Random Fug

Note to all you starlets out there -- like this one, at the premiere of that movie where somehow Robin Williams ends up as President of the United States, like, I really would move to Canada if that happened -- if it's cold enough for you to be huddling under a full-on coat, WEAR SOME GODDAMN PANTS:

You look like you left your skirt at some dude's house, and decided to go out for the evening wearing his boxers. You also look COLD. It's OCTOBER.  What is wrong with PANTS? Have pants WRONGED YOU SOMEHOW? Please LOOK INTO PANTS.

Sandi Thom is a Scottish singer whose single, "I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker," is starting to make its way over here so that she can take the U.S. by storm, or somesuch.

But her more immediate goal appears to be opening a punk club in Neverland.

I don't know why this woman is holding an Emmy.

.

Her only credit, as far as the all-seeing eye of IMDb can tell me, is that she was on Survivor. And that didn't win. But more importantly, why is she at the HBO Emmy party wearing a harness and a dirty wedding dress?

Maybe she's pitching a new show to the network. Maybe it's called 'Til Death Do Us Art, about a morbid performance artist who agreed to marry her fiance while bungee jumping, and then decided that she didn't have any interest in yoking herself legally to a jackhole who wanted to get married in a wet suit while swinging under a bridge. So she runs -- through a wood, and I suspect a barn -- and vows never to remove her dress, so that others might see her as a living work of art denouncing hasty commitments. And jackholes. And harnesses. Billed as the anti-Big Love, it will feature her trying to convince people not to get married. Courtney Love will ultimately star, of course, since this getup is basically inspired by Hole's first hit album. And Scott Bakula will make his triumphant return to television as the dry cleaner who follows her around begging her to please WASH that damn thing before it starts to smell. Her old art-school T.A. whom she saves from a wrong-headed wedding to a socialite before falling in love with him herself? Why, Bill Pullman, of course.

Can't wait. But I don't know that wearing your pitch to a post-awards party is the best way to get it greenlit.

Leven Rambin plays an autistic teen on All My Children, and she's really, really natural and good at it -- assuming you can get past the new herky-jerky camerawork and watch long enough to notice, and also not vomit from motion-sickness.

At any rate, she's very charming on the show, and her performance and the whole fresh-faced youthful glow of it all inspires a maternal protectiveness in me, which is why I yelped when I saw this photo.

I want to scream at her, "Leven [Middle Name Here So She Knows I Am Seriously Angry] Rambin! You are SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, young lady! You have no need to be naked! Get back upstairs and put on a shirt that's more substantial than a spandex waistband and two flaps of suspiciously stiff-looking satin! You are not Paris Hilton and you DEFINITELY are not some disco singer from the 1970s on her way to Studio 54, and you have SERIOUSLY spectacular skin! Which is neiher here nor there but I'm VERY, VERY UPSET, and stuff just pours out of my mouth when I'm upset and your nail polish is really cute! There, I said it! NOW GO CHANGE BEFORE A BUNCH OF GRUBBY-FINGERED BOYS FIGURE OUT HOW HOT YOU ARE OH MY GOD I AM PUTTING YOU IN A CONVENT TOMORROW AND THEY CAN BUS YOU TO THE STUDIO."

But it's just out of affection. I bellow because I love, Leven.

Emma Griffiths, the host of Total Request Live in the UK, presents reason #947 not to sell your soul to the devil:

He won't stop at sucking the life out of your eyes, nor will he be satisfied by merely condemning you to a life in the ghoulish spandex prison known as "leggings." No, Satan is fully prepared to do all of the above while also forcing you to wear a misshapen tube dress in an unforgiving wrinkle-prone satin, forcing you to spend an entire evening looking like a wince-worthy walking wrinkle and prompting your grandmother to send you a portable steamer for your next birthday, along with a note that reads, "You're usually such a pretty girl."

So. Midlife Satanism: Don't do it.

Kiersten Warren was highly unamused by the photographer's assertion that although the movie being premiered is Invincible, her fashion sense certainly isn't.

Indeed, this red eyesore actually makes us hanker a bit for the flip-flopped version we saw -- and didn't love -- ages ago. This reversed color scheme actually manages to make the other look almost understated. We're also really curious about whether it's uncomfortable to wear shoes whose soles are too narrow to house all five toes, but maybe we'll wait to ask her about it until her expression no longer brims with contempt.

This outfit is proof that when they decide to make That's So Raven: Misadventures in Menopause, Tonya Pinkins will be a lock for the part.

Until then, though, she might want to leave the hideous lumpy brown sundress and croc corset at Forever 21 and Bill's Pleather Palace, where they belong.

Big Brother in the UK ought to be a lot more watchable -- I mean, any show whose Web site features the summary, "The housemates just aren't satisfied with the amount of booze" they were given in exchange for writing and performing BB: The Musical REALLY ought to be a brilliant show.

But, for one thing, it's ages and ages of what seems like uncut footage, which to a child of spit-shined U.S. reality TV like me becomes awfully interminable when you're asked to witness five plodding, paceless, unedited minutes of diary-room action. Not to mention the part of one of the episodes I saw in which the adenoids-blessed narrator helpfully filled us in on what little the housemates had been doing: "Pete has been sleeping in the bedroom for 20 minutes. [Pause to watch.] Nikki has been sitting quietly in the garden for 36 minutes. [She gazes vacantly into space.] Richard has been nowhere for 12 minutes. [Pause to show him decidedly somewhere, but staring at a wall.] Imogen has been sleeping in the living room for 45 minutes..."

You might be pleased to know that Imogen woke up.

Woke up, but opted not to shirt up (apt, considering there is a porn video circulating that claims to feature her). That is not so much a viable garment as it is an abdominal sheath.

I wonder how Jesus would feel about the fact that she is furiously exposing herself, all in the name of having enough chest space to accommodate the enormous cross hanging around her neck. If you believe my somewhat sacreligious Sunday-School teacher from my grade eight pre-Confirmation classes, Jesus would have loved this, because he was always a party animal and the first one out on the dance floor with the whores (I'm not kidding -- he said that). But I prefer to believe that Jesus would a) have bristled at the unflattering cut of her bra, because it doesn't give enough love to the female form his father busted His ass to create, and b) resented giving a cross the same genre and acreage of real-estate one would afford some $0.50 Mardi Gras beads, in part J.C. knows how people come by Mardi Gras beads and I really don't think he dug the word "tits" or "titties," which goes to show that Jesus is/was a smart guy indeed, as I know no woman who finds "titties" adorable or charming.

My point? Well... I hate what she's wearing, really. Isn't that enough?

Lauren Blake is apparently a singer who's starring in a show on the UK's Channel Four called Totally Frank. And so, in the spirit of the title, I'm going to give her a dose of honesty.

Lauren, it's a testament to how unsettling that shirt is that until right this second, I didn't even notice that you're also wearing formal shorts. And you know how we feel about formal shorts (check your OED under "Scourge of the Devil, The").

No, I'm not wild about it being so sheer -- I always feel like a bra should be silent support, so to speak -- and the puffy sleeves frighten me a little. But mostly ... well, it's the bow, Lauren. It looks like your stylist tried to throttle you when she helped you get dressed. It's bigger than your head. There really ought to be some kind of written rule that nothing wider than your face can be placed that close to it. Your noggin looks like something that's been nestled in a hideous gift basket.

And so, being totally frank, I think you should burn this.

It's somewhat ironic that this girl's fuzzy yarmulke-gone-wrong is crusading for peace, given that it and the rest of her outfit are stirring great unrest within me.

The outfit might have been yanked straight from Cher Horowitz's wardrobe, with one key difference: Nobody in Clueless would have been caught dead in knee-length tights and storm-trooper boots, much less the beribboned sweatbands she is using to keep her wrists warm. The whole thing is very Lolita of the Valley, suitable for that heady combination of shopping, sinning, and Tae-Bo that we all strive to include in our lives.