The problem with taking a break from moonlighting as a highly adored, internationally famous blogger is that you constantly have a gaggle of screaming fans begging you to go back to blogging. “Oh, how we miss you! Oh, how we need you!” their gaping maws craw like sickly orphans starved of camp, wit, and the “occasional” Showgirls reference.
Naturally, I’m may be exaggerating a tad seeing as:
By gaggle of screaming fans, I mean two friends.
By internationally famous, I mean One of them is from England.
By highly adored, I mean sometimes my mother reads this, too.
Anyways, it’s become rather clear that my public (two friends and a mother…on occasion) needs me, and who am I to refuse? So, like the above photo of Joan Crawford returning to MGM Studios to film Torch Song, I too shall come back to the old fold. (This is nothing like that whatsoever, but let’s pretend.) Or, to mix iconic-camp-moment metaphors:
Whatever the situation behind this is, it only reaffirms that Tina Fey is the best. Taking a moment to pose with the rest of us? (Aka, those not responsible for writing Mean Girls and 30 Rock.) Clearly, the best.
(And seriously, I’ve been reading Bossypants, and she really is the absolute best. I’m welcome to a debate in the comments. But I might shut you down. Moving on.)
Still, I’ve questions. Well, one question, which is: Is that Moonvest?
Mere nights ago, international lady of leisure, should’ve-been-Swan-Queen, and perennial tabloid critter Lindsay Lohan stepped out to an event to bring the paparazzi the sort refined elegance only a hobo corpse playing dress-up in a Forever 21 dumpster could offer. Just kidding! As usual, she looked gorgeous, so before you start trying to cast shade upon such pristinely polished beauty, let me remind you what her rep (Dina Lohan with the voice changer from the Scream movies, most likely) had to say to People:
Lindsay is widely acknowledged as one of the most stunning actresses of her day, and we get requests every week wanting to do photo shoots with her from top photographers.
She’s been on the cover of Vanity Fair and the top beauty and fashion magazines. She’s a beautiful and glamorous actress.
With everything going on – from deteriorating public education to rampant homelessness to international unrest – there is no way I’m going to comment on Lindsay’s teeth.
Don’t you get it, internet? She’s an actress! Never mind that her hands look like those of a street walker practicing her craft with sand paper and Sharpie markers; SHE’S READY FOR HER CLOSE-UP, MR. DEMILLE:
Terry Richardson shot the above image of Liza Minnelli for Love Magazine, and you all know I love me my Liza, so basically what I’m saying right now is, “I’ll take all the copies of Love Magazine, please!” Seriously, she may be sans sequins (“Say it ain’t so!”–This guy.), but Liza’s dropping some serious I-don’t-give-a-f*ck FACE while wearing a coat that looks like it’s made from her hair. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me ’til my eyeballs stop bleeding from all this GLAMOUR.
Anyways, in case that wasn’t enough for you (and really, how could it ever be? Liza glamour back and forth FOREVAH!), here’s another picture of Liza bringing so much piping hot hotness that I have to type this with oven mitts:
Between his fabulous secret powers and this equally fabulous pink dressing table, are we to assume that He-Man stands alongside Snagglepuss and Jem in the Saturday Morning Cartoon Power Bottom Pantheon? And could She-Ra actually be a He-Ra with some truly exceptional tuck game? Oh, how my mind reels! (With stupid, stupid questions.)
Grace Van Cutsem is the three-year-old goddaughter of Prince William, a flower girl at the Royal Wedding, and the heir apparent to the face of every person whose internet status currently reads: OVER IT. She’s also Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Best Part of the Royal Wedding, which is sad, because even though I’ll probably never be deeply invested in anything that requires me to wake up at 4 AM (even if it is supposed to be the Biggest Media Event of Our Times!), I was all but certain Victoria Beckham’s hat had that title on lockdown:
I’ll admit that I don’t really know much about hockey, save for the fact that it always strikes me as a hilarious excuse to watch grown men on ice skates beat the crap out of each other over a little disc. Is it like some bizarro butch version of Joan Crawford’s The Ice Follies of 1939?
I don’t know.
What I do know, though, is that Joan’s costumes are absolutely glamour-gonzo, a young Jimmy Stewart wants to do things on ice that have never been done before (!), those ice skating numbers look like bargain-basement Busby Berkeley insanity, and why haven’t I seen this movie yet?!? Again, I just don’t know, but what I do know is that this guy LOVES him some hockey:
It’s Monday, y’all, and I don’t know what the weather’s like in your neck of the woods, but it’s cold and rainy and definitely not indicative that spring is anywhere near up here in New York City, so I figured if it won’t actually be warm, let’s at least warm the cockles of our hearts:
Obviously this portrait’s doing the trick.
It’s clear this kid understands that it takes more than just a yellow mesh muscle shirt or a pair of spandex pants to get the sort of look that simply screams, “WORK, BITCH!” No no, you’d best be putting them together, and you’ll also need a rat tail that would make Vidal Sassoon and his “five point” haircut weep tears made out of deep conditioner and seething jealousy. Most importantly, though, you really need a pair of ballet flats.
