definitely not the best choice of attire for convincing your ex-boyfriend not to go on a date with his doctor (unless you are suggesting a rendezvous with your breasts as a viable alternative). Finally, they REALLY look pretty stupid with lingerie, or a shirt with an identity crisis that wants you to think it's lingerie. A tank top would've fixed this little problem up right-quick.

Plus, if it's so cold that she needed a mismatched cardigan in order to go to a friend's place in comfort, why did she leave her cheese out in the wind in the first place? It's just weird. I've never thought of wearing an elaborate bra as "layering," but maybe in Robin's native Canada they know different. Although if I had tried that when I lived there, I am fairly confident someone -- like any one of my friends, teachers, bank tellers, or parents -- would have choked on their own laughter before dragging me to the mall. If you still refuse to go to the mall, Robin, then at least let Lily shop for you.

Please note: I didn't WANT to crop out Barney, but I was FORCED to --  as anyone who watches the show can attest, it's impossible to focus on the negative when Neil Patrick Harris is visible anywhere in the vicinity; plus, this way, I get to imagine Robin On The Right forced to look at her own fashion mistake in perpetuity, like being caught in a loop of fug that no kid in an orange puffy vest with a MILLION time-altering DeLoreans could undo.

And, after the jump -- where I put it because it doesn't really have that much to do with anything I just said, except for the part about Robin Sparkles -- you can see the video for "Let's Go To The Mall." Consider it today's Fugment of Zen.

I'm not sure what offends me most about this picture:

1) The fact that Kourtney Kardashian SO yearns to wear a bra over her shirt that she sought out a tee that paid homage to the idea (while also conspicuously, yet silently, pointing out to all of us that the boob gene is clearly strong in this family);

2) The fact that Kourtney Kardashian paired the aforementioned shirt with a cheap satiny skirt that looks like the sawn-off lower half of a Dancing With The Stars costume, as if ANYONE is going to fall for that and cast her on the next season of the show;

3) The fact that Kourtney Kardashian is wearing shoes that might actually be a little cute if they weren't made of transparent plastic, which is a huge pet peeve of mine because I feel like there's nothing sexy about how a foot looks when it's crammed into a shoe -- and also, my grandmother likes that material, and despite being an adorable and fun 95, she is still 95;

4) The fact that Kourtney Kardashian's krazy ensemble has somehow made Kim Kardashian look like the sane and klassy one in the family, despite the fact that she's wearing a belt that either once belonged to a WWE titleholder or is a major setpiece in an upcoming sci-fi channel spinoff, Stargate: Forever 21;

5) The fact that Kourtney and Kim Kardashian were not only invited to but actually attending an event kalled the Breakthrough of the Year Awards, suggesting perhaps that someone, somewhere, truly thought they broke through something other than my spirit; or

6) The number of times I either had to or was mysteriously kompelled to punch the letter "k" in komposing this post.

I think "All of the Above" is probably the answer.

Aw, that's right, Fergie Ferg, take a bow.

It seems so long ago now that she was running around town dressed like Pippi Longstocking on a bender. If you'd told me then that I'd be patting Fergie on the back for looking like a lovely lady at a posh event, I'd have laughed and suggested that you stop using Elmer's Glue as nasal spray. Sure, the matchy satin shoes are a bit bridesmaidy, but that's splitting hairs when you consider that we used to be lucky if she even brushed her tresses. The dress color is so pretty on her and the cut is flattering, and her coif is shiny... maybe Josh Duhamel is finally using his hotness to bring her up to his level. Or maybe one night in the middle of a lasagna cookoff in their shared kitchen, Fergie dropped a colander of flat noodles and gasped, "OH MY GOD, WAIT, OLIVER! WASN'T A FASHION SHOW, WAS IT?!?" At which point Josh swept her into his arms, carried her up to the bedroom, and gently laid her down... on the floor of her closet, where they proceeded to make sweet, sweet Goodwill piles.

At any rate, Happy Holidays to us, because I get to use the word "lovely" to refer to her without having to follow it with the hugely unsexy "lady lumps" epithet.

So, I've been looking at this picture of Ione Skye for like twenty minutes:

For one thing, I am moderately perplexed as to why she's attending the Hollywood Life Breakthrough of the Year Awards. It's not 1989. I mean, no offense, Ione -- you seem to be leading a well-rounded life, from what I read in glossy shelter magazines featuring your home -- but you kind of already had that big breakthrough.  Remember? He gave you his heart and you gave him a pen? Anyway, I'm also perplexed by this outfit, mostly because I feel like I should enjoy it more than I do. I love polka dots! I love dramatic ruffles! I love blue! And yet, all these things together feel a bit like the dress uniform at clown college.  I think I could get behind all the ruffles if the rest of the outfit was, say, white to match. And I could of course support the dots if the ruffles weren't so VIOLENT and invasive. But how does this measure up in your eyes?

Okay, listen. The writer's strike needs to be resolved, and here's why: I have already waited a REALLY LONG TIME to find out what happens on Lost, and they only have eight episodes in the can, and apparently, episode eight ends on a huge cliffhanger and basically, I can't go through waiting like this again. Won't someone please think of the obsessive viewer? We are already often emotionally fragile people to begin with! And in addition to thinking of the frantic consumer, we need to think of the actors. Look what's happened to Elizabeth Mitchell, now that she's got all this extra time on her hands:

I, too, tend to experiment with a smoky eye when I'm home, bored, with nothing to do, no TV to watch, no lines to learn, all the books in the house already read. I, too, have a very hard time differentiating between Smoky Eye and Two Black Eyes Eye.  But when I hit the latter stage -- as Elizabeth has here -- I generally have the wherewithal to wash it off and then start over. The fact that she's left the house like this can only mean that this is a cry for help. Get this woman back to work!

Poor Hayden Panettiere.

[Photo: Splash News]

Despite falling ill with a particularly virulent case of the drabs -- augmented by a touch of co-star Kristen Bell's stumpophrenia -- Hayden bravely fought through her disease in order to give her scheduled speech to a bunch of student Eco-Ambassadors at an Earth Summit (for which she is more than qualified, having already successfully saved the world once as The Cheerleader Who Lived, which kind of puts all my recycling efforts to shame).

I know things are rough for Heroes lately, but seriously, they should have thought twice about making the end-of-season gift a subscription to Slacks Monthly. It's only enabling an illness that is cruelly tainting an otherwise cute young life. Somebody please get this girl some Spice Girls tickets so she can remember what it's like to live, really LIVE.

Zac Posen has designed many a beautiful gown, and he was a great guest judge on Project Runway that one time, so we KNOW he knows what he's doing. Therefore, there is really no excuse for him to be running around town looking like the cracked out host of Santa's Little Helpers: Have an Awesome Elfin Holiday on QVC.

I know it's cold, dude, but we still live in a society here.

Often, my perceptions of Keira Knightley are colored somewhat by how cross or sullen she seems on the red carpet, as if someone once told her that she looks like a drunk clown when she smiles (which she doesn't, but you know, maybe some jackhole said that just to mess with her) and she's since sworn never to look like she's enjoying herself in public.

So, I couldn't tell if my initial negative reaction to this outfit was on its own merits, or because I just wanted her to look less medicated.

I will say that, though maybe I'm just inured to her physique by now, she appears merely naturally thin and no longer as perilously bony as she did at some of the Pirates premieres. And the idea of the bodice is interesting. But it's also incredibly distracting and not tremendously flattering to her boobs -- it's as if that little connective tissue in the middle there is giving the illusion of shoving them apart.

Overall, though, I was prepared to call it an interesting and bold experiment and go along my merry way, until I noticed that stuff snaking over her right shoulder. Fortunately, a responsible photographer asked her to turn around. No cats were killed in the sating of my curiosity, but I can't say the same for my goodwill toward the dress:

I feel like I have been talking about Gossip Girl a lot lately, but whatever: it's a really good show. Except for one character, who is integral in the books, but who is really painfully needless on the show and who has, by some miracle of television, kind of stopped appearing on it of late, as if Josh Schwartz heard me groaning, "GOD, Vanessa. GO AWAY" all the way from my sofa and through a mouthful of Kettle Corn. Which is awesome for me, but not so awesome for Jessica Szohr, who played said painfully needless role. And, indeed, she looks kind of like she's really depressed and unable properly dress herself to leave the house:

Yes, that round shape under the "N" on her ratty-ass tee shirt IS a nipple. (There's a closer-up shot out there somewhere, but not on any of our photo services, and also I don't have the energy today to be all, "CHECK OUT THE NIPS IN CLOSE UP ON THIS ONE!" All the Kettle Corn has wrecked havoc with my energy levels.) With the exception of those shoes, this is what I wear when I'm home watching Days and wondering if, this time, I really DO have the plague. And while I get that being axed -- or whatever -- from a saucy CW teen drama is enough to make a girl retreat to the land of her boyfriend's tee shirts and eating frosting from a can, this is no way to land a NEW saucy teen drama. If you're going to go bra-less, at least do it in service of a cute halter top.

Let's start at the very beginning -- which, I have it on good authority from a certain novice-turned-governess who may or may not have snagged herself a Captain, is a very good place to start: Elisha Cuthbert has a really adorable pixie haircut.

[Photo: Splash News]

But then it devolves into 80s-high-school-movie insanity. Indeed, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that those sleeves weren't like that until she was shoved into a closet to make out with a Teen Wolf. And it's a cruel, cruel world in which we're again forced to mull whether a person is wearing stirrup pants, or merely shiny footless tights. Hopefully that inch-wide strip of exposed flesh punished her short-sightedness -- and short-tightedness -- by getting UNBELIEVABLY cold. That'll learn her! YEAH!

I love that Hugh Jackman, he of the testosterone forest that is Wolverine, has a really normal-seeming wife. Yeah, I know there are rumors -- she's a beard! He's in love with his old assistant/stagehand/whatever! -- but they're raising kids together and I hope whatever their arrangement is, it's a happy one.

However, normalcy doesn't have to mean crazy/frumpy.

I am pretty sure this entire ensemble is something Nathan Lane's character in The Birdcage would wear if he were performing at a wake. And call me crazy, but I'm guessing Hugh made a respectable amount of scratch for those wee little art-films about the X-Men, so I say: get this woman into a hot designer gown, stat. And don't make her do her own hair, Hugh. Give her the star treatment. Especially if she IS a beard, because honey, that can't be easy.

So, I think I've figured out what bothers me about Rumer Willis. She rather gives off the  impression that she feels that she deserves massive amounts of attention simply...because. Presumably because her parents are famous. And that's....all she does. Is be photographed places. Often wearing something that seems to have been given a lot of thought along the lines of, "Does this seem EFFORTLESS ENOUGH? I don't think it does. GOD. I have to look MORE RELAXED. MORE RELAXED!!!!!" Kinda like this:

I don't hate the top. But I sure hate it with just her bra underneath, and tucked into pleated, cuffed shorts. It is simultaneously trying too hard and not giving nearly enough of a damn, which is actually rather illustrative of her public attitude. While Rumer may be a lovely, intelligent, delicious young lady, I just wonder whatever happened to children of celebrities using nepotism to actually GET JOBS rather than just get their pictures taken? I mean, Tori Spelling could have spent her entire life getting spray tans in the bowling alley of the Spelling mansion, but she took one for the team so that we could all experience "Donna Martin Graduates!" But these celebrity children today, I just don't know. Damn kids. Get a job! Get off my lawn! And wear some proper pants!

"I can't f'ing believe this,"  thought Mischa Barton (formerly Missing Mischa Barton. I wondered where she was, and she popped up right in front of me. If only I could make that happen with Patrick Dempsey, or sandwiches). "I had no idea when I signed that lucrative Keds endorsement contract that I would be reduced to THIS:"

"Standing around, holding a shoe. Like a CAR SHOW MODEL. But with shoes.  Wearing high-heeled Keds, like someone who's had some kind of head injury. I am a SERIOUS ACTRESS. I'm in a movie about the faux-lesbian Russian one-hit wonder duo tATu, for pete's sake. I hate being here.  I hate everyone."

The Night I Forgot To Get Ready To Go Out and How Petrified I Was When I Realized I'd Forgotten, Which Happened Just as the Flashbulbs Popped: A Play In One Act, by Amy Irving:

Remember Kathryn Morris's horrid, ratty hair extensions, which she installed so that her character could let her tresses down on Cold Case? Treat yourself to the memory of their horror. Morris has been without them for, I believe, every episode of the show so far this year -- back to the updos and heavy bangs -- and we can only assume that it's because somebody strapped her down and sawed them off with a plastic knife from the craft-service table.

And lest you worry that Kathryn will bring them back from the dead, we're pretty sure she can't -- we think Kristen Chenoweth of TV's Pushing Daisies scooped them up first. The facts are these:

The 'Weth has a blonde bob on Pushing Daisies that does not have the whiff of wig about it (although I admit sometimes it's hard to notice, since they have all of her boobs and 75 percent of her thighs on display to distract us). Ergo, I think my instincts that these are extensions are probably correct. Also helpful: the fact that, oh my GOD, those are REALLY HORRIBLE EXTENSIONS. It's like she glued them in herself after ruthlessly denuding her Barbie Styling Head.

More than that, though, I enjow how it looks like one Kristen up there is gazing lovingly upon the other, as if they're about to fluff each other verbally.

KRISTEN 1: God, I look GLORIOUS.

KRISTEN 2: You DO, Kristen 1. You really do. They're magnificent!

KRISTEN 1: I am a princess tonight! I just want to sing, and sing, and sing, and...

KRISTEN 2: Okay, well let's not get showy. But you are a particularly pretty princess -- honey, nobody will be able to tell they're fake. From the back, you would NEVER KNOW that you took the term "pony tail" a bit too literally and hacked off some poor horse's hind-coif to beef up your hair.

KRISTEN 1: Do you really think so, Other Me? Do you? Gee!

KRISTEN 2: I do. SHINE ON, tiny pal. Shine on.

We've gotten a lot of e-mails in the past few days about the shiny green dress that Beyonce wore to a Movies Rock event. I had it kicking around in my lightbox but I never felt motivated to post it; however, all these e-mail pretty universally eviscerate this choice.

Points its favor: The color, which is really unusual, looks great against Beyonce's skin. And she's got great curves, so there's something to be said for being unafraid to flaunt them.

Points against: It looks like it's binding her knees together, to the point that the friction generated when she tries to walk could probably power Luxembourg for a year. And in almost all the photos, Beyonce is bent over or twisted around or hunched, like she's trying to mimic something Tyra Banks said during an America's Next Top Model judging about unusual poses and trying things that are "weird but pretty" or which would result in Jay Alexander cooing, "I loooooooooove that broken-down doll thing." More likely, it's because Beyonce is so squeezed into that thing, fluid movement is nigh on impossible. And finally, as that brave frog so earnestly reminded us through song, it ain't easy being green.

So there's some of the evidence for and against the dress. What do you make of it?

I am really looking forward to Atonement, the project Keira Knightley here is currently flogging. The book is great, and I hear the movie is just fantastic. God knows, I'm a sucker for British period pieces in which women in great outfits run through beautiful fields crying about men. But if Keira has any sense, right now she's running through the streets of London crying about the make-up they put on her for this cover:

DUDES. Last time I checked, K. Kni wasn't a moderately depressed topless mime-clown, nor does she play one in the film, nor are moderately depressed topless mime-clowns all the rage.  So what gives? Did KK accidentally run over Interview's editor-in-chief's dog with her car? Did she burn down the photographer's house? Did she steal the styist's place in line at an open bar? Because to me, this cover looks like revenge.

Maura Tierney has GREAT hair, all glossy and full. If my hair looked like this, I would be gamboling through meadows and skipping through fields and basically acting as though my life were one big tampon ad. So why is she dressed all drab and stumpy?

That dress isn't terrible....if you are, say, seven feet tall.  As it is, she rather looks as though her legs are only sixteen inches long, and perhaps covered in some kind of dramatic and dangerous fungus that forces her to shield them from any and all light sources. Which I actually think I saw on ER, back when Intern George was working for them. If she's doing some kind of homage to her show -- perhaps celebrating that it's been on TV for like THIRTY FIVE YEARS -- I hope the next look involves a delicate hat that makes her look as though a helicopter has crashed into the side of her head.

I totally understand the temptation, when you find something you love and which flatters you, to buy it in a couple different colors. But what I can't figure out is why this little number ranks as one of those repeat buys for Alicia Keys. You may remember the crotch-hugging miseries of this jumpsuit from when she wore it in blue:

I think it's even worse in this hue, because now it looks like sweatpants she sewed to the top half of an evening gown. And, of course, there's the issue of the bulky bushel-and-a-peck it gives her. It's a cross between camel-toe and polterwang (camelwang? No -- poltertoe, I think) and it's incredibly distracting. I barely notice how beautifully and cleanly she's been doing her makeup lately, because I keep wincing at the rest.

If this is what we have to look forward to as she pimps her new album, then I'm DEFINITELY out. I can't handle an Alicia Keys and the Amazing Technicolor Poltertoe tour.

I have to say, I'm sort of feeling Laura Bell Bundy here. I, too, am enamored of  false eyelashes:

And I, too, am unable to put them on successfully without professional help.

Look, I love Gossip Girl. I enjoyed the books mightily, but I really like the television series. Oh, Dan Humphrey! You're so dreamy.  Too bad you're one of those fictional boys so charming and attentive and non-f'ed-up that you will eventually give a legion of pre-teen girls a totally warped view of what most teen boys are actually like, therefore leading them to spend many an evening eating donut holes and complaining to their girlfriends about how Boy X didn't call for six days and then when he DID manage to fire up AIM, his excuse was that he got really busy with his Wii. Anyhoo, my point is that the show is really entertaining and, as a bonus, all the clothes on it are really over-the-top which is of course delightful.

Also delightful is Leighton Meester here -- who is kind of genius on the show -- but LESS delightful is her frock:

It's just a bit...Those Old Curtains In The Drawing Room Have Got To GO: Give Them to The Children To Play Dress Up With, Won't You? Oh, Look at the Time! I'm Late for Yogalates!

Blair Waldorf would really not approve.

It's finally here: The Glorious Ladies of High Camp are back together, dancing, singing or making sounds that approximate it, and no doubt making innumerable amazing costume changes.

[All photos by Splash News]

I loved the Spice Girls the first time around -- who didn't think Geri was rather amusingly cheeky, pinching Prince Chuck's bum like that? -- and am, naturally, beside myself at the prospect of seeing them in L.A. on Friday night. There are few acts that would inspire me to scream gibberish like "ZIG-A-ZIG-AAAAH" in public at my age, and yet that's what I will be doing. Hopefully with a beer in my hand. It's going to be like attending a college party all over again, except with tiered seating, less snow on the ground, and zero chance of me accidentally finding myself in the middle of a keg stand. If I had a Union Jack minidress, I would wear it.

Despite my affinity for Ginger, though, the main event is always going to be Posh -- she who clearly has an awesome sense of humor despite the prevailing perception that she's a sullen cow, she who cracked in her book That Extra Half An Inch that she's always known Joan Collins is her real mother, and she whose clothes are such an amazing source of amusement that I secretly (well, until now) hope that a thousand years from now, aliens discover Earth, dig up a time capsule that's been filled with the entire contents of her closet, and benevolently decide to resurrect the human race on the assumption that we were all that entertaining to behold.

Based on stills from the Vancouver show, I have this to look forward to:

I have a soft spot in my heart for Knots Landing. Obviously it will never have Dynasty's place in my affections, nor even have I ever liked it as well as Dallas, because, come on, Donna Mills was fun and all but she was no J.R. Ewing or Alexis M-C-C-D-R. Still, it's a soap, and even though I didn't watch it with that much regularity or devotion, I appreciate its place in tawdry TV's beautiful history.

And thus, I will always appreciate Joan Van Ark, a.k.a. Valene, whose twins were famously stolen at birth and whose name sounds like some sort of relaxing naturally occurring gas. So recently, when I saw photos of our Joan/Val at a charity event, I was... shall we say... startled.

But first, a comparison. Here she is about two years ago:

She's obviously way, way too skinny -- like, tear-jerkingly so; has NO ONE taught her the simple, restorative qualities of perfectly charred toast? -- and she has probably had some plastic surgery, because she suddenly bears a passing resemblance to Joan Rivers. And no, I don't mean that as an insult, because I personally think Joan Rivers is rather fabulous and one of those rare people who can do pretty much whatever the hell she wants and it will be okay with me, short of replacing her own face with Brad Pitt's, and listen, if that's REALLY what she wants, who the hell am I to deny her? No, what I mean is that whatever Ms. Van Ark has done to her face, be it through diet or the knife, has actually resulted in her having more than a passing resemblance to La Rivers. Like maybe she's her long-lost and less comedically blessed younger sister. Seriously, take a look; you'll start to see it too.

But, that was 2006. A simpler, more innocent time. Or to borrow from S.E. Hinton, that was then, this is now:

EMMY ROSSUM: HOWDY!

MOLLY SIMS: [Sigh]. Hey, Emmy.

EMMY: HOW YA BEEN?

MOLLY: Fine.

EMMY: SURE? YOU SEEM....CRANKY!

MOLLY: Could you stop yelling at me? Why are you so darn chipper?

EMMY: Because I look so CUTE and AGE APPROPRIATE and PERT in this pink! Doncha THINK?

MOLLY: Yeah.

EMMY: PERK UP, BUTTERCUP!

MOLLY: Look, I'm just really crabby right now. And resentful. My stylist told me she was giving me "a J. Lo look" for tonight. I thought she meant, like, old school glamourous J. Lo. But apparently, she meant --

EMMY: PREGNANT J LO. TOTALLY!

MOLLY: Great. Then you had to go and step on my joke. Yeah. I've been forced into quasi-maternity wear. Are you happy? Does this please you?

EMMY: Actually, it sort of does! I think it's A GAS.

MOLLY: Oh, just shut up.

We've mentioned our distaste for Renee Zellweger's new hair do previously, but it bears mentioning that it has not improved, and in fact, she appears to be TRIMMING IT to MAINTAIN THIS:

Honey, no. Look, I like a sassy short cut as much as anyone else -- I am, after all, the lone voice in the wilderness who liked Katie Holmes's crazy new bangtastic uber-bob -- but grown woman should not look as though she marched into her hair salon with a page torn out of an aging, yellowed copy of Tiger Beat, thrust it into the hands of her stylist and pointed at this picture:

Apparently, Jennifer Love Hewitt made a statement recently on her personal blog in response to photos of her in Hawaii in a bikini -- in which she looked lovely and curvy and healthy and as if she actually enjoys her life, as opposed to analyzing the carb content on every plate of food that passes her way and obsessing over her hips. It takes a lot of guts to enjoy your beach vacation when you're a celebrity who knows she's going to get photographed but doesn't have Cameron Diaz's tall tree of a body, which is what most people seem to expect. And so it came to pass that J.Lo.Hew responded to criticism of the photos with a note about how, in fact, her body is totally healthy. And it made me love her even more than I did when she premiered on Ghost Whisperer with the bangs and the giant hair and the eyelashes, and all those nighties and bed jackets (speaking of which, J, we miss those -- can you consider going back to the hair, at least?).

Anyway, so that, plus the news that she got engaged to cute, cute Liebgott from Band of Brothers, has us all aglow with warm feelings for Ms. Lo.Hew. Feelings which only intensified when we saw the recent paparazzi photos of their "romantic walk on the beach." Which is not to say that it couldn't have been romantic, but rather that I seriously wonder whether it was spontaneous.

[Photos: Splash News]

I mean... that is a RANDOM PARROT on her shoulder. Is there really such a thing as a random parrot in this world? Where did this parrot come from, and why is it perched on her while she walks meaningfully along the shoreline wrapped in an old bedsheet? Did Ross coordinate his shirt on purpose? And how did the paps know they'd be there? It all sort of smacks of, "See? THIS is how we wanted to be photographed after our big Love Announcement, not frolicking around Hawaii half-naked." Which I sort of understand -- everyone secretly wants one of those hilarious pictures that people in soap operas happen to have on their desks/mantels/computers, where it's an unguarded, loving moment that is supposed to look candid but fails because no one in real life ACTUALLY manages to get such a perfect close-range photo of themselves laughing gorgeously into each others' smiling eyes under flattering lighting. 

But this is not that photo. This one sort of seems to say, "God, I hope Us Weekly is watching. Should I close my eyes and rest my head lovingly on his shoulder? Yes. But I can't walk very far that way so they'd better get the shot fast, and God, I hope Ross doesn't do that brow-furrow thing while I'm looking so peaceful because it will kind of ruin the moment if he looks like he just smelled a dead seagull." Or, "Okay, I thought a bird on my shoulder would be very Sleeping Beauty In The Forest With Nature, but it's impossible to keep a straight face with this f'ing parrot's nails digging into my shoulder while it caws the words 'Sister Act 2! Sister Act 2!' into my ear, so at what point does the damn bird wrangler peel this thing off me?!?"

None of which diminishes my affection for Lady Lo.Hew. Instead, it cracks me up. I just wish she'd worn something other than what Melinda Gordon would've put on to run to the market, and then the antiques store, and then the family of the little boy she's trying to cross over, and then the hospital, and then the school, and then the underground tunnels, and then home for dinner, and then back to the family -- all while everyone else is wearing a heavy winter coat.

"Oh, no," I thought to myself this evening. "This is it. This is the one."

"This is going to be the week when I open my virtual sasshole and spit out something sarcastic about how Jennifer Morrison looks like her head is on backwards, and then someone's going to e-mail me with a link to a Very Serious News Story about how she DID in fact have an unintentional head-reversal during a tragic -- yet, oddly, also scientifically miraculous and fascinating -- plastic-surgery accident. And then her people will call my people (which is to say, me, or maybe my parents if they're really itching for someone to call me by my first AND middle names) and I'll have to donate my house to a foundation for victims of 180-Degree Syndrome, and they won't let me watch my daytime stories, and I'll slowly grow as insane as the evil Stefano DiMera."

Although possibly, that is not the only strange physical procedure she had done.