So Brangelina was totally owning their Juno-ness last night, which leads me to believe they’ve resigned from trying to make A Mighty Heart happen and given into the Junoverse currently sweeping America. Congrats to these two:

I’m sending a congratulatory bouquet of leopard print roses and the L-World season 1 to Diablo Cody and Ellen Page (respectively) right now. If Brangelina approves, there’s no stopping you guys.

People don’t read my blog and I’m completely okay with that. I haven’t even asked my friends to check it out because I’m terrified of how much it sucks. But those are just some issues I have to work out. (Also most of this blogging takes place while intoxicated, but yet again, that’s another issue I have to work through.)

So I haven’t posted for about two weeks and I’ve been avoiding logging in because I’m afraid people are going to leave comments like “You Suck!!!111!!11!” (I’ve heard worse.) But I was feeling so giddy today because of Mark Ronson at the Brit Awards that I was like “Fuck it, I need to express my M.Ro love!” And I logged into my little WordPress account.

Turns out, there were no bad comments because no one gives a fuck (of course they don’t, I’m not some Gawker celebrity whose blog is checked on a daily basis to ridicule). First thing I do is check my blog stats and there was a huge spike on February 19. Page views topped out at 268 to be exact. That’s a lot for some pussy not promoting her blog or even writing in it.

Of course I’m like WTF, how is that even possible? I investigated further and all the tags were linked to Lindsay Lohan New York because of those awful naked pictures taking the Internet by storm. I had just so happened to have written some bullshit about Lindsay and the New York Times and Mormanads earlier this month. I found this whole thing humorous for a few reasons:

1. I’ve had a few vodka cocktails already.
2. I had just read an article today about how those pictures boosted the traffic of nymag.com by 2000%, which is sort of what it did to my website.
3. I had no naked Lindsay to offer people, just her in a bikini and alcohol monitoring anklet. What can I say? I prefer my Lilo raw and not playing Marilyn Monroe dress-up.

Anyway, so there’s the naked Lindsay Lohan and here the link to the rest of the photos (however, if you haven’t found it by now, you’re an Internet idiot and I don’t want anything to do with you). I guess I’ll write about Mark Ronson tomorrow. Oh and I’m so fucking happy J.Lo finally popped those damn babies out.

Goodnight.

If I had one wish, it would be to somehow make myself stop watching those awful Cashmere Mafia and Lipstick Jungle shows. It’s really not as easy as it sounds and they are just as horrendous as their titles suggest. Mostly, I do it to myself because they were shot on location in New York City. But, rather than the rush I feel from the opening credits of something like Rescue Me, I always come away kind of disgusted with the greatest city in the world. They make NYC look miserable in the same way The Hills makes LA look completely intolerable.

Do not pity me, though. Tonight I realized the perfect antidote for this worsening condition. It seems all I need to do to rectify the situation is watch the opening of Manhattan, so I have provided it above in case anyone else is experiencing similar post-SATC knock-off NYC disillusionment.

This is Phoebs. I first started seeing her on Go Fug Yourself and then saw her in once in real life on some lame red carpet event that let everyone in. It was extremely hard to stop staring at her–everything about her was just so wrong and awesome. However, my love for her didn’t fully blossom until Michael K decided to crown her his muse. Finally, someone was covering PP the way she was born to be blogged about.

And this of course is Julia Allison, the Gawker creation masochistic readers everywhere secretly enjoy getting mini-updates about although the comments would never lead you to believe that.

And now the similarities: They both love famous people, they would also like to be a famous person, they both have fake hair, they both like to pose with magazines featuring themselves, they both like to wear silly outfits, they both like to patronize the same restaurants as celebrities, they both are grateful for any kind of attention they receive, they both have really nice nails, they both take themselves very seriously, they both garner much Internet hate, they both would like to be fashion icons, they both love Carrie Bradshaw, they both pose exactly the same in every photo, they both like to show their cleavage, they both like name dropping, they both love the red carpet, they both would love it if their picture was taken more often, alright I’m stopping.

What would happen if these two were actually meet? Their shared desire to be the most glamorous human beings to ever live would either result in the end of the world or they would forge the strongest, most powerful partnership ever known to man and solve the world’s problems by giving everyone small doggies and shiny objects. Basically, they’d be like two Angelina Jolies who don’t just visit soldiers and talk about things, they’d get shit in done while wearing brightly colored, low cut tops.

Er…I should probably lay off the Internet for a little bit.

Update: Julia is apparently okay with being compared to Phoebe and in fact would like to steal her Raggedy Ann hair. Phoebe is still trying to figure out what the Internet is. The rest of you are still trying to figure out who these two dingbats are. And me? I’m just impressed with my own future predicting skills. Maybe I should be the one blabbling on the national news shows…(kidding, I’ll never be polished enough for that, sigh)

Truth is, sometimes I feel sort of bad about gossiping for a living. I guess it really depends on the person. Take Lindsay Lohan. She allows herself to be photographed in a alcohol monitoring anklet, hideous gold sandals, and a skimpy bikini all while flashing a peace sign. Conclusion: She deserves whatever half-witted insults I can muster up and hurl at her.

And then there’s the celebrities that sort of keep to themselves and try to do good. Those ones I don’t like to gossip about. Take George Clooney. The only thing that could get me to gossip about him is a fight with Fabio. (That was one of my favorite incidents of oh-seven, sorry.)

But whether it’s the celebs I love to hate or love to respect, I can’t seem to shake this image from my head:

They indoctrinated me good when I was young, they’re pros at that sort of thing (not to say some of what I learned wasn’t actually worthwhile). But today the New York Times eased my conscience as much as a scientific study can comfort years of guilt-ridden church teachings.

Human beings are also voracious consumers of information, Professor Wilson said. “That’s why we call gossip ‘juicy,’” he said. “It’s like tasty food and we hunger for it. And because humans are cooperative animals, when I get a piece of information you need, I just have to give it to you.”

Phew! I’m just helping my fellow human beings survive. If I skip over the rest of the article that talks about malicious, shameful and humiliating gossip, I may have reason enough to get that imaginary black tar off my hands.

I, like any other of the 1,154,642 people who watched the above video, was thoroughly entertained and disgusted by a reporter getting shit on by a brid IN THE MOUTH. LOL!!!!1!!1!Ew. There’s nothing more awesome than watching news reporters fuck up. (Right, Grape Lady?) It probably has something to do with their too-perfect voices and out of style, over hairsprayed hair ‘dos.

BUT

While I was doing my daily tumblr reading, I came across something so shocking, so heartbreaking, I had to share it:

“I don’t know if this is well known, but the “bird poops in reporter’s mouth” is a fake. It’s actually a very smart way of promoting Bob Odenkirk’s newest Super Deluxe video, The Making of: Bird Poops in Mouth, which is a mocumentary about shooting a commercial for ‘Frumondah Soda.’” (via Erockappel)

Ahhhhh! STFU! A fake??? I’m still not over it. I watched both videos over and over again trying to disprove this whole idea, but I couldn’t. Everything matched up perfectly.

I had no idea I couldn’t trust the Internets. I mean I’ve been fooled a couple times here and there especially when April 1st comest around, but I thought a viral YouTube video carried some sort of truth insurance. Fuck, what would I do if Chris Crocker or those talking dogs or that newscaster who called the Mt. Everest climber gay instead of blind were just web 2.0 creations? This viral video thing has gone too far, YouTube should probably consider hiring some sort of truth police that virtually stamps each video with a “fake” or “real” logo (they can even sparkle!) just so I don’t have to go through this ever again.

That being said, it is pretty genius. It has to be one of the most brilliant viral video specifically created to be a viral video ever.

Guest of a Guest posed a question I spent a good few minutes thinking about today. Would I read a blog written by Carrie Bradshaw?

Of course, I would! In the same way I read tons of super cool New York transplants’ blogs about how fabulous life is when you’re a self-involved, superficial narcissist. I really wish I could stop too, but they’re just so much fun and I keep finding more and more. It’s like The Hills Go East Online.

What I’d much rather read, and think would be a lot of fun for some bored soul out there, is Candace Bushnell’s columns reblogged in Carrie’s voice, whatever that might sound like in blog form. It would be a great project for some witty college kid that could come up with a way to pass it off as a thesis or project. Seriously, a girl at my alma mater is getting an MFA by dressing up like Paris Hilton.

Sometimes it’s really comforting to just sit there and listen to a song that sounds like Meredith should be blathering over about how hard it is to cut people up, have a neglectful mom, nearly die a couple times, work with the half sister daddy left you for and just being want to love the man of your dreams. It’s hard being a pretty doc. However, after another listen, this song may be more deserving of a rainy montage with Meredith and McDreamy making sad, longing eyes at each other. Whatevs, it’s almost the same thing.

Anyway, Adele is that type of music. She’s currently one of Mark Ronson’s bitches, which worries me. I have the biggest crush ever on Mark Ro, but he kind of has a streak of bad luck with his artists. Maybe it’s just a Ronson family thing: Samantha gets blamed Lindsay Lohan snorting up all the coke in New York and L.A. combined and her twin sis Charlotte was part of The Fashionista Diaries, which documented both the fall of Jane and the existence of a creature called cunt face. Back to Mark, he’s worked with Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen, both of whom started out with unique voices and a little chub on them (in a good way!). Now the Winehouse is cracked out all the time (bravo on trying to fix that in rehab, Amys) while Lily is getting knocked up and miscarrying (it’s way sad, I know, but that’s how it happened). Lily might be right to ignore his calls, but he’s so cute, I’d take on the Ronson curse any day.

So, I’m interested to see how this Adele thing turns out. Positively, I hope.

I saw the above video for “Chasing Pavements” on my good friend Kanye’s blog early one morning when I first got into work. Oh, I should probably clarify. My good friend Kanye is Kanye West, I don’t like to name drop but sometimes you just gotta when the story calls for it. So I watched the video and by the end, there were definite tears rolling down my cheeks. And the version I saw didn’t even have the stretchers at the very end. It was just the choreography, it moved me in a way a lady video to a lady song can. I decided to watch it again and if it made me cry, I’d post it. I couldn’t squeeze out actual tears, but I definitely welled up so I felt that still warranted a post.

Also, here’s the song “Cold Shoulder” Adele did with Ronson. It’s lady music too with some of that M.Ro twist:

The other day I was able to write something I found to be more aligned with what I like to blog about. It was nothing significantly memorable by any means, but I think it came out pretty fun and I had a good time writing it and there is nothing more awesome than blogging fun. Flogging? Funlogging? I don’t know.

Anyway, it was about Eva Longoria because I find her to be straight up obnoxious. I have never been charmed by her and I think her face is kind of strange. It’s like a horse clown or something. I thought this all meant that I hated her. After one of my editors read my little item, she called and said I have a problem and need to seek help for my Posh and Eva Longoria love.

At first I was appalled. I do not love Eva, I hate her. How dare my editor assault my character like that.

But I gave it a little thought and it hit me. I do actually love Eva Longoria.

I love that her clothes are always borderline tacky. I love that she cakes makeup on like no one else (not even Zefron!). I love her big horse teeth that she insists on displaying at all times. I love that she married some French basketball player that’s way younger and then doesn’t even spend time with him. I love that she shamelessly picked up Jessica Simpson’s sloppy seconds hair extension putter inner. I love that she was in Jessica Simpson’s “Public Affair” music video. I love that she tries really to look like she’s having a fucking blast everywhere she goes. I love that she’s constantly denying rumors I never even knew started. I love that she’s playing a fucking ghost in her new movie and Paul Rudd agreed to costar in it.

I love the bitch and that’s all there is to it. She may even deserve to be named patron saint of this blog, but I’m not sure if this blog deserves a patron saint yet.

As I was doing my typical afternoon routine—walking home while listening to This American Life (way cool, I know)—I received an alarming text message: “Heath ledger is dead.” Having lived through the rumors of Zachary Morris’s death followed by Corey Matthews’ alleged demise, there’s no way I believed this. Unfortunately, the next two hours I spent surfing between TMZ, Defamer, Gawker, Perez, People, HuffPo proved I was wrong. Way wrong. Heath Ledger had most certainly passed away.

Heath Ledger was an important figure in my high school life. My best friend had the biggest crush on him, I distinctly remember taking a photograph of her kissing the Knight’s Tale poster, and we watched 10 Things I Hate About You on VHS a lot. Honestly, what high school girl didn’t love this:

Of course, Brokeback Mountain really sealed the deal on the whole acting chops thing. More recently, I’ve been envying his immense Wayfarer collection while both anxiously and skeptically looking forward to his Joker.

I was sad, no doubt, but I was dealing. I mean, I understand in the grand scheme of the world this tragic event may not be of greatest importance and I never actually knew the guy, but it still really got to me in a way I didn’t think was possible. Fortunately, Alex Blagg over at BWE summed up what was I hoping for better than I could put it. His headline–”Dear Media: Let’s Try to be Classy About This”–says it all and really made me feel better. It’s always nice to know there’s someone out there with an actual heart covering celebrity news. Well, I was making a decent recovery until I went over to E!, and saw this:

It appears E! would like to pay tribute to the fallen actor. Okay by me, this is a celebrity website, after all. Oh, what do you have here, E!?

You’re honoring him with a special gallery of his life in pictures? Brilliant!

And this is the first picture they show in a gallery that is billed as a tribute. Classy, guys. I honestly couldn’t believe it, I had a serious visceral reaction deep inside where I guess there’s a good person lurking (it was kind of a relief, actually, knowing I had feelings). But let’s not forget the real issue here: even Perez Hilton didn’t post this awful picture.

Tomorrow will be the inevitable digging for intimate details (true, fabricated, they don’t give a fuck?) and the pestering of Heath’s costars’ reps for reaction statements, both of which are completely unnecessary. Heath was a great actor and a troubled man who died much too soon, that’s the entire story. As a fan of both celebrity gossip and pop culture, I can honestly say I really don’t want to know anything else.

[Disclosure: I sort of work for E! sometimes, but I was powerless in this situation which made it especially disheartening.]