NYFug.com

Okay, so we're not the hugest America Ferrera fans, per se, but we used to be charmed by Ugly Betty -- you know, back in the day, when it felt fun and fresh and wasn't bogged down by hideous life lessons about how if you dare to get a job and a life of your own, you will RUIN YOUR FAMILY. Still, we're bummed ABC is planning to banish the show to summer-burnoff purgatory (well, that's the rumor, anyway; it's being benched in March and its return date is undecided), because we think it's worth trying to repair.

Bring back the soapy tone.
[...] We understand criticism that the show is occasionally too over-the-top (though for us, that is impossible), but if we were really that interested in watching a heartfelt exploration of assistants mixing up outgoing mail, we'd go hang out at CAA's offices for an hour.

Drop by NYMag.com to read the rest of our column, including which Special Guest Star we think could save the day single-handedly.
This week, Heather and I tackled the very obscure and surprising topic of Inaugural Fashion for NY Mag.com. Not just Michelle Obama, but also J Lo and Jay-Z and J...ill Biden. As well as other luminaries. For instance:

"Granted, Sarah Silverman only attended a night-before bash hosted by the Huffington Post, but we're pretty sure none of the invitations to ANY of this week's festivities read, 'Dress Code: Semi-Hygienic Hobo.'"

We're not kidding. Check it out here -- slideshow style -- and let us know if you plan to get a giant, diamond studded bow-hat yourself. (I do.)


So, yesterday, Heather and I live-blogged the Golden Globes red carpet for NY Mag.com -- just like we said we would in the post directly below this one! See? We would never lie to you. It certainly felt good to have the Globes back again. And to have our reunion include this moment was especially thrilling:

7:41 p.m.: Ryan gets his claws in Beyonce, who looks....just like Beyonce. After about 30 seconds, he sort of shoves her aside to climb down from his perch to CHASE Brangelina down the red carpet. We are not exaggerating. He full-on bolts down the stairs shouting their names, and they COMPLETELY SNUB HIM. Angie pretends he isn't even there, as he stands behind them calling out their names pleadingly. AWKWARD. Also: FABULOUS.

You can re-live the rest of it here at NY Mag.com. DON'T SNUB US LIKE WE'RE SEACREST OVER HERE.
Who are we to resist the siren song of the year-end wrap up? They are nigh irresistible, kind of like an open bag of M&Ms. Hence:

"Whatever Solange Wears, Do the Opposite. When your sister has invented a split personality just so she can wear a metallic robot hand, and you still look more cracked out than she does, something is terribly wrong."

I think we can all agree on that one, eh? Poor Solange. Will she ever win? Put on your robot hand and weigh in on that very serious topic, and read about the nine other searing truths we learned this year, over at NY Mag.com.
December 11, 2008

NYFug.com: What Will Anna Do?

As you are no doubt aware, dear reader, recently the blogs have been full of speculative gossip that Anna Wintour is getting ready to put down her bob and leave Vogue. While that would surely be a loss, we understand that a girl has to move on eventually, and she's probably bored of people's endless Devil Wears Prada jokes by now. But whatever will Bobs-A-Million do with herself, once's she's freed from the confines of Conde Nast? We speculate for NY Mag.com:

"If Madonna can write for tots, A-Dubs should be a natural at crafting stories that convey important morals to our next generation of leaders. Imagine the semi-autobiographical truths she could pour into, say, Dubbie the Dragon Goes to Couture Week, Bobby and the Rogue Rice Grain, or the especially moving Why Is Mommy Holding Last Season's Bag?"

That last one is a real tear jerker, let me tell you. If you're feeling strong, you can read the entire column here.
Don't kid yourself. You are TOTALLY going to watch The City, that spin-off of The Hills that Whitney's in. You might not set the TiVo, and you may not watch it regularly, but let's not lie. There WILL be a day when you're (a) home sick, (b) stuck in a hotel room on a business trip, (c) confined on house-arrest, and it will be on TV and you will watch it. You might hate yourself for it, but don't. It happens to the best of us. In fact, just this week, Heather and I watched the preview for it like 500 times, all so that we could make an attempt at predicting what kind of quasi-scripted shenanigans lie ahead for Miss Port:

"Whitney Will Do What She Does Best: And no, we're not talking about whatever her ostensible job is at Diane Von Furstenberg (we'll set odds on The Great One actually making a personal appearance at 100:1). On The Hills, Whitney offered serene head-nodding and vague advice about boys, both of which dominate her moments here. Just once we want to see her punch a wall."

To find out what else we think will happen to old Whitney in the big bad city, read the whole column here. And feel free to comment on who you think the new Spencer is going to be. We'll be happy as long as the new Spencer is not the old Spencer. Because he WOULD be willing to  play the Evil Genius Villain bi-coastally. You know he would.
And now Top Model is over. Our Wednesday nights at 8 just got a little less booked (thank god: juggling Pushing Daisies, Top Model and Bones was starting to get to me. What kind of monster expects you to choose between Tyra Banks, David Boreanez, and baked goods?).  Too bad this cycle didn't go out with much of a bang. Well, unless you're counting Tyra's spectacular finale wardrobe. And we are:

"Heather: And the SECOND ONE, with the sharp shoulder pads ... somebody wants to be Joan Collins.
Jessica: I also thought she sort of looked like she had just beamed down from the mother ship."

I know what you're wondering: But how did National Treasure: Book of Secrets play into this? I wish I could explain that myself. It just DOES. Read and comment here, my gentle readers.
At last! The Top Model finale is upon us! I'm sure you're all very busy right now in preparation -- reassembling your shrine to Tyra, practicing your runway strut, and sacrificing that goat -- but when you get a moment, you could always take a break and check out our prognostications:

"In the editorial corner there's the edgier McKey, whose quirky, toothy smile might not sell Land's End turtlenecks but is exactly what Tyra means when she says "pretty-pretty" isn't always "model-pretty." Her pictures have improved to consistent greatness, even with the hideous makeover that looks like a drunk stylist ran amok with some shoe polish and a Flowbee."

If you get a hankering to read and/or comment on the whole kit and caboodle, you can find it here.
I've always said that it would be terrible to be a celebrity going through a break-up. Because when you shuffle to the market for ice cream and booze and you're standing there in the check-out line with dirty hair, and you look over at the tabs, YOU'RE ON THEM. Or -- even worse -- your EX is on them, and he's frolicking on the beach with that scrawny, underage bimbo he left you for. It would be enough to make you turn around and get another gallon of rum. Hence, this week's column on the Ten Worst Celebrity Break-Ups:

"4. Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez: Remember the heyday of Bennifer 1.0, when a faux-tanned Ben made bum-massaging cameos in J.Lo's videos? And she went on Dateline to gush about how she loves to make Ben Shake and Bake chicken? And then the Enquirer claimed Affleck cheated with a bunch of Canadian strippers, the wedding was "postponed" at the last minute, and next thing you know, they were kaput? That was fun. Although probably not for them."
Go forth, read the rest, and add to the list in the comments, if you want -- someone has already pointed out that Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger was pretty bad, which is true. In our defense, we forgot Kim Basinger existed.
This week, at NY Mag.com, we talk about Jessica Biel, and all the random crap she's been wearing out and about of late:

"We all know that clothes don't make the woman. But when you don't have much else to say, what you wear often does the talking for you. So it's unfortunate that Biel's first foray back into the limelight in ages -- an event at the Rome Film Festival -- involved decking herself out in a YSL pantsuit that said, 'Welcome to KFC. Try my grandfather's Original Recipe.'"

And now I want some fried chicken. Get yourself a bucket and head over to NY Mag.com to read the rest and weigh in.

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