I don't even know

Oh my God, I have been trying to write this entry all night, and I just can't come up with words that accurately express how confused I am about Jeremy Piven's Emmy ensemble. Aren't pants and jackets usually sold together so they'll actually match? Didn't he get the black TIE (as in neckTIE or bowTIE, not cravat-scarf-ugly thing, which does not contain the word tie) memo? Doesn't he have a stylist? Or a mom? Or anyone who actually loves/is employed by him and wants him to look like a successful TV star and not a character in a cheesy porno?

After the show there's the after-party...

And Patrick Dempsey seems to know all about that.

Exhibit A: On the red carpet, bright eyes, big smile, hair perfectly swept over.

Exhibit B: After the show, champagne in hand, glazed eyes, blank expression, tousled hair.

Though I suppose a mellow party-shot is better than one of him dancing on the tables.

Better for him, that is. I could have used some extra fodder.

BFF

Okay, I'm a bit of a sucker for award show moments that showcase the normal emotions and reactions of the Hollywood stars. And I have a total crushes on Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart, and Conan O'Brien, so I'm not really an unbiased source. But I do think two displays of friendship really stick out from last night.

First, Stewart seemed truly upset that he won instead of Colbert, as he calmly mentioned on his first win, "I think this year you actually made a terrible mistake. But thank you." But he helped make up for it by supporting Colbert with the duo's off-the-cuff shtick, with Colbert's now-classic-line (and what most of us were thinking) "I lost to Barry Manilow!"

The second moment comes from our host--who I thought was pretty solid on the night--when Bob Newhart announced "The Office" as winner for Best Comedy. Conan's double fist-pull of pure joy for his former roommate Greg Daniels, was the most honest happiness for another winner that I've seen.

So keep it coming boys, emotions are cute.

Why, Murphy, Why?

I'll admit I was pleasantly surprised with this year's red carpet. It appears that most of the stars have either discovered a sense of taste or finally hired someone who would just say no to them. Which is why I don't understand why Candice Bergen doesn't have a single friend who cares.
What is this? Seriously. She looks like a pirate linebacker. She would be first pick in the football draft of the seas. The outfit just makes her look so...unnaturally wide. And I'm really not feeling that shade of turquoise-aqua-whatever. Frankly, even if I could get past the general appearance, I'm not sure it's fancy enough to be award-show-attire. She is a classy older woman, and it hurts me that no one would tell her that "hut...hut...ahoy!" look might not be the way to go.

Emmy Exhaustion

It's hard being an addict. No matter how much you try to quit, you just can't let go. You know it's bad for you, but it just feels so good. You keep coming back for one more hit. And then the next day you wake up with nothing but regret.

I am an award show addict. Now many people love the glitz and glamour of the red-carpet, I know I'm not alone. But I always know that in the end it won't be satisfying, because the two biggies, the Oscars and the Emmys (I refuse to even acknowledge the Grammys anymore) are so lacking in real reward.

And yet I watch anyway. So today, my friends, you will be treated to the Emmy Aftermath, be allowed to bask in the exhaustion with me. As together we enable each other's worst vice.

Another day, another show ruined

I never watched Laguna Beach, which is probably good because I have an illogical dislike of Kristin Cavallari, despite having never heard her speak a single word, but I was addicted to The Hills. The operative word here being "was." Not only because the season is over, but because I cannot believe that LC actually chose to live in a beach house with her assface boyfriend for the summer instead of going to work for Vogue in Paris. I know that the show is scripted and I know that the only reason she got the chance was because of the show, but for the love of God, anyone with even a quarter of a brain who wants to work in fashion knows that you don't say no to Paris. And you certainly do not say no because you've just turned 20 and want to live with a guy who you've broken up with multiple times and who has the worst facial hair in the history of man. UGG.

People are so annoying sometimes. Gosh.

My Sassy (American) Girl?

So this is potentially old news, but I just found out that one of my favorite Korean movies ever (and one of the most successful Asian films of all time) is being adapted for American audiences. I know most non-Asian people have never even heard of My Sassy Girl (or 엽기적인 그녀, which really translates to something like That Crazy/Insane/Bizarre Girl), so you can read about it here (spoiler warning!), but it is a hilarious and absolutely insane movie (and based on a true story that the guy documented on his blog/online journal).

I am more than a little worried that it is going to be totally sucktastic in English, especially since it is being directed by some French guy I have never heard of (Yann Samuells?) and is reportedly going to star Elisha Cuthbert, who in no way is as pretty or talented as Jun Ji-hyun. The only possible saving grace is that the screenplay is being adapted by Gurinder Chadha, who did Bride and Prejudice and is at least from sort of the right continent. Seriously, does it ever occur to Hollywood to actually hire one of the ten million Asian people living in California to work for them when ninjas and geisha are not involved? I think it might be a little hard for someone who is not actually Korean to (a) understand the language, which is really important in the film, (b) understand the history, which is also really important, or (c) understand that, yes, people really do act like this in Korea, and no, the crazy matchmaking, ramen eating, and soju pounding is not meant to be a joke in and of itself. Plus, I just don't see an American studio willing to be quite so brave with all the physical humor if Will Ferrell or Steve Carell are not involved. And it will just not be the same movie unless Elisha Cuthbert also throws up on some random guy's head in the subway. Boo.

Lindsay Lohan, a partier? Who knew?

Despite the fact that everyone and their mom has already posted about this, I could not resist the urge to document this major step in Ms. Lohan's downward spiral. She used to be so cute (I know I am not the only one who watched The Parent Trap revival version) and seemed so promising during teendom (I <3 Mean Girls)...but now that she is awash in alcohol (excuse me, suffering from "heat exhaustion," a la Nicole Richie) and locked in an epic battle with Paris Hilton, I fear that the end is near. Betty Ford is calling her name...

You can see a bigger version of the letter (complete with a very special combination of American spelling and British punctuation) here.

There are (almost) no words...

I love US Weekly because it is delightfully trashy and filled with entertaining and at least semi-believable lies (unlike Star, which just cannot create any suspension of disbelief at all), but this is just ridiculous. And their website's little "game" that lets you watch celeb babies grow up is way beyond creepy.

(Also, can anyone explain to me how exactly they know what Zahara and Maddox are going to look like? Usually you need to know what the biological parents look like...and how come they don't get to be made out of wax like Shiloh? Injustice!)

Wish List Item #49123409823

??? of the day

So, I realize that I am not a true shoe person (low threshold for foot pain), but still...I have to say that this whole platform shoe trend is really not doing it for me. I do not understand why everyone on earth would want to look like a cheap hooker in red or animal-print platforms and cheap elastic shin-length leggings. Furthermore, I would really like to speak to the genius who thought it would be a good idea to give Jessica Simpson a clothing line, therefore making it impossible for me to go into any department store without being subjected to her image and signature all over racks and racks of fugly shoes, clothes, and accessories. The whole soap-you-can-eat thing was bad enough, and you'd think they would've learned since she was sued multiple times for that crap.

I just needed to get that out of my system.

Heroes in a Halfshell...

TURTLE POWER!

I knew when my childhood started returning to the mainstream that things were good, but this trailer is a dream come true. I mean, I'm not sure if it could manage the absurdly terribly wonderful-ness of the early 90s live-action turtle trilogy. And I'm still a little afraid it will be a little too new-generation-turtle without the old school charm. But I am seriously excited. I'm watching all my original Turtles DVDs on loop in anticipation of this movie.

8 months and counting...

Tangential Thought: The original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle theme song is undeniably awesome (lines like, "Leonardo leads, Donatello does machines" are priceless) but did everyone else realize that the line is "Raphael is cool, but crude"--according to the official TMNT website at least. Seriously? I have spent 15+ years believing that the line is "Raphael is cool, but rude" and it's all been a lie? And what does that even mean. I guess they get props for the alliteration, but "rude" sounds like he's a badass, whereas "crude" is just gross. And not in that cool, little-kid-gross sense, but in the plumber's-crack-yucky-gross sense.

Okay, rant over.

Obligatory Suri Post

As I'm sure practically everyone on the planet knows by now, Suri Cruise's birth certificate has been obtained by TMZ. I know that most people think that this whole thing is a hoax and that Suri either doesn't exist or is deformed in some way, but I personally am hoping that she exists and is at least normal enough to get married to Sean Preston in a couple decades and pop out some babies, who will eventually lead to the merging of Nascar Nation and the "Church" of Scientology.

It might take Sean some time to get rid of all his engrams before the wedding though. I'm sure that 18 years of living with parents who fight over who has to clean the Cheeto dust and Twinkie filling off of the seats in the pickup truck before picking up some more beer at the gas station can't be too great for your psyche. Not that living in a silent mansion with a midget father and jowly slave mother is that great either...

This is our doing. Obvi.

Looks like Fox heard us loud and clear. Is this the beginning of the end for The OC?

We can only hope the show will go up in flames. And, as you all know, I mean that quite literally.

Thank God...

Ashlee isn't following in the footsteps of our beloved Britney.

People are claiming that this would set Ashlee apart from Jessica, but I'm not sure that's really the case...I mean, we all see where Jessica is headed, don't we? Johnny Knoxville? That skinny guy from Maroon 5? The "naughty" cover for Maxim magazine? Seriously, within the next year or so, she's going to get desperate enough. It's either posing nude or going the Britney route (trucker hats and Twinkies are a part of Jess's heritage too, y'all.)

All Ashlee has to do is hold out and wait for her sister to finish self-destructing. I think the wig is a pretty good sign the end is near. Be strong, Ashlee, the limelight is...almost...yours...all you have to do is keep convincing Jess that outfits like this look, like, totally HOTT.

Blinded by the light...

Or by fear. Egotastic has provided some nice pictures from Harper's Bazaar, so I don't have to actually pay to be scarred for life.

Really unsafe for human viewing, but go ahead and click anyways.

Now I know the easy joke here is about fat Britney and why she has any desire to show off the results of high-Cheeto-consumption (other than the fact that she needed some free photoshopped pictures to continue her delusions), but the nice magazine folks have distracted me by the horrific outfit choices.

I'm not even talking about the fur rug thing--that is tame compared to the hairnet mask combined with the giant silver scrunchy necklace.

And that picture with Sean Preston is so creepy I think she might be stealing him for the Goblin King.

In fact the whole photo shoot makes me uneasy. It's almost as if I'm endlessly watching the scene in Silence of the Lambs where Buffalo Bill is making his human skin costume.

Seriously, Britney, won't you think of the children?

They still exist?

Apparently Kevin is leaving the Backstreet Boys.

I recognize that I am given to sarcasm, but in all seriousness, how many people were aware that they are actually still together? I must be losing touch with my inner pre-teen.

Minis

To celebrate my (and Maggie's) return to our glorious blog, here are some mini-marshmallows to stuff yourself with:

A Demoted Goat: "Captain William Rose, a soldier present at the parade, said the goat 'was trying to headbutt the waist and nether regions of the drummers.'" I think there is a joke just waiting to be made in this story about gays in the military, but I can't quite...

Supreme Court pooh-pooh: Okay, so the story itself isn't that funny, but I am actually ten and still find poop jokes entertaining.

Nicole Kidman, Oscar-winning actress, Tom Cruise survivor, Mrs. Aussie Country Star, and Reviver of 80s poofy sleeves! God, if Balenciaga does poofy sleeves, then it must be chic. Almost as chic as showing everyone all of the bones in the upper half of your body.

Jessica Simpson, nobody cares about you anymore. Not even trying to steal Madonna's glory is going to help you now.

This further proves my theory that Americans will watch anything if there are enough commercials on TV for it. Who are all of these people? Who went and saw Click? I mean, even I had better things to do. And by "better things," I mean watching the Golf Channel with my mother.

Kevin, you are finally getting what you deserve. Sort of.

And my guilty pleasure of the week: Paris Hilton's new single, which is (surprisingly) not offensively bad. If you show me real love, baby, I'll show you mine... Apparently she has a rather loose definition of love.

Flames on the side of my face...

because they sure weren't on Marissa's.

All I wanted was a little death. Is that so much to ask? You say, "you got death." Oh no, I did not get death.

I got the amazing technicolor graduation complete with the ugliest purple gowns ever and leis. Frickin' leis.

I got goodbyes. There are no goodbyes with death. You do not get to get to conveniently say goodbye to everyone because you're going away and then die. This is sudden teenage death, no goodbyes. Seriously.

I got last words. Mumbly, sputtery, poorly acted last words. Okay, maybe there are last words with death. But not when you are in a car wreck that doesn't break a single bone in the driver's body, leaving him with the strength to pick you up and carry you around and then you suddenly wake up at the last minute to utter you mumbly, sputtery, poorly acted last words. You were dead from your massive head injury. You do not get to come back for last words.

I came back for death, and death I did not receive. I did not ask for quality, even when I watched this show consistently, I never expected quality. I simply asked for a show that markets itself as a primetime, teenage soap with all the requisite implausibilites to serve up a glorious, wonderful soap-opera-style death.

But there is one hope for redemption: If Sandy and Kirstin conceive a child from after the steamy makeout session we saw and this child turns out to be the reincarnated soul of Marissa and simultaneously the spawn of Satan, I will watch again to see her get the fiery ending she deserves.

Now THAT would be a good show.

Dear Fox

Here are the several options I was willing to accept for Marissa Cooper's death:

(1) Marissa spontaneously combusts in the middle of graduation.

(2) Marissa is crushed as the model home dramatically and suddenly collapses on top of her (and catches on fire).

(3) Marissa starts boozing it up again, her flask catches on fire, and she explodes in a vodka-soaked flame of glory.

(4) Marissa starts boozing it up again, her flask is lit on fire by her sister, and she explodes in a vodka-soaked flame of glory.

I also would have accepted anything else involving Marissa actually catching on fire or having her life stolen by her mini-me little sister.

But no...

First you take away Arrested Development and then you take away the fiery explosive death that I was clearly entitled to after an hour of watching your craptacular nighttime soap.

I hate you.