Without question, Katherine Heigl is the most inspired, revolutionary and brilliant leading actress in any film ever created about a morning show producer who is bad at love until she kisses Gerard Butler in a hot air balloon. I'm willing to fight anyone who says otherwise. She is more than a shimmering superstar, Katherine Heigl is a bright and co
If you're anything like me, you track rising movie starlets through a patented system of chicken bone voodoo and Precog upkeep. It's a good system but sometimes people fall through the cracks. Like when the lil' water baldies began rolling out the name 'Zooey' over and over again, I had to consult other sources to get a reading of what was up.
Some professions work their entire lives, and follow a straight and narrow path. Others trip headfirst into success.
While scouring through the sexualized fanfic about Ziggy Stardust and pretending that each mention of Bowie was actually me, I discovered that a few famous people are actually writing their own fan fiction every day.
Last week, on the day Amy Winehouse died, I sat down and wrote a eulogy that several people, including my wife and online employer, found unnecessarily ghoulish. And while it's true I thought it was amusing to quip that London officials had banned Amy's cremation for fear of a nation-wide contact high, I was pretty sure I wasn't the worst person in
He's made such a joke of himself in the process that it's easy to miss the immense balls required to do what he does in public, and get away with it. At a certain point, you have to take a step back and marvel at the rap-sheet of dick-headed insanity he's managed to put together.
You're probably going to act like an asshole when you meet them. Just go wtih it.
I'd like to step in to the guidance vacuum left by Oprah when she disappeared. I freely admit that part of this decision comes from my deep concern for the physical and spiritual well being of my fellow man. I somewhat begrudgingly admit that I'm also interested in the billions of dollars Oprah made serving in this capacity.
Charlie Sheen should not be snorted.
This book is for anyone who ever looked up at the stars late at night and asked the question: Headbutt?
It's Valentine's Day, the first heartbeat of spring. I am a strong advocate of any holiday that puts pretense aside and encourages celebrators to trade pricey gifts for sexual favors. When affection can be measured in real currency, I always win because my love is deep and so are my pockets.
Bill Murray has become the urban equivalent of Bigfoot -- a mythical figure who generates sightings anywhere people are too drunk to totally trust their memory. Instead of being half-human, half-ape, Bill Murray exists somewhere between celebrities and the rest of us.