You know, people are always like, "Cindy Crawford, she's aging so well, she looks so great, she's so beautiful, BLAH BLAH BLAH."


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And I'm like, "OH YEAH? You think so? Because...you totally have a point."

So, I guess Minnie Driver is in this new movie, Motherhood, for which I just saw an trailer. It seems to be about a harried and somewhat downtrodden stay-at-home blogger/mom who runs errands in her nightgown and knows a lot of working mothers who are kind of mean to her. It is hard to tell from two and a half minutes, but I suspect this might annoy bloggers, stay-at-home mothers, mothers with jobs outside of the home, and women who are asked to believe that Uma Thurman is anything other than incredibly striking and youthful looking, by which I mean: all of us. But trailers can be misleading: Heather and I have a friend who once announced, based solely on the trailer, that if the Johnny Depp/Penelope Cruz movie Blow didn't sweep the Oscars, he was going to leave town forever. I believe he is in Burbank right now.

I don't think Motherhood is going to sweep anything, and I am equally unsure about this:

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SHE looks great -- like, as a person -- and I am easily amused by a saucy print. That being said....

You know, I understand why Robin Antin is letting the other Pussycat Dolls out of the barn every once in a while. If Nicole Scherzinger ever decides to go solo again, they are up shit creek, because nobody cares about any of the other faceless minions. But the problem is, when your pussycats run around unsupervised, this happens:

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The rest of this outfit might be totally fine, for all I know. I can't tell. My brain shorts out when I get to her lipstick. It's like she personally juiced Violet Beauregard.
Star magazine just turned five, and this is what Phoebe Price gave it at its party:

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This is what I imagine Barbie would wear to the funeral of her archrival's husband, with whom Barbie of course had a torrid affair that may have spawned a love child who is entitled to half the man's estate. (Although I think Barbie would've remembered not to stop applying bronzer at her wrists -- or, better, would have accessorized with elbow-length gloves).

It's a marvelous gift of lunacy to Star, and to us all. Phoebe, my birthday is on August 16, and I am turning... not five. So for all my extra years on this planet, I hope you come up with a sartorial present for me that is commensurately more wackadaisical. Thank you.

October 14, 2009
Julia Stiles is ALIVE, you guys!

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[Photo: WENN.com]

I was so worried. Sometimes I'd lie awake at night, wondering if the humiliation of being in Down to You had finally done her in. But no! Hale! Hearty! Employed! Wearing the wee costume of a tiny junior ice-skating champion who was misguided enough to perform Blair Waldorf: A Tribute for her free skate, but still! ALIVE!
I don't know if you saw Orphan, but you should have. It was AWESOME. My friend Grant saw it like three times, and he wasn't wrong. I mean, sure, it wasn't exactly GOOD. But it was SO EXCELLENT in its terribleness. I mean, the evil child turned out to be SPOILER ALERT DON'T SEND ME AN EMAIL BLAMING ME FOR SPOILING ORPHAN FOR YOU JOIN US AFTER THE PHOTO IF YOU'RE STILL HOLDING ON TO THE ILLUSION THAT YOU MIGHT WATCH THIS THING a psychotic adult Eastern European prostitute with a glandular disorder. THAT is a REVEAL.

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Welcome back, spoiler-phobes. Anyhoodle, Vera Farmiga here plays the mother in Orphan and she is seriously quite good it in and rather sexy. (Pursuant to that last point, the movie also features a fair amount of naked-ish Peter Saaaaarrrssssggggaaaaaaarrrrrddddd, which is never a bad thing.) Which is why I want to grab her here and shake her and then render some kind of, "Why, Miss Farmiga, you're BEAUTIFUL" moment where I take off the cardigan and hike up the skirt a wee bit and transform her from Musty Librarian to Sexy Librarian. It CAN be done. What would you do? Tell us in the comments.

To begin with, I think we all need to remove our hats and salute Blake Lively's hair. It is glorious and I covet it:

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The hair on her head, guys. Not on her skirt.

That being said, I don't wholly loathe this. It's textile, and fun, and a bit....well, it is a Where the Wild Things Are event. Maybe this is her way of suggesting that it's time for the wild rumpus to commence. I have to have some respect for someone who so clearly embraces a theme.

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"That's right, American Idol producers. I'm the tiny serving of meat in a Snoop and Adam Lambert sandwich -- the $5 in this particular foot-long -- and one of them is wearing velvet and the other has on Lagerfeld gloves, and yet I STILL look the weirdest.  You are going to miss  the hell out of me, bitches."

Why are you running from us, Taylor?

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What are you hiding? Because, you know, I can see the tights, which -- God help us all -- might even be STIRRUP tights, judging by the nugget of heel flesh baring itself to the world. What are you concealing from me that could be worse than stirrup tights?

Again, much like with Maxim, I get that the point of this cover has absolutely nothing to do with January Jones' face.

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And when you have someone as delicately beautiful as January is on Mad Men, I understand roughing her up and making her edgy and bad-ass because it plays against her alter-ego, and thus Joe Schmoe at the newsstand might buy the magazine because he's pretty sure she's the kind of girl who will do naughty things with his tire iron. But none of that explains why GQ chose this particular angle on her face, which I don't think works to her advantage. She looks menacing, kind of clunky, and vaguely tired, none of which she is -- well, okay, she might be tired. I don't know her life. At least the advertised story on where to find the best coffee in America could help her with that. Hey, wait, maybe THAT'S why GQ chose this angle on her face. Brilliant! Forget I said anything.

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