I just found one of my childhood favorites on YouTube. Smoking, drinking, hallucinating...and the tiny elephant in the middle of it all.
2/28/2009
2/27/2009
Let them eat GOOP!
Well, well, well. Looks like a *someone* is having a really hard time taking criticism.
Yep, Gwyneth's bitching again, and this time it's to People magazine. And of course, she does it in that oblivious elitist tone that we've come to know and love:
Speaking of not getting it, fucking yoga classes for New York City public schools?? Is this bitch for real? Yes, that's what the kids need: yoga and meditation.
Take that, peasants! Marie Antoinette just wants the apple-knockers to eat cake instead of starve and lose their jobs and face foreclosure. The Times (that's the New York Times) even took her side this week with a sympathetic little write-up ruminating on why everyone hates the poor little rich girl.
Despite what she might think, nothing she is doing is new and different. Her recommended books list looks like a junior high lit class syllabus. People don't need Gwyneth Paltrow to tell them that they should see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Prado Museum. Parents don't want advice on raising kids from someone who not only doesn't have to worry about being able to afford diapers and formula, but also probably employs an army of nannies. Those who work all day (if they're lucky enough to have a job in this economy) don't want "indulgent", time-consuming recipes that require caviar, real Vermont maple syrup and "Veganaise."
As for Gwynnie's comment that she's just sharing privileged information she acquired thanks to her amazing, super-fortunate life, I mean, really, she's just asking for it. A statement like that is so obviously tailored to get people fired up and spur talk about her, thereby keeping her in the news. Hell, I'm doing it, but I make fun of jerks whether they're celebrities or not.
It's clear that Gwyneth has been doing vanity Googles of herself. So if she happens upon Stupid & Contagious, here's a message: staying at $1,000-a-night hotels and dining on dodo bird eggs does not make you an expert on the best that life has to offer. You are CLUELESS. Return to your box. And take your foie gras and stick it up your ass.
Yep, Gwyneth's bitching again, and this time it's to People magazine. And of course, she does it in that oblivious elitist tone that we've come to know and love:
"I think the people who are criticizing it or criticizing the idea of it, don't really get it, because if they did, they would like it," Paltrow, 36, told PEOPLE Wednesday night at a New York City benefit she hosted for Bent On Learning, a non-profit organization which arranges yoga and meditation classes in the city's public schools.
Speaking of not getting it, fucking yoga classes for New York City public schools?? Is this bitch for real? Yes, that's what the kids need: yoga and meditation.
Paltrow said she believes some of the barbs simply stem from the fact that she's doing something new and different. "I think that people like people to stay in their box—they like people to stay how they are comfortable seeing them." The Shakespeare in Love Oscar winner told PEOPLE of Goop.com, "There's nothing incendiary about it. I find it really interesting because it's a harmless [news]letter that goes out each week."
Paltrow says she decided to launch the Web site, which carries the tagline, "Nourish The Inner Aspect," "because I felt like I had a lot of really useful information that I was privileged enough to get, because I have this amazing, super-fortunate life."
In addition, she said, "My friends call me all the time to say, 'Where should I go?' or 'What should I do?' And I thought, you know maybe some other people would be interested in it as well, so I started it, and it's doing great."
Take that, peasants! Marie Antoinette just wants the apple-knockers to eat cake instead of starve and lose their jobs and face foreclosure. The Times (that's the New York Times) even took her side this week with a sympathetic little write-up ruminating on why everyone hates the poor little rich girl.
Despite what she might think, nothing she is doing is new and different. Her recommended books list looks like a junior high lit class syllabus. People don't need Gwyneth Paltrow to tell them that they should see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Prado Museum. Parents don't want advice on raising kids from someone who not only doesn't have to worry about being able to afford diapers and formula, but also probably employs an army of nannies. Those who work all day (if they're lucky enough to have a job in this economy) don't want "indulgent", time-consuming recipes that require caviar, real Vermont maple syrup and "Veganaise."
As for Gwynnie's comment that she's just sharing privileged information she acquired thanks to her amazing, super-fortunate life, I mean, really, she's just asking for it. A statement like that is so obviously tailored to get people fired up and spur talk about her, thereby keeping her in the news. Hell, I'm doing it, but I make fun of jerks whether they're celebrities or not.
It's clear that Gwyneth has been doing vanity Googles of herself. So if she happens upon Stupid & Contagious, here's a message: staying at $1,000-a-night hotels and dining on dodo bird eggs does not make you an expert on the best that life has to offer. You are CLUELESS. Return to your box. And take your foie gras and stick it up your ass.
2/26/2009
I watched the Oscars and all I got was this lousy hangover
So the Oscars. Blah blah blah. I enjoyed the ceremony. I thought Hugh Jackman was a good host. I thought all the winners were deserving. I cried when Heath Ledger's family accepted his award. I smiled when the lovely Kate Winslet finally got a trophy. I thought all the dancing Indians were great.
And I was drunk off my ass. So of course I loved everything.
The problem with the Oscars is the seven-second delay. It takes all the fun out of it. Imagine if Mickey Rourke had won, for example—the orchestra wouldn't have stopped playing at all. They would have played him onstage and right off. Before the stupid safety delay, all kinds of fun shit went down at the big ceremony. In celebration of the land before Oscar night censorship, let's take a look back at the best unexpected Oscar moments in history
Cher (1986)
No one does bad fashion like Cher...and she does it fabulously. We would expect nothing less. And the most infamous example is the feathered headdress, showgirl glitter-strap crop top, zig-zag skirt and matching wrap thing she wore to
Angelina Jolie (2000)
Nine words: "I'm so in love with my brother right now.
Greer Garson (1942)
Greer won Best Actress for Mrs. Miniver and she also wins for the longest acceptance speech in Oscar history. The little stick man wasn't around to cue up the orchestra while Greer pontificated on the nature of competition for SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES.
Sacheen Littlefeather (1973)
When he won the Best Actor Oscar for The Godfather, Marlon Brando sent a Native American woman to publicly reject the award and not because beached whale Brando couldn't get his giant beluga ass off the sofa to make it to the ceremony. It was a boycott in protest against the mistreatment of American Indians in movies and on TV and at Wounded Knee. Backstage, Sacheen read Brando's 15-page speech to the press. She later took off her Apache garb for Playboy.
Robert Opel (1974)
Robert is a photographer, gallery owner and gay rights activist, but you probably know him as the guy that ran naked across the stage while David Niven was presenting an award. The timing is impeccable—Niven says "And now to divulge the contents of this year's most important envelope is a very important contributor to world entertainment..." then BAM! Peen and a peace sign! For some reason, the music starts up. The Niven quips, "Isn't it fascinating to think that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings." Oh, Niven, you lovable old queen you!
Joe Pesci (1990)
I've said it before and I'll say it again. Pesci is my all-time favorite Oscar moment because of what he didn't do, and that is go on and on in his speech thanking his golf caddy, his masseuse, god, buddah, allah, mohammed, xenu and his 50 lawyers. Instead, he accepted his award and said, "This is an honor and a privilege. Thank you."
The end.
2/17/2009
RoL 3.3-3.5: Make it stop
I've just about had it with RoL. I never thought I'd see the day, but this show is sucking my will to live. Bret is totally phoning it in, the skanks are the most disgusting bunch of festering boils ever to infect my television and I'm kind of worried about more important things right now. Like Rihanna. I'm totally worried about Rihanna. Do you think she's OK?
Anyway, the name of the show is bugging me, too. Couldn't they have come up with a better name than Rock of Love Bus? What about Rock of Love: Road Burn? Or Rock of Love: Skid Marks? Or why beat around the bush: Rock of Love: Sluts on Wheels?
So since we last left our (g)road crew, Porny, Brazil Nut and Random Blonde #57 (who wasn't "there for Bret") got voted off. Big whoop
The next ep starts off with Squishy Barbie Doll Face and Random Blonde #2 (or is it #8?) talking about Natasha, the one who said she wanted to be a madam on the first episode, and speculating on the size of Nat's peepee. They think she's a dude. I guess she's going to have to get bigger implants to convince these two that she's female. These chicks look like they got boob jobs from Octomom's doctor.
Meanwhile, Bret's riding in style on his personalized Bret Bus, complete with a giant bed, acoustic guitar for making hits and what look like cymbal lamps, and he's deep in thought. On the other RoLs, he was "hot and heavy" with some of the girls by this point in the season, but this time around things are moving too slow for his liking. So in true Bret fashion, he decides to get things cooking...by taking the skanks to Larry Flynt's Hustler Club.
All the Random Blondes go nuts. "I see all these poles and I'm like, I'm home!" one screams. "The lame skanks haven't been in a Hustler Club," another shrills. That may be true, Random Blonde, but the library is free and has far less bodily fluids on the walls (we hope).
OK, I thought they may have hit rock bottom on the challenges with the "marry Bret and write meaningful vows" contest, but this one is even dumber and more meaningless than that. Upon entering what appears to be the Champagne Room, Bret presents three frumpy chicks an announces that the skanks will have to divide into teams and make over a frump. The team that makes their nottie the hottest hottie wins a super-awesome Bret Date. That's right: it's a fucking makeover challenge.
Naturally, the skanks all start laughing at the frumps and my first thought is, you can totally tell that all three girls are strippers wearing glasses, sweats and no makeup. It's sort of like that stupid movie with Freddie Prinze Jr. where the chick is totally cute but because she is wearing glasses and overalls we're supposed to believe she's a nerd.
Anyway, here comes the Aqua Net and blue eye shadow. Brows are drawn on with Sharpies. Sweats are discarded in favor of skinny jeans. Hair is teased and fluffed to appropriate trashiness. When the girls come out, they actually look kind of cute. We have Jamie, who is about the size of a plastic cocktail sword and who earns Bret's approval for bralessness; Jenny, who looks a bit like the older sister on The Wonder Years; and Kami, who Squishy says looks like Rosie O'Donnell in makeup.
Well, good job, girls. Bret likes what he sees and he simply can't make a decision, so he's just going to take all three team captains on date And, oh, by the way, would Jamie, Jenny and Kami like to join the "tour" and compete for Bret's heart? Sure!
Wait a minute! Did I just hear a record-scratching sound? Here's the big ol' monkey wrench Bret was talking about! For some reason, some of the skanks start clapping at the news while others just look pissed. Squishy, for one, is not going to take this standing up, so she marches onto Bret's bus to lie down...and talk. Bret thinks this is a sign that Squishy cares and immediately starts gossiping about the other whores with her. Here's Squishy's chance to share her man theory about Natasha, and, boy, does she take it, adding that she thinks Nat wears tutus to hide her bulge. Bret is intrigued and makes out with Squishy. Meanwhile, she's got a Hello Kitty tattoo and he's wearing that ridiculous "American Outlaw" airbrushed cowboy hat again.
So now it's date time and Bret takes Mindy, Natasha and Random Blonde #37 on a riverboat! I'm kind of bummed that they didn't all get dressed up in riverboat attire, with Bret donning a fake handlebar moustache, Colonial Sanders string tie and garters on his sleeves. It would have helped add a bit of interest, because this is likely the most boring date in RoL history. He makes out extensively with Mindy and considers asking Nat about her alleged dick, but decides she must be a girl because she freaks out when a bug lands on her. I'm really starting to hate Bret.
And this confirms it. As soon as he returns from the date, Bret summons Squishy and invites her on his personal Bret Bus. He plays a bad power ballad for her on his acoustic guitar and tells her he likes her "in a really hot, sexy girlfriend way." Jesus Christ, what is this...study hall? Plus, it must be noted that Squishy is hideous and is wearing a trucker hat that says "Beautiful Disaster" on it. Bret starts swallowing her, then takes her to the back of the bus, where he probably put on his American Outlaw hat and then engaged in adult interaction with Squishy. You and I are not the only ones shuddering. Bev's there, too.
The next day, Bret takes the three new girls on a bowling date and this is officially the most boring RoL date ever, even though Bret thinks it's awesome.
Once they get back, though, something interesting happens. Bret hits the hotel gym for a little workout and Dimples decides to use it as a chance to get some alone time because she's "shy." As she says this she's saunters into the room wearing what is essentially a napkin used as a halter with another napkin used as a skirt. Bret calls it the best motivation to work out ever and asks her to "tell me stuff." At this point, you can practically hear the wind whistling through her empty head. Bret goads her to talk several more times, but she just sits there like a dead plant with pierced dimples, Sharpie brows and skank suit smiling in that way that people smile where they hear a joke they don't understand. After what seems like an eternity of awkwardness, she gets up to leave with her boob hanging out and interviews that she thinks the physical connection is there but "I'm concerned that the other...what's that called? Mental? Emotional?...like isn't." Bret scratches his balls.
It's elimination time and let's make it quick and easy like ripping off a Band-Aid: Nat the possible man gets the boot. Over and out. I can't take it anymore.
Next week: Nashville, Mud Bowl 3, boobs and possible sex. A beautiful disaster indeed.
Anyway, the name of the show is bugging me, too. Couldn't they have come up with a better name than Rock of Love Bus? What about Rock of Love: Road Burn? Or Rock of Love: Skid Marks? Or why beat around the bush: Rock of Love: Sluts on Wheels?
So since we last left our (g)road crew, Porny, Brazil Nut and Random Blonde #57 (who wasn't "there for Bret") got voted off. Big whoop
The next ep starts off with Squishy Barbie Doll Face and Random Blonde #2 (or is it #8?) talking about Natasha, the one who said she wanted to be a madam on the first episode, and speculating on the size of Nat's peepee. They think she's a dude. I guess she's going to have to get bigger implants to convince these two that she's female. These chicks look like they got boob jobs from Octomom's doctor.
Meanwhile, Bret's riding in style on his personalized Bret Bus, complete with a giant bed, acoustic guitar for making hits and what look like cymbal lamps, and he's deep in thought. On the other RoLs, he was "hot and heavy" with some of the girls by this point in the season, but this time around things are moving too slow for his liking. So in true Bret fashion, he decides to get things cooking...by taking the skanks to Larry Flynt's Hustler Club.
All the Random Blondes go nuts. "I see all these poles and I'm like, I'm home!" one screams. "The lame skanks haven't been in a Hustler Club," another shrills. That may be true, Random Blonde, but the library is free and has far less bodily fluids on the walls (we hope).
OK, I thought they may have hit rock bottom on the challenges with the "marry Bret and write meaningful vows" contest, but this one is even dumber and more meaningless than that. Upon entering what appears to be the Champagne Room, Bret presents three frumpy chicks an announces that the skanks will have to divide into teams and make over a frump. The team that makes their nottie the hottest hottie wins a super-awesome Bret Date. That's right: it's a fucking makeover challenge.
Naturally, the skanks all start laughing at the frumps and my first thought is, you can totally tell that all three girls are strippers wearing glasses, sweats and no makeup. It's sort of like that stupid movie with Freddie Prinze Jr. where the chick is totally cute but because she is wearing glasses and overalls we're supposed to believe she's a nerd.
Anyway, here comes the Aqua Net and blue eye shadow. Brows are drawn on with Sharpies. Sweats are discarded in favor of skinny jeans. Hair is teased and fluffed to appropriate trashiness. When the girls come out, they actually look kind of cute. We have Jamie, who is about the size of a plastic cocktail sword and who earns Bret's approval for bralessness; Jenny, who looks a bit like the older sister on The Wonder Years; and Kami, who Squishy says looks like Rosie O'Donnell in makeup.
Well, good job, girls. Bret likes what he sees and he simply can't make a decision, so he's just going to take all three team captains on date And, oh, by the way, would Jamie, Jenny and Kami like to join the "tour" and compete for Bret's heart? Sure!
Wait a minute! Did I just hear a record-scratching sound? Here's the big ol' monkey wrench Bret was talking about! For some reason, some of the skanks start clapping at the news while others just look pissed. Squishy, for one, is not going to take this standing up, so she marches onto Bret's bus to lie down...and talk. Bret thinks this is a sign that Squishy cares and immediately starts gossiping about the other whores with her. Here's Squishy's chance to share her man theory about Natasha, and, boy, does she take it, adding that she thinks Nat wears tutus to hide her bulge. Bret is intrigued and makes out with Squishy. Meanwhile, she's got a Hello Kitty tattoo and he's wearing that ridiculous "American Outlaw" airbrushed cowboy hat again.
So now it's date time and Bret takes Mindy, Natasha and Random Blonde #37 on a riverboat! I'm kind of bummed that they didn't all get dressed up in riverboat attire, with Bret donning a fake handlebar moustache, Colonial Sanders string tie and garters on his sleeves. It would have helped add a bit of interest, because this is likely the most boring date in RoL history. He makes out extensively with Mindy and considers asking Nat about her alleged dick, but decides she must be a girl because she freaks out when a bug lands on her. I'm really starting to hate Bret.
And this confirms it. As soon as he returns from the date, Bret summons Squishy and invites her on his personal Bret Bus. He plays a bad power ballad for her on his acoustic guitar and tells her he likes her "in a really hot, sexy girlfriend way." Jesus Christ, what is this...study hall? Plus, it must be noted that Squishy is hideous and is wearing a trucker hat that says "Beautiful Disaster" on it. Bret starts swallowing her, then takes her to the back of the bus, where he probably put on his American Outlaw hat and then engaged in adult interaction with Squishy. You and I are not the only ones shuddering. Bev's there, too.
The next day, Bret takes the three new girls on a bowling date and this is officially the most boring RoL date ever, even though Bret thinks it's awesome.
Once they get back, though, something interesting happens. Bret hits the hotel gym for a little workout and Dimples decides to use it as a chance to get some alone time because she's "shy." As she says this she's saunters into the room wearing what is essentially a napkin used as a halter with another napkin used as a skirt. Bret calls it the best motivation to work out ever and asks her to "tell me stuff." At this point, you can practically hear the wind whistling through her empty head. Bret goads her to talk several more times, but she just sits there like a dead plant with pierced dimples, Sharpie brows and skank suit smiling in that way that people smile where they hear a joke they don't understand. After what seems like an eternity of awkwardness, she gets up to leave with her boob hanging out and interviews that she thinks the physical connection is there but "I'm concerned that the other...what's that called? Mental? Emotional?...like isn't." Bret scratches his balls.
It's elimination time and let's make it quick and easy like ripping off a Band-Aid: Nat the possible man gets the boot. Over and out. I can't take it anymore.
Next week: Nashville, Mud Bowl 3, boobs and possible sex. A beautiful disaster indeed.
2/03/2009
UPDATE: Gwynnie says F.U. to the non-diamond shitters
Hot on the heels of yesterday's post, I find this little tidbit from OK! Magazine. It's an excerpt from a Gwynnie Paltrow interview in the upcoming issue of Elle UK. Apparently, she just doesn't understand why everyone hates GOOP!
All together now: A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! She really honestly thinks her stupid little website is doing good in the world! It's kind of cute.
Gwyneth Paltrow wants to get a few things off her chest. First, she's aware of the negative reviews her new web site, GOOP, has received from critics, and she's not taking them lying down.
"Fuck the haters! I saw this blog of people writing horrible things about me and, for a second, your ego is so wounded," Paltrow, 36, says in the March issue of Elle UK. "How could people hate me, my intentions or what I'm trying to do? I'm a good person and I'm trying to put good things into the world."
All together now: A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! She really honestly thinks her stupid little website is doing good in the world! It's kind of cute.
2/02/2009
Pomposity, thy name is Paltrow
I have a red-hot hatred of Gwyneth Paltrow. Ever since I saw her in Seven, I've hated her anemic guts. That was back when she was still engaged to Brad Pitt and everyone was creaming about her being the next Grace Kelly. Give me a break.
When I first saw Gwyneth in Seven she reminded me of a whimpering puppy, then I decided she reminded me more of a scarecrow, complete with the rod shoved up its ass. Now I'm getting more of a wet mop vibe, and maybe it's because she's such a wet blanket.
But it's not necessarily her wispy, straw-like looks that annoy me: it's the fact that she seems to think she's smart, sophisticated and worldly and that everyone needs to hear her opinions and recommendations on everything that pops into her pea brain. Every time she opens her mouth it's something pretentious, pseudo-intellectual and superior. She whines about not being able to get facials every day now that she's a parent and pontificates on how she'd rather "travel economy" than sell out. And then there's all the musings about how much better England is than America. To refresh your memory and ignite your ire:
Pram! Well gollleee, I wish I could be as sophisticated as Gwyneth Paltrow. But here I am just a slack-jawed yokel who don't care 'bout nothing but meat pies n' money! Well, it looks like all us rubes are in luck because Gwynnie has graciously decided to share her worldly wisdom with us pleabians in the form of GOOP, her new "lifestyle" website. Now we, too, can learn how to live like the crunchy granola queen of show-biz!
Seriously, you have to check this site out. It shows just how unintelligent, elitist and out-of-touch she really is. Bear in mind that she launched this site in September, in the midst of an economic collapse, with the intro line, "My life is good because I am not passive about it." I mean, the cluelessness is staggering.
And then there's the ever-present stink of pretentiousness that hovers around everything Gwynnie says and does. The site's subtitle says it all: "Nourish the Inner Aspect." Buckle up and get ready for a puke-inducing ride into the seventh circle of New Age hell. Gwynnie's all about yoga and acupuncture and wheat germ and all manner of pseudoscientific tripe. But don't let me tell you about it. Why don't we explore Gwynnie's magical life and what she thinks we should Make, Go, Get, Do, Be and See...and rip this bitch a new one?
Make
"It is that time of year, folks. I need to lose a few pounds of holiday excess. Anyone else?" Duh, of course, Gwyneth! I'm fat! And I'm dying to be pin thin like you! How do I do that? With a detox, of course. Dr. Gwynnie recommends drinking fresh fruit smoothies (organics only!), beet juice, broccoli and arugula soup and other boring veggie mush mixtures that look like throw-up. But what happens if my bowel movements get sluggish? "You can accelerate things by drinking half a cup of castor oil or using a mild herbal laxative. Bowel elimination is paramount for correct detoxification." Do this and you will shit diamonds like Gwyneth.
Go
Gwynnie is a real jet-setter and she cautions that the hotels that she recommends in this section are "a little on the pricey side" but assures us that her "GOOP girls" are researching some cheaper places and that they will personally try them out before recommending. When the cheapest room available on the list is $350 per night, Gwyneth's paying, girls. We'll all be sure to do din at Riva where the food is "on par with the deliciousness of the amuse." Whatever the fuck that means.
Get
The life of an ak-toor is filled with luxury, luxurious goods and luxurious clothes and fabrics. Gwyneth is oft referred to as a modern fashion icon. But she wasn't always a stylish and pulled-together princess. After she had her pretentiously-named children, "It all kind of went out the window. For a few years I was basically in sweat pants and I didn't mind it. It's a fine line, however, between being comfortable and being demoralized by being frumpy all the time." Gwynnie recommends that all the frumpy hausfraus of the world should avoid demoralization by establishing a "uniform"—something that is easy and stylish at the same time that you can just throw on. Like a Tod's trench coat. Or Rag and Bone jeans. Just grab your Balenciaga clutch and you're on your way! You look like a million bucks for...several thousand bucks.
Gwynnie also recommends some great gifts so that we can all share luxury with our friends and family, including a $1,850 Hermes watch, a $1,400 man purse that you know Chris Martin personally carries, a $500 Dean & Deluca gift basket, and a $40 pair of salad tongs. But they're really luxurious tongs, so they're totally worth it.
Be
If you didn't know, Gwyneth is super-spiritual and holistic. In this section of the website, she "thought it would be inspiring to periodically ask a question to a group of thinkers from various traditions on the subjects that confound" her. This GOOP meeting of the minds includes Deepak Chopra, "Michael Berg of the Kabbalah Centre" and the founder of "The Threshold Society & The Mevlevi Order." Do I really need to comment on this?
See
"I feel a bit swallowed up in January," laments Gwyneth. "The days are so short, the sky is so close and gray. The best way to escape (not to mention the least expensive, most hassle-free way) is to curl up by the fire with an amazing, transportive novel." Amen! Please tell us what you and your "most literary-minded" girlfriends recommend for a gray day of transportation? Of course, there's Anna Karenina, which is a great choice. And there's the hipster classic A Confederacy of Dunces, which Chris Martin probably read to her on their third date. And don't forget the Oprah's Book Club favorite Their Eyes Were Watching God. Did you know the author "died working as a domestic with no money to her name?" Whoa, watch it there, Mrs. Henry Lafayette DuBose!
Gwynnie's personal favorites are Jane Eyre, Crime and Punishment, and The Sheltering Sky, which was given to her by Ethan Hawke after he "correctly intuited that I needed some perspective, some grounding, a sort of literary bringing down to size." What I wouldn't do to have been a fly on the wall at the Algonquin Round Table of Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke.
Well, those are the lowlights and I've just about had it with this piss. Of course, there's plenty more well-deserved vitriol to hurl Gwynnie's way, but why waste the time? Last week, 68,000 people lost their jobs in the U.S. in one day, and Gwyneth posted a recipe for turkey meatballs and green peas requiring no more than "a squeeze of lemon juice, torn basil, a drizzle of good olive oil and a little Maldon sea salt for good measure." All I can say is that Gwyneth Paltrow needs to Make some time to read the news, Go outside of her privileged crystal ball once in a while, Get her head out of her ass, Be aware of her own intellectual shortcomings and See all the middle fingers that are pointed in her direction, thanks to GOOP.
P.S. Shout-out to Karen and Amanda!
When I first saw Gwyneth in Seven she reminded me of a whimpering puppy, then I decided she reminded me more of a scarecrow, complete with the rod shoved up its ass. Now I'm getting more of a wet mop vibe, and maybe it's because she's such a wet blanket.
But it's not necessarily her wispy, straw-like looks that annoy me: it's the fact that she seems to think she's smart, sophisticated and worldly and that everyone needs to hear her opinions and recommendations on everything that pops into her pea brain. Every time she opens her mouth it's something pretentious, pseudo-intellectual and superior. She whines about not being able to get facials every day now that she's a parent and pontificates on how she'd rather "travel economy" than sell out. And then there's all the musings about how much better England is than America. To refresh your memory and ignite your ire:
I love the English way, which is not as capitalistic as it is in America. People don't talk about work and money. They talk about interesting things at dinner parties. I like living here because I don't tap into the bad side of American psychology, which is "I'm not achieving enough, I'm not making enough, I'm not at the top of the pile!"
I'm very happy here [in London] and I really like the way the film industry works. Everybody cares. I like that it doesn't have this big capitalistic feeling. When you do something in L.A. you really feel the crew are punching the clock.
I find the English amazing how they got over 7/7. There were no multiple memorials with people sobbing as they would have been in America. There, they are constantly scaring people but at the same time, people think nothing of going to see a therapist.
Brits are far more intelligent and civilized than Americans. I love the fact that you can hail a taxi and just pick up your pram and put in the back of the cab without having to collapse it.
Pram! Well gollleee, I wish I could be as sophisticated as Gwyneth Paltrow. But here I am just a slack-jawed yokel who don't care 'bout nothing but meat pies n' money! Well, it looks like all us rubes are in luck because Gwynnie has graciously decided to share her worldly wisdom with us pleabians in the form of GOOP, her new "lifestyle" website. Now we, too, can learn how to live like the crunchy granola queen of show-biz!
Seriously, you have to check this site out. It shows just how unintelligent, elitist and out-of-touch she really is. Bear in mind that she launched this site in September, in the midst of an economic collapse, with the intro line, "My life is good because I am not passive about it." I mean, the cluelessness is staggering.
And then there's the ever-present stink of pretentiousness that hovers around everything Gwynnie says and does. The site's subtitle says it all: "Nourish the Inner Aspect." Buckle up and get ready for a puke-inducing ride into the seventh circle of New Age hell. Gwynnie's all about yoga and acupuncture and wheat germ and all manner of pseudoscientific tripe. But don't let me tell you about it. Why don't we explore Gwynnie's magical life and what she thinks we should Make, Go, Get, Do, Be and See...and rip this bitch a new one?
Make
"It is that time of year, folks. I need to lose a few pounds of holiday excess. Anyone else?" Duh, of course, Gwyneth! I'm fat! And I'm dying to be pin thin like you! How do I do that? With a detox, of course. Dr. Gwynnie recommends drinking fresh fruit smoothies (organics only!), beet juice, broccoli and arugula soup and other boring veggie mush mixtures that look like throw-up. But what happens if my bowel movements get sluggish? "You can accelerate things by drinking half a cup of castor oil or using a mild herbal laxative. Bowel elimination is paramount for correct detoxification." Do this and you will shit diamonds like Gwyneth.
Go
Gwynnie is a real jet-setter and she cautions that the hotels that she recommends in this section are "a little on the pricey side" but assures us that her "GOOP girls" are researching some cheaper places and that they will personally try them out before recommending. When the cheapest room available on the list is $350 per night, Gwyneth's paying, girls. We'll all be sure to do din at Riva where the food is "on par with the deliciousness of the amuse." Whatever the fuck that means.
Get
The life of an ak-toor is filled with luxury, luxurious goods and luxurious clothes and fabrics. Gwyneth is oft referred to as a modern fashion icon. But she wasn't always a stylish and pulled-together princess. After she had her pretentiously-named children, "It all kind of went out the window. For a few years I was basically in sweat pants and I didn't mind it. It's a fine line, however, between being comfortable and being demoralized by being frumpy all the time." Gwynnie recommends that all the frumpy hausfraus of the world should avoid demoralization by establishing a "uniform"—something that is easy and stylish at the same time that you can just throw on. Like a Tod's trench coat. Or Rag and Bone jeans. Just grab your Balenciaga clutch and you're on your way! You look like a million bucks for...several thousand bucks.
Gwynnie also recommends some great gifts so that we can all share luxury with our friends and family, including a $1,850 Hermes watch, a $1,400 man purse that you know Chris Martin personally carries, a $500 Dean & Deluca gift basket, and a $40 pair of salad tongs. But they're really luxurious tongs, so they're totally worth it.
Be
If you didn't know, Gwyneth is super-spiritual and holistic. In this section of the website, she "thought it would be inspiring to periodically ask a question to a group of thinkers from various traditions on the subjects that confound" her. This GOOP meeting of the minds includes Deepak Chopra, "Michael Berg of the Kabbalah Centre" and the founder of "The Threshold Society & The Mevlevi Order." Do I really need to comment on this?
See
"I feel a bit swallowed up in January," laments Gwyneth. "The days are so short, the sky is so close and gray. The best way to escape (not to mention the least expensive, most hassle-free way) is to curl up by the fire with an amazing, transportive novel." Amen! Please tell us what you and your "most literary-minded" girlfriends recommend for a gray day of transportation? Of course, there's Anna Karenina, which is a great choice. And there's the hipster classic A Confederacy of Dunces, which Chris Martin probably read to her on their third date. And don't forget the Oprah's Book Club favorite Their Eyes Were Watching God. Did you know the author "died working as a domestic with no money to her name?" Whoa, watch it there, Mrs. Henry Lafayette DuBose!
Gwynnie's personal favorites are Jane Eyre, Crime and Punishment, and The Sheltering Sky, which was given to her by Ethan Hawke after he "correctly intuited that I needed some perspective, some grounding, a sort of literary bringing down to size." What I wouldn't do to have been a fly on the wall at the Algonquin Round Table of Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke.
Well, those are the lowlights and I've just about had it with this piss. Of course, there's plenty more well-deserved vitriol to hurl Gwynnie's way, but why waste the time? Last week, 68,000 people lost their jobs in the U.S. in one day, and Gwyneth posted a recipe for turkey meatballs and green peas requiring no more than "a squeeze of lemon juice, torn basil, a drizzle of good olive oil and a little Maldon sea salt for good measure." All I can say is that Gwyneth Paltrow needs to Make some time to read the news, Go outside of her privileged crystal ball once in a while, Get her head out of her ass, Be aware of her own intellectual shortcomings and See all the middle fingers that are pointed in her direction, thanks to GOOP.
P.S. Shout-out to Karen and Amanda!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)