Misc. Awards Shows

I just discovered two whole cans of Diet Coke in the back of my fridge, and when you think you're all out of that sweet, sweet elixir, making that kind of discovery is the equivalent of stumbling over a pair of Loubs you never knew you owned, hidden underneath a pile of dirty socks. I might have squealed with glee. So I must say that I am feeling charitable right now. However, even were I in my most cranky of moods, I would have to hand it to Tomei/Pinto (which sounds like a new, up-and-coming ad agency). Check it:

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(If you click on them, you can see them bigger. Technology!)

As Liz Lemon would say, "I want to go to there." And by "there," I mean, "their closets, where I plan to steal these dresses, their shoes and bags, Tomei's necklace, and Freida Pinto's hair, although how I plan to pull that part of it off, I haven't quite figured out." Is it wrong that I am getting sort of excited about the Oscars? Because if it is -- wait for it -- I don't want to be right.
I think I need a ruling on Amy Adams here. We need to take this play under review, as it were.  If I may stretch this metaphor: As a Fug coach, I am challenging this call (which reminds me: congrats to all members of the Steelers nation -- that was one heck of a game!), and you are the review team.

Here's the front:

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Eh. It probably is one of those that look better in person, right?  Sure, we'll give her that. It's possible. These things have happened before. There's no definitive proof that it DIDN'T look better in person, ergo, it's still too close to call. Let's see it from another angle:

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WHAT HAVE WE HERE? That's interesting! Or, depending on your taste, weird. Or possibly interestingly weird, or weirdly interesting. Me? I'm just the coach. But I think I like the back, but wish the whole thing was another color. Something less reminiscent of incredibly shiny oatmeal. But what do I know?

So, when I was a young girl, I had a subscription to Seventeen and also, of course, to Sassy. Can I just take a minute and reflect on how much I loved Sassy? I wish I'd kept all my issues of it, but obviously I was not to know that fifteen years later I would think to myself, "I really wish I still had that issue of Sassy where they mentioned that hitting yourself in the mouth with a brick is not a good substitute for collagen injections, or the one where Evan Dando gives his recipe for tacos, or the one where Tori Spelling gives the writer a tour of her condo and the writer is like clearly really kind of unimpressed by how dumb Tori is, but then grudgingly admits she seems kind of nice."  But this is not about Sassy. It is about how when I was, say, fifteen -- which seems to be the ideal age to READ Seventeen, at least then -- one of the spring issues of Seventeen would be devoted entirely to the prom, and it would come complete with like SERIOUSLY FIFTEEN PAGES of an ad buy from some large-scale purveyor of prom dresses. This was stuck in the middle of the magazine almost like a little catalog. It was AWESOME, in part because many of the dresses were CRAZY. They were all very shiny, for one thing -- often overlaid with black lace -- and there was ALWAYS at least two that came with a hoop skirt. And I am pretty sure that probably long-dead Promatorium provided Virginia Madsen's dress here:

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If only she had a matching parasol, then I would be POSITIVE.
I loooove this color. I feel like it's very difficult for anyone except perhaps an actual Smurf to go wrong in this color:

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But that shouldn't take away from how well Evan Rachel Wood is rocking it, with her glowing skin and subtle -- by her standards -- makeup. The purple accessories have me torn; on the one hand, I applaud the unusual choice, but on the other, they are kind of distracting. In all, though, it's totally understandably why Mickey Rourke allegedly was spied making out with Evan Rachel after the SAG Awards. Which is not to say that I understand why Evan Rachel allegedly sucked face with Mickey Rourke -- rather, if I were Mickey, and I were coming off a wildly successful, acclaimed, decorated movie role, and I were standing next to this girl just a few weeks after memorably thanking my dogs for their companionship over the years, I'd probably be like, "Okay, Self. You may not look like Original Mickey Rourke any more, but you do not wear white contacts and you generally don't evoke images of Satan worship, so you are LIGHT YEARS ahead of this kid's last boyfriend. GO FOR IT."

All of which makes me feel a bit bad for Bai Ling, if indeed it's true she hooked up with Mickey Rourke after the Golden Globes. We rib our girl Bai, but we just want her to be happy; however, can it be a coincidence that after her rumored Rourkeing, she turned up not once but TWICE in full-coverage outfits? Behold:

Someone sent us this picture earlier in the week, and I honest to God thought it has been photoshopped. But it hasn't: I got it direct from our (unimpeachable) photo source:

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PUT ON SOME CLOTHES, DUDE. I've got robes that provide more full-body coverage. I shudder to think what would have happened had there been some kind of gusty wind kicked up. Wait, what's that you're saying? You want to see if you're seeing what you think you're seeing? You are. You don't believe me? Click through (technically safe for work, but maybe not if your boss is like RIGHT BEHIND YOU):

Here is the thing: America Ferrera HERSELF looks great. Just cover up her dress with your hand and see for yourself:

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Very pretty! Which is why it's so sad that she decided to wear something the color of much-used dishwater to the SAG Awards. I am hoping this is one of those things where someone who was there would be all, "DARLING, it was GLORIOUS in person, like a very SUBTLE violet-grey-beige-taupe-y color, simply DIVINE. Really. And that terribly sad black tulle sash was actually a BRILLIANT commentary on MELANCHOLY as expressed via FABRIC. It was TO DIE, truly. Truly, it was." Or else I'm afraid I just don't understand it.

Okay. We all knew this conversation was coming. We've got to talk about Angie:

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SNORESVILLE. We got an email when I said that her dress at the Globes was dull, accusing me of being a psychotic Jennifer Aniston fan who never misses a chance to attack Angie, and I'd like to say right here and now that nothing could be farther from the truth: I think Angelina is crazy hot and charismatic, and I actually think she's a sort of fascinating creature. Which is why I wish she'd turn it up a notch at these things. DUDE. You're ANGELINA JOLIE. You travel the world with your dashing life partner and adorable children, saving humanity, and you once walked around with Billy Bob Thornton's blood in a vial around your neck and made out with your own brother. YOU'RE MORE INTERESTING THAN THIS. Even if it IS comfortable.

Hmm.

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First impression: The actual dress fabric and color might be rather winning if, say, it came with some gently sparkly spaghetti straps and a brooch/blingier detail under the boobs. But I'm put off by the shiny satin. It reminds me very much of a bridesmaid dress that Marisa unwisely repurposed because the bride told her she could someday. (Never listen to the brides, people. They are crazy. They are trying to make you feel better about spending all the money on the dress that you only wear for one night, and in a fog of self-consciousness and stress and possibly a sugar high from all that cake-tasting, they're also trying to convince themselves and everyone else that their pick really IS so awesome that you'll want to wear it again, thus making them way cooler and more fashion-forward than every other bride in the world.)

But there is something very suspicious peeking out from the back, which I suspect we need to investigate:
The best part of this picture might be the women behind Nicolette Sheridan:

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Far Left is like, "I freaking love that you're taking a picture of this with your phone," and Near Left is like, "I know, but look at her! What is she doing? It's like she's welcoming peasants to the manor to partake of the leftovers of her Michaelmas feast. Except it's the 70s and instead of Michaelmas, it's her 4th Annual Arbor Day Key Party and she's still drunk." And Far Left is like, "But the color is pretty," and Near Left is like, "Yeah, but I think I just saw Blanche Devereux wearing this on a rerun of The Golden Girls. You KNOW somewhere Michael Bolton is totally smirking into his White Russian about this," and Far Left is like, "his White Russian?" and Near Left is all, "Please, you know he drinks them. Dude, this is going to be my best Facebook profile picture EVER."

So, we've got lots to chat about here, but before we get talking outfits, there's something I have to address. I'm sure the real title of the following is Kate Winslet Wishes Mickey Rourke Good Luck, but I would like to refer to it as, Kate Winslet Meets Husband Number Three:

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THAT'S a comeback, bitches. Plus, imagine the interiews they'd both give about this! Sorry, Sam Mendes. I'm sure you're a wonderful man, but I need this to happen. If only because I feel like Kate MIGHT be able to gently nudge Mickey away from his fantastic-yet-alarming Bret Michaels-esque sartorial choices and back to what he used to look like, which, if you were not aware, was this:


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HELLO LOVER. America misses you.

Anyway, Kate:

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