In a massive thud heard around the world, Paris Vogue editor-in-chief (and my idol) Carine Roitfeld announced that she’s leaving the magazine. It’s not that she’s going to another magazine or anything (yet!), but more that she’s kind of totally over magazines. “I have no plan at all,” she said. “It’s ten years that I’m editor of the magazine.
I love me some RiRi, but I’m sorry — the bitch can’t sing live, and no amount of reverb can cover it up! In the last week I’ve see her perform that red hot single “Only Girl (In the World)” on Saturday Night Live and at the European Music Awards. Both times, her red headed ass was flat, missing practically every note in the song. And there are only like four notes MAX in the whole thing!!
Most people outside academia are totally unaware of what professors go through to get a single course approved. There are probably a million fabulous pop culture-savvy course proposals out there that get squashed every semester.
Bored follows the same formula as other 30-minute HBO cult-hits like Entourage and Sex and the City — a group of oddball friends from different backgrounds who stick together no matter what. No matter how many dudes Samantha slept with, or how many times Mr. Big came back, no matter how loud Ari screams, and no matter what Jonathan Ames does, everybody’s always cool with everybody at the end of the day.
On the first episode, everybody meets everybody and they go around the room about their connections, the “celebrities” they know, how “gaymous” they are. Um…“gaymous” Really bro?
I’ll spare the details, but basically I’m getting completely nailed by Matt Bomer, star of USA’s White Collar. I’m talking like nailed nailed. Sooo good. And guess what else? We were doing it in my grandmother’s garage, which only makes this piece of theater that much more interesting.
A drag queen or maybe a full tranny stamps my hand. Pause. Now this is what I’m talking about!
I got invited to this fabulous party last night in the Hollywood Hills, but instead of going I ultimately decided that seeing Lady Gaga on the VMAs was much more pressing. How could I miss her white carpet arrival…
But then I get pissed the hell off, like foaming at the mouth mad, because I can’t find this fucking bus stop a-n-y-w-h-e-r-e, even though my iPhone tells me it’s right here. I’m crossing the street, up and down, back and forth, trying to pin down the bus I need. Look down at my iPhone, back up at the street, down at my iPhone, back up at the street.
One of my favorite pastimes is getting lost in a magazine store. Within seconds I’m high off the smell of all those glossy fantasies, the cologne inserts, and millions of dollars worth of ads for things I can’t easily afford.