Vodpod videos no longer available.
At a certain point, I stopped being excited for this train wreck to get back on the air and started being THE MOST excited for this train wreck to get back on the air. That moment was when Snooki went after Angelina like that bitch stole her pickle. Because that might be a metaphor about Vinnie’s sausage (hold the peppers), but it might not.
I mean, what can I say? I might be a sucker for this paragon of grace and beauty:
Because Jean Negulesco’s Humoresque–aka, the one with Joan in glasses!–is as much an unheralded masterpiece as it is my favorite Joan Crawford movie, so why wouldn’t I give this gem a little more blog time? Besides, if John Garfield’s Paul Boray can bring Joan Crawford’s Helen Wright to a state of transcendental sexual ecstasy just by playing Symphonie Espagnole on his violin (as is happening in the above image, if you couldn’t tell from the perfect visual metaphor of Joan’s glistening, parted lips), just imagine what his virtuosic playing will do to you. (*SPOILER ALERT!*: It’ll blow your damn mind.)
Oh, and don’t hesitate to click to enlarge and appreciate the fabulousness of it all.
I recognize that this new trailer for the two-part Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows raises all sorts of questions. For example, if you’ve never read any of the Harry Potter franchise, you might be asking yourself the following:
Or, if you’re like me, you’ll tell Sister Aloysious over there to go shove it up her habit and then try and figure out just how much you’re going to cry at the end of the movie. (After all, “Am I going to cry?” is such a stupid, stupid question.)
ANYWAYS, I’m pretty sure one question–nay, the most important question!–we’re all asking ourselves after watching this trailer has nothing to do with cry-baby tears or self-aggrandizing promotion or whether or not really need to tell the story of Harry and Ron and Hermione wandering a forest over the course of two separate films. No no, we’re all wondering what in the world is Hermione wearing in that one scene? Which scene? This scene:
Because this single shot of Sister Ruth putting on her red lipstick in Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s 1947 masterpiece, Black Narcissus, is simultaneously the single greatest moment of high-camp pleasure and psychological horror. She’s undeniably fabulous, for sure, but this bitch has also lost her damn mind.
Oh, and don’t hesitate to click to enlarge and appreciate the fabulousness of it all.
It’s been a while since I’ve bothered to mention Scream 4, mostly because I don’t loathe the idea of it nearly as much as I used to. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been known to be wrong about these things before, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t know how to say “No” to Neve Campbell, but whatever the reason, I’ve moved past the snarkily bitchy stage of Scream 4 grief and have tentatively arrived at I-sure-hope-they-don’t-f*ck-this-up, which is kinda like acceptance, except for the part where I’m still in denial about this picture Access Hollywood‘s Nancy O’Dell snapped while visiting the set of Scream 4:
In other words, Muse covering “Where the Streets Have No Name” is not a life-ruining monstrosity that must be stopped, but you would expect as much seeing as how the Edge joined them on stage at the Glastonbury Festival to help them nail it. Muse–with very special guest the Edge–performing “Where the Streets Have No Name,” y’all:
NAILED IT. (Of course they did.) Though it’s still no Ethel Merman Experience, which isn’t a criticism, just an observation. That is all.
Much love to @U2 for this one.
You know what’s really, really gay in the most ferocious of ways? This promo still for the new Scissor Sisters album, Night Work:
Camp, after all, is a queer sensibility derived from the French slang camper, which means “to pose in an exaggerated fashion”, and this photo is all about the highly stylized placement and posing of our beloved Sisters. Of course, this photo is also about Ana Matronic’s hair. And that double breasted jacket. And those fetching high heels. And Del Marquis being my favorite piece of guitar-playing, suited-up hot sex. And the pearls, OH, the pearls! In fact, the only thing that throws this picture off is Jake Shear’s vinyl underoos. Girl, don’t go butchin’ my heart!
ANYWAYS, the new Scissor Sisters album, Night Work, is streaming over on MySpace, and the Sisters and producer Stuart Price have met–nay, exceeded!–my every hope of making the most gloriously gay album EVER. Clearly this means you need to give it a listen. Immediately. And really, why wouldn’t you?
It has come to my attention that good parenting no longer involves simply dressing your baby up like a bag full of money:
No no, if you want to make sure that you raise an upstanding member of society who is free of any and all social ills and moral deviances, you have to start with ’em young, so please be sure to race your babies:
Pandemonium has struck!
ANYWAYS, the last time we checked in on ABC Family’s The Secret Life of the American Teen, dear reader and occasional contributor Shmathan brought to our attention the latest scientific findings in the dangers of incredible sex. Since then, however, Shmathan has left left for the far more lucrative world of corporate law. It is sad, yes, but blog life must go on. My point is that sometimes in life, things change. But you know what hasn’t changed? The fact that The Secret Life of the American continues to look really terrible. See, for example, Bristol Palin’s ACTING debut:
The guys from Jersey Shore, save for Ronnie (and Ronnie’s Prince Albert), unknowingly ended up on the cover of the Village Voice‘s “Queer Issue” because it features an article about guidos on the down-low:
This just makes sense. Much like how my Jersey Shore nickname is “The Sausage Party.”
I mean, when you consider that these men represent the sort of butch-acting, worked-out hyper-masculinity that a sizable portion of the gay community idealizes (and gay-for-pay porn most certainly commodifies), and when you think about how the second season of Jersey Shore isn’t just going to promote itself, OF COURSE they are.
But perhaps more importantly:
Remember that one time in Mad Men‘s second season when Kurt proved himself to be Peggy’s number-one ‘mo and gave her a much needed makeover via one ferocious bob? Of course you do:
It was one of the rare SQUEE!-worthy moments on Mad Men that doesn’t involve Joan saying something bitchy, Trudy wearing an incredible hat, or Peggy being be totally gangsta. Seriously, this was one of the great moments in Mad Men that came as such an unexpected delight that you’d never forget it. Unless, of course, you hadn’t got that caught up in the show yet and I totally ruined the surprise for you, in which case you only remember the incontrollable urge to punch me in the face. Rage blackouts: they happen.
ANYWAYS, The Hollywood Reporter‘s blog The Live Feed has a few new pics from the upcoming fourth season of Mad Men. Most of them are of the non-descript, non-spoilery here’s-Don-Draper-in-a-suit variety, but one of them contains a TOTAL GAME CHANGER, by which I mean Peggy Olsen’s rocking a fabulous new ‘do, bitches:
I should warn you in advance that this video from You’re Invited to Mary-Kate and Ashley’s Sleepover Party contains the following:
My point is this video will give you a seizure, but that shouldn’t stop you from watching it. Just make sure your co-workers understand that you’re having an actual medical emergency and not just practicing your best Nomi Malone like you usually do. Anywho, here’s the Olsen twins and their friends invading your brain and killing your appetite with “Gimme Pizza”:
Jesus. Caramel coconut cream AND fish sticks? Even I wouldn’t eat that, and that’s really saying something when you think about it. Seriously, you need to shut down your monster mouth and think about your poor life choices if you can look at this:
And have this reaction:
That’s cute, Olsen-twin-I-will-assume-is-Mary-Kate-because-Mary-Kate-has-chosen-to-continue-on-with-her-acting-and-this-face-screams-ACTING, but that’s also completely unacceptable. There’s only one acceptable response to your pizza:
Well, imitation Chloë Sevigny by writer/performer Drew Droege and director Jim Hansen:
I mean, can you blame me? Not all of us can are lucky enough to get gifted a high-heeled purse by Little Tic Tac. Even on our birthdee. I clearly run in the wrong social circles (the ones that don’t include Tweet). But no matter. Let’s talk of carefree things, like our summer plans:
Well will you lookit what Vulture dragged in? It’s a new poster promoting the fourth season of Mad Men:
YES. (Obviously.)
I mean, I could try and prattle on about the way the washed-out New York City backdrop recalls the striking minimalism of Mad Men‘s glorious opening credits, but I’m too distracted by Don Draper pensively staring out the window (which, like Don Draper doing absolutely anything, is sexual catnip) and the fact that the fourth season premiere is so close (JULY 25TH!), so let’s just leave it with the fact that this poster has my SQUEE!s of anticipation rapidly approaching SQUEE!CON 1 (Catastrophic Ear Bleeds Imminent).
Besides, I’m still mourning over the recent retirement of Amanda Bynes, actress extraordinaire. Now we’ll never find out what zany hijinks Daphne Reynolds gets herself into in What a Girl Wants 2: Bangers-and-Mash Boogaloo, so LET ME WEEP IN PEACE!
Oh, and in tangentially-related-to-this-poster Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner news, irresponsible recaps will most certainly be returning for the fourth season of Mad Men, so rejoice! Now in case you’re uninitiated and in need of knowing what sort of half-crazed, frequently camp beast you’re in for (or you’re just in the mood for a trip down a particularly batshit stretch of Mad Men memory lane), I’ve collected the entirety of the third season’s recaps (along with their corresponding episodes) after the jump:
WHAT?!? Because being Lady Gaga and looking like a lesbian moppet are both homo things? Ew, Facebook. No.
(Unless–of course–it’s this, in which case: I LOVE IT.)
In case you’ve ever been curious, here’s a picture of Randolph Scott and Cary Grant enjoying dinner:
It should come as neither a secret nor surprising that I find Cary Grant to be as ridiculously sexy as I find donut bacon cheeseburgers to be ridiculously delicious, and of course I’ve heard the rumors that he and fellow actor Randolph Scott were a lil’ bit (to borrow a word from David Bret, author of the thoroughly trashtastic–and highly recommended by me–Joan Crawford bio, Joan Crawford: Hollywood Martyr) lavendar, but I never realized what a hot piece Randolph Scott was. Seriously, if Cary Grant just so happened to be thinking about how much Randolph Scott’s mustache tickles instead of how delightful the chicken was when that picture was taken, could you really blame him?
ANYWAYS, Betty White was on The Joy Behar Show last night, and that Newsweek story that never dies came up as a topic of conversation, at which point Betty White inadvertently revealed that Cary Grant was probably thinking about Randolph Scott’s “mustache” after all. Here’s the video from over at Queerty:
Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner 
