The Sport of Celeb F*cking

I don't really follow sports. I find baseball boring (although going to games is an excuse to drink beer during the daytime without judgement), hockey mildly interesting (mostly for the fights that break out and and again, non-judgmental early drinking), and basketball marginally the most interesting, if only to go to games and spot the hardcore bling of all the baller wives who attend games from across the court. Many of my model counterparts, however, pay for more attention to sports than I ever could. For them it's not activities that take place on the field or in an arena, and don't involve any balls....actually wait. Maybe not. I'm alluding to the subtle, yet entirely present sport of celebrity hook-ups! That's right...the game of schmoozing and whatever happens after schmoozing with celebrities simply because, well, they're celebrities.

My darling hometown of Toronto is an interesting little habitat to observe celebrity behavior. Not blase and jaded like New York where Manhattanites can walk past Sarah Jessica Parker and the twins on the way to Magnolia without blinking an eye, (and where non-New Yorkers pretend to be just as uncaring if only to fit in), or downright shameless in fame adoration and the road to get there like in L.A, Toronto falls somewhere in the middle where everyone freaks out and wants to be seen with celebrities, but only if they're seen in a way where they don't appear to care. As if you just so happen to be hanging out with George Clooney because you two obviously run in the same circles -- and not because you heard he was going to be at some film fest party and pulled every string you had to inch your way to the edge of his table and take a picture where you're just barely in the same frame. Potato, potato. It's not just our secret gawking that makes Toronto unique, but also how comfortable it is for celebs here. Maybe it's that the T-dot is relatively low-key, or that they think we Canadians are just generally nicer and won't snitch on scandalous behavior, but whatever it is, celebrities certainly figure they can get away with more when shielded by the Great White North.

Our sheltered home and native land makes it so that celebs are more accessible than they would be in other cities...if you know a few club owners, are a model or a scenester in any way, chances are that you have a few star stories to share. And so, with celebrities frequently in town to shoot movies, do press tours or promote clothing lines, it has become something of a competition for many local girls to see just how many they can snag. I've seen this game in action; a young, sort-of attractive male star in his heyday will come to town, get wined and dined by high-end restaurateurs and venue owners, and taken to the hotspot of the night. And then the picking begins...usually his handlers will scope out the models or other attractive ladies who are there and bring them over to the star until he finds one he likes. Sleazy? Definitely. But somewhat understandable given the situation. I mean, why fish for something that you can get hand-delivered to you? With that in mind, it completely boggles my mind how many girls I see swoon, giggle, then eventually leave, with all these douches. They don't even have to be attractive! Just as long as they're famous. It's tit for tat: the star gets to add one more notch to his post of international banging and the chick gets to smugly know (or let her friends know is more like it) that she totally put the moves on Chace/Adrien/Gerard or whatnot.

If you're a spectator of this sport like I am, it's all very amusing and entertaining. I've been pulled from the sidelines every once in a while but am really not one for athletics...or being hit on by egotistical dudes who get their handlers to make introductions. Otherwise it's a fun game to follow....celebrities, models, scandal, and parties? Totally trumps sweaty dudes throwing a ball around if you ask me. For those participating, please continue to do so at events and clubs where we spectators can all continue to catch games -- especially during the playoffs, otherwise known as TIFF! Have fun, keep score, and for the love of fame don't forget to use protection -- we all know nothing's worse than having to sit a season out because of an "injury". All together now, Team Canada!
x

OMFG...TIFF, TIFF, TIFF!

TIFF. The one acronym synonymous with arguably the best week of parties in our fair city of Toronto. The one week where A-list celebrities cram themselves into every available hotel and restaurant in Yorkville, and trendy spots of the downtown core. The one week where Toronto gets more international exposure than it does all year. The one week where networking at a party might lead you to an actual producer, not just some one who says he is. And finally, the one week where  the city extends it's liquor license to 4 a.m. and we all know we have to go hard. There is no halfway when it comes to the film festival, and anyone who has done it before knows there's a strategy....unless you want to end up a waking corpse by the end of it. (I'll save you the been-there-done-that trouble: being a walking zombie is never fun.)

TIFF has a different purpose for everyone. When I was fifteen, my best friends and I ventured to Yorkville for our first fest with the sole goal of seeing as many celebrities as possible. For a young teen it seemed absolutely magical to see Nicole Kidman, Anthony Hopkins and Denzel Washington to name a few waltz by us...we even talked to some of them. (She was unearthly stunning, he was intimidating and Denzel must have been having a bad day because he was a total ass. I forgive you Denzel. Being approached by three wide-eyed tween girls sputtering incoherently wouldn't exactly thrill me, either. ) As I got older, chasing down stars lost its appeal and it was more about the partying. I'll admit that during more than a couple TIFF's I would come own each night no earlier than 7 a.m. I solely blame the annual Nikki Beach pop-up. Nothing keeps a girl out for late nights like a schmoozy St. Tropez atmosphere and an abundance of bubbly!

However, I know for many TIFF is about networking their faces off. A logical decision given the caliber of industry personnel who are in town and out and about during the fest! I've never been one to get whipped into a frenzy about the possibility of meeting a Hollywood director or whatnot, but my interests have always been in fashion and events. I do however see the value in meeting not just big time producers, but film makers of all kinds since the possibilities and opportunities are endless. Any meeting with passionate people serves you well at the end of the day, in my opinion..."it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you do it well."  are wise words.

For the next ten days, the power is in the party. No matter if it's day time industry gatherings, cocktail hour receptions, evening lounges or full-on 4 a.m bangers, each and every TIFF event if over-flowing at the brim with people just waiting to provide you with interesting opportunities in the future. You can almost see the sparks of collaborative ideas as they bounce between individual to individual. As a promoter, my two partners and I will be throwing a plethora of 4 a.m. bangers of which I'm positive will reap benefits for business. (...and pleasure. I'm only human, and a party girl at that.)

When it comes down to it, networking, partying, and a love of film aside, what makes TIFF so great is the energy it brings to the city. There's a united feeling of pride in our venues, our people and our atmosphere that has provided Hollywood with refuge for a week in the Great White North. There's a reason film fest here is second only to Cannes! (And Cannes being in the stunning south of France, where exclusivity is built in and the birthplace of Diddy's all-white party...well, we're happily second) So no matter how many douche-bag faux-stars you see strutting around the city with their sunglasses on at night hoping to get mistaken for Ryan Gosling, remember that they're just excited to be part of something great. And that's what Toronto is during film fest -- nothing short of just fantastic.
x

OMFG - Royal Wedding Fever

My twitterfeed has been inundated with tweets about the upcoming Royal wedding. Everyone from entertainment outlets, to fashion bloggers, to my high school chums have William and Kate on the brain and are speculating down to the most minute of details. Who will design her dress? Who will style her hair? What kind of make-up will she wear? What shade of creme blush will she use? Okay, so that last one might of been a tiny bit of an exaggeration but you get the idea. Royal fever has officially invaded this side of the pond.

I've been pleasantly surprised by the amount of interest the upcoming nuptials have generated. It seems that in today's world of redefining traditional concepts of romance and love, there is still very much an intense enthusiasm concerning a good old time-honored, extravagantly constructed wedding. The hopeless romantic in me breathed a teensy sigh of relief. Of course a highly publicized and insanely expensive wedding does not equal a successful marriage -- we only have to look at Lady Di's ill-fated and ultimately tragic marriage to Prince Charles for proof -- but it's the mere idea that such a sweet notion in the most old-fashioned sense of love can still captivate a nation that has me feeling reassured.

Jaded and weary we might be, I mean 50% and counting of marriages end up in divorce last time I checked, but clearly the hopefulness that something akin to what my parents have being possible resides inside most of us. It's a lovely little idea to think that despite all the statistics, stories and sadness, some of us remain just as wide-eyed and optimistic as ever. Naive? Sure. But I choose naive over downtrodden and miserable in the case of love and its opportunities.

Commemorative paraphernalia is the norm when it comes to any such Royal event, and as expected plates, coins, mugs, and even  replicas of Middleton's engagement ring are all for sale. (I also heard commemorative nipple rings were available but I was too scared to Google that to confirm) But really, what are we commemorating? Despite the outcome of the union between William and Kate, the items we (well, maybe not we. I don't plan on eating off of any face-emblazoned plate, thank you very much.) purchase now will remain hallmarks of a perfect love between a Prince and his future Princess. Perhaps the idea of a perfect love despite all the odds is what the public is choosing to commemorate...a way to make something so deftly intangible seem just a little more concrete, if only momentarily.

I will definitely be waking up to catch what will surely be one beautifully lavish wedding --for all you other Royal fans, festivities are set to start at 3:30am Eastern time on the day of. Mostly, it will be to see what dress Kate ends up wearing (my friend Lizzy has her bet on it being Victoria Beckham while I think she'll go with something more traditional, perhaps La Renta) but also to see what could be the start of a one in a million marriage that beats the odds. After all, the most we can hope for nowadays is to meet some one you like, fall in love and just go for it as best as either of you know how to. And for once, it seems that maybe, just maybe, that's all it takes.
Happy watching!
x

OMFG -- Ohhh Charlie.

Oh Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. That drunken, high, prostitute-banging mess known as Charlie Sheen sat down for his first post-mess interview and it -- oh jeez, where do I even begin. I give credit where credit is due and the man is honest if nothing else. Aside from his stark honesty however is, in my opinion, a pathetic little man with some serious ego delusions.

If you haven't seen the interview yet, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5aSa4tmVNM

Some poetically beautiful gems (note the extreme sarcasm) spoken from his mouth include the lines: "I'm not bi-polar...I'm bi-winning!", "I probably took more than anyone could survive...because I'm me. I'm different, I have a different constitution, a different heart, a different brain....dying is for fools.", and the real kicker: "I've just answered to a higher calling. I blinked and I cured my brain."
The general reaction I've heard from my friends and online is that Charlie Sheen has gone from epic mess to just epic. Apparently comparing yourself to a higher power who, and I quote, has "exposed people to magic that people otherwise wouldn't see in their boring, normal lives." makes you really fucking cool. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for being cool...in fact anyone who knows me well can vouch for my attraction to all dudes with swagger and situations ripe with exclusivity. And I'm also all for partying...again anyone who knows me, or has partied with me on more than one occasion can safely say I subscribe to the notion of going hard..I mean if you're going to have fun, you might as well go 100%. So yes, I understand the fascination with a celebrity who has shamelessly promoted a lifestyle we all secretly aspire to at one point or another...but to call him simply amazing and a legend? Yeah...no.
Just listening to Sheen go on about his otherworldliness made me laugh. It's amusing to see that he believes his "tiger blood" will keep him alive even when snorting more snow than we see fall in a winter and to wax on about how he's God's gift to partying. Like, come on now dude, are you kidding me? The second he relapses (which he will, despite his "on/off" brain capabilities he so delicately explained) and ends up in a coffin is the second all his slack-jawed admirers will realize that all people, no matter how delusional, are human.
But I get it, I really do. It's admirable to see some one normalize such a taboo but insanely fun lifestyle, and not only normalize it but preach it like they mean it. And if you're anyone remotely attached to the scene, of any city really, I'm sure you can relate. (No judgement here guys...heavens knows I've been there, and back, and then some.) Sheen was born to a famous father and family and is used to his privileged lifestyle and consequence-less (relatively speaking anyways) life and it seems to have inflated his ego, just ever so slightly.
At the end of the day, he's just a three-times divorced washed-up actor with five children who did a bunch of drugs and banged a lot of hookers. Cool or not cool.....it's just really fucking gross.
x

OMFG -- No Tomorrow.

I slowly opened my eyes the other morning in bed and, to my horror, the sun wasn't just shining...it was sending laser beams of light into my corneas. Not only that, but my normally serene room was spinning and in disarray (did I always throw my bra up on my curtain rod before bed?) and the normally slight murmur of the gardeners working on my street sounded like metal gravel being churned into my ears. Okay, I may be exaggerating but only because I was extremely hungover, and probably still a little wasted from the night before! Yes, it may of been a Monday but it was a holiday Monday and so, like any self-respecting person with a holiday the next day, I made it my personal mission to drink like there was no tomorrow the night before.
Obviously there is always a tomorrow but when you're in your twenties it never quite seems to feel like it....especially when you're highly inebriated and surrounded by people who seem to think the same. Ah, your twenties; perhaps the only time in life one gets away with such socially questionable behaviour, and gets away with it while looking good and with a smirk plastered on his or her face. To feel consequence-less is definitely something of a fleeting era confined to those in our age bracket ...behave the same way any older and it looks either 1) desperately sad or 2) highly irresponsible -- don't you have kids to go home to or something? But living like there's no tomorrow now is perfectly acceptable and we twenty-somethings should take full advantage of such amazing karmic rights.
All debauchery should be carried out with discretion, none of us want to end up like such tabloid fodder as Lindsay Lohan. Seriously, when the whole world knows you're a mess and you still are in denial, that's when you know your consequence-less days are over. There's a fine line between appreciatively enjoying these carefree days and going shamelessly overboard to a point of no recovery. A perfect example of the latter in the news recently (or rather always it seems) is Paris Hilton. With all her money, supposed "hidden" smarts she hides with a surprisingly convincing dumb-as-dirt persona and all her experience with handling the media, Paris has managed to get herself arrested -- again! -- this time for cocaine possession. The last report I read said something to the likes of "Hilton thought cocaine was gum! Purse containing drug was not hers because it wasn't designer!" Of course it was gum! I always take my gum in powder form up my nose, my toothpaste in joint form that I light up and smoke and my mouthwash comes in little tablets that have an "e" on them! I mean, come on. Hilton and Lohan are sorely tragic examples of two girls who were literally given anything they wanted in the world and still managed to mess it up. A little lesson in grace here young Hollywood: when the world is your playground, have fun on the monkey bars, but don't climb to the top of the jungle gym, take a shot of Jack, then face-plant into misery. Well, not more than a few times anyways.
The universe, or society, whichever it is we in our twenties happen to believe in at the moment, seems to have set aside a pardon on youth when it comes to forgiveness. Acts of brutality aside (we're not talking murder or anything here people), it seems as though a misdemeanor here, a one night stand there, and a passing out in goodness knows where can all be chalked up as "learning " experiences for now, from which we're expected to mature and know better from. Now I know I've had more than my share of "learning experiences" and it's true, once you go through them once (or twice) it's not likely to happen again because let's face it: been-there-done-that syndrome occurs to even the craziest of the party crowd. 
The message here is simple my lovely readers: live it up now while everything still is your playground and before we all start having relatively substantial things in life to worry about. That trip to Ibiza you want to take but can't quite justify? Go. That thing that seems like a really good idea at 4 a.m. that you know you shouldn't? Do it. Those really expensive shoes you want to roll up in this weekend just because? Buy them. Mistakes are only mistakes when we allow them to be, and now is when we should be making them. Live and learn is the simplest, yet truest saying there is and we twenty-somethings should be living those words to the fullest. 
x

OMFG -- La Roux!

I love music. I love how it adds atmosphere to any situation, how it always seems to understand whatever love gripe you're working through and how it can make you want to dance around in your underwear like there's no tomorrow. (Let it be known that the latter is how I like to start most my days..with the curtains closed, of course!) Whether it be bass-heavy club anthems, minimalist house, straight-up catchy pop or old school Sinatra, music for me has only one criteria: if it makes you feel good, it's good music.
My current musical obsession is with the English duo La Roux! [Elly Jackson and Ben Langmaid.] I kept on hearing their hugely popular single "Bulletproof" everywhere only to have it get stuck in my head whenever I had space between thoughts...so I gave in and bought the rest of the album and was pleasantly surprised to find out it was much more than mere catchiness! I guess they would be categorized as electro-pop, but that implies overly synthesized tracks and weak vocals -- the songs definitely have a smooth synth edge, but make no mistake Jackson's vocals are as clear and strong as any acoustic performance. Aside from her musical talents, Jackson, often the only one seen in videos and when they perform, has a unique style of her own. With what can only be described as androgynous-chic gone neon, Jackson conveys a genderless cool-kid persona with her boy-short yet gravity-defying coif, slick trousers and sneakers. The duo recently opened at the Viktor & Rolf fashion show cementing their status, or Jackson's at least, as recognized style mavens. True style and sick music? Now that's a girl after my own heart.
What allows me to relate so much to their songs though is the sheer amount of emotion conveyed through their lyrics. I absolutely adore how Jackson sings about decidedly very "girly" issues all the while presenting herself as extremely androgynous... the confidence she portrays in her lyrics present emotions as a necessity to be proud of, regardless of gender. La Roux is essentially taking the feminine edge off emotions and allowing them to come off as feelings that stand on their own that everyone inevitably experiences. I'm impressed.
A few of my favorite tracks are linked below:
Armour Love:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAKmfO3v8ew
I'm Not Your Toy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ew_c5ewoVQk&feature=fvw
Bulletproof:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUsbpmQ9-mc

And for those of you who enjoy shaking your bum around as much as I do, there are several amazing DJ remixes of many of their songs! As long as La Roux keeps killing it, I'll be listening.
x

Models & Personality? OMFG!

The Supers

Where did all the models go? No seriously, where did they all strut off and leave to? Every time I browse the newsstands it seems the only faces I see smiling back at me are ones of actresses. The Jennifer's, Halle's and Reese's have dominated all the September issues this fall leaving not a chance for a Daria, Jessica, Carmen or Coco in sight. Where did the days of the Supers go? The days when household names weren't just actresses but Cindy, Naomi, Linda and Christie! Now those women were Supers....supermodels I mean, in the truest sense of the word: they were curvy (okay, maybe not curvy by normal standards but curvy compared to the stick norm that exists today), divalicious, extravagant and ridiculously glamorous all the while doing their jobs well...and demanding no less than ten grande a day to step one dainty foot out of bed. (As uttered by Linda and thereby creating the most legendary of all fabulously spoiled lines.) The Supers set the standard for which all divas followed; a world where models were celebrities and personified the very alluring, glittery lifestyles they depicted in haute couture ads.
Those were the eighties and early nineties and since then, the role of the model has evolved. Except for Gisele, who briefly resurrected the supermodel craze and managed to find an audience beyond fashion groupies, the biggest models in the world are, for the most part, unknown. Sure, you have celebrities like Heidi Klum who are recognizable to even the most style-deprived of housewives in middle America, but, though she started off as a model, Klum rose to her star wattage by becoming a businesswoman and probably even more so for marrying Seal and popping out a whole litter of insanely cute kids. To put it mildly; she's not known for lounging on red velvet sofas in Paris covered in furs, she's known for lounging in Beverly Hills playgrounds covered in baby spit-up. Huge difference. So why the change in model persona recently? It may be as simple as the age of the diva has passed. Professionalism has made its return to the industry and models nowadays are more likely to succeed if they're on time, easy to work with, and energetic and opposed to hungover, cell-phone throwing and (more than) fashionably late. It is very much a job to the new breed of top models who don't necessarily know who YSL is and why he was a legend, but will gamely pose for the newest YSL campaign. Such a mentality has its benefits for the fashion world, namely a crop of eager-to-work models who know they're easily replaceable..but where's the glamor in that?
Yes, I'm a professional too when I'm on the job, but some times I think how much sheer fun it would of been to be a top model in the decade of decadence, i.e. the eighties. Call me a glutton for glitz but seriously, how awesome would it of been to roll up to parties in the south of France on the late Versace's arm and then roll into a campaign shoot the next day in the same clothes all the while getting paid what can only be described as offensively large amounts of money for some one to take pictures of you? Nothing short of glam glam glam. My admitted superficiality aside, the working girl models of today are refreshingly modest and pushing the industry forward with their work ethic and momentum, which is not exactly glamorous but a welcome change for many.
All this professionalism is not without its downsides, and as working girls the personalities of top models doesn't exactly shine through the dress-up roles they portray in ads and editorials. Kate Moss may be the last Super whose name alone is a brand within itself, with her popular line at Topshop continually selling out each season. On the flip side, top Canadian model (and my personal favorite) Daria Werbowy has landed countless major campaigns, walked every top runway and has her flawless face posted on every other billboard worldwide, yet there is no style, look, or persona attached to her name. She is a chameleon who merely lends her face and body out to sell the clothes she's wearing in pictures. Meanwhile, actresses have filled the void of the Supers and themselves have become international brands shilling everything from Versace to Japanese colas. It's not about what bodies designer clothes look best in, but instead about what lifestyle and personalities are associated with the star who is wearing them. For a consumer to see Madonna in all her airbrushed glory posing for Versace is to see all the edginess, agelessness and continual transformation Madonna stands for in Versace's line as opposed to seeing nothing but exquisite clothes hanging off an exquisite body.
I guess the answer to where all the models have gone is quite simple: to the insides of the magazines. Covers are flat-out dominated by actress-brands and even campaigns are using mainstream celebrities more and more. (James Franco for Gucci? Really? The Green Goblin?!) While I get this is all to boost sales, I miss the days when a cover meant an amazingly flawless model working her angles in fierce poses all the while wearing some extravagantly unwearable outfit and looking sultrily unattainable while doing so....in other words fashion for the sake of fashion.
Fashion, like anything else in the world, is prone to cycles and repeating history. The time of the Supers may have come and gone in the eighties but there is sure to be a resurgence of lively, glamorous models who want to make a splash for being themselves and not just mannequins. Socially responsible it may not be, but to be a Super sure looked like a hell of a time and I for one would warmly welcome a new era of frivolous fashion for no other reason than to be extravagant, spontaneous and ultimately glam, glam and more glam.
x

Eat, Pray, Movie Love....OMFG

Eat, Pray, Love, the memoir written by Elizabeth Gilbert finally came out in movie form last weekend. I've read the book, and while wildly popular, Gilbert received a lot of criticism for basically being a privileged, wealthy writer with no substantial problems (relatively speaking) who whines her way through Italy, India and Bali looking for whatever she thought was missing in her life and marriage before. As one critic lovingly put it: #whitepeopleproblems. Well said, but let's face it, if you're reading this from the comfort of your living room in the Western World, chances are you've been through some white people problems yourself. With social privileges acknowledged, I actually really enjoyed the novel! With no formal training in writing, Gilbert's style is simple, clear and lengthy...it's as if she's just written the streaming thoughts that run through her head. She is at times self-loathing, narcissistic, ridiculously observant and over-the-top...her words are the extent of how we all feel some times but won't admit. I could relate with her feeling out of place and desperately unhappy in a world where everything is seemingly fine and gladly read of her finding herself on her own in three very different countries. Yes, it may seem self-indulgent to leave a high-paying job in the most ambitious city in the world (New York) and take year to simply live in beautiful locations across the globe, but it was nice to take the journey with Gilbert who was selfish and fortunate enough to live it.
The movie was light and breezy as expected, and just as light and breezy in safely resolving itself. While Gilbert may have found real love in Bali, it just seemed a little too easy that a man who wanted to devote himself to her was waiting in the final destination of her trip. Sure, it can be argued that Gilbert herself was finally ready to love again and opened herself up to the opportunity after months of soul-searching, but I just didn't buy it. Attribute it to the bitter state I'm in right now, but just think of how many divorced women are going to travel to these three places only to find no Javier Bardem waiting for them at sunset ready to sail into a new life together...plenty. Sexy Brazilian men there may not be in real life, but it's the opening of oneself up to opportunity, and seeing her potential in the world again that brings the real lesson in life after losing a lover.
Easy, breezy fluff aside, there were two distracting factors in the movie that left me puzzled. One, and the most noticeable: Robert's lips. Seriously girls, if you're even considering getting injections done to your lips, take one look at this movie and see it as a warning not to. Being the biggest movie star in the world can't cover up the fact that Roberts, although radiant in appearance and lovely in her role, has a big ole trout upper lip that I could. not. stop. staring. at. Especially during scenes in Italy where there are literally close-ups of her lips in each scene. Unnatural, unnecessary and just plain silly looking...stick to what your Mama's gave you ladies, and if not, at least go the Megan Fox circa Transformers route where no one can tell. (Any further and you'll look like the Robo-Megan that's out there today -- terrifying.)
The other question mark of the movie was James Franco. Once a James Dean-esque moody heartthrob, Franco now more resembles a college kid who's kind of high and kind of scraggly and kind of stumbled onto camera with some lines to spit out. His performance was so strange, I almost expected to see him post it on Funny or Die along with the rest of his weirdly nonsensical videos on acting. Even unkempt he's still a handsome man, but the eyes-half-closed, dopey-smiled expression he had on his face the entire movie left me thinking that maybe he should stick to General Hospital for a little bit. His eccentricities are strangely attractive, but I'm just not sure they belong in a chick-lit movie.
Romanticized travel, spectacular food, and easy love are all emphasized in Eat, Pray, Love and while none-too-realistic, it was nonetheless a pleasant journey through a woman's mind and a world where every whim of an unhappy woman could be fulfilled simply because she wanted it.

x

Another (young) one bites the dust....OMFG.

So little Lizzy McGuire aka 22 year old Hilary Duff tied the knot with her 29 year old hockey player fiancée over the weekend. If you read my previous post when Megan Fox and BAG did the same in Hawaii, you'll know that I think having established careers and thus your financial life entirely secure as a result from young Hollywood fame allows relationships to get serious much sooner that they would in the "normal" world, per say.
The Duffster, at only 22 is even younger than Fox was when she married...and is younger than me by a year for crying out loud! I wouldn't get married this year even if Brad Pitt dropped Angie and the two hundred kids they have and proposed to me. I don't remotely have myself figured out, professionally or personally....and it continues to astonish me that everyone in young Hollywood already does (Or seems to at least. Only time will tell who falls off the wagon...Miley, I'm looking at you!) Maybe with one comes the other: if you have your career secure and millions upon millions in the bank, does that allow you to "find" yourself faster, or at least with more ease?
The answer is never as simple as yes or no, but I can say with absolute confidence that if I had a fulfilling and successful career in Hollywood (let's humor ourselves and imagine as an Asian pop star as my sister and I used to pretend when we were little...bad Canto-pop and pink hair extensions included!) and enough security to take care of myself and my loved ones without worry, I would definitely be more relaxed and able to make decisions not based on work, but on what I truly wanted to do. Money means security and freedom which allows us to do what we enjoy with who we enjoy being with.
Work and love....the two great competitors of our modern time. For a romantic such as myself, the answer is clear, and I can pretty safely say that it always will be. Maybe the Duffster is a romantic just like myself; only her romance gets the fast-forward treatment from her success.
Whatever the reason, another young Hollywood couple has tied the knot leaving the rest of us to wonder, is anything in LalaLand ever really real? I guess I'll never know for sure unless the Asian pop start gig miraculously works out (I'd even be willing to learn how to dance..!) but until then, I can't help but wonder what life must be like for those so fortunate enough to be true romantics.
x

OMFGaga!

I had the opportunity to do a promo job at the Lady Gaga concert when it rolled into town the other night, and after, got to watch the concert as well. It seems like everyone these days is gaga for Gaga, but honestly I felt like her whole shtick was just kind of....lame.
Calm down now people, no need to get out the haterade and come at me with pitchforks and torches. First, let me go on the record as saying that I love her music. I'm a sucker for pop music, always have been and always will be, and Gaga is nothing else if not glorified pop music. She has consistently churned out the catchiest of songs -- so catchy that you can sing along before the song is over after hearing it for the first time. Her pop appeal is undeniable, and yet for some reason she feels the need to convey herself and ridiculously edgy. Emphasis on the ridiculous part here; girlfriend could of strolled onto stage with an anvil plastered to her head and I still wouldn't have bee surprised.
Obviously the crazy outfits (she was in what can only be described as a giant mushroom-monster costume for one song) and overly abrasive persona make her stand out from the rest of the writhing, almost naked pop stars out there...or does it? I found that during the concert, I was reminded of many other concerts I had been too; Britney Spears (pre-crazy), Christina Aguilera, Beyonce, and so on. Sure, Gaga would start off in elaborate costumes, but by the end of most of her songs, she was naked and writhing on stage. Lame.
Watching her predictably gyrate with male dancers and belt out over-produced pop songs revealed to me that Gaga really isn't any different than all the others; and I was a little disappointed.
Gimicky lameness aside, I love Gaga's message of support towards the gay community and those who are outside the box in general. She definitely cultivates a connection with her little monsters and spoke to the crowd many times on a personal level. Some one who thrives on the her connection with those going against the norm should of gone a little more against it herself...in my opinion at least.
Overall, the show was interesting to see if for nothing else than to watch a woman attempt to dance provocatively around on stage while looking like a plant that grew in a radioactive zone.
Ga-ga-oh-la-la indeed.

OMFG -- Team Romance

With the latest Twilight installment hitting theaters last weekend, hysteria over the story's leading men, Edward and Jacob (for those of you living under excessively heavy rocks that's Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner reprising their, um, challenging roles of Brooding and Abs, respectively) to yet another fever pitch.
Pretty as they are to look at, it's more than just the actors who have created the intense following the characters have...it's the good old throwback to chivalrous romance. Bella, (enchantingly played by the uber-emotive Kirsten Stewart -- note the obvious sarcasm), is pretty much waited on hand and foot by either Brooding or Abs in all the movies, saving her from this or that. It's ridiculous, it's anti-feminist, and it's certainly a little controlling and creepy at times the point to which both devote themselves to her but it most definitely is, at least in the old fashioned sentiment of the word, romantic.
These two are really ruining it for all you modern men out there. Maybe I'm just jaded but the last time my man did something truly romantic for me was...well I can't even remember! And now with my mind all Twilight-washed I've raised my standards: save me the jaws of bloodthirsty vampires or we're OVER! Melodrama aside, gentleman do seem to be a dying breed in our post-modern world where gender roles are more equal than ever and individual is the label that reigns over all else. But let's not get all overly reactive here: I'm not asking for a chastity belt and my right to vote to be taken away; I'm talking about some simple, caring gestures and a little consideration from the men in our lives. I'll bet Edward never let revolving doors slam in Bella's face while he walked a consistent couple feet ahead of her. Sadly, this is a true story...many times over.
With two more films slated for release over the next couple summers, I'm sure I'll be reminded, along with many other woman, of how lovely it would be to have two hot young things fight to save your life. Near death need not be the only way to show a little consideration...heck I'd be happy if a door never made contact with my face again.
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OMFG. Sex...

...and the City that is! I finally got around to seeing the creme de la creme of chick lit this weekend. Despite its predominantly negative reviews, I was pleasantly surprised by the film! Critics bashed it for being offensively extravagant in a just barely post-recession period...but come on people, no one exactly goes into Sex and the City 2 thinking "well here's a great example of realism!" Such decadent chick lit is lovely fluff; layer upon layer of ridiculousness meant to take the viewer away for two hours to a world where labels rule over logic.
Visual decadence aside, the plot was escapist, even surreal at times. Let's start with the obvious: [caution spoilers ahead!] Carrie and Big. So our annoyingly beloved Bradshaw jets off to the middle east (Morocco standing in for Abu Dhabi] and runs into her ex, granola-chomping, uber-friendly Aidan and they end up kissing. She immediately tells Big and comes home to --wait for it!-- a huge diamond! Um, what? Did I miss something here? Last I checked Carrie CHEATED on Big while on vacation...this being after months of whining and bitching over ordering in and watching movies instead of nights out on the town. If Carrie was living anywhere else and not in Carrieland she would of gotten a diamond removed from her finger, not placed on it!
Carrie isn't our only whiner this time around. The usually refreshingly sweet Charlotte is reduced to a weepy mother in denial whose startlingly uptight facial expressions caused unintentional laughter for me throughout the movie. So you have two kids. Big deal. Her and Miranda raise a half-hearted glass to all the mothers "without help" out there and then STILL complain about how hard it is for them to deal with motherhood! Let's reiterate here..Charlotte is Park Avenue wealthy. She has a doting husband who, despite his job as a divorce lawyer, is still a hands-on dad. She has a full-time nanny (albeit an overly-curvaceous Lesbian one) to take care of her two girls....not exactly the most empathetic situation.
Not surprisingly the best surreal aspect of the movie is spitfire Samantha! She looks even more flawless than she did during a series, a feat in itself as actress Cattrall is over 50. Her perfectly justified spunky attitude led to such memorable scenes as pelting condoms into a crowd of conservative men in Abu Dhabi and getting screwed every which way by not one, but TWO hot young men! All women past their twenties should be so lucky!
With its utter extravagance in materialism and utter ridiculousness in storyline, Sex and the City 2 really was girl fluff at its best...any place where a girl gets a diamond for kissing another man sounds like a fun one to be in, even just for two hours.
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Megan Fox Gets Married...OMFG.

So it's being reported that hot-piece-of-ass Megan Fox got married to whatshisface from the original 90210 in a secret ceremony in Hawaii. Okay, I'm being mean, but there's no denying that Megan Fox is a way bigger star than Brian Austin Green! This officially takes one of the most coveted women in the world off the market (cue teenage boys everywhere crying).
I actually like this couple! They seem genuine and low-key by Hollywood standards and have been together for, it seems like, forever.
At 24 though, Fox is prettttty young by today's standards to be married. Blame it on the fame and fortune, which I think is what propels so many Hollywood couples to get serious so fast. Who wouldn't feel like a relationship is serious when expensive gifts and exotic vacations are de rigeur for celebs?
As some one in love at the moment, I can safely say that sadly, love is never enough. I'm hopelessly romantic (seriously. Love songs make my heart float and The Notebook dissolved me into a weeping mess...they freakin' died together!) but a realist at the same time which is a lovely little ironic combination to be. Although in my head I may be in a fairytale, I know that love alone doesn't equal a successful relationship. We all have to worry about careers and making it, and thus some times put our romances on the back burner.
Celebs have the financial security and career establishment most of us attain later on in life and thus can seem to take relationships more seriously earlier on. So congrats to BAG-fox (I think marriage warrants a joint nickname, don't you?) for their whilrwind marriage on an island far, far away. Obviously this is no guarantee for happiness, but it sure as hell is romantic...consider me swept away.
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